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Draco Malfoy has never been good at waiting.

When he was a young boy, he would greet every Christmas present, birthday present and sweets from home with greedy eyes and eager hands that tore at wrapping and bows. He'd descend into temper tantrums — complete with balled-up fists and foot-stamping — when told to wait.

But that was a long time ago. In his twenty years of life, Draco had learnt many things, one of which...

He pauses in his thoughts to slide a finger down the thick, cream-coloured invitation card, its edges gilded with gold leaf. He grimaces at the crass name of the charity auction — Asses for Compassion — a grimace which morphs into a wide barracuda smile as his finger slips lower to trace Harry Potter's name.

He wonders how Potter's skin would feel underneath his touch.

Oh yes, Draco had learnt some things were worth the wait, such as the excruciating wait of two weeks since the invitation's arrival, followed by the wait during the auction itself. With the identity of every bidder and their respective purchases cloaked in a web of anonymity, Draco had dumped an eye-wateringly large sum of Galleons right off the bat. Of course others wanted Potter too, judging by the Galleons topped up with every bid, but they all lost, because Potter's arse belonged to Draco the minute he received the invitation.

He would pay any price to have Potter over and over and over in every way possible.

Tonight, he’ll sip and savour Potter like the finest elf-made wine because Potter just might be the sweetest and most decadent gift of his life.

Now, Draco continues to wait, eyes trained on the door of the hotel room. He circles a fingertip on the rim of his whisky glass, with each tick of his watch winding up his anticipation levels and the beat of his heart.

Finally — the whisper of a keycard against the lock, the twist of the doorknob, and the slow swing of the door.

Draco's finger pauses on the glass, and his thighs clench inadvertently in a rush of excitement.

He's still sitting when Potter one two, come closer, won't you— enters his lair, stopping a few steps away from Draco.

"Malfoy," Potter says, his voice clear and his chin jutting in defiance. He meets Draco's gaze head-on, his eyes flaring momentarily behind his glasses.

Draco tilts his head and pulls on a silky smile. He unfolds his lanky frame, standing to step out from behind the table. A thrill sparks in him when Potter's eyes drop down the length of his body for a split second before snapping back to Draco's face.

Draco had spent too much time at Hogwarts observing Potter to miss that. His smirk still in place, he rests his right palm on the table, slides his left hand into his pocket and crosses his legs at the ankles. He's envisioned this scenario so many times in his head, aiming for the epitome of cool and collected, suave and smooth, although the pounding of his heart indicates the opposite.

"Potter," Draco says, that single word carefully modulated so that it comes out like a soft caress.

So very different from how he used to call Potter's name.

A heady cocktail of tension, wariness and arousal buzzes in Draco's blood as they size each other up. The last time they had met was at the Trials two years ago when Potter testified for Draco and his mother, releasing them from their one-month stay in Azkaban. Draco had no chance to say anything to Potter after the Trials since Draco had been herded away by Ministry officials.  

He despised the impression that he had left Potter with then: thin, filthy Azkaban rags draped over his gaunt body, greasy and tangled hair hanging limply down to his shoulders, chapped lips and eyes gone dull with defeat. That's why he had taken pains tonight with his appearance — he's kitted out in a bespoke, classic black three-piece suit. The jacket, with one button fastened around his waist, makes his shoulders seem broader than they actually are. A white silk pocket square is tucked on the chest of the jacket. He's wearing a white shirt and a checkered red tie under his waistcoat, and his black trousers are just the right cut to emphasise his height.

Draco knows he looks good enough to eat. Goosebumps erupt on his skin when Potter's eyes trail over his body again. His smirk widens when Potter inhales sharply, his tongue peeking out in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment to lick his lips.

Draco reaches for his whisky and brings it up. He swirls it in the glass, noting how Potter stares at his long fingers. Draco lifts the glass to his lips and takes a slow, leisurely sip, regarding Potter over the rim of the glass as he drinks.

The other man hasn't changed much: messy black hair that Draco wants to mess up even more, and wary green eyes that track Draco's gulping throat. His thin lips are sealed into a line and his jaw is clenched. Although his hands are relaxed, his fingers twitch every few seconds, as if he's restraining himself.

Potter's so wound up even before they've started anything.

Potter's always been a dream that dissolves between Draco's grasping fingers. He's like sugar crystals on Draco's lips that he cannot lick: forbidden, tempting and inherently sexy.

Perhaps that's why Draco wants him so much.

He's always wanted things he can never have.

He just needs one desperate, wild night with Potter to get this... decade-long obsession out of his system. He had been content to live with it, to push it away into the trapdoor in his mind that guards all his dirty little secrets, but that was before the arrival of the invitation. Once so faraway and elusive, Potter is now here with Draco in the priciest Muggle hotel in London, the stage for one of the most exhilarating nights that Draco will ever experience.

He'll fuck him tonight and leave him in the morning.

Draco's heart clenches with pain and longing at that thought, but he frowns and tamps it down.

Tonight, it's all about control — emotional and physical.

Draco drains his whisky and thumps the glass on the table.

"Have a seat. Would you like a drink?" he offers, sweeping his arm out in an arc towards a cabinet of beverages.

Potter laughs, a short, scoffing laugh. He opens his mouth to say something, but appears to change tack. He gestures to the hotel suite.

"Didn't know you knew how to operate in pound sterling."

"Oh, I've changed," Draco murmurs. A ripple of annoyance surges in Draco when Potter makes a thoroughly unimpressed sound and turns away to make his way to the adjacent rooms.

"Guess you haven't," Draco mutters under his breath. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he follows Potter, who seems intent on exploring the suite.

All of Draco's attention is occupied by the view of Potter’s back: his dark-blue polo shirt hugging that delicious, broad set of shoulders and his biceps. Draco will tug the collar down later, expose that strip of skin at the back of his neck and leave a string of love bites there. Draco's eyes move south, at the black jeans gripping Potter's delectable arse in all the right ways. His jeans are frayed at the ends and the black dye has faded in the back pockets where Potter keeps his wallet and wand.

Even though he's trailing after Potter, Draco's surroundings fade as he stares at Potter's arse and thighs, mind scampering off to Potter's body underneath his clothes. He's already done his own tour of the impeccable suite, the windmills of his mind already whirring at where and how he will have Potter in every room.

Potter stops in his tracks in the living room, his front facing the sofa and his back towards the television. Draco almost walks into him, he's so engrossed in Potter's body.

"May I assume that you approve of the lodgings?" Draco bites out, irritated. He glares at the back of Potter's head.

Two years on, and Potter's still such a bloody git.

Potter tilts his head to the right, slanting a look at Draco. His lips hike up into a mischievous grin and he shuffles a step forward, allowing his eyes to take a leisurely tour of Draco's body. His gaze slides, like oil over water, all over Draco's frame.

Draco shivers under his study.

"Oh yes. I do approve. Very, very much." Potter's voice, husky and erotic, triggers a rush of blood to Draco's cock.

Draco swallows.

A lull of expectation unfurls in the air between them.

Enough of this playing around.

His next breath leaves in a hiss as Draco closes the distance between them and presses his front to Potter's back. Lust swells in him at the contact, and it only amplifies when Draco lifts his hands and runs them slowly up and down Potter's sides, biting back a moan when warm flesh and tense muscles greet his touch. He looks down to admire Potter's broad chest and shoulders that taper down to his waist. Potter bites his lower lip, his eyes tracking the hypnotising grace of Draco's fingers.

Draco wraps an arm around Potter's waist, plastering his entire back to Draco's front. Draco cants his hips up, grinning in satisfaction when Potter gasps at Draco's half-hard cock against his arse. His grin fades when Potter counters with a backwards roll of his own hips, grinding his arse against Draco's erection.

Draco's hands stutter in their circuit up and down Potter's body. His heart is beating so fast and hard with disbelief that he won't be surprised if Potter can feel it. He blinks, dazed. It's surreal, having Potter ready and waiting right here, right now, after so many fantasies and so many years.

Potter turns his face towards Draco and presses his lips to the side of his neck, licking and sucking at Draco's pulse point. Potter's hand stumbles onto Draco's and he slides Draco's palm down his shirt, curling Draco's fingers around the hem.

"I think we've waited long enough, haven't we?" Potter whispers against Draco's skin, his voice low and rough, eyes half-lidded and teeth nipping at Draco's neck. His tongue held between his teeth, Potter's lips tug up into a smirk, lazy and infuriatingly confident. He uses his other hand to pull off his glasses, tossing them down onto the coffee table with a flourish.

This is a man who knows exactly what he wants and how to get it.

And Draco will give it to him, with all the pleasure in the world.

Draco growls, deep and guttural, as he yanks off Potter's shirt. His breath hitches when Potter sighs and drops the back of his head down to Draco's left shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed. Draco traces a finger down the strong, obstinate line of Potter's jaw; it'd always been clenched and tense whenever they sparred at Hogwarts. He's split Potter's lip before, he's left bruises on this very jawline, but there will be no fists, no punches and snarled words meant to insult and hurt and anger.

Not tonight.

Draco's hands resume his tour of Potter's upper body, his eyes and touch absorbing every detail; his fingers dip into the hollows of Potter's collarbones, moving across to the smooth domes of his shoulders, down the flat planes of his heaving chest, to the firm muscle of his abdomen. There's a smattering of healed-over wounds on Potter's skin.

Draco wants to kiss every scar, smooth over the ugly memories and their history.

Using his thumbs, Draco draws circles on Potter's hips, his teasing fingers ghosting past the bulge in Potter's trousers.

"Please..." Potter murmurs and moves his hips so that Draco's palm is directly over his erection. A lightning-bolt of urgent lust judders through Draco when he cups Potter's cock. He snarls, undoing the button of Potter's jeans and tugging the zipper down with deft fingers. He snakes his hand inside Potter's jeans and strokes his length. Grey eyes light up with gratification when Potter moans and begins to thrust into his hand.

Draco's finally unwrapping his gift.

