The night is dark; an empty echo of the light the sun should be providing. Except it’s not day any more, and Draco knows that he must adapt. Knows that the darkness shouldn’t bother him now, but it still does. Even after an entire decade, the shadows of the war still haunt him. Swallowing hard and shivering against the cold, he reaches one of his pale hands out from his navy coat, and pulls the door open. As he hurries inside, the warmth shocks his skin. Blood rushes to Draco’s ivory cheeks, making him blush in the hot lights and loud music.
This particular club is one of his personal favourites. Wand Wagon is a well known gay bar in Wizarding London. Despite everyone there knowing who he is and exactly what he has done, he can always find a way to forget the day. Whether that is drinking until he is stumbling home or losing himself in a stranger’s body, this club always works out. And today has been an especially hard one. Draco knows he isn’t the only man who has a challenging time sometimes. He does know though, that no one’s bad days are quite the same as his. No one else can say that they nearly killed people to save their own skin, or that they drugged multiple strangers, or that they let Death Eaters into Hogwarts… No matter how many people are telling him that he wasn’t a bad person, that he was just acting under duress, he can’t believe it. It’s a mindset, a dangerous one, but one that he takes comfort in all the same.
Forcibly shaking himself back into action, he walks swiftly to the bar and asks for a margarita with an added splash of Grand Marnier. Handing his money over the counter, he takes a long draught of the drink before slamming it back down.
“Another?” The bartender, a polished young man with dark skin and darker hair, asks immediately. Draco nods firmly and hands more money over. Taking the second margarita, he wanders away from the bar and finds a secluded table in the back corner. He relishes his cool drink as he sits, watching the bodies move in front of him. The music is deafening and pulsing, altering the beat of his heart. Flashing lights fly over head, illuminating sweaty chests in colourful bursts.
Draco tips the glass back and drains the cool liquid, before standing abruptly and making his way to the dance floor. He is quickly swallowed by the mass of men, drawn easily into the moving heap. Dancing is something he enjoys greatly. It’s another way he can forget everything, nothing lingering on his mind as he moves to the beat. A man with copper hair and pale skin dances up to Draco, and he starts swaying in time with him. Draco’s eyes take in the chiselled body before him, coated in a thin layer of sweat. His mind flashes to the dark rooms located at the back of the club, and he reaches a hand out to the mystery man. Seeming to understand Draco’s silent plea, the man shakes his head.
“Just here to dance, sorry.” He moves away, back into the swarm of bodies.
Sighing, Draco starts looking around again. He isn’t usually rejected, and a seething knot of something makes itself known in his gut. Maybe it’s an omen. A sign that he shouldn’t be abusing his body like this, even if it’s to lift some of the strain on his mind. Regardless, Draco keeps looking. Most of the men aren’t his type tonight. Which is a shame, because he really needs to get laid. After dealing with the morons he encounters as a Curse-Breaker and all of their questions, a distraction is sorely needed. A glimpse of pink and purple light catches Draco’s attention, and he turns slightly to catch a glance. The beams are bouncing off of shocking black hair, reflecting them across the room again. The stranger spins quickly around on the spot, and he looks slightly familiar for a second. Shaking it off, Draco makes his way across to him.
The man is unquestionably fit, tan skin emphasising his rippling muscles. He looks like he works an active job, so maybe he’s an Auror? It doesn’t matter to Draco though. Wasting no time, he dances up behind the man. He runs his arms up the man’s bare back, grinning as they are pushed together. Feeling more confident, Draco brings them down to rest on the stranger’s hips and pulls him closer. They are nearly touching, practically no air left between them. Draco shuffles his own hips forward to rest on the man’s arse, the black leather trousers squeezing at his growing erection. His navy blue shirt is open at the front, meaning that his chest is pressing hotly against the man’s tan back.
That seems to be the final straw for the stranger, as he turns around to face Draco, who freezes. Instantly recognising the face of Harry Potter, he rushes to step backwards. Green eyes flash in the coloured lights, and Draco can’t help but notice the absence of round glasses. Potter has either put on Muggle contact lenses, or has temporarily spelled his eyes better. It doesn’t matter which one it is though, because Draco can’t force himself to meet them for more than a second.
“Malfoy,” Potter states coolly. “You were the last person I’d expect to find here.” One of his hands lifts and gestures around them to the club in total.
Draco turns his nose up, determinedly ignoring the blush creeping over his skin. “And why is that, Potter,” he spits defensively. “Think I’m incapable of letting loose?”
“I actually didn’t know you were gay, Christ,” Potter curses.
“Right back at you.” It sounds confident, but he has to work to not let his face heat or his voice shake.
“I’m bi, technically,” he replies. “Not that you need to know that.”
“What’s stopping me from now giving that information to the Prophet?”
“The fact that they already know, and have devoted several articles to it.” Draco can feel the eye roll from where he’s standing.
“Then how come I didn’t know?”
“No idea,” Potter confesses.
“Clearly not a new sensation,” Draco mutters under his breath. Potter raises an eyebrow but otherwise doesn’t rise to the bait.
Draco moves further away, putting more distance between the two of them. Except Potter is having none of that, and takes a step forwards. His movement starts back up again, hips swaying to the pulsing music.
“Wha- What are you doing Potter?” Draco demands, a slight shaking in his voice which he desperately tries to hide. Potter can not know how affected he is.
“You know exactly what I’m doing,” he replies with a smirk. “I’m dancing.”
“Not with me, you’re not,” Draco sneers as he takes yet another step back.
“I don't see why on earth you would want to dance with me.”
“I don’t know,” Potter says, grinning. “Maybe it’s because you’re a fit looking bloke in a gay nightclub, and we both obviously need a shag.”
“There is nothing anyone can do to make me want to fuck you, Potter.” Maybe it’s the alcohol in his system, or the shirtless and sweaty Potter before him, but he’s not sure that that statement isn’t entirely correct right now.
“So much indignation,” he teases. “Yet before you knew it was me, you seemed more than happy to grind against my arse.”
Draco harrumphs loudly, knowing it’s true, before turning on his heel to leave the dance floor. When he looks back, Potter is staring at him and shrugging before turning to dance with someone else.
A little later that night, the club is dying down, most of the people who were here earlier have either drunk enough and decided to go home, or left with a worthy hook up. But not Draco. Draco is still sitting at his table in the corner, watching the dozen-or-so men that are still dancing. One man in particular catches his eye, and he spends the next few minutes hungrily staring at him. He has dark brown hair and rosy skin, with black frame glasses sitting on his nose. He is exactly the type of man Draco would like to take home. Summoning the last of his already limited courage, he stands and makes his way across the club. Without a word, Draco comes up in front of the man and starts grinding with him. The stranger is more than willing to grind right back, and his erection prods into Draco’s arse.
Blood starts rushing south and he moves to take the man’s hand. Another man stops him with a firm hand to Draco’s shoulder.
“I don’t think so,” comes a gruff voice. A voice that Draco would recognise anywhere.
“Potter.” He turns from the stranger and faces the interruption, annoyance clearly written on his face. “What is it now?”
“You do not want to take this guy home,” he argues. “He is beyond awful.”
“Hey!” The bloke exclaims. “Am not!”
He doesn’t get another word out though, because Potter roughly shoves him.
“What exactly is your problem?!” Draco yells. “I am trying to get laid, and you scaring them away isn’t helping!”
“Maybe I don’t want you to get laid! Ever thought of that?!” Potter shouts back, before realising what he’s just said. “I mean, not that I don’t want you to get laid… just, not by any of these guys.”
Draco looks at him in disbelief, his features creasing. They smooth out barely a second later though, as he connects all of the dots. “You want to fuck me, don’t you?” Potter’s face pales, and that’s the only confirmation Draco needs. “I thought earlier, that you were just trying to piss me off. Guess I was wrong.” He reaches a hand up to carefully touch Potter’s tan cheek, thumb caressing the skin. Giving in even this little bit, feels like heaven.
“Clearly not a new sensation,” he mocks Draco’s earlier words. Stepping closer, he hooks an arm around his waist to draw him into his side. “Let’s get outta here,” he whispers into Draco’s ear, breath tickling his skin and causing goosebumps to rise.
“Not so fast, Potter. It’s not that easy to get into my pants,” Draco chides.
“What do I have to do then?”
“Dance with me,” he murmurs, so quiet it can barely be heard.
By way of words, Potter pulls Draco in front of him and starts moving to the music. If possible, it seems even louder than it did earlier in the night. With less bodies writhing in the dark it’s also cooler, with the added bonus of no one bumping into you. Potter stays ridiculously close, emerald eyes boring into silver ones. He runs his hands up and down Draco’s back, keeping the pressure just light enough to not be enough. Draco whines as he brings his hands to his chest, just not touching the bare skin. He leans his head in closer, before dropping his hands to his hips. Potter teasingly runs his thumb along the waist band, causing Draco to moan and rock forward. Letting loose a soft chuckle, Potter steps away and off the dance floor. Draco watches as he orders a shot of tequila and knocks it back. He then gestures for him to follow, and Draco rushes out of the club.