Draco nudges further down to play with his balls, but it isn't enough, Draco needs fewer clothes and more flesh on display—

As if privy to his thoughts, Potter pushes Draco away to bend down and remove his sneakers and socks before pulling off his jeans. He's about to lean back on Draco's chest, but appears to think twice. He instead plops down on the sofa and reaches over to grab Draco's arse to pull him closer. Potter blinks up at him, green eyes wide and slightly unfocused.

Draco's never seen Potter without his glasses.

He's never seen Potter this vulnerable, this desirable.

"Christ, Malfoy. Aren't you over-dressed for the occasion?" Potter huffs. He starts to remove Draco's clothes, button by button. "You've always been dramatic as fuck."

Draco laughs.

"You don't like me in all of this?" he asks, indicating his body and the jacket flung hastily on the other side of the sofa.

"You know I do. You look good in everything you wear, but I'd much prefer you naked." Potter punctuates his words with a twist of the last button on Draco's waistcoat.

"Let me help you with that." Locking his eyes with Potter, Draco unfastens his tie, and with a flick of his wrist, drops it on the carpet. Potter's gaze descends to the base of Draco's throat. The sight spurring him on, Potter attacks the buttons on Draco's shirt with renewed vigour.

Draco places his hands over Potter's, stilling him. He cradles Potter's face with both palms and rubs his thumbs over his cheeks.

"Still so impatient." Draco shakes his head, prompting an eye-roll from Potter. "This isn't going to be a quick and easy in the back of an alley or in the loo of a pub. I've got the whole night with you in this big, fuck-off suite." Draco flashes a rich, artful smile at Potter, his words falling from his mouth in a lazy drawl. "In fact, I've thought it all out already. I'll have you in every room. In every way imaginable—" he makes a delighted sound when Potter chokes back a moan and gives his own cock two rough strokes through his boxers. "I'll have you, Potter. I'll make you scream and beg and moan and want."

Draco bends down to lick the shell of Potter's ear.

"And you'll love every second of it," he hisses, eyes flashing. He nips once at Potter's earlobe and withdraws.

Potter closes his eyes briefly, and when he opens them, he seems to have regained his equilibrium, though his voice shakes when he speaks.

"You still talk too damn much, Malfoy. Shut the fuck up and let me strip you."

Anticipation ramps up to fever-pitch in Draco when Potter finally slides off his shirt, revealing a pale expanse of flesh. Draco toes off his shoes and socks, stepping in between Potter's open thighs when he's done.

"Is that..." Potter whispers, his gaze drawn to the two faint scars slashed across Draco's chest.

Draco doesn't need to reply; he's sure the skitter of his eyes to the side has answered the question well enough.

"God, I was such a fucking idiot," Potter says, passing a hand over his eyes.

"And I wasn't?" Draco murmurs, more to himself. They glance at the faded Dark Mark on Draco's left arm for a second before Draco turns his arm over, hiding the Mark. His bravado deflating, Draco takes a step away how can this work, I'm a Death Eater and you're the Saviour— from Potter. Potter returns his gaze to Draco's scars, guilt trampling over downcast green eyes.

Draco tucks a finger under Potter's chin, forcing Potter to meet his eyes. He wants to say something to erase Potter's regret and sadness, to tell him that it's okay because I... like having them on my skin, knowing that you were the one that put them there... it's like carrying a piece of you around wherever I go, and I... I

Draco wraps his control around him like a cloak and chases those thoughts away.

"Let me..." Potter says around a sigh. He stands up, and Merlin, he's kissing those knitted scars. Draco's heart slows in disbelief and then speeds up in double quick time at those soft lips grazing over every single inch of scar tissue. He loves the way Potter leaves handprints all over his body, palms pressing against his back and fingers squeezing his hips, leaving molten trails of need and desire in their wake.

"I don't care. I've thought about it and I don't care," Potter declares over a mouthful of tender kisses that melt into Draco's skin.

"How can you not care? And what's... it?" Draco asks, unconvinced and confused.

Potter's body tenses for a moment, as if he's said too much.

"Let's not talk about it now." He places Draco's hand on his erection. "Need you. Please."

Draco nods and makes quick work of his trousers. A sliver of trepidation worms its way into him when Potter sits down on the sofa, shifts forward to kiss Draco's hip and toys with the waistband of his pants. Draco has learnt the hard way that being very, very well-endowed is both a curse and a blessing. But Potter doesn't seem to care, judging by the triumphant glint in his eyes as he stares at the outline of Draco's cock inside his pants.

Potter isn't even surprised, as if he's... expected Draco's size. He's staring at it with such hunger, as if he's the one that has won Draco's cock instead of Draco winning Potter's arse. Draco opens his mouth to say something, but is derailed when Potter slides Draco's pants off his hips.

"Yes, oh yes..." Potter moans when Draco's cock springs free, so thick and long that the tip reaches just above his navel.

And he's not even at full hardness yet.

"Fuck, Malfoy, your cock," Potter marvels and tilts his head to admire it from all angles, his hand descending to squeeze his own cock. Draco knows he's supposed to be pleased at Potter's reaction, but he knows how things usually end: he's had men with similar reactions, as if Draco's cock is Merlin's gift to wizardkind, but the minute they tried to fuck, it was either too thick, too hard or too long, or worse — all three.

Draco's never sunk his entire cock into anyone before.

Potter's about to press his lips onto Draco's shaft, but Draco leans his hips back to dodge Potter's mouth.

"Let's do it properly," Draco whispers. He doesn't want their first contact in years to be a blowjob — his heart won't let it. He bends down to press a chaste kiss on Potter's lips. Slides a hand around the back of Potter's neck, gasps when Potter pulls him down on his lap until Draco's straddling him. They continue to kiss, slow, gentle and sweet, their noses bumping and their heads tilting every so often. A thrill races in Draco and his heart flutters with joy and desire when Potter places a hand on his back to press their chests together until there's no space between their bodies.

Potter's kisses taste like redemption.

Draco withdraws, his eyes dropping to Potter's mouth; thin lips a rich strawberry pink and a brief flash of white teeth when Potter grins.

He's fantasised about kissing Potter so many times.

He traces the outline of Potter's mouth with a fingertip and strokes the cupid's bow of Potter's mouth with a thumb, his chest rising and dipping with a drawn-out sigh of longing. Potter grabs his hand and slides it down to his boxers, his plea evident.

Swallowing, Draco guides Potter to the longer section of the L-shaped sofa to stretch their bodies out. When Potter's settled down with his head resting on the low arm-rest of the sofa, Draco climbs on top of him and sprinkles a trail of kisses from Potter's lips all the way down to his belly.

"Malfoy..." Potter sighs, his eyes crinkling in a giddy little smile. He looks down and tangles his fingers in Draco's hair.

Draco. Call me Draco. I don't want to be Malfoy to you any longer, Draco wants to say, but he can't, he absolutely can't.

He only has one night with Potter.

He can't have anything more.

Licking his lips, Draco gropes for the waistband of Potter's boxers and removes it. They're both gloriously naked and about to have sex, and that fact alone is enough to bring Draco to full hardness.

"Look at you, my God," Potter whispers with a note of reverence as he stares with wide eyes at Draco's erection. Draco's face grows warm. Cock stiffening even more, he straightens up and covers Potter's body with his own, kissing him so passionately and desperately that Potter's chest rumbles with every deep moan.

Draco rises to his knees; fuck, the way Potter spreads his legs open at once... Draco takes his cock and begins to slide the thick shaft up and down between Potter's thighs. Potter groans when Draco starts to tease, rubbing his cock alongside Potter's own erection, then dipping it down to tease the head on Potter's balls — Potter lets out a particularly sharp cry — and then repeating the action all over again, letting Potter get intimate with the heat of his hardness. Sparks fly in the air between their heated bodies as they lose themselves in the frotting.

"Feel that?" Draco whispers, his lips curving into a smirk at the little breathy sounds and jagged sighs coming from Potter's mouth. He repeats the question when Potter is too caught up in his moans to answer, but this time, he places Potter's hand on his cock. Potter's hand immediately starts to stroke his cock from root to tip, and Merlin it feels fucking amazing.

"So big, so hard for you, Potter. I've never been this big for anyone before. It's all because of you. Feel that?"

"Mmhmm, oh yeah..."

"You want it, don't you? You want it so bad, I can feel it." Draco lowers his body and rests an elbow on the sofa, revelling in the sensation of Potter's hand and the thrusting motion of his own hips as he slides his cock back and forth in a smooth and steady rhythm. Potter cries out when Draco's cock presses between his balls; Potter must be especially sensitive there. "It's all gonna be in you, and I'll make it so good for you. You'd like that, won't you?"

Fuck, he's not even in Potter yet, and it already feels this good.

Potter's eyes finally open, revealing bedroom eyes lost in a haze of lust. Potter grins.

Draco blinks, taken aback by the predatory glimmer in green eyes.

"You'd enjoy it too, won't you?" Potter says in a conversational tone and twists his wrist when he reaches the head of Draco's cock, triggering a hiss of pleasure from Draco. "Having every inch of you buried in me so deep, filling me up good with that thick, fat cock. I'll be so tight, so hot around you. And then we'll be fucking so hard, so fast..." Potter releases Draco's cock and trails his hand up and down Draco's abdomen. "I'll make it so good for you, because you'll give it to me exactly how I want you."

With his smug grin still in place, Potter lifts his legs up and tucks his arms behind his knees, telling Draco exactly how he would like to be fucked.

Fucking tease.

Draco snarls and yanks open the drawer of the coffee table so hard that it rattles. He retrieves a bottle of lube, uncorks it with his teeth and drizzles a generous amount of lube all over his fingers.

"Told you I'm gonna fuck you in every room. There's lube everywhere." He flashes a hungry smile. Potter flexes his arms and lifts his legs up even higher, displaying himself.  

"Yeah? What're you waiting for then?" Potter taunts, a challenge in his words.

Arousal flares like fire in the pit of Draco's belly at the familiar combative mood. In a flash, Draco's on top of Potter and they're kissing again, hot, urgent and desperate. Draco grinds their hips together while they kiss, biting back a moan when Potter grinds and kisses back with equal ferocity.

Finally, Potter grabs Draco's wrist and guides it between his legs.

"Get me ready for that huge cock of yours," Potter orders.