Shrugging on his coat as the cold February air hits him, his eyes land on Potter. Still shirtless, he looks even more tantalising than he did inside. His muscles ripple as he walks down the street, hair glinting in the glow of the streetlights. Draco hurries after him into an alleyway, drawing his wand. He wouldn’t know what to do if something was to go wrong, and he desperately didn’t need another distraction from getting laid.
“I hope you don’t mean where in this alley,” Draco bites.
“Of course not,” Potter says. “Way too bloody cold.”
“Mine,” he demands. He doesn’t want to have to get out of bed before dawn, especially not when he is so tired.
“Okay,” Potter agrees and holds out his arm. Draco takes it in his and Apparates the both of them onto the front step of his house.
“Nice place, but why are we outside?” Potter asks.
“Bit impatient are you?” Draco teases as he unlocks the door and pushes them inside. “We were outside because I can’t Apparate through the wards. Now come on,” he says with a groan as he pulls Potter down the corridor and into his bedroom. Without even looking around, Potter forces Draco onto the wall, pinning him in place. He leans in close, so close, until they are sharing breaths. Draco feels a shiver course down his spine, and he is suddenly so desperate his head spins. Leaving all logic behind, he pulls forward and smashes their mouths together.
Potter responds instantly, moving his lips in a delirious rhythm that makes Draco mad with want. There is no space between them as their bodies collide, forcing him even harder against the wall. There is no question about who is playing dominant tonight. Draco focuses entirely on the kiss, trying not to lose himself to it. It’s heady, hot and strong in a way that most people’s mouths aren’t. Potter is solid where he is pressed against him, making Draco remember his quidditch skills. Pulling his wandering brain back to the present, he tries to memorise everything.
The way Potter tastes like smoke and apple cider. The way his warm skin is pressing incessantly against his own, and the way his hair tickles Draco’s forehead. His lips move almost like he’s a dying man, and Draco is oxygen. Feeling like he is wanted, truly desired, for the first time since his mother died, he melts into the touch. Draco clutches at Potter’s hair, taking great handfuls of the black mess. It’s surprisingly silky, just like his lips. Potter is the first one to try to push the kiss deeper, his tongue prodding at Draco’s lips. Without hesitation, he opens up for him, and their tongues meet. Sliding over each other is an insane feeling, one that’s impossible to describe or to explain. It feels like coming home, in a sort of messed up way. Kissing Potter should not be this comforting. It’s probably just because he could really use a distraction. Nothing more to it.
Needy hands grab at Draco’s waist, and he is pulled off of the wall and walked backwards. He doesn’t know how Potter managed to know where his bed is, but he is being pushed onto it hungrily. Opening his eyes, he sees Potter standing above him, just looking. Draco takes his time to roam over Potter’s body with his eyes too, and smirks at his appearance. He is absolutely dishevelled, totally messed up. His hair is somehow in more tangles than usual, and his lips are swollen red from snogging. Green eyes are clouded over with what can only be discerned as arousal, and all Draco wants is that body on his. Impatient, he pulls Potter down to him by his belt loops.
Potter releases a groan as he falls, before crawling up Draco’s body to crash their lips together again. It’s a quick yet strong kiss, lasting only a few seconds. He then trails down Draco’s neck, sucking and biting gently at the delicate skin. When he arrives at his shoulders, he licks up and down his collar bones. Taking particular care at the junction of neck and shoulder, he nibbles more marks into them. The feeling is intense, forcing Draco to rock his hips up and let out a breathy moan. Potter delights in the noise, and kisses his mouth again. He then leaves a trail of kisses all the way down Draco’s chest, licking stripes where his shirt hangs open. Feeling desperate, he pushes Potter away and tears his shirt off. Bare skin is revealed, and Draco leans back down. Gesturing for the other man to continue, he is disappointed when he notices that Potter is frozen.
“Potter?” He asks, nervous that he was too hasty.
“I- I did this… Didn’t I?” He asks in a whisper, voice noticeably shaking. Bringing a hand up to Draco’s chest, he runs a finger across it slowly. Draco looks down and realises what he’s looking at.
“Potter… It doesn’t matter,” he comforts.
“Of course it matters! I scarred you!” He says, voice almost a yell, too loud in the quiet room. “I didn’t think it would scar…” he murmurs again.
“It’s okay, Potter. I don’t care anymore.” In all honesty, Draco never really cared. This scar wasn’t caused from his own stupidity, it was just another mark of life. Unlike the black image on his forearm.
“But I do,” Potter says firmly. Not letting Draco argue further, he bends his head and follows one of the lines with his tongue.
Draco moans loudly, moving his hand to rest in Potter’s hair. It tickles slightly, but it surprisingly feels amazing. Almost intimate. Which isn’t something he wants from a hook up, but decides he’ll let it slide, considering who’s doing it. He feels his cock harden impossibly more, and his skin starts growing warm. Too warm. Potter is still moving his head along the scars, and Draco has to pull on his hair to get his attention.
“St- Stop, Potter,” he says breathlessly.
“What? Why?” Potter asks, worry etched onto his face.
“Pants. Off,” Draco breathes heavily. He has never wanted to get another man naked more so than right now.
Potter chuckles before licking and sucking his way down to Draco’s waistband. A jolt goes through Draco, and he bucks his hips up, desperate for friction. He moves his hands along Potter’s bare back, trailing his fingers along the ridge of his spine. Potter groans above him and thrusts his hips down, clearly searching for some release too. He gets Draco’s button and zip out of the way and starts pulling the leather trousers down his thighs. A gasp escapes his mouth as he stares.
“I knew it!” He exclaims. Draco quirks an eyebrow, before amusement takes over.
“That I wasn’t wearing pants?”
“Exactly,” Potter agrees excitedly. “So much pale skin…” he mutters so quiet Draco can barely hear it. He drops his head to nose along his hips, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Draco.
“Yours too,” he pants out, tugging at Potter’s jeans.
Without speaking, Potter shifts away and hastily pulls them down and completely off. He then throws them over his shoulder somewhere and does the same to Draco’s. Draco wants to chastise him for throwing his expensive leather pants onto the floor, by can’t find the words when he sees Potter naked. His tan skin continues the whole way down from his chest to his feet. He has a cock that makes Draco’s mouth water with need, the perfect length and width, and a lovely colour. His black hair is trimmed neatly into a small circle around the base, and all Draco can think about is taking it into his mouth.
Potter has other ideas though, as he straddles Draco’s thighs with a devilish grin on his lips. He leans down and presses another kiss to Draco’s scars, before firmly grasping both of their cocks together in one hand.
“Oh fuck,” Draco sighs as a shiver runs through him. Potter’s hand is warm and confident as he holds them both and sharply jerks them.
“Ahh…” Potter groans when he twists his wrist at the heads. He gasps again as Draco rocks upward, driven by pleasure instead of his brain. Draco mumbles in complaint when Potter pulls away for a second, but is stopped by a hand on his cheek. Potter’s eyes seem to say ‘I’m not going anywhere right now’ even as he turns away.
From Draco’s spot on his bed it looks like he is searching for something, which is confirmed when Potter cheers quietly. He grabs at something before twisting back to Draco with a smirk. He pulls a small pump into view and squirts some gel into his palm.
“Fancy lube huh?” Draco teases. “Do you keep it on you all the time, or just when you‘re after a hookup?”
Potter’s shoulders tense, before quipping back. “No, I bring it with me when I see a movie,” comes his sarcastic reply.
“Movie?” Draco asks.
Potter holds up a hand and shakes his head. “Later. Right now I don’t want to talk.” He grabs both of their cocks and slicks them up with the lube. Before Draco can say anything, Potter is pumping his hand at a punishing pace. It is intense and striking, but absolutely perfect.
The warmth and wetness overwhelms Draco’s senses, and the need to cum begins to feel urgent.
“Potter,” he gasps. The other man grunts in response and starts thrusting his hips to meet his pumping hand. The added friction drives Draco insane, and he follows suit. Their cocks slide over each other, hot and slick. Potter squeezes his hand around both of them tighter, and Draco doesn’t think he can hold out much longer.
“Gonna- cum,” he moans. His legs begin shaking, and he realises just how far gone he is. He squeezes his eyes shut to lock in the sensations, hoping to remember this for a while.
“Then- do it,” Potter instructs.
Draco feels his balls draw up and tighten, and his cock is releasing copious amounts of precome. He feels his hands start tingling, and he arches his back into it.
“Come on, Draco.” Potter sounds desperate, but that isn’t what catches Draco’s attention. Potter calling him his first name is ultimately what sends him over and off the cliff. Draco’s back arches all the way off the bed, his chest hitting Potter’s.
“Open your eyes,” Potter demands.
Draco does as he is told, and stares into emerald circles as he comes. He cries out a string of curses, his cum pulsing out of his cock. He drops back onto his mattress, short of breath and flushed all over. White streaks cover both his and Potter’s chests, and he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with himself. That is, until he sees that Potter is still achingly hard. With a glint in his eye that he can feel, he shifts out from under Potter and pushes him to the bed.
Potter instantly rolls over onto his back, tilting his head to look down at Draco in confusion.
“What are you…?”