"Anything you want, I'll do anything you want," Draco promises, his words ending in a low growl when Potter thrusts his hips up. Draco sits up and wraps his left hand around Potter's cock. After a few strokes — when Potter looks like he's thoroughly lost in the pleasure — Draco teases Potter's rim with the index finger of his other hand. When he slides his finger in, Potter moans and spreads his legs further, so that his left leg is hanging off the back of the sofa and his right ankle is on the carpet. It's not long before Draco's got two fingers, and then very slowly, three fingers in.

When Draco slips in a fourth finger, tucking it beneath his three fingers, Potter clenches down. Draco pauses his right hand at once, although his left hand is still working Potter's cock. A crease of worry appears between Draco's brows; if Potter can't handle his fingers, how is he going to take his cock?

"D'you want me to—"

"No, don't stop, please! It'll be fine, just... don't stop!" Potter demands. Draco continues, but he's studying Potter's features. Potter's cheeks are flushed a lovely pink, his eyes are closed and he's breathing in short, sharp pants, but he doesn't seem to be in pain.

"Yeah, just like that..." Potter says barely above a whisper after a while. He starts to move his hips in tandem with Draco's fingers. The knot of tension in Draco fades, replaced by a jolt of arousal at the sight of his fingers preparing Potter and the look of growing pleasure on Potter's face.

"Oh fuck," Draco says between gritted teeth. He lets go of Potter's cock to grasp the base of his own erection; he's so unbelievably horny and so damn hard.

Potter's eyes open, and he bites his lip when his eyes focus on Draco's cock. He motions for Draco to withdraw his fingers. With a filthy smirk, Potter picks up the lube and pours it all over Draco's cock, grinning when the excess lube drips down to his thighs and the sofa. Draco plants his hands on the backs of Potter's knees, opening him up further.

"Looks like someone likes it messy," Draco manages through a shaky breath. He exhales heavily and lines his cock up with Potter's entrance. Knowing that he'll be in Potter in seconds... Draco almost comes right then and there. He starts to push in, slow and gentle. The head of his cock slips in easily enough. It's snug, but Draco's prepared him well enough.

Potter's jaw goes slack, his mouth forming an 'O'. Draco pushes Potter's thighs back slightly, giving himself more space to continue his long thrust inside him.

"Fuck, you're thick." Potter forces his words out through gritted teeth, his fists tightening on the sofa. "Oh fuck, that's big."

Draco's only halfway in when Potter begins to clench around Draco.

"I'm going slow, so slow. Feel it, feel how hard I am for you. Only for you." Draco tries to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but his heart dips when he continues to push and Potter's erection falters. That's how it always starts, that's when they all ask for his fingers or a blowjob or a handjob. He's not giving up now, but he doesn't want to prolong Potter's discomfort either. Draco pulls out and slides back in. When he's half-in and easing deeper, the contentment on Potter's features morphs into discomfort, his body tensing as his muscles struggle to accommodate Draco.

Draco almost expects Potter to cry out and push him away, but he doesn't. Instead, his arms are locked around the back of his thighs and trembling with strain. It takes every ounce of Draco's self-control to not shove his entire length inside, but he will not hurt Potter. Just remembering how Potter had kissed his scars triggers a well of emotion in Draco.

No, he will never hurt Potter again.

"Are you... are you all in?" Potter asks between whimpers when Draco withdraws and thrusts back in again.

"Yes," Draco lies. Relief floods Potter's face. Draco hauls Potter's left leg up from the back of the sofa and rests it against his chest. After making sure that Potter's comfortable, Draco begins to rock his hips, being extra careful to not fuck Potter with his whole cock. Although it's only half, it still feels so damn fucking good...

Draco closes his eyes and increases the pace and intensity of his thrusts. When Potter's moans meld together with his own grunts, Draco opens his eyes. It's a wonderful sight: Potter's coaxing his own erection back with his hand, and the sight of his own sliding in and out of Potter... fuck, Draco's never gonna forget this; he's already locking every detail away in the jewel box of his heart.

"Fuck, Malfoy, yeah, right there," Potter gasps, his words slurring as he speeds up his wanking to match Draco's thrusts. "Fuck, you're so big and hard and thick, it's fucking amazing. Just like... just like everything - nggh - I thought it'd be. Fuck, don't stop..." He's grabbing the sofa with his other hand, his biceps flexing.

Draco's not gonna stop; the only thing he wants to see is Potter coming with Draco's cock in his arse. He's not going to last long: he can already feel his orgasm tingling from the base of his spine and building up in his balls. He usually lasts much longer than this, but the fact that it's Potter moaning and looking so debauched and taking his cock so good, the very epitome of Draco's fantasies... 

Draco groans, so deep that it vibrates in his chest and throat, eclipsing Potter's encouraging cries, and fuck, he's gonna—

He pulls out, and with two quick pumps of his fist, his abdominal muscles clenching and Potter's name on his lips, Draco throws his head back and comes hard and messy on Potter's cock, the last few trickles dripping down to the sofa.

"Fuck yeah, I want it all over me, just like that," Potter bites out and continues to wank, slicking Draco's come all over his cock. He can't keep his eyes off Draco's face, and neither can Draco look away from Potter, who looks so fucking hot chasing his own orgasm.

Draco leans forward and uses his cock to smear his come all over Potter's balls.

Potter comes at once with a wail.

It's a wondrous sight; Potter lying in a heap in front of him, his chest heaving, neck and face flushed pink, with Draco's come glistening on his lower body and Potter's own come splashed all over his stomach.

"Malfoy, goddamn," Potter exclaims in a ragged breath. Draco collapses beside him, the air heavy with their out-of-sync breathing.

It takes some time for both men to catch their breaths. Draco gropes around on the floor, finally retrieving his shirt and tossing it towards Potter.

"Expensive?" Potter asks.

"Fuck if I care." Draco noses at the crook of Potter's neck, giving tiny kitten licks on his collarbones. Potter chuckles and wipes himself down with Draco's tailor-made and decadently expensive shirt.

Grunting, Potter rolls over on top of Draco and promptly covers Draco's mouth with his own. The weight of Potter's build — solid and comforting — is perfect for grounding Draco down to earth after that amazing orgasm. Draco sighs happily and wraps his arms around Potter's shoulders, returning the kisses with gusto.

Potter breaks away to feather kisses on Draco's throat and jawline. Draco purrs in contentment and arches towards Potter's body, eager to feel more. He lifts his hips up and thrusts experimentally, only to find out that both Potter and he are half-hard.

"That was just the warm-up, wasn't it? Care for a bit of food before the... main event?" Potter asks, shooting Draco a cheeky wink. He hauls himself off the sofa, slips on his boxers and wanders off towards the kitchen.

I just had sex with Harry Potter.

Draco takes a deep, calming breath and presses the heels of his palms on his closed eyelids.

And it was better than anything I've ever dreamt of.

After a moment, he sits up, shakes his head as if to clear away unwanted thoughts and pulls on his pants. Draco turns towards the kitchen; Potter's rustling about in the cabinets and humming a jaunty tune to himself. A rush of longing crashes over Draco like a tidal wave; it's so easy for him to pretend that they're a couple on vacation, and Potter's about to whip up something simple for supper after a bout of amazing sex. Grey eyes follow Potter as he bends over to open the refrigerator. Draco longs to hug Potter from behind and rest his chin on his shoulder. They could even cook breakfast together tomorrow morning—

Draco jams the brakes on those thoughts at once. It won’t do any good to dwell on things that will never happen. This is just a one-off — just one night for Draco to get his Potter-centric obsessions out of his system.

With that rational thought lodged firmly in his brain, Draco goes to the loo to splash cold water on his face and give his dick a quick rinse in the shower.

He eventually finds Potter bent over the kitchen island and eating a chocolate eclair with his elbows planted on the edge of the island and his pert arse in the air. Upon spotting Draco, Potter's lips curve up in a mischievous grin. He locks eyes with Draco and slides the remaining half of the eclair into his mouth.

Draco's cock twitches.

"How's dessert?" he asks, his voice hoarse with lust.

"Oh, that?" Potter says lightly after swallowing. "I wouldn't call that dessert, it's more of an... appetiser." He smacks his lips, his tongue peeking out of his mouth to lick away leftover chocolate. "I think it's time for dessert now," he says. There's desire scrawled all over his eyes as he stares in hunger at Draco's semi-erection.

Draco lets Potter remove his pants and hoist him up on the island — hell, Potter's shoulders are really amazing and strong, and paired with those clenching biceps... Potter drags a chair over, places it between Draco's spread thighs and sits down.

"Getting weak in your old age, Potter?" Draco quips, but his smirk melts into an expression of pleasure when Potter slicks his cock with a single stroke of his tongue.  

"Oh no," Potter says, flashing a thin smile. "I'm making myself comfortable 'cause I think I'll be here for a rather long time. Now shut up and let me suck you off. Christ, you really talk too much for your own good."

I only do it because I know you like it, Draco wants to say, but what comes out from his mouth instead is a rather embarrassing noise when Potter seals his lips around the head of Draco's cock.

Getting hard in Potter's mouth is entirely intoxicating, and it doesn't take much for Draco to get fully erect. Potter's hand is under Draco's balls, stroking them from time to time, while his other hand has formed a circle around the root of Draco's cock, jerking him up and down, and his mouth, Merlin, that wonderful, slutty mouth...

"Yeah, right there," Draco whispers when Potter's tongue swirls around the ridge of his glans before sliding down to the sensitive underside. "Oh fuck," he groans and leans back on the island. His eyes are closed and his face has gone slack with pleasure. His head hangs from the other side of the island, his blond hair dangling down.

Euphoria rockets through his body as Potter sucks him off with enthusiasm. He can't swallow Draco's entire length, but hell if Draco cares. The fact that it's Potter doing this, exploring every inch of Draco's cock and balls with his tongue and lips is enough to drive him wild. 

"Don't stop, do it just like this, fuckin' perfection," Draco praises. He reaches a hand over to cling to the island for support, while his other hand teases his nipples, rubbing them until they're hard.

"Mmmm," Potter hums, the vibrations of his voice turning Draco on even more. He moves a hand from Draco's inner thigh up to his hip, then to his stomach and down. He repeats this motion, each caress sending molten sparks of pleasure on Draco's heated skin.