Draco doesn’t deem it necessary to reply. Not with words, at least. Instead of speaking, he runs his hands over Potter’s chest and down to his hips. His thumbs rub little circles over his hip bones for a second, before reaching for the base of his cock. Potter slams his head down when Draco squeezes it, swearing softly. Draco doesn’t stop there though. He has a strong urge to wrap his hands around the entire thing, so he brings his second hand across and encircles Potter’s whole cock. It is still slick with lube and Draco’s cum, and the combination makes an obscene sound as Draco pumps it.
“Fuck, Malfoy!” He screams. Draco feels a dull thud in his chest, but chooses to ignore it in favour of breathing hotly over his sensitive cock head. Deciding to act on his earlier thought, he licks a stripe from the base to the tip. Potter pounds his fists into the bed, drawing Draco’s attention up to him. He looks like he is about to be swallowed in pleasure, but his eyes are concerned.
“You don’t have to,” he says.
“I really, really want to,” Draco admits with a smile.
Potter waves his hand in a gesture to continue, and Draco happily removes his top hand from Potter’s gorgeous cock. He swiftly replaces it with his mouth, sucking the head between his lips.
“Jesus,” Potter groans as Draco mouths at a sensitive spot.
Draco isn’t quite sure what ‘Jesus’ means, and will have to ask about that later. Right now though, he hollows his cheeks around the head and starts pushing his head further down. Potter’s hand cards through Draco’s hair, tugging on it slightly. The sharp pleasure feels great, and he moans around the cock in his mouth. He can feel Potter twitch inside him, and he keeps swallowing more of him down. He gets most of it in, and the part he can’t get to, he wraps his hands around. Potter exhales heavily and pulls at Draco’s hair again. Draco opens his eyes and lifts his gaze, meeting emerald eyes. There are stars in the green, clouds of arousal and need blending beautifully. The sight of Potter so clearly wanting him makes him harden slightly again.
He keeps their eyes locked together and starts bobbing his head up and down. His hands chase his mouth on each thrust, keeping constant friction on Potter’s cock. Draco licks his tongue around the head on every off pump, and breathes him in every time he goes back down. All he wants now is for Potter to cum down his throat, to taste him on his tongue. Draco moans determinedly around his cock, speeding up his pace.
“Fuck, Malfoy,” Potter grunts again.
The dull thud grows more pronounced, and Draco sucks even harder. He pulls off for a second to lick hotly from the base to the tip, before fastening his mouth back in place.
“I’m gon- I’m gonna cum!” Potter announces, nearly screaming in pleasure. “Dr- Draco!”
Potter’s cock twitches in his mouth, pulsing out ropes of cum and shooting them down Draco’s throat. Draco pinches his hip bones, wanting to see his face as he orgasms. Potter understands and immediately does as instructed. His face is flushed, lips red and puffy, eyes dark and glazed over. Draco groans again, mouth still around his cock. He lifts off and pumps his hand over it a couple of times, milking Potter of his release.
The hand in Draco’s hair loosens a bit, and then he’s being tugged up Potter’s body. Their mouths meet again, but this time it’s different. It’s not needy and passionate, but rather, soft and slow. Intimate, in a way Draco doesn’t want to think about. When they part, Draco rolls off Potter and reaches for his wand. Finding that it’s not on his bedside table — because it’s on the ground somewhere — he grumbles and moves to get up. Potter stills him with a hand on his back, and wandlessly and wordlessly cleans them up. Draco’s jaw drops, and he has to force himself to swallow.
“Did you just-?”
“Mhmm,” Potter confirms. “Didn’t want you to leave,” he murmurs.
Draco doesn’t reply, just slides in front of Potter and pulls the covers up around them. Potter wraps an arm around Draco’s waist, slotting them together. They fit perfectly. Draco is now really glad that he isn’t the one who has to leave in the night, because he doesn’t think he’d be strong enough.
Draco was right. Waking up in the morning and not having Potter next to him anymore is gut wrenching. He doesn’t know why he feels as though his world has been torn apart, but here he is. Normally, sex would make him feel loose and light, ready to take on the gruelling work of the day. This morning is another story. Instead of being relaxed and energised, Draco feels weak and undone. Sex with Potter had been incredible, mind-numbing in a way no one else had ever been. But if he does it again, he’ll wake up like this; and there is no way he could stomach a repeat of this. Or, apparently, the alcohol he’d had last night.
Jumping out of bed and sprinting to the bathroom, Draco throws up into the toilet. His head is spinning and his stomach is churning with disgust. Being sick is the worst way to start the day. Well, the second worst. Waking up alone has to take first place. Groaning into the toilet bowl, he forces himself to stand on shaky legs. He crosses the black and silver bathroom to splash his face in the sink. Now that he’s awake, he takes in his reflection. He looks drawn and pale, his skin slightly grey. The usually neat hair is a mess on his head, and there are love bites left all over his neck and shoulders. He mutters under his breath about stupid Potter marking him, but traces his finger over them anyway. Swallowing hard, he summons his wand from his bedroom. It comes flying into his hand immediately, and he is glad that he learned that little trick.
Now that his wand is firmly in his hand, he also summons some fresh clothes for the day. Since it’s a Thursday, he has to go into work slightly earlier than usual. His boss likes giving all the Curse-Breakers extra paperwork to start off their boring day. It usually improves to field work for the remainder of the shift, but Draco still despises sitting at his desk for those first few hours. He has a tendency to not be able to sit still. He can’t ever seem to stop moving, fiddling with anything he can. Due to this, his desk is an organised mess. The pens and paper clips he spent all day messing around with are constantly strewn across his desk in disarray, but he also can’t stop himself from straightening it all. It’s chaos, even in his own head.
Sighing, but knowing that it can’t be helped, Draco steps into the shower. As hot water moves over his body in sheets of steam, he tries to wash away the traces of Potter. The hickeys stay stubbornly nestled on his neck — not that Draco had thought that it would work, but there was no harm in trying — but his hair flattens and allows itself to be washed. Draco rubs his fragrant lotions over his skin, running his hands carefully over his entire body. Wincing, he pulls his hand away from a particularly painful bruise on his shoulder. Damn Potter and his persistent marks.
Turning the water off and wrapping a towel firmly around his waist, Draco walks into his bedroom. The clothes he summoned into the bathroom come flying behind him back into his bedroom, folding themselves neatly in front of him on his bed. His memory clearly isn’t working well, if his clothes know what to do better than he does. But he can’t help being brain dead, especially when confronted with the rumpled mess that is his bed. The sheets are twisted and pulled out at odd angles, sweat and cum mingling on the white fabric. Potter’s cleaning mustn’t have been as thorough as it had appeared last night. Or was it this morning? Draco shakes his head, trying desperately to clear it from thoughts of Potter. He changes quickly into a pressed, black dress shirt and his favourite pair of light grey trousers. Touching his wand to his hair, he dries and styles it in silence. He then finds a hangover potion and takes it like a shot, letting the liquid slide down his throat and immediately remove his headache and dim the nausea. After inspecting himself in the mirror and casting a Glamour over the bites on his neck — he still doesn’t want to heal them for some reason — he Floos into the Ministry.
The walk to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is a dull and boring one, as is the interior. Every time Draco enters the bloody department he feels twenty years older. With its bland colours and uncomfortable wooden furniture, it’s no wonder most Aurors drop out. Draco would kill someone if he had to work here. Thankfully, his office in Gringotts is spacious, and he has total control over its appearance. Being a Curse-Breaker clearly has some benefits. Draco rushes through the unfortunate department, heading straight for the Head’s office. Robards is decent to Draco, considering his history, and is always straight to the point. Draco isn’t an idiot though. He knows that Robards just wants to be rid of him as soon as possible, but he is determined to look on the bright side. Either way, Draco doesn’t want to dawdle.
Knocking on the door, he hears the Head call out for him to enter. Robards is sitting behind his massive desk, looking over a file of some sort. He places it down on the only clear rectangle of space, and looks up at Draco expectantly.
“Mr. Malfoy. What can I do for you today?”
“Robards,” he says with a quick nod. “I am here to collect the file on the Bound Spoon.” The case name sounds utterly pathetic, but Draco has had enough experience by now to know that his boss loves giving ridiculous titles. It’s meant to ‘make filing more fun’. Draco disagrees. Instead of it sounding like the centuries-old spoon holds ancient and deadly magic that could wipe out the population of London, it sounds like a rusted spoon that has rope tied firmly around the handle. Significantly less threatening, and infinitely more boring.
Robards scrummages around his desk for a few minutes, moving around dozens of files. When he finally finds it in the middle of a towering stack, he hands it over to Draco. The rectangle of clear space in the centre of Robard’s desk is destroyed, and is now littered in rubbish just like the rest of the desk.
“Mr. Malfoy,” Robards nods in conclusion to the door the second the file is in Draco’s hand. He gets the message. Nodding back to the Head of the DMLE, he turns and makes for the door.
Standing around in the unattractive department is not an option. His boss is waiting impatiently for him, and he can’t afford to be tardy. Turning the corner, he makes his way out of the department and into the Floos.
A tap to his shoulder makes him whirl around, robes flying out. Draco’s wand is already in his hand by the time he recognises the man who prodded him. Potter.
“Malfoy.” Draco’s name sounds mechanical coming from Potter’s mouth. Just a rhythm of nature, another second in the day; but to Draco, it means everything. Everything that happened last night has been ingrained in Draco’s mind, but that clearly isn’t the case for Potter. Or maybe it is? Because Potter never talks to Draco at work. So maybe it does mean something? Most likely, Draco is overthinking it.
“Potter,” Draco states. Without sparing the man another thought, he turns and makes for the Floos again. Potter looks like he is about to break the silence and say something, and the image runs around Draco’s mind as the green flames run around his body.
“Mr. Malfoy, come on in,” Draco’s boss says. She gestures to the chair in front of her desk, and Draco gratefully sits down. Wanda Jenkins is a person, unlike the rest of the Gringotts team. Draco and Jenkins are two of the five employees that aren’t goblins, and are unquestionably some of the best Curse-Breakers in Wizarding England because of this — well, really it’s because they got to go to Hogwarts, but Draco thinks that’s pretty similar. That doesn’t stop Jenkins being an absolute arse to work with though.
“I have the file,” Draco confirms as a response to the look in Jekins’ eye. Only the one, piercing blue. She lost the other one early in her career, when she was still working as a field agent. Apparently one of the Cursers — an inside joke between everyone in the department as a play on the Curse-Breakers’ name — stabbed it with his wand and then pulled it right out of the socket. Draco isn’t quite sure he believes it, but it is a good story.
Jenkins gestures for Draco to pass the file over to her, and she quickly flicks through it. She nods decidedly before placing it back down on the painstakingly neat desk.
“All seems to be in order, thank you Mr. Malfoy.” Jenkins taps her wand to a spot just behind her ear, before murmuring something. Draco has seen her do this multiple times throughout his career but is yet to wring what it means out of her; he doubts he ever will. A knock on the office door causes Draco to jump embarrassingly. He brings one of his hands up to his face and rubs his eyes with the palm of it, mouth soundlessly moving as Potter enters.
“Jenkins,” he says calmly, like he was expecting to just randomly turn up at Gringotts on a work day.
“Mr. Potter,” Draco’s boss responds in the like.
Draco has never seen Jenkins so relaxed as he has today, and something about it sets him on edge. Almost like something is about to happen that will change the course of his life. However, that won’t be the case. It’s just his overactive mind trying to force something onto a perfectly normal situation. Again. Maybe Jenkins just woke up later than usual today and had an especially good coffee? Yeah, that’s probably it.
“Hello, Malfoy.” Potter’s voice startles Draco, and he has to get a firm grip on himself in order to reply.
“Good morning, Potter,” he raises his chin in a false show of bravado. Better for Potter to think that Draco is arrogant than entirely useless after last night.
“Lovely to see you boys getting along,” Jenkins smiles at us from behind her immaculate desk, and the unusual expression nearly makes Draco choke. “Now, I am sure that you have both been briefed, and are ready to start. Tell me if I’m wrong?”
Draco looks at her with a slack jaw, totally overrun with an uncomfortable blend of confusion and nausea. “Pardon?” He asks his boss, trying to rein in his immediate distress.
“You know,” Potter turns to him. “The one with the house that’s threatening to explode and make it rain cursed gold?” He fixes Draco with a look that clearly says that he thinks Draco has a shit memory, but his eyes are sending a deeper message. One that Draco pointedly ignores.
“No, I don’t know.” Draco looks at Jenkins, who is grinning at him. That expression makes his stomach turn even though he started the day by throwing up.
“I thought you’d appreciate the surprise. You are working on a case this morning instead of filing your paperwork!” Jenkins exclaims. Draco is now certain that she’s high, and that the cheeriness is a side effect of whatever she’s taken. She should not be this chirpy, ever. Let alone first thing in the morning. Draco must look stricken, as Potter nudges him discreetly.
“Of course!” Draco smiles at Jenkins in false gratitude. “If I could be briefed now…?”
“Mr. Potter? I trust that you are capable of filling Mr. Malfoy in. Get to work as soon as possible, gentlemen.” With a final nod, she gestures to the door.
Draco is flabbergasted as he leaves the tidy office. “Is this some sort of sick joke?”
Potter looks sheepish. “I was going to tell you when I saw you last night, but then…”
“Really?!” Draco snaps under his breath, not wanting to draw the attention of his colleagues. “It didn’t seem like you had anything much to say except for-” Potter’s hand claps over Draco’s mouth, stopping him from saying too much. It would be inappropriate if anyone discovered what they’d done, even though they aren’t technically partners, they are constantly working together. Draco doesn’t want to risk being replaced and getting stuck with the filing again.
“Well, I tried again just as you left the Ministry, but you ignored me!”
“For good reason.” Draco juts his jaw forward.
“And what exactly is that reasoning?”
“I- I don’t remember. But there definitely was something at the time!” Fuck Potter. Draco can’t just out and say that he didn’t want to talk due to images of last night that were racing through his mind, can he? Not that they aren’t still now, but it’s different now. He can’t leave.
“Sure there was,” Potter mutters so quietly Draco isn’t sure that he didn’t imagine it. “Do you want me to brief you?”
“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Draco sneers.
“Well, you do. It’s just the other one is paperwork, and you hate it.”
“How do you know I hate paperwork?”
“Everyone hates paperwork, Malfoy.” Potter shakes his head. “Besides, Jenkins said so in her office.” His green eyes flash though, revealing that there is something more than that. But Draco is sick of this whispered argument, so he lets it slide.
“Just give me the information so we can leave already,” he demands.
Potter rolls his eyes in return but follows Draco as he leads Potter to his office. Draco hadn’t even thought about the possibility that they would be working together today. Now that he thinks about it though, the odds were pretty stacked against him. They’re paired up quite a lot since Potter prefers to work with other people than with goblins. He shakes himself and forces his ears to tune in to Potter’s briefing.
The case turns out to be quite interesting, regardless of how pathetic Potter’s earlier explanation may have been. The ‘house’ sounds more like it’s similar to Malfoy Manor than a regular building, but Draco lets that pass. Apparently it’s charmed so that once the handle has been pulled on the front door, the person who touched it will become cursed. That curse is detrimental to everyone who comes into contact with said person though, as the sky will rain chunks of gold. Technically, the house doesn’t explode, but Potter felt that that alteration was necessary to get Draco’s attention.
After Apparating as close as possible to the estate without entering its wards, Draco and Potter start walking up the long, paved driveway. Draco doesn’t understand why manors need driveways, but they all seem to have one. Even the Manor does. From his understanding, driveways are muggle things for something they have called ‘cars’. He’d quite like to see a car someday, but his father would roll over in his cheap grave if he ever did see one.
“So… splitting up?” Draco asks as soon as they can see the manor. He doesn’t really want to spend all morning next to Potter, when all he can think about is sweaty bodies and alcohol on their shared breath.
“What, no?” Potter’s reply is immediate. Just like the sensation of Draco’s heart dropping into his stomach. “I need to be with you so that I can analyse everything.”
“What would you need to analyse?!” Draco practically screeches. A blush creeps up the back of his neck but he forces himself to carry on. “I’m the one who is going to do all the work!” Ok. So maybe that isn’t entirely true, but Draco doesn’t really think that it matters. Not when memories are still racing through his brain. Not when he is growing dizzy due to his closeness to Potter.
Potter just scowls in response, but tugs at Draco to continue up to the threshold. Draco flinches as Potter’s hand comes into contact with his arm, the warmth of skin-on-skin contact seeping into his chest and leaving a heavy weight. It’s different from when they Apparated. They had had to touch then, but now… Now they don’t, yet they are finding ways to anyway. Draco remains silent as they walk down the drive, contemplating whether or not to say something, and risk ruining the fragile peace that is the current moment. When he suddenly finds himself standing before the front door of the manor, he realises that whatever he was weighing up in his heart doesn’t matter now that’s he’s here. Now that he has to talk regardless.
Draco withdraws his wand from pale grey trousers, and starts calmly dragging it through the air around the door. Going through the extensive list of detection charms and spells that he has memorised is a long process, but the world around him blurs like usual and he doesn’t notice the time passing. The second that one of the spells he casts returns a purple glow, he steps away.
“What does that mean?” Potter’s calm voice cuts through the blurred reality, and Draco nearly jumps right onto the threshold again.
Taking a soothing breath, Draco replies, “It’s a charm that detects the use of curses on metal. Oddly specific I know, but since we are dealing with gold I figured…”
“We?” Potter cocks his head smugly, like he just won the fucking lottery. Of course his attention got stuck on the one part of what Draco had said that could be twisted to mean something different.
“Yes, we, because we are working this case together,” Draco says. “What else could I possibly have meant?”
Potter grins, like Draco had just said exactly what he had wanted him to say. “I don’t know…” he says as he steps forward. “Maybe a reminder of las-”
“I don’t think so, Potter.” Draco throws his arms up as Potter moves even closer. His hands hit Potter’s wrists just before Potter’s hands would’ve touched his cheek. He blushes furiously but swallows it down as he throws Potter’s hands away from him. “I am not talking about that.”