He loves how Potter's mouth wanders all over his cock, licking and sucking here and there, as if committing everything to memory. Potter alternates that with swallowing Draco down, and with each attempt, an extra inch slides down Potter's throat.

He doesn't know how long they stay there like that, Potter sucking him slowly and sensually, at the perfect pace and intensity so he doesn't come, coaxing moans and gasps from him. With every passing minute, Potter familiarises himself with Draco's cock, until he's mapping out Draco's sweet spots on the underside and just beneath the ridge of his cock.

"So good..." Draco encourages. He's careful to control his hips as he doesn't want to overwhelm the other man, but this time, he thrusts very lightly into Potter's mouth. He wants nothing more but to slam Potter's head down on his cock and fuck his mouth, but he knows Potter can't handle that yet. After a few more blissful minutes, Draco opens his eyes and props himself up on his elbows. He runs his fingers through Potter's riotous mess of black hair and gently tugs his head up.

The sight is enough to make his cock leak even more.

Potter's full-lashed lids dip downwards, and he smacks his lips, his tongue darting out to catch a drop of pre-come. Finally, he lifts his gaze to meet Draco's, his thumbs smoothing over the vee of Draco's thighs.

"Yeah?" Potter croaks. His right hand continues to stroke Draco, twisting his wrist at the head before sinking back down to the root. His left hand is inside his boxers, touching himself.

"I want you to sit on my face," Draco commands. He shifts his position so that he's lying fully along the length of the kitchen island.

"Thought you'd never ask." With that, Potter shimmies out of his boxers and starts to lower his body on top of Draco's in a 69 position.

"Hang on." With one hand resting on Potter's arse, Draco reaches down to the chair and yanks up the cushion on the seat. He places it under his head. Next, he fumbles in one of the drawers on the island and pulls out another jar of lube.

"God, you really have lube everywhere," Potter remarks, twisting his upper body round to look at what Draco is doing. He turns back and kisses up Draco's inner thigh.

"Told you I was prepared." Draco leaves the jar within grabbing distance. He gasps and spreads his legs as wide as they can go when Potter resumes his blowjob. Draco fastens his hands on Potter's hips to pull him closer — Potter has to scoot backwards a bit — and plants a kiss on his right arsecheek.

Potter stops sucking.

"All those times in school when I've asked you to kiss my arse, I never thought it'd actually happen." Draco hears the amusement in his voice and feels Potter's hot breath on his cock.

"Now who's the one talking too much, hmm?" Draco says, smacking Potter on the arse. Potter only chuckles and gets back to business. Draco licks his lips and presses his palms on Potter's arsecheeks, spreading them. The cushion under his head is propped up at the perfect angle for Draco to run his tongue up and down Potter's crease. It's a brief touch, but it's enough for Potter to moan around Draco's cock and suck him even faster.

Taking that as approval, Draco closes his eyes and swirls his tongue around Potter's rim, circling it in a steady pace. It's Potter's extremely good luck that he's especially skilled at rimjobs, having had lots of practice to prepare his previous lovers for his cock. Since he's already fucked Potter, he's loose enough for Draco's tongue to go slightly deeper, but not too deep as he'd rather his fingers do the work later.

Draco mixes it up by licking his tongue in circles or in straight strokes around Potter's rim, while he smacks and squeezes his delectable arse every few minutes or so.

The air is throbbing with obscene slurping noises: Potter’s sucking his cock like a fucking porn star; when Potter relaxes his jaw to swallow him down deep, Draco rewards Potter by giving his cock a few brief strokes in the same rhythm as the slide of Draco's tongue on his arse.

Eventually, Draco gives Potter's arse two sharp taps.

"So good, yeah? Wanna reward you." He can't see Potter do it, but he can feel him nod his head as Potter continues to suck. Draco reaches for the lube and coats his index and middle finger. Anticipation courses in his blood when he thinks of Potter's reaction.

Fuck, he'll love it so much.

He slides a finger in Potter, all the way up to the knuckle. The angle is a bit awkward, but Draco doesn't care. Potter whines, his breathing uneven as he licks up and down Draco's cock — fuck, Draco's lost track of how long Potter's had his cock in his mouth, except that it feels fan-fucking-tastic. Draco splays his left palm on the base of Potter's spine and pushes his hips even lower. He wets his tongue and starts to lick Potter's balls, dragging his tongue up and down and in circles, or mouthing at them. His left hand wraps around Potter's cock, jerking him slow and steady, his thumb teasing at his slit every so often.

"Fucking hell, Malfoy, what the fuck—" Potter chokes out after pulling off when Draco nudges a second finger in him. "Christ, this is— oh fuck!" It seems that Potter is too far gone to continue his excellent job of sucking Draco, and he wants more of what Draco's giving; he shifts backwards, bouncing his hips against Draco's fingers.

"No one's done this to you before?" Draco mumbles against Potter's balls.

"No... hell no, I've never even thought of this before," Potter exclaims, arching his back and planting his palms between Draco's legs on the island.

Draco takes advantage of the increased space between their bodies to use his left hand to wank Potter properly while two fingers of his right hand is still buried in Potter's arse. He's not really finger-fucking him, just moving them in and out an inch, committing to memory which spots make Potter's cock harder. Draco's mouth is busy working Potter's balls — damn, he's really sensitive here. With every flick of his tongue, Potter makes a delicious mewling sound.

Potter is falling apart on top of him, and Draco loves it.

"Need you to suck me, please, need that mouth on me," Potter begs, his words slurred and his head hanging from his position on all fours. Draco motions for Potter to get off him. A naked and dazed Potter is a beautiful sight: his eyes are half-lidded and he's swaying slightly on the spot, a giddy smile on his face.

Extremely pleased at Potter's reaction, Draco grins. He grabs an empty glass, fills it up with water from the tap and downs it.

"We're on the highest floor in the most expensive hotel in London. Let's not waste the view, shall we?" Draco purrs and leads Potter to the balcony. The night-time scenery is magnificent: towering skyscrapers lighting up the horizon — he can even see the London Eye in the distance. There's the faint honk of traffic; oh yes, London is beautiful and lively at night, but there's something even more wonderful in front of him: Harry Potter leaning against the barricade of the balcony, his legs apart and his jutting erection just begging to be licked.  

Draco prowls towards Potter, running his hands up and down Potter's shoulders and sides — he loves how warm, solid and well-built Potter is — before sinking slowly to his knees in front of Potter. Goosebumps erupt on his skin when a cool night breeze blows. He rubs his palms all over Potter's thighs, his touch on Potter's skin like midnight moon on satin silk.

"Oh yes," Potter breathes when Draco kisses the tip of his cock.

He's not going to tease, because he can't wait a second longer. With Potter's hand on the back of his head, Draco swallows his cock bit by bit, his jaw working to take more of Potter. His tongue swirls around the head, enveloping Potter in his velvety heat. It's not long before Potter loses control and starts to fuck his mouth, hips juddering and thighs clenching, and Draco fucking takes it because this is all he's ever wanted, it's all he's ever thought of, alone in bed and wanking to this very fantasy, this very desire of sucking Potter 'till he's incoherent and gasping and crying out Draco's name, his cries lost in the night sky.

"Fuck, thought of this so many times, didn't know it could be this g-g-good!" The stutter in Potter's voice makes Draco smile around his cock.

There's a dull thud as Potter winds his arms around the barricade, his biceps flexing 'cause he's clenching his fists on the metal. His head is thrown over the railing, throat exposed and gulping, and the sounds he's making... fuck, that's hot. Their bodies are cloaked in a mist of lust; Potter thrusting hard and fast in Draco's mouth while Draco glides his hands over Potter's skin, squeezing every available area of flesh, finally resting on his arse. When Draco pushes a finger in—

"Oh God, fuck me, Malfoy, fuck me now!" Potter demands. A thin string of saliva and pre-come trails from his lips when Draco withdraws. The sight elicits a rough snarl from Potter, and he brushes the spit off. 

"You want it, Potter, you want it bad?" Draco hisses, getting up from the floor.

Potter nods his head eagerly. "Yes, yes, oh please!" A surge of renewed lust floods Draco's veins, and he sinks his teeth in Potter's neck, sucking and growling possessively while Potter clings to him and grinds their cocks together.

Draco grabs Potter by the hand and pulls him back to the living room. He slams the window closed and shoves Potter towards it, pressing Potter's chest to the glass. As if he knows what Draco is thinking, Potter raises his arms and winds the sheer chiffon drapes around his wrists. Fuck, Potter looks amazing: hands restrained by the curtains, shoulders heaving, the muscles on his back rippling, legs wide apart and his arse, God, that arse

Draco takes his cock and smacks it on Potter's arse. Potter whines with urgency and goes up onto his toes. He leans his hips back and grinds his arse against Draco's cock, his hips going in hypnotising circles, and that's honestly fucking more than Draco can take—

Draco slams half of his length into Potter, oh fuck it feels so good to be surrounded by Potter's tight, tight warmth again. Potter cries out loud, his breaths misting the glass with every exhale. His muscles clench when his hands strain on the curtains. He knows Potter has taken only half of him, but he needs more; half isn't enough, just like how one night will never be enough. Draco grabs Potter's hips and goes slowly this time round as he eases inside.

"What— so... full!" Potter yelps. He twists round to shoot Draco a half-confused and half-turned on look.

"Our first fuck—" It's difficult to get the words out, Draco's pulling out and pushing in, oh fuck— "It was only half in—"

"Only half?! Malfoy, you fucking beast! You told me it was all in!" Potter squawks. Draco glances down at three-quarters of his thick, huge cock disappearing in and out of Potter, and something in him comes undone.

"Didn't wanna hurt you, will never hurt you again," Draco babbles, his hips setting a steady pace. "I know you can take it now, you're so good at taking it, so damn good... does it feel good for you too?"

"Mmhmm, yes, oh yes, fuck yes! Fuck, you're so big, and you're not even all in, are you?!" Potter yanks hard on the curtains. Draco looks up, blinking the sweat out of his eyes when a few inches of the curtain tears from the holders.