“Oh come on,” he whines loudly. “What if I want a repeat, Draco?” He winks as he says Draco’s given name, knowing that the only other time he’s ever used it was last night.
Draco’s skin heats even warmer than it already was, a shiver coursing through him at the use of his first name. Potter said his fucking given name, in public, in daylight, on a case. That is unacceptable. Even if it makes Draco slightly aroused.
“And why on earth would I want a repeat, Potter?” It’s an obvious lie, but Draco isn’t about to admit to the heavy weight in his chest, or the cold rush of air over his skin due to the lack of physical contact.
“I don’t know.” Potter pretends to contemplate it. “Maybe because when I woke up this morning you were wrapped tightly around me? Or maybe it was that when I tried to get up, you gripped harder?”
Draco never cuddles anyone. The fact that he was practically smothering Potter has to mean something. “I’m a cuddler,” he shrugs instead.
“Sure you are.” Potter smirks triumphantly before turning away.
Draco harrumphs loudly and focuses back in on the door that’s glowing purple. Frowning, he once again draws his wand. He has never seen a door this shade. The dark yet vibrant colour signifies the cursed metal, but the purple means that it was not only done by a professional, but one who did it for fun. The most dangerous type of Curser is one that works for the pure sadistic need inside of them. Sighing deeply and setting up all sorts of wards around the threshold, Draco shouts to everyone not to follow after him. He then steps up onto the wooden platform, and grasps the door handle.
Nothing happens. Nothing explodes, nothing falls from the sky. There is no rush of magic over Draco’s skin, no change in atmosphere or the way he feels. Just an open door into a normal-looking manor. Sure, it is a little darker and dustier than most of them, but it is still normal. His wards must’ve worked. Draco scrunches his eyebrows down to his eyes and hesitantly enters the foyer. He walks slowly, tapping each tile in front of him with his wand before stepping onto it. There is no room for error when he has to find the source of the curse. Especially when the Curser loves to cause trouble. Draco doesn’t particularly want to be split in half because he trod on a tile that looks just like any other tile.
Once he’s all the way down the foyer and nearing what’s probably the first of many living rooms, he casts a series of detection charms again. It’s the same laborious list of spells that he performed an hour ago before he first touched the door. Now though, it’s so much more important that he doesn’t get it wrong. Draco is reaching the end of the list when the wall to his right hums. It actually hums, and he can’t help releasing a quiet chuckle. He’s never actually needed to use that charm before, but he’s glad that he knew it. Casting a stronger network of spells around himself and the floor he’s standing on, he lifts his wand determinedly. A quick slice should do it.
“Diffindo,” he whispers.
The whole point of sneaking through the foyer and murmuring spells is so that if the Curser is still in the area, they won’t hear the Curse-Breaker destroying their work. It not only keeps people like Draco safe, it also helps people like Harry make an arrest. The element of surprise is so important. That’s why Draco groans loudly when the Diffindo he cast makes the whole manor ring in a high pitched squeal. Covering his ears, he quickly backtracks. It’s futile though. The house seems to understand what’s happened, and a streak of purple sling-shots out of the tiny hole still in the wall. It rebounds off of nearly every surface in sight, before coming straight for Draco. He knows that his carefully applied charms should protect him, but he still grits his teeth and waits for impact. He thinks about his life, and how he’s ended up where he is now. Where did he make the turn that led him to Gringotts? What choice did he make that has his photo permanently in the Daily Prophet next to a false accusation? How did he end up sharing his bed with Harry fucking Potter last night, when they were always bitter enemies? That’s when it hits him.
Not the spell, that is. Rather, the fact that the curse should’ve hit him by now, but his body hasn’t so much as jolted with an impact. That means that either his defences were unimaginably strong, or that- Draco’s eyes fly open. Oh no. He drops to his knees instantly, hands jumping into action. The curse did indeed hit something, or more accurately, someone. And how ironic that that someone is Harry. Their positions have totally switched since sixth year, when Draco was left to bleed out. He won’t allow the same fate for Harry. Draco’s wand is in his hand already, and he rolls the body before him over, so that his back is open for inspection. The curse hit his back at an odd angle, and there is a jagged line splitting him open. Blood is quickly soaking out of it and staining his skin, forcing Draco to halt the bleeding and clear the blood off before getting to work. His Auror robes did nothing to halt the spell, and Draco absently wonders why Harry ever thought they would. That only leads to him then wondering why Harry was in the manor in the first place.
Shaking himself, he forces his brain to concentrate. His wand ghosts over Harry’s back, pulling the purple streak out and into the air. Draco rushes to contain it in an invisible bubble, and allows it to move around within the foyer to calm down some of the raging magic. He then drags his wand across the hole in Harry’s back, desperately trying to repair some of the damage. He feels something wet on his cheek, and briefly contemplates if he’s hurt too. Deciding to ignore it in favour of fixing Harry’s more devastating wound, he begins knitting his skin back. The pink flesh beneath his hands moves, and he watches as the injury slowly heals from the inside out. Tan skin stretches over the entire thing, leaving only a white gash across Harry’s back. Draco rolls Harry over so that he can see his face, and allows himself to relax a bit when he sees colour flooding back into Harry’s skin.
Draco swiftly levitates Harry’s body into the air, placing another bubble around it. He doesn’t allow this bubble to move. Turning his attention to the wetness on his cheek, he runs his finger through it. It’s too thin and not warm enough to be blood. Looking at his finger, Draco is shocked to see that it’s water. Where would that have come from?
Why was he so rattled by Harry injuring himself? There has to be a reason other than the one coursing through his mind; a reason other than the one that he is desperately ignoring. But something else isn’t adding up… Something else has changed… Oh. When did he start calling Potter ‘Harry’ in his head? Groaning in defeat, he sets the two bubbles to follow behind him as he exits the cursed manor. Is it still cursed though? The supposed curse hit Harry squarely in the back. He will need to investigate that.
“Mr. Malfoy! What on earth happened in there?!” A woman’s furious voice shouts at him. Draco turns to see the disapproving face of one of the other Aurors. She is at every investigation Harry is, so Draco just assumed that she was his partner. That assumption is clearly correct judging by the distraught look on her pale face, but she doesn’t spare a second glance at Harry and just glares at Draco. “If you’ve hurt him in anyw-”
“The curse rebounded off a wall and hit him in the back. I have repaired most of the injury, but he needs to go to St. Mungos anyway to get it checked and to remove the scar.” Draco floats Harry’s bubble over to the woman, who pushes her black hair off her shoulder as she raises her wand. She pops the bubble and carefully levitates Harry to the ground. Draco feels a jolt of annoyance that she is the one doing this, and turns away to deal with the contained curse. He doesn’t want to see her revive him. Well, he doesn’t want to see the expression on Harry’s face when he looks at his partner. An expression that will never be directed at Draco.
Draco busies himself running tests on the purple blob that is the deadly curse. It has calmed down a bit, no longer threatening to tear out of the bubble. The colour hasn’t changed though, despite being out of the assumed contaminated area. Either the Curser enjoyed their mayhem so much that distance doesn’t affect the curse’s colour, or… Draco frowns and makes to tell everyone that it’s probably best to leave the radius of warded land. No one is listening though, all entranced with watching Harry stand on shaky legs. Draco swallows thickly and casts a Sonorous charm on his throat.
“Everyone needs to clear the area and wait outside of the wards that have been set up. New information reveals that the curse might still be active in this area.” Draco’s voice is firm and unnegotiable, a combination that he mastered ages ago. Nobody listens otherwise. Not to Draco.
He turns away from the crowd after watching some of them filter out, and goes back to running tests on the curse. Some of the spells he casts make the blob spit out black sparks, and Draco has no idea what that could possibly mean. Fortunately for him, another Curse-Breaker turns up on the scene, one that actually works with the specifics of the curses. Draco gratefully relays his information to the dark skinned — and drop dead gorgeous — man, and walks back into the manor. He starts the slow process of checking each tile again, not wanting to risk anything happening. He’s made the mistake of trusting everything to be the same after the building was disturbed before, and he is never doing that again. So it’s back to prodding everything he touches with his wand first.
Sighing, he stands up straight and pinches the bridge of his nose. Draco pushes on though, making himself move slightly faster so that he can get to another part of the manor. A hand to his shoulder makes him halt. No one else should be here. He turns around and nearly jumps out of his skin.
“Potter!” He shouts. “What are you doing here? You’re meant to be at St. Mungos!”
“Yeah, and I will go, I just wanted to see you first.”
Draco really should chastise him for this decision, but lets it slide when he sees the tired lines on Harry’s face. “Why?”
“I heard that you were the one to heal me, and I wanted to thank you.”
“I wasn’t the one to revive you though. You should be thanking your partner for making you conscious, not me.” Draco is never offered gratitude for healing someone, so he is utterly unnerved that Harry is basically pushing his thanks onto Draco.
“Well yes,” he sighs. “But without your quick thinking, I could very well be lying there,” he points to the ground ahead of them, “dead as the dawn.”
“You’re being over dramatic,” Draco says.
“Not according to the scar on my back.”
“Yes. The scar. Go to St. Mungos and get it removed.” Draco can’t concentrate on anything with Harry standing so close to him, utterly unaware of the effect he is having on Draco.
“I already told you, I wanted to thank you.”
“You already have,” Draco counters. “Now go and get checked over.” He pushes Harry in the direction of the door. “And watch where you’re going!” He calls as he illuminates the safe tiles wordlessly.
Harry only walks back to Draco, determined as ever. “I want to thank you in another way…” Harry confesses, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth suggestively.
“Potter,” Draco warns, knowing where this is going.
“Not here, don’t worry,” he chuckles. “But later. At mine, this time.” Harry’s green eyes are sparkling, and how on earth can Draco say no when that expression is turned to him? Not when Draco has actually realised the effect Harry has on him and the clear-as-day meaning behind it. If he allows himself to indulge just one more time, knowing he’s earned every second of it, well…
Draco nods carefully, not wanting to appear too eager. Harry has no such qualms, grin nearly splitting his face in half. Maybe that wasn’t the best correlation considering his injury… oh well. Harry didn’t have to hear it. And if Draco watches Harry’s hips as he practically saunters out of the manor, who’s to stop him?
The rest of the investigation went on uneventfully. The purple blob that Draco had pulled from Harry’s back turned out to be the only part of the curse that was removable. Any remaining physical curse was permanently stuck in the walls of the house. Since the investigation went on into the night, Draco was long gone when they decided it would be best to Bombarda the whole thing. Draco was instead waiting up next to Harry’s bed in St Mungos. Due to the severity of the curse that had shredded a line across Harry’s back, the MediWitch thought it best for Harry to stay overnight. She had easily spelled away the twisted white line that had been left when Draco first healed the injury, and then checked over everything. She had then complimented Draco on his work, and left them alone.
The night was boring, with Harry’s potions putting him to sleep instantly. Draco had found it extremely difficult to rest though, his mind still on the case and the Curser. Eventually though, he drifted off as well. He came to the next morning when Harry had gently shaken his shoulder. Harry was standing in front of Draco, dressed only in his destroyed Auror robes. Draco jumped when he realised what the time must’ve been, causing Harry to laugh.
“You were tired, so I let you sleep,” Harry had shrugged. Draco had gotten himself sorted and then they checked Harry out of the hospital and went their separate ways. Of course, the promise of last night was reiterated, and now Draco is in Harry’s apartment drinking red wine.
The wine really is quite good. For a wine that Harry picked out, at least. Regardless, it allows the conversation to flow with a few less reservations. Draco isn’t a fool, though. He knows exactly why Harry asked him here, and he waits in anticipation.
“What did they name it?” Harry is asking.
“Hmm?” Draco raises an eyebrow. “Oh! The case?”
Harry nods. “Mhmm.”
“They called it ‘The Golden Door’,” Draco says. “I’m not sure if that’s named after the cursed gold that we never found, or the Golden Boy,” he teases. “Probably the latter.”
Harry chuckles, his eyes roaming over Draco freely from the other side of the coffee table. Draco does the same, his eyes lingering on Harry’s sweater — a deep maroon with a silver ‘H’ knitted in carefully — and his black, ripped skinny jeans. He recognises them as the ones from the other night. From the first night, because here they are for a second.
The silence that’s somehow grown becomes overwhelming, the tension thick enough to overcome them both. It’s no surprise really when Draco snaps. Unable to keep sitting there in silence waiting, he rushes forward for Harry. Draco brings his hands up to Harry’s neck, and pulls their heads together. He stares into vibrant green eyes, watching as they slowly cloud over. Harry’s thumbs stroke at Draco’s cheeks, and that is really the ultimate straw. Draco tilts his head and presses his lips to Harry’s. The kiss starts off hungry, riddled with desire and need. They have both been on edge all day, and Draco really needs to release some of his energy. Having thought of little else since the first night, he can’t believe that it’s happening again.
Harry clutches at Draco’s face, gripping tightly as if he’s afraid to let go. Draco responds in equal, his hands tightening around Harry’s neck and threading his fingers into the dark hair. Suddenly desperate to feel their bodies touching, Draco pulls away and walks around the coffee table. Harry reaches out and drags their mouths back together, his hands now grabbing Draco’s waist. Draco moans when their chests come into contact, his hands clutching at Harry’s back. He aligns their hips too, causing both of them to groan as their growing cocks collide. Even through the layers of fabric, Draco can feel the heat radiating off of Harry, and hums happily. Draco is impatient and needy during sex, and all he wants is to Vanish both of their clothes and get straight to it. Harry seems to prefer the slow, teasing method of doing things, and Draco isn’t about to stop him.
Harry stops them though. Only for a brief second, as he picks Draco up off the ground. Draco immediately wraps his legs around Harry’s waist, and starts kissing the neck in front of him. Harry lowers Draco a little bit, and their erections touch through their pants. Draco feels a thrill go through him, and he bites down on Harry’s neck. Delighting in the bruise that will bloom there shortly, Draco moves to the other side. Harry grunts heavily, before starting to walk them backwards. Well, he’s walking straight ahead, but for Draco it’s definitely backwards. Draco doesn’t know where they are going, but he assumes it is somewhere with a big bed. His assumption is proven correct when he is dropped to the ground. He hums with disappointment at the broken kiss, but when Harry opens a door and Draco sees the room, he forgives Harry completely.
Harry’s bedroom is an organised mess. There is a dark green wall directly opposite the door, which when Draco’s eyes focus turns out to be a vertical garden. His eyes scour the room for another brief second, and his attention catches on the bed. It’s massive, with gold and silver blankets. Draco doesn’t think he’s ever seen such a comfortable looking bed, but he doesn’t get to think of anything else before he’s being slammed back against the door. Harry pushes his hands onto either side of Draco’s head, desperately searching for Draco’s mouth. Draco rushes forward to meet him, and they both groan. Harry gently shoves Draco back to the door, and Draco understands that Harry wants to lead this. He has no qualms about that.
Harry starts to rut against Draco, grunting with the exertion. Draco feels himself harden impossibly more inside his trousers, the sounds turning him on even more. Becoming desperate, he wraps his arms around Harry’s back and meets each thrust. Draco pants heavily, his breath mingling with Harry’s in a pleasant combination of their shared wine and Harry’s natural scent. Harry touches a hand to Draco’s chin, making him open his eyes in surprise. When has he shut them? He’s met with emerald orbs right in front of him, nearly taking his breath away. Draco groans needily and rocks forward. He grunts with the pressure on his cock, and finds himself thinking off everything they could do tonight. Harry snogs him hard, and Draco feels his head hit the door. He can’t complain though, loving the way their tongues just seem to know what to do. If he has a bit of a headache tomorrow, it would be worth it.
Harry’s lips leave Draco’s, and Draco instantly misses the warmth.
“Sorry, too fast,” Harry confesses. Draco can see the rings of green in Harry’s eyes are now just slivers, and he nods in agreement. He doesn’t want either of them to come prematurely. That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t want to snog. Draco can’t protest about the loss of contact for long though, as Harry fastens his mouth to Draco’s neck and sucks down hard on it. He emits a loud moan, and he feels teeth nipping gently on his skin in response. The new mark is just above the other one Harry left on the first night, and Harry makes a point of running his tongue along the circular bruise. Draco moves his hands from Harry’s back and to his head, threading his fingers into Harry’s hair and pulling. Harry yelps in pain, before sucking yet another mark onto the other side of Draco’s throat. Draco pushes his hips forward, desperately searching for some of that earlier friction. Harry seems to understand the need, and starts undoing the buttons of Draco’s shirt. Taking it slowly, but still allowing progress.
Draco rushes to help, shrugging the navy fabric off his shoulders. He then leans forward and kisses Harry greedily, feeling the maroon wool of Harry’s sweater against his flushed skin. It tickles slightly, and Draco has to bite back a slightly insane laugh. He pulls away and basically rips Harry’s sweater over his head, throwing it somewhere on the floor. He latches his mouth back onto Harry’s, and Harry returns the snog just as enthusiastically. Harry leans back, and Draco can feel the emerald eyes roaming over his chest. Even though Harry has already seen Draco naked, he feels utterly exposed. The only way around that, he reasons to himself, is to take in Harry too. So he does. He rakes his eyes all over Harry’s tanned chest, and reaches a single finger out to touch him.
Harry leans forward into the touch, his eyes sliding shut. The chest beneath Draco’s finger is solid and warm, very much alive. Draco would never do this with a random person he chose from the club, but he buries that thought deep down. Not wanting his mind to wander any more than it already has and risk missing something, Draco rushes forward. His chest hits Harry’s with a slapping sound that echoes around the room, and he is reminded of the fact that this is Harry’s room. That Draco will have to be the one to leave in the morning. Cursing himself for the situation, he loses himself in Harry’s caresses. A hand is rubbing up and down Draco’s back, and he allows himself to moan into Harry’s kiss. Draco lets his own hands wander, rubbing Harry’s firm back. He clutches at Harry’s shoulder blades, gripping onto the jut of bone as Harry growls against him.