It's not gonna last long for either of them; Draco's been hard since Potter's blowjob, and he knows how much Potter enjoyed their 69 on the kitchen island.

"Oh, no. I'm only fucking you with three-quarters of my dick. Gotta get you ready for all of it. If it feels so good like this, imagine how good it'll feel with the whole thing in. You thinkin' of that?" Draco leans down to whisper, his breath becoming more ragged with every thrust.

"Yes, yes!"

"So deep, filling you up so good and hard and thick and big. You'd like that, won't you?" Draco begins to pump Potter's cock with a hand while his other arm is snaked around his waist, holding him close while Draco keeps up the rhythm of his fuck.

"Yes, I want that, s'all I've ever thought of. Fuck me, Malfoy, fuck me, fuck me!"

Potter's close; Draco knows by the clenching of his arse and shuddering of his body. Draco nibbles on Potter's earlobe and pounds into him even deeper—

Potter howls as he comes, spurting long stripes of semen on the window.

The curtain wound around his right arm rips clean off from its holder and flutters down to the carpet.

"Oh, fuck!" Draco shouts. He pulls out, and with two rough strokes on his cock, shoots his load all over the drapes.

The window trembles when Potter slams his forearm against it and thumps his forehead on his arm. Draco presses his front against Potter's back and covers his neck and shoulders with kisses.

"That was only three-quarters?" Potter asks shakily.

"Yeah."

"Goddamn it Malfoy. You fucking beast," Potter repeats.

"Should I apologise for my size?" Draco says, mouthing at Potter's neck.

"Hell no. Don't ever apologise for something as good as that."

Draco smirks, pleased.

A tired but self-satisfied smile graces Draco's lips when he looks at the lines of Potter's come dripping down the window. He moves away, but ends up catching Potter around the middle when the other man's legs buckle. Draco kisses him on the temple and they stumble their way to the bedroom, hands and lips wandering all over heated flesh.

The back of Draco's legs hit the side of the bed, and they collapse in a heap on top of it. Potter looks fucking good: his healthy tanned glow, his flushed cheeks and inky scrawls of black hair a wonderful contrast to the white sheets. Potter flings an arm out and Draco crawls up, nestling into the crook of his shoulder.

"I was wondering when we were gonna get around to this," Potter remarks, running a lazy hand up and down Draco's side, while his other hand skims the extravagant silk sheets. The slither of silk on Draco's skin is sexy and seductive enough to make his cock twitch, and the fact that he's lying on such an enormous cloud of a bed — it's big enough to accommodate four people — with Potter makes it even sweeter.

They stay like that for a while, silent and basking in each other's presence. Eventually, Potter takes Draco's hand in his. Draco smiles dreamily and wraps his arms around Potter's waist, resting his cheek on his chest.

Draco is so happy that his heart might burst.

"Can't get enough of you," Potter murmurs. He wriggles his arm free from under Draco and props himself up on his left elbow, the left side of his body pressed against the bed. He gently sweeps stray strands of blond hair covering grey eyes, and when he stares deep into Draco's eyes and caresses his jawline, Draco practically melts into the bed.

They're kissing all over again, slowly, luxuriously, sweetly. When Potter climbs on top of Draco, he sighs in bliss and loops his wrists around Potter's neck, tangling his fingers into his soft hair. Potter's hands are travelling across Draco's body; squeezing his shoulders, trailing down to his arms, his sides—

Draco gasps, his cock thickening when Potter strokes his nipples with his thumbs.

"You're so sensitive there," Potter says, breaking the kiss.

"I'm sensitive everywhere when it comes to you." His words taper off into a whimper when Potter kisses his way down Draco's Adam's apple to lave Draco's right nipple with his tongue while his left hand continues teasing the left, and Merlin, his right hand is wrapped around his cock, wanking Draco in even strokes.

"You're not the only one who can work both his hands and his tongue at the same time," Potter quips playfully. "Feels amazing, you getting hard in my hand."

Draco can only moan, his eyes closed and mind reeling at the sensory overload. Potter swaps sides; now it's his tongue on Draco's left nipple, his right hand on his right, and left hand on Draco's cock. Lightning streaks of desire dart like fireflies through Draco's system. He's so far gone, he can't even remember his name. His world has narrowed to Potter's mouth and fingers on his erogenous zones, every lick and tug turning Draco on to no end.

Eventually, Potter straightens up.

"Fuck, what you do to me..." Draco mumbles.

"Oh, I can definitely see what I'm doing to you," Potter says around a grin. He slides two fingers in the space between Draco's erection and stomach, nudges it towards himself just a bit and lets go.

Draco's thick erection slaps against his belly.

Potter leans down and licks the shell of Draco's ear.

"You know what we're gonna do now?"

"Anything you want, anything..."

Potter pins Draco down to the bed.

"You're gonna fuck me now. You're gonna fuck me all the way to the other side of the bed, and when I mean fuck me, I mean every goddamn inch of that gorgeous cock inside me. No half, no three-quarters, I just want you deep and full and thick and hard and I'll take it, take your entire length up my arse because I can. You're gonna fuck me, Malfoy, you're gonna fuck me over and over again until I can still feel you in me tomorrow morning. You're gonna fuck me so good and you're gonna make me come so hard that I'll never ever forget tonight. You got it, Malfoy?"

Paired with Potter's feral grin, every word goes straight to Draco's leaking cock.

"Sounds like you've got it all planned out," Draco croaks. Potter's answer is a coy smirk. Draco watches as Potter snaps open drawer after drawer on the bedside dresser until he pulls out a tube of lube. He squirts some on his palm and rubs his hands together. When Potter wraps both palms around his cock and starts to lube him up, Draco moans and thrusts his hips.

Potter is just about to straddle him when Draco stops him.

"I... I'll fuck you however you want later, but this time I wanna do it like this..." Draco trails off and motions for Potter to lie down on the bed with his chest pressed onto the sheets. He offers Potter a pillow to rest on before sliding another pillow beneath Potter's hips. Draco gets on top and feathers a trail of kisses from the back of Potter's neck all the way down to the base of his spine. He kisses his way back up, his heart clenching when Potter sighs and splays his legs apart further.

Draco smooths his hands over Potter's back, his thumbs skating over his spine and tracing those admirable biceps. He lowers his body, his chest pressed against Potter's back. When his heavy cock rests on the crease of Potter's arse, Potter's body tenses. A tinge of trepidation seeps into Potter's eyes.

"I'll go so slow, be so gentle with you. You know I will," Draco murmurs, his tone soft and reassuring, his lips gliding across Potter's earlobe. He sprinkles more kisses on Potter's jawline.

Potter turns his head; his green eyes peer up at Draco from beneath tousled black hair. He looks so damn vulnerable; Draco wants to hold him and never let him go. Potter blinks once, twice, and then nods. Draco smiles and kisses his cheek. He rests his left hand on the bed to support his weight while his right guides his cock towards Potter's entrance. He slides in — Potter takes it easily enough, but when he hits the three-quarter mark, Potter bears down, the ring of muscle resisting him.

"I... God, Malfoy!" Potter hisses between gritted teeth.

Draco stays completely still; he doesn't push any further, but neither does he pull out. Instead, he hushes Potter with soft kisses and murmured words of comfort. When Potter's body relaxes, Draco continues that sweet, steady thrust until he's almost all in.

"Is that..." Potter breathes, the last word hiking up into a question. His left cheek is pressed on the pillow, and his hand is clenching tight on the pillowcase. Draco drops another kiss on his shoulder before pushing in just that little bit more; Potter cries out loud, a tremor shuddering through his entire body. Draco's hips are pressed flush against Potter's arse, and the sensation of having his entire cock sheathed in such tight, warm pressure is indescribable.

"Yes. Everything," Draco manages. He groans and hangs his head, blond hair skimming Potter's back. "I've... I've never been in anyone so deep before."

"Never? Before me, those men?" Potter's words are all jumbled up as if he can't think straight, and he sounds like he can barely breathe, let alone talk. Draco stays still, allowing Potter some time to get used to the intrusion.

"Never. They couldn't take it."

"I've never had anyone so deep before," Potter admits. He tries to laugh, but it comes out as a wheeze instead when Draco rocks his hips once. Potter swears and curves his fingers, leaving scratch marks on the pillowcase. Draco smooths a thumb over Potter's knuckles at once, his tender touch soothing the furrow between Potter's brows. He laces the fingers of his left hand with Potter's and wraps his right arm around Potter's shoulders. He's so deep in Potter it's unbelievable. He's thought about this for years, even dreamt about this, but never in a thousand fantasies did he think it'd be this intense and amazing—

"Can I call you Harry? Please?" Draco asks in a broken whisper, the last of his emotional control unravelling like pearls sliding off a snapped necklace. In all of his fantasies, he's always called Potter by his first name. He just needs this one last thing to make it all come true.

"Yes," Potter chokes out that single word, his grip tightening on Draco's fingers as he lifts his head off the pillow. He's so damn beautiful with those gorgeous green eyes brimming with lust, the blush on his cheeks, and the small shy smile on his thin lips. His heart expanding, Draco brushes the sweat off the sides of Potter's face.

"Harry," he whispers, his heartbeat stuttering.

He’ll never go back to Potter again; the P in Potter used to break forth from his lips in such an explosive manner, reminding him of schoolyard fights and hurled insults that were tailor-made to hurt and wound. Harry was a name perfect for sighing and murmuring between kisses and touches that melted like honey on heated skin.

With every roll of Draco's hips, the discomfort on Harry's features fades, leaving pleasure in its wake. Draco gently pushes Harry back down on the bed. He wraps both arms around Harry's shoulders, peppering kisses on his shoulders, his face and neck, everywhere that he can reach, his inhibitions dissolving with each kiss. 

I'd ask you how your day was. You'd be tired with the kids at the orphanage. I'd make you tea, take care of you, kiss you to sleep and wake up with you.

Harry groans.

Treasure you, treat you the way you deserve, give you everything I've got.

"Harry," Draco murmurs again, his throat thickening with bittersweet emotion.

He was an absolute fool for thinking that one night would be enough.

"Draco," Harry replies. It's Draco's name, just one word that he hears everyday, but coming from Harry's lips... Draco moves out in a fluid motion and slides back in, his sac tightening. He's balls-deep now, filling Harry up completely.

"Fuck me please— I need you to— the pressure— Draco, Draco!" Harry gasps, arching his back when Draco lifts his upper body up. He holds his arms taut and plants his fists on the bed. He starts to thrust, his hips undulating and his legs bracketing Harry's spread legs.

Harry moans, a delicious, drawn-out sound, and sags onto the bed, his eyes closed, teeth gritted and his face scrunched up in pleasure. Their bodies are slick with sweat as Draco fucks in a steady rhythm, his toes clenching. Draco is squeezing his hands so tight that his knuckles are white, his arms trembling with tension. He's exerting so much control over his thrusts; every part of him yearns to fuck Harry hard, but not yet, because if he comes too soon, everything will end, and he—

He never wants this night to end.

A few more strokes, and Harry clasps his hand around Draco's wrist. Green eyes open.

"Get off. I — nggh — fuck, Draco!" Harry's slurred words escalate to a yelp when Draco brushes against his prostate. Draco pulls out and rolls off at once, casting a distressed look over Harry's body.

"Did I hurt you?" Draco asks, worry in his voice. He reaches over to the dresser and retrieves a stoppered flask of golden liquid.

"No." Harry shakes his head. "Just wanted a change of position. Bed was pressing on my dick," he says rather sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. Draco's eyes track the movement of his hand, a frisson of thrill jetting through him when he sees the love bites he's mine, all mine— littered on Harry's neck and the tops of his shoulders.

"What d'you want then? I'm all yours," Draco offers with a smirk, his bravado returning.

"I know you're mine," Harry growls. "I want you upright and on your knees, but you gotta lean back. Legs folded below your body." Draco hastens to obey the rapid-fire instructions. "Thighs spread, arms straight and steady and palms on the bed... Oh yes, that too." Harry hisses with pleasure at Draco's erection. He slides a hand down the flat plane of Draco's stomach and pulls once at his cock.

Harry Potter is a man who knows exactly what he wants and how he wants it.

And it turns Draco on like fuck.

Harry gets into a similar position opposite Draco, facing him. With a wide Cheshire grin on his face, Harry hooks a leg around Draco's hips, lifting his own hips up for the right angle before reaching down for Draco's cock with his hand. Biting his lower lip, Harry guides Draco in, letting out a loud exhale when Draco slides in smoothly.

"Have you tried this position before?" Harry asks, his breath leaving him in short gasps as he bounces on Draco's cock. Draco grunts — he can barely talk — and shakes his head, snaking an arm around Harry's waist. His other hand stays firmly on the bed for support.

Their movements increase in speed, urgency and intensity. Draco pumps his hips in hard, sharp thrusts, groaning at how Harry's arse engulfs him from root to tip.

"Like how I'm finally taking it so good?" Harry says between pants while he fucks himself hard and fast on Draco's cock.

"Fuck yeah. You make me so hard and big, I've never been this hard for anyone before," Draco replies, a rosy flush building on his chest and neck. There's sweat beading on his upper lip, but he can't stop, won't stop, because that means he'll have to let go of Harry and that simply won't do.

Harry groans and tosses his head back, exposing his throat, each exhale a moan as he continues to ride Draco like a porn star. The small of Harry's back is slick with sweat, and the sight of Harry enjoying Draco's cock like this is enough to make Draco quicken his thrusts in desperation—

Harry halts at once and lifts his hips straight up, forcing Draco to pull out.

"Oh no, we're not allowed to come yet, we're not at the other side of the bed." With a mischievous glint in his eye, Harry yanks Draco down on the bed just a bit further from where they were. He gets into a new position on his side, his right leg in the air and right hand tucked underneath his bent knee, holding himself wide open.

"You're infuriating, you know that?" Draco snarls. Even before he's finished with his sentence, he's sliding in again, because any second that he's not inside that tight, welcoming heat is agony—

"Slow. I want it slow this time," Harry orders, his head sinking down on the pillows when Draco fucks his cock all into him.

"Anything you want," Draco murmurs. He bends his torso to kiss Harry, trailing his right hand down Harry's body and resting it on top of Harry's trembling hand, helping to hold his leg open.

After a bout of thrusting, Draco pulls out and smacks his cock lightly on Harry's balls and is rewarded with a loud cry. Grinning wickedly, Draco begins to thrust between Harry's thighs, rubbing his entire length along his balls and perineum.

"Oh fuck, Draco," Harry sighs, his words dissolving into a plaintive whine when Draco slides back into Harry's arse and continues thrusting. Before Harry can get too comfortable, however, he withdraws again to tease Harry's balls and kiss him at the same time. He alternates between both acts, varying the angle and speed of his thrusts to keep their orgasms at bay.

Draco's hand wanders down the back of Harry's right thigh, and when he strokes Harry's balls as he fucks him slowly... the sounds spilling from Harry's mouth are intoxicating, full of please don't stop and Draco, oh, Draco and so good, never thought it'd be this good— He's so high on Harry, floating on a cloud of carnal pleasure and he doesn't want to get down, oh no he doesn't—

Time has lost all meaning as Draco loses himself in Harry's body, a divine paradise, miles and miles of skin and nerve endings just begging to be explored and pleasured. It's not enough knowing all of Harry's sweet spots; Draco wants to turn his entire body into one erogenous zone.

"Wanna fuck it all in me and make me come so hard I lose my mind?" Harry's voice breaks through Draco's fog of lust and arousal.

"Fuck yeah," Draco agrees, his heart rate speeding up at the very thought of it. He pulls out and follows Harry's cue, settling himself on his knees between Harry's open legs when Harry lies down on his back. He holds Harry's left leg upright and leans it against his chest, a coil of lust surging when Harry's right leg falls apart at once. A lazy smirk poised on his lips, Harry grazes his fingers up and down the vee of his spread thighs before moving them to fondle his balls.

"Come and get it," Harry taunts.

Draco doesn't need any more encouragement.

He grasps both of Harry's ankles and slams himself into him.

Harry howls, a visible shudder jolting through his body when Draco fucks him hard, fast and deep, hips jerking as he sets a punishing pace. They're both ready for a long overdue orgasm, it's gonna be so good, Draco can feel it deep in the marrow of his bones and the tingling of his spine—

"More, Draco, more! Fuck it all into me, fuck your hot, hard cock deep in me till I come all over, goddamn you fucking fuck!"

Who knew that the Golden Boy swears like a jarvey during sex?

The litany of swears, wordless moans and loud cries of Draco's name rumbling deep from Harry's chest is music to his ears. He lets go of Harry's leg; instinctively, Harry wraps his legs around Draco's arse, urging him on deeper and faster as he snaps his hips, matching the frenzy of Draco's thrusts. Draco falls forward, landing with his hands bracketing Harry's head, but he's still pounding Harry hard into the mattress, and Harry's taking it, taking it like a fucking champ—

Sweat slides down Draco's chin, landing on Harry's cheek. Unfazed, Harry grins and lifts his upper body up, licking the droplets off Draco's face.

"Yeah, fuck me hard, just like that, I want your sweat, I want your come, give it to me!"

Everything before this — the sex on the sofa, kitchen island, balcony and the window — was just the warm-up, culminating in this desperate, hard fuck, with Harry's voice gone hoarse from all the begging and shouting, and his fingernails raking down Draco's back— Draco yowls when he feels the sting on his tender skin, fuck that will leave marks tomorrow—

Harry's such a wild little fuck in bed: he releases his fingers from the space between the mattress and the headboard to punch the headboard, and then he's twisting the silk sheets at the tucked corner of the bed with white knuckles and fucking shit, he's ripped them from under the mattress, but he's not done, his arm swipes out to tip the dresser right over, the lamp crashing down to the floor, along with the dresser, with Draco fucking Harry to total obliteration the entire time.

Whatever remnants of Draco's control that has been cracking at the seams throughout the night shatters just like the lamp, and Draco goes to fucking town on Harry's prostate. He's only brushed it previously, not wanting to desensitise it too much, but this is the time to hammer it, fuck Harry's brains out and show him that no other man could ever give it to him as good as Draco can. This could be the last time he’ll have the chance to do this, and Draco is gonna make it as unforgettable as it can be for the both of them.

"No, don't touch yourself," Draco hisses through clenched teeth when he spies Harry wanking.

"I— I've n-never come like that before, I can't, I can't, let me t-touch, please!"

Harry whines, a sound that Draco could've missed easily, what with his own grunts, the blood thundering in his system, the sound of skin slapping against skin, the repetitive thud of the bed-frame against the wall and the squeaking of the mattress.

"I'm gonna make you. Grab my arms, you're gonna fucking come without your hands. You can, and you will! Fucking do it!" Draco commands.

Harry obeys at once; Draco's staring so beautiful, so beautiful, and he's all mine, mine— at him. He knows Harry is close, so close, the tendons on his neck are standing out like cords, his face crumpling with pleasure, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, sweat matting his hair, Draco will never forget this sight for the rest of his life: he was the one who made Harry Potter come without touching his cock. Three more brutal thrusts, and Harry's roaring Draco's name as he comes so hard over his own stomach and chest.

"I want your come, every drop in me, come for me, Draco—" Harry pleads, his hands still locked around Draco's wrists and their eyes locking. Harry looks so fucking good, Salazar—

Draco's senses are in free-fall: the sight of Harry making such a mess of himself, hearing all those filthy words coming from his mouth, the scent of sex; sweat and semen and their red-hot sexual chemistry burning up the sheets, the sensation of Harry clenching around his cock, along with the build-up from all the sex is enough to push Draco over the edge. With one mighty thrust, his cock is pulsing and he's wailing and coming and coming and coming, so much and so good that he didn't even know it was possible, his orgasm tearing through his body, triggering starburst after starburst of ecstasy exploding on his heated flesh, behind his eyes, and all because of Harry, Harry, Harry

Seconds pass while a panting Draco stays completely still, bowing his head until the tips of his hair graze Harry's chest, his fingers sunken deep into the mattress.

"Fuckin' hell," Draco slurs. He eases himself out and flops onto the bed. Although his head is still hazy with the aftermath of his earth-shattering orgasm, Draco kisses down to Harry's stomach, and on the way back up, he licks Harry's come off him, smacking his lips in satisfaction when he's finished. Leftover lust twinkles in Harry's eyes as he pulls Draco down, kissing him deeply.

"You wanna see your come leaking out of my arse?" Harry asks, a naughty grin on his lips. "Hmm?" He trails a hand up and down Draco's chest.

"Hell yeah, you little minx."

Harry promptly turns over on all fours and displays his arse to Draco. Draco kneads his arsecheeks, using his thumbs to spread Harry's arse, and fuck, there it is, a trail of his semen dribbling from Harry's arse down to his balls.

"You did all of that," Harry says, turning his head to edge a sly glance towards Draco.

Swallowing, Draco gets on his knees and gathers the come on the slit of his cock.

He's hardly in the state to fuck, but how could he resist? Holding his half-hard cock, Draco pushes just the tip in and slides out, in and out to fuck his come back into Harry. Harry gasps, his hands clenching on the pillow. He arches his back even more, earning a slap on his arsecheek.

"You're insatiable," Harry purrs when Draco collapses beside him.

"Only when it comes to you," Draco replies, pulling the other man close and kissing him on the forehead.

That was the best orgasm of my life.

They spend some time in each other's arms lazing in the afterglow, waiting for their erratic pulses to tick back to normality and for their overheated bodies to cool down.

And Harry Potter gave it to me.

"I need a shower," Harry pipes up. "Coming?" Without waiting for an answer, he gets out of bed and pads towards the bathroom. Upon seeing Harry's limp and an accompanying wince, Draco hauls himself out of bed and picks through the crashed lamp and the toppled dresser to retrieve the flask of golden potion before following Harry.

The bathroom is luxurious and extravagant; large and tiled with gleaming marble in cream and gold. Harry's already in the bathtub that's shaped more like a jacuzzi for two. Draco puts the flask beside the sink and climbs the two short steps to the tub. He spreads his thighs and settles on Harry's lap, the water around his knees the perfect temperature. They kiss slowly, sweetly while the bath fills with water and scented bubbles.

Their chests are pressed so close together that Draco thinks Harry might feel his own heart beating. Harry is touching him so carefully with delicate, tender caresses, as if Draco is a dream that might vanish any second. His arms are wrapped around Draco's waist, his fingers ghosting up and down the knobs on the base of his spine. Draco's hugging Harry's shoulders, clinging onto him so tightly as they trade kisses and sighs, whispers and touches.

It's as if the rest of the world has fallen away; there's no space in Draco's brain except for Harry.

Harry pulls away to turn off the taps when the water reaches the tops of their chests. He grabs a hand towel, soaks it in the bubbles and lathers it all over Draco, his soothing strokes chasing away the fading flush on Draco's chest. Water and foam sloshes in the tub as they take turns to clean each other.

When they're finished, Harry tosses the cloth to the side and gathers Draco in his arms. Draco loves how Harry holds him. His embrace is fiercely protective and his presence wonderfully solid. They rest their foreheads together, and Draco's mouth turns up into a brilliant smile at the sight of Harry's glowing smile.

"We're all clean now," Harry finally whispers. They glance at the open door of the bathroom. When they leave the bathroom, it'll be time for bed, and after dawn...

Everything will change.

Harry's frowning, as if he's thinking along these same lines. Draco would give anything to stay locked within these four walls with him, but it's only for one night. His heart is heavy when they rinse off and dry themselves with fluffy towels. Draco picks up the flask of potion and proffers it to Harry.

"I brought it for you." Draco glances at Harry's arse. "It'll help to ease the soreness. Coat some on your fingers and apply it."

Harry arches a brow and accepts it. "Where did you get this? Is it one of your products in your Potions mail-order business?"

Draco nods, then tilts his head in curiosity. "How did you know I sell potions?"

Harry's cheeks turn into a rather fetching shade of red. "I... er... read it somewhere," he hedges, flapping a hand in the air.

Draco is vaguely flattered that Harry's still keeping tabs on him.

"Well, I'll leave you to it then," Draco says, gesturing to the potion. He turns towards the door, his heart dipping—

He doesn't expect it when Harry pulls him back by the wrist, pushing him against the sink so that both of them are facing the mirror, with Harry's front pressed to Draco's back.

"Why the rush? I'm not done with you yet," Harry murmurs and begins to kiss Draco's neck and shoulders, his palms rubbing the domes of Draco's shoulders and tops of his arms. Cocooned in Harry's heat, Draco loses himself in the shower of Harry's kisses. He surrenders to Harry's wandering touches and sugared-up kisses, resting the back of his head on Harry's left shoulder. Harry's lips widen into a smile as he kisses his way up Draco's neck. 

Harry shrugs his shoulder, and Draco straightens up. Fuck, their reflection in the mirror looks amazing; Draco's pale skin against the backdrop of Harry's tanned skin, his fair hair against Harry's jet-black hair, and Harry's holding him so close, they make such a striking couple—

I could have this for the rest of my life.

In that single look shared between them nestles a hundred words.

One night. Just one night.

There's a similar longing reflected in Harry's eyes, but how could that be? How could Harry ever want him like he wants Harry?

He can't let Harry go say something, anything, something!— after tonight, he simply can't.

Stay.

What if he admits his feelings and Harry rejects him, like their first year at school? It's been a perfect night, surpassing Draco's wildest dreams, and he'd rather it end like this instead of rejection. He couldn't bear it if Harry ends up saying but it's just for a night, for charity, I thought you knew

In their reflection, the shadow of the Dark Mark taints the pale evenness of his skin, like an ugly blotch, a reminder of his past sins and failures.

He's been a coward ever since he was sixteen, and he will always be one.

If only you'd let me fall in love with you.

His heart seizing up with emotion, Draco looks away from the mirror and untangles himself from Harry's arms. A river of longing rages within him, so wild and so strong that it hurts

But you're the Saviour, and I'm a Death Eater.

Draco's always wanted things that he could never have.

If the past had turned out differently, without the weight of their respective destinies and bloodlines on their shoulders, they... they would have almost known what love was.  

"I... I'll see you in bed," Draco mutters, refusing to look at Harry as he flees from the bathroom. He Summons his pants, pulls them on and tumbles into bed, squeezing his eyes shut. His mind is whirring with thoughts and his heart is racing. He's trying so hard to regain his control and wring it back from the abyss, to plaster on the mask that he's always had around Harry, but how could he, after tonight?

After a few minutes, he hears Harry switching off the lights, the snap of waistband against skin when Harry wears his boxers and the clatter of the flask on a hard surface. The bed dips, and the entire suite is flooded with darkness after Harry clicks off the other intact lamp.

"Hey. You alright?" Harry asks.

Draco's heart bounces disconcertingly at the concern in his voice. He turns over to face the other man.

"Yeah. It's just... overwhelming, you know?" Draco mumbles, this full constellation of emotions longing, hope, satisfaction, happiness, guilt, sorrow— blooming deep within his chest.

Harry chuckles and reaches under the covers to pat Draco's soft cock. "Yeah, I know what you mean. It's three-thirty in the morning, we've been going at it for like what, four hours? You're not only hung like a Hippogriff, you've got the stamina of one, too."

Draco closes his eyes in disappointment, because that's the exact opposite of what he meant.

Unperturbed, Harry scoots closer, wraps the duvet snugly around them and folds Draco up in his arms, dropping an affectionate kiss on the crown of his head. He clasps Draco's hands between his own and presses kisses on his wrists.

"Goodnight, Draco."

Draco shivers at the warm, welcoming touch and snuggles into Harry.

"Goodnight, Harry," he whispers into Harry's chest.

There's nothing else that Draco can do except hold Harry as tightly as he can, hoping that his touch says the words that he can't.


Draco wakes up to an empty bed.

When his fingers catch onto thin air instead of warm flesh, his eyes flicker open fully. It takes him some time to register his foreign surroundings and for his sleep-addled brain to chug through the parade of memories last night. He had fallen asleep with Harry...

...and now he's gone.

Draco sits bolt upright, ignoring the soreness in his upper arms and thighs. Disbelief judders him fully awake. How could Harry have left like this? Yesterday night had been—

"Good afternoon."

Wild grey eyes stumble onto Harry, who's hovering nearby and finishing off a chocolate eclair. Relief surges through Draco. He glances at the clock on the bedside dresser — it's twelve-thirty in the afternoon — before looking at Harry again, just in time to see green eyes drop down to Draco's crotch and flitter away in embarrassment.

Draco's face grows warm and he pulls the covers up to his waist, hiding his semi-erection.

"Good afternoon," Draco replies.

A heartbeat of silence passes.

Draco rolls his shoulders back, a strange thrill racing through him when his back tingles at the memory of Harry raking his fingernails down it last night. He stares at the carpet, bites his lip and fusses about with the bed sheets.

Strange how the harshness of sunlight has washed away the playful and easy mood of last night. Draco has no idea what to say to the man that has given him the most amazing sex of his life.

To focus on anything but Harry, he gazes around the room. Gone are any traces of their activities: the bedside dresser and the lamp have been repaired and replaced to their rightful position, the pillows are gathered on the bed, the window is gleaming, with the accompanying curtains repaired and reunited with their holders. Draco's clothes are folded on a chair with his multiple tubes and jars of lube and wand placed on the top. With nowhere else to go, his eyes finally rest on Harry, who is fully dressed and fiddling with the wrapper of the eclair.

"You cleaned up."

Harry shrugs. "Yeah, I woke up earlier and I figured I better do that. Last night ended up pretty... messy," he trails off and rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks growing pink.

A shard of hope — Harry didn't leave immediately when he woke up… that had to mean something, right? — followed by a squirm of trepidation twists Draco's heart. What if he had woken up ten minutes later, after Harry had finished the eclair? Would he have been greeted with an empty room? Harry can't leave, not after last night, not after Draco had spent half the night kissing him, whispering Harry's name over and over, holding him in his arms, after all those promises to never let Harry go...

Stay.

His life would never be the same. What the hell was he thinking? Last night was an utter failure in getting Harry out of his system; things had gone the opposite direction.

Please don't go.

Draco now wanted Harry all to himself. He wanted to fall asleep with Harry and wake up with Harry's sleepy smiles and morning kisses. He would do anything, say anything to keep Harry with him as long as he could, because the thought of Harry walking out of this hotel and being with another man was enough to make Draco's heart thud with anger and jealousy.

A night would never be enough.

You're mine now.

A lifetime would never be enough.

"How much for another night?" Draco blurts out, his hands bunching into fists underneath the covers.

And I'm yours.

Harry goes very still.

"What?"

Determination blazes in Draco's eyes. "I'll pay double. Triple. Anything you'd want. It can't end like this. I won't let it!" He punctuates the last sentence with a harsh shake of his head.

It's only when Harry's shoulders slump and a thin, reedy laugh issues from his mouth that Draco realises he's said something terribly wrong.

"I thought... I thought what we had last night was never about the money. After everything we've done, after how you... you..." Harry trails off, dropping his gaze to the floor. He's shaking his head, backing up one, two steps away from Draco.

"No! I didn't mean it like that—"

But it's too late, Draco knows the telltale signs of Harry's temper flaring: that spark of fire in his eyes, the grim seal of his lips, the furrowing of his brows and his clenched jaw. His face crumples into anger.

"I'm not a... a whore! You don't have to pay me to have me again. I was going to ask you out to lunch, but you'd probably pay me for that too, wouldn't you?!"

Anger on Harry's face is something that Draco is very well-acquainted with, but there's something different, a new emotion on Harry's features that makes Draco's heart ache—

Hurt.

Harry stalks out of the suite, wincing and limping slightly — no, he can't leave now, he didn’t take the potion — but before Draco can explain, Harry's gone.

Draco sinks to the bed, his heart falling all the way to his feet. He presses the heels of his hands on his closed eyes, exhaling heavily.

Why do I always fuck it up whenever it comes to Harry Potter?


He can't stop thinking about grey eyes, blond hair and long, elegant fingers, of heated touches, breathy sighs and swirls of pleasure melting into his skin like sugar.

Just thinking about ridding Draco Malfoy of that sexy as fuck Muggle suit that accentuated his long legs and slim body, peeling back those layers of expensive fabric, untucking those buttons, finally sliding his clothes off to reveal miles of skin so pale and warm... Harry wants to kiss and lick every inch of Malfoy all over again. He's been wanking himself raw to Malfoy the past three days, thinking about that cock, Christ, that masterpiece of a cock. Malfoy looks even better naked. He'll take Malfoy in his mouth, lick and suck him until he's making those delicious cries—

Harry is brought back to reality by the dawning sensation of his jeans becoming damp.

He looks down and rights the pitcher of water at once, cursing under his breath. Letting out a deep and drawn-out sigh, Harry puts his overflowing glass of water and the pitcher on the table and steps out of the small puddle on the floor. He winces at his damp sneakers and the uncomfortable feeling of his jeans plastered to his right thigh, but before he can cast a drying charm, Oliver Wood appears in the entrance of the kitchen.

He takes one look at Harry and shakes his head — in sympathy or pity, Harry isn't sure.

Harry shoots Oliver a helpless look and shrugs his shoulders.

"Good game, lads! Off to the showers and I'll see you next week for practice!" Oliver hollers at the troop of grumbling teenagers stomping up the stairs.

Harry hurries to stand beside Oliver.

"Hey! Clean up after yourselves, yeah? You're leaving mud all over the place!" he bellows. A weary chorus of Yes, Harry rings out from the group.

"Rough game?" Harry asks, drying himself off.

Oliver starts to peel off his Quidditch leathers. "The holidays are almost over. I've got to work them hard before we send them back to the feasts at Hogwarts." He sits across the table from Harry. "They might moan about it, but you've got some good talent. I've got my eye on Reynolds and Baker; reckon I'll offer them a try-out with Puddlemere after they're finished with Hogwarts."

"Really? That's brilliant!" Harry exclaims in delight. Last year, he'd managed to rope Oliver in to coach the older kids in between seasons of professional coaching with Puddlemere United, with Harry taking back the reins when Oliver returned to Puddlemere.

They talk about Quidditch teams for a while. When the conversation enters a lull, Oliver leans forward and narrows his eyes at Harry.

"What?" Harry asks, self-conscious. 

"Drop him an owl, won't you?" Oliver suggests, nabbing an apple from the basket.

A bright blush descends on Harry's features.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbles and fusses with his cup of tea.

Oliver lets out a long-suffering sigh.

"It's been three bloody days, Harry. Three days of seeing you mope around the house and floating around looking all dreamy" — Harry gasps, scandalised — "Besides, it'd be a shame if you let it go like that after all your effort," Oliver points out around a mouthful of apple and jabs a finger towards Harry. 

Well, that bit is true... Harry takes a calming sip of Earl Grey and recalls the events that had led to that fateful night with Malfoy. He had been with Cheryl (his secretary in the orphanage) in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place, scrutinising the list of donors that were worthy of an invitation to the charity auction. Harry wasn't one of the organisers — he hated doing things like that, that was more of Cheryl's forte — nor was his orphanage one of the beneficiaries since he had enough money to support Grimmauld Place. However, there were still other orphanages that needed assistance, so Harry had agreed to help.

"Malfoy..." Cheryl glanced at a newspaper clipping and chucked it in the rejection pile.

All of Harry's attention had snapped to that single word.

"Why are you throwing him into the discard pile? He's kept his head down after the War, and his family is loaded," Harry said, keeping his voice on the right measure of casual. He fished out the clipping and looked at it. It was a recent photograph of Draco Malfoy hurrying down Diagon Alley, his blond hair ruffling in the breeze and the buttons of his charcoal-grey robe going all the way up to his neck. He scowls at the photographer before turning into Slug and Jiggers

"Yes, the Malfoys were important donors, but after the War, we don't need the bad publicity," Cheryl replied as an after-thought, her attention already fixed on another donor.

Yeah, but he's got the biggest dick I've seen. You don't spend majority of your teens in a boarding school without catching glimpses of other boys' pricks in the showers, and hell, Malfoy had a really big dick — even when soft. Harry's eyes had widened when he caught sight of it years ago, but that was about it.

That was before Harry had discovered he was gay, though.

After he was done grappling with his sexuality at the age of nineteen, he couldn't stop thinking about Malfoy's dick, wondering how big it could get when fully engorged and whether it could fit entirely in Harry. It doesn't help that Malfoy's a bloody good-looking bloke, too.

That particular image had taken centre-stage in many of Harry's fevered fantasies for the past year. Sure, sometimes those fantasies did end up taking a romantic turn, but Harry knew that was never gonna happen. But with this window of opportunity falling in his lap...

Harry had licked his lips and impulsively placed Malfoy's photo in the other pile. "Invite him. And..." Harry hesitated, but his mind was made up the second he saw Malfoy's photo. "Tell him I'm auctioning myself in his invitation card. Only in his card, mind you."

Cheryl stared at him with wide brown eyes. "You're selling yourself to him?"

It sounded ludicrous to Harry, but this was what he was doing.

"Yeah. I am. But only to him. Others will probably bid for me, but the only person that can get me will be Malfoy. Let the organisers know that. No one else can win me. Only Draco Malfoy."

At Cheryl's stunned look, Harry grinned.

"If he does take the bait, I have a good feeling he'll pay well for me. The war orphans benefit."

And me too, because I'll finally get fucked by the biggest cock I've seen.

He needed just one night — one night to get Malfoy out of his system.

Malfoy had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. And he definitely didn't disappoint — that extravagant sex-fest with Malfoy had been the best sex of his life. Every other man after that but why would you want anyone else after Malfoy— will fall short (literally and metaphorically) of Malfoy when it comes to sex, Harry is emphatically sure of that.

The way Malfoy looked at him when he entered the suite — those hungry gazes in between Malfoy's lazy aristocratic arrogance as he studied Harry — was so disconcerting and arousing at the same time. When he saw Malfoy's Dark Mark, the shock I'm in bed with Draco Malfoy, a Death Eater, but he's not really one, not really— was like ice-cold water being thrown onto him, but the way Malfoy moved on top of him, held him close and kissed him all over... God, no one's ever touched Harry like that, with so much longing, attraction and sexual chemistry. He loved how Malfoy's control had crumbled to dust in the bathroom when they kissed in the tub and gazed at each other's reflection in the mirror. Malfoy felt so soft and vulnerable in his arms when Harry cuddled him to sleep.

Harry had woken up the next morning with his skin soaked with Malfoy's vanilla scent.

Even now, he still feels a thrill of arousal at the sight of Malfoy's faint love-bites on his flesh, like whispers of a night long gone.

He loved the way Malfoy's control unravelled with each caress and word. He wants to make Malfoy come undone under his touch all over again; feel that pull, that intense attraction thrumming between their bodies.

He wants to make Malfoy burn

Oliver's voice chases away his sex-fuelled memories and jolts Harry back to the present.

"Hell, if people wanted to know how their old school-mates were doing, an owl would've been enough, not having him up your arse in your first meeting in years. You never did things by halves." He polishes off his apple and chucks the core in the bin. There's an amused twinkle in Oliver's eyes. Harry cards his fingers through his hair.

"He's... he's different," Harry protests, but it sounds weak even to him.

Maybe he really should owl Malfoy, maybe he had over-reacted the next afternoon...

"Harry!"

Harry grunts when a pint-sized, squealing fireball of red hair and bunched-up fists launches herself at his legs.

"There's someone at the door!" Marjorie declares importantly.

"Let's go get it then." Harry smiles and laces Marjorie's fingers through his own. They trot out of the kitchen. It's not often that Harry gets visitors ringing his doorbell: he guards his privacy fiercely, and all of his friends enter by Floo.

"When will Miss Hermy be back? Her reading classes are my favourite!" Marjorie says, beaming.

"She'll be here tonight after work. What are you reading now?"

"It's a story about a girl who's looking for her family. I..." Marjorie frowns and stops walking. "You're my family, aren't you, Harry?" she asks in a soft voice that makes Harry's heart ache.

Marjorie's parents were Death Eaters killed by the Order. She