Harry seems to suddenly grow sick of standing, and steps away from Draco. Draco pushes himself off of the door, and follows Harry to the gold and silver bed. Harry spins them around so Draco can feel the edge of the mattress against his legs, and pushes Draco down. Not expecting the fall, Draco releases a sharp intake of breath. His eyes squeeze shut, but then he is on his back on the most comfortable bed he’s been on. Harry climbs up Draco body hungrily, and licks his way across Draco’s throat. Now that they aren’t both so close to the edge anymore, Draco feels like it’s okay to rock his hips up. So he does. His erection hits Harry’s and they both cry out at the same time.
Harry takes a second to focus again, while Draco threads his fingers back into the soft, black curls. He pulls sharply and Harry presses a firm kiss to Draco’s lips. Draco smirks as Harry starts travelling further down. Draco feels a tongue licking strips of his chest, and he recognises the twists of his Sectimsempra scars. It seems that despite telling Harry that he didn’t care about them, Harry still feels guilty. Draco decides to moan loudly in appreciation, which only seems to make Harry continue faster. The tongue leaves Draco’s chest, beginning to trace new lines down his stomach. It dips into his belly button, and he bites back laugh. Harry kisses down to Draco’s navel, to where his trousers start. He licks around the waistband, making Draco shiver in anticipation. Harry looks up questioningly, and Draco nods so fast his head spins.
Harry unbuckles Draco’s belt, the metallic clinking filling the bedroom. With the clasp undone, Harry unbuttons Draco’s trousers, and pulls the zip.
“Harry, please,” Draco murmurs. He knows that Harry won’t do anything without permission, so he removes that barrier instantly. Harry chuckles, but slides the black fabric down. Draco lifts his hips up off the bed, allowing Harry to pull his trousers all the way off his legs. They are thrown somewhere behind them, but he can’t think of anything other than Harry nuzzling his face against Draco’s cock. The only thing stopping them touching is the thin cotton of Draco’s pants, and Harry breathes hotly over the erection. Draco groans, his hand reaching down and settling in Harry’s hair again. He doesn’t pull this time, just resting it on the warm skin.
Harry nuzzles Draco’s entire cock through the fabric, stopping when he finds his balls. He sucks on them through the cloth and Draco rocks upwards, trying to get as much of that warmth onto him as possible. Harry moves his mouth to the head of Draco’s cock, and Draco cries out.
“Fuck! Harry,” he grunts. He pushes his hips forward, lifting off the mattress beneath him. One of Harry’s hands starts pulling at the elastic waistband, and suddenly Draco is stark naked. His pants have been discarded somewhere in the room — probably on the bed, but Draco isn’t exactly thinking straight — and Harry swiftly licks a stripe up Draco’s cock. Draco’s muscles clench, his body arching. Harry does it again, before licking a circle around the cock head. Draco’s eyes slam closed, and he moans loudly. The head of his cock is encompassed in warmth now, and he has to stop himself from thrusting up. Harry’s mouth is heaven. Warm, tight, and moist.
Harry slips down a little farther, taking more into his mouth. Draco gasps at the sensation spreading throughout his entire body, and this time doesn’t find the strength to stop himself thrusting forward. Harry accepts it, hollowing his cheeks and relaxing his throat. Draco pumps a couple more times, before realising just how close he is already. He pulls Harry away hurriedly, and kisses him hard.
“Can’t.” He manages to pant out. “Will come too soon.”
Harry nods in response, and places his hands on Draco’s hips. Draco is rolled over, revealing his back to the ceiling. Even though he knew this would happen, he still can’t believe that it’s happening now. Harry hasn’t expressed any interest in this until now, but they’re fucking, so of course it’s going to happen.
Draco feels his arse being kneaded, and he forces his hips to stop rocking into the mattress. Air moves over his entrance as his cheeks are pushed apart, causing him to gasp. Harry runs his finger gently over his hole, and Draco shudders.
“So pretty…” Harry murmurs quietly. Draco moans. Hot air rushes against Draco's entrance, and hair tickles his thighs. Something small rubs over his hole, and he gasps at the slick finger trying to gain entrance. Harry must have wordlessly conjured lube, and the realisation alone makes Draco even more impatient. He rocks his arse into the air, silently begging for anything. Harry chuckles softly before removing his finger from Draco’s rim. Draco groans in disappointment, and Harry actually laughs.
Something wet and firm runs over Draco’s arse, and he hums when he recognises it as a tongue. He pushes his hips further into the air, and Harry grasps at his cheeks. The tongue moves done to the juncture of Draco’s thigh and ass, and he shivers with the pleasure. Harry licks all the way up to Draco’s hole, and then gently prods the rim with his tongue. Draco gasps and moans at the same time, resulting in a breathy noise that sounds kind of like a hum. Harry presses a kiss to his rim before licking circles over it. Squirming, Draco groans loudly and thrusts his hips. His eyes slide shut and darkness surrounds him, allowing him to concentrate on everything Harry is doing to him. Harry hasn’t stopped moving his tongue, and Draco desperately wants it to push into him. He wants to feel the warm muscle inside his arse.
“Harry…” Draco murmurs as Harry prods again. Harry kneads Draco’s arse a bit more, before moving his finger down to join his mouth.
Draco feels the lubed finger push onto his rim, and then through it. He chokes out a moan and rocks his hips back, trying to get that finger as deep inside him as possible. Harry licks around the finger, his tongue relaxing Draco’s rim even further. Draco gasps as his tongue slides in next to the finger. Harry twists his tongue inside of him, and pulls his finger out. Before Draco can even make a noise of complaint, Harry is thrusting his tongue in and out of him slowly. Draco spreads his thighs to allow easier access and rocks his hips quickly. Harry twists and curls his tongue, trying to find Draco’s prostate. When he does, Draco calls out in pleasure. No matter how many times he’s been rimmed by a stranger at a club, trying desperately to flood out his emptiness, he will never get used to someone who knows what he’s doing. And Harry definitely knows what he’s doing.
Harry keeps thrusting his tongue, picking up the pace until Draco’s clawing at the sheets underneath him. A finger slides in again, meeting no resistance. Harry starts to moves them in tandem, and Draco feels like he’s going to burst. The desire to come is growing rapidly with each touch to his prostate, and he only grows more aware of it when another finger joins the one already inside him. Now with two fingers and a tongue, Draco feels sufficiently stretched, and his cock is aching with need.
“Har-Harry,” he stutters as a jolt goes through him. Harry hums in response. “Stop. Stop.”
Harry’s head is instantly gone, his fingers slowly withdrawing so as not to hurt Draco. “Shit, are you okay?” Harry asks, worry evident on his face.
“Fine,” Draco laughs. “Was gonna come, is all.” He looks over his shoulder and smiles at Harry, whose emerald eyes light up.
“So we don’t have to stop?” He double checks.
“Absolutely not.” Draco rolls over onto his back and pulls Harry into a searing kiss.
Harry is quick to respond, and Draco can taste himself on the other man's tongue. Realising that Harry has both sucked his cock and rimmed him, and received nothing in return, Draco starts running his hands over Harry’s chest and back. Harry groans, which only encourages Draco more. He pushes Harry back and climbs over him, hands splaying on Harry’s chest to keep his balance. Draco runs his hands down Harry’s stomach and follows them with his tongue. Harry shivers as Draco reaches his navel, and Draco licks a strip up Harry’s cock. Delighting in one of Harry’s many sounds, Draco sucks the head into his mouth. He’s very aware that he can’t do this for long, not willing to have his rim tighten again before Harry’s glorious cock can enter it.
Harry seems to be having the same thought, as he pushes Draco’s head away.
“Just a little more,” Draco murmurs. Harry nods quickly and Draco swallows the head back into his mouth. Just the tip is enough to fill most of Draco’s mouth, and he’s glad he doesn’t have to deep throat it; even though that would be quite a fun challenge. He can’t help thinking that the entire thing has to fit into his arse, but he pushes that thought away. He’s been prepped. He can take it. Pulling off Harry’s cock, he crawls back up Harry’s body and snogs him passionately. Their tongues move together, sending shivers through Draco’s body.
“Come on, Potter,” he grunts as he pushes himself onto his haunches. He settles himself just behind Harry’s cock, legs in either side of his hips, allowing his own cock to touch Harry’s for a second. “How are we doing this?” He wants to pick something that works for Harry, as a ‘thank you’ for the exceptional rimming.
“Don’t care,” Harry pants out. “As long as I can see you.”
Draco thinks he can make that work.
He holds his palm out to Harry, who conjures lube wordlessly and wandlessly into it. Draco groans at the powerful display, but lubes Harry’s cock up all the same. He reaches behind himself and runs some into his arse too, making it slick. He then grabs Harry’s cock and points it to the ceiling. Draco stands on his knees over it, and starts to slowly descend. He can feel the head of Harry’s cock against his hole, trying to push in. Taking deep breaths and relaxing every muscle except for his arms, Draco lowers down onto it. It burns. A lot. For a second or two. And then it’s gone, and Draco continues to press down. Another inch goes in, and Harry’s hands caress Draco’s arms. Draco's head falls back and his mouth opens as another two inches go in. He feels full-to-bursting by the time he reaches the end, his arse finding Harry’s warm skin.
The cock inside him is pulsing, hot, and hard. Exactly the combination that drives Draco insane. Harry pulls Draco’s face down to his and kisses him, making Draco’s head spin. He sits back up and winces at the slight pain.
“Are you okay?” Harry asks, concerned.
“Good,” Draco breathes. “Just, don’t move for a sec.”
Harry nods and rubs his hands over the parts of Draco’s skin he can get to. As Draco’s body slowly grows used to the intrusion, the pain fades away. After a minute or so of breathing and staring into green eyes, Draco nods. “We can move.”
Harry beams at Draco and pulls him down for a chaste kiss. Draco blushes at a combination of Harry’s kiss and the way he phrased that sentence. We. Like they were a unit, connected in some way other than the physical. But that could never happen. Not with Harry. No matter how much Draco wants it, he can’t allow it to happen. The Wizarding World would go ballistic, his mother would overreact, and Draco would be utterly doomed. Why, he doesn’t know. Just that he would be.
Pushing all thought away, Draco starts rolling his hips over Harry’s cock. His body shudders as it hits his prostate. Draco closes his eyes again, succumbing to the intense feeling inside him. He begins to rise off of Harry’s cock slowly, before slamming himself back down. He bites back a moan and gulps, before doing it again. Harry grunts as he starts to move too. He meets every one of Draco’s thrusts, creating a firmer pressure on his prostate. It feels like sparks are going off inside Draco with every stroke, and this time he can’t bite back the moan.
“Fu-fuck Harry,” he gasps as another shudder racks his body.
“Mmm,” Harry hums in reply.
Draco leans forward to capture Harry’s mouth with his, and their tongues meet in the middle. Harry swallows Draco’s moan as his prostate is hit again and again.
Harry thrusts up, and Draco can feel every minute movement inside of him. He squeezes his muscles and Harry pants heavily, releasing a guttural sound that goes straight to Draco’s cock. Harry wraps his arms around Draco to hold him down on his chest, and starts rapidly thrusting his hips. Draco cries out as the pleasure builds, and Harry joins him. Longing to move again, Draco tries to make a noise of complaint, but it comes out much more like a moan. He decides to rock his hips so that his cock is brushing Harry’s stomach, and that helps some of his urges. The pressure on his cock is delicious, and the head is leaking precome everywhere. Harry pulls Draco closer, effectively trapping his cock in a tight and hot bubble. He grinds his hips down on both his cock and the one in his arse, and moans loudly.
Draco pushes away from Harry and takes over again, slamming himself down over and over again, using only his arms as leverage. He can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, and works harder. His arms start to become tired, but he can’t stop now. Not when his body is shaking and there are lights behind his eyes. Not when Harry is crying out his name.
“Harry! Harry fuck!” Draco screams as his prostate is hit again.
“Dra- Draco!” Harry groans. Draco is pulled down and his mouth hits Harry’s, lips tangling into a searing kiss. With another sharp collision to his prostate, Draco is moaning with his orgasm. Legs shaking and back arching, Draco grunts out Harry’s name over and over again.
“Open your eyes!” Harry begs, and Draco can hear the desperation in his voice. He opens them and is met with brilliant emerald eyes, black taking over most of the green.
“Fuck, Harry,” Draco murmurs. “So beautiful.”
Harry’s cock starts pulsing inside Draco and he can feel ropes of come filling him.
Harry runs his hands all over Draco, kissing whatever part of him he can reach. It makes Draco shiver. When a few seconds have passed, Draco slowly slides off of Harry’s cock and rolls onto the mattress. He lies on his back with his hands in his hair, feeling the sweat that’s built on his forehead. Trying desperately not to think about waking up before dawn and walking away from this, he rolls over to face Harry. Harry, who is already watching him with some far-off look in his eyes. Draco smiles and fights the urge to press their lips together. They aren’t a unit, they aren’t dating. It’s not ‘we’ at all, and there is no reason for them to kiss. No matter how much Draco may want it. Harry apparently has no such qualms, and reaches for Draco’s face. Deciding that this will be the last time, Draco succumbs to his will and allows for the slow kiss.
Breaking apart, Draco manages to say, “Cleaning charm, please.”
“You’re always so impatient,” Harry chuckles. He reaches an arm away from Draco and his wand flies into his hand. Harry then cleans them both without another word. This cleaning charm is significantly better than the last one, and manages to remove all sweat and stickiness from Draco’s body. He’s kind of disappointed about the loss of cum in his arse, but thinks it’s worth it to be clean anyway. Especially for Harry, who had Draco’s cum splattered all over his chest. Draco smiles before rolling over to face the wall, trying to put some distance between their bodies. Harry is having none of it though, and shuffled closer before wrapping an arm around his waist. He presses a kiss to the back of Draco’s neck and snuggles in for sleep.
Draco’s mind is whirring. He can’t help thinking about the inevitability of the morning. He needs to talk to Harry.
“Not Harry, huh?” Harry murmurs.
“Not right now, no.”
Draco sighs and shrugs Harry off him. “I need to know where I stand.”
“What do you mean?” Harry is clearly lost.
“I mean,” Draco tries. “I mean what are we? Fuck buddies, friends with benefits, something… else?”
“Oh, well um,” Harry starts.
Harry accepts the teasing and continues. “I’d like it to be something else, but it’s up to you, really.”
“What do you mean by something else?” Draco asks, his heart hammering in his chest.
Harry laces their fingers together and squeezes. “I’d like to call you my boyfriend, Draco.”
Draco bites back a gasp and rushes to kiss Harry soundly. “I’d like that very much, Harry.” He then rolls back over and into Harry’s warmth. “I don’t have to leave, do I?”
“Not at all.”
“Have you ever considered any real freedoms? Freedoms from the opinions of others… even the opinions of yourself?” Draco whispers the question to the body next to him one night. Something about the absurdity of lying next to Harry Potter still shocking Draco every night, and needing something to shock Harry just as much. Harry is evidently caught off guard, having to think on his answer for a while. Draco feels like he shouldn’t have asked, and should of just let them sleep, when Harry finishes chewing his cheek and responds.
“I think I have, you know. I mean, I constantly wonder what it would be like to not be watched by the entire Wizarding World, but is that the same thing?”
“I don’t know,” Draco confesses, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t you ever want to shut off the people judging you, or those mindlessly worshipping you?”
“You know I do,” Harry says, reaching for Draco’s hand. “I hate the attention.”
“So it would be freedom, in a certain way, to not have to worry about that?”
“I guess so,” Harry murmurs. “The last part, about freedom from my opinions about myself… That would be a relief.”
“What do you mean by that?” Draco asks, shifting to face Harry in the dark.
“Well, I always question if the things being given to me are because I earned them, or if it’s just my name.”
“I’ve never thought of it like that…” Draco whispers. “That makes sense though.”
“What about you?”
Draco raises an eyebrow, unsure if Harry is asking what Draco thinks he is.
“Do you ever ‘consider any real freedoms’?” He asks, pitching his voice to mock Draco playfully, but falling somewhat short due to the serious tone of the question.
“I would do just about anything to not have people whisper about me on the streets,” he confesses. There’s just something about the darkness that allows thoughts to run freely. “Anything, to stop seeing my name splashed across papers, with wild accusations and conspiracies beneath it.”
“Like what happened when we first got together? With my injury?”
“Exactly,” Draco agrees, a jolt rushing through him at the memory of that morning’s paper. “I just want people to see me for who I am, and not what my father did.”
“What about your own opinions?”
Draco sighs heavily. Even though he knows that he kind of forced this onto himself, he dreads having to voice his answer. “My opinions of myself, are very dark…” he starts.
Harry doesn’t make any noise, just runs his hand gently across Draco’s face and neck. His emerald eyes catch the softest light from the window, sparkling even in the dark. Draco knows he doesn’t have to continue, to elaborate, but something about the man next to makes him want to.
“I can’t help wondering if I hadn’t done the things I did, what would have happened. What I would’ve become,” he says with a shudder. After a short pause, he picks up his train of thought again. “Would I be alive, or would I have been killed regardless? Even though I’m not technically dead, I feel like I’m living in a bubble. Like there’s a bomb sitting just above my shoulder, or under my feet, always there to ignite.”
Harry still says nothing, his hand continuing to trail over Draco’s jaw. His face doesn’t convey pity or sadness, for which Draco is unconditionally thankful for.
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s not always like that. Right now, for example. I feel like everything I’ve ever done has led me here. Right here, to lying next to you.”
Harry squeezes his hand now, and leans forward to plant a kiss on his forehead. “I feel the exact same way. The only thing that stops that, is your presence. Keeping me anchored even after the explosion.”
Draco nods in agreement, but finds that that metaphor doesn’t quite work for him. “For me, it’s the opposite, I think. For me, you’re the chain attached to the anchor. The only thing stopping me from dropping away completely and becoming lost if the water’s too deep.”
Harry smiles gently, before slowly bringing their lips together. This time, it isn’t passionate or hungry, but slow and sweet. As if he agrees with everything said in the darkened room, and wants Draco to understand that he will always be that chain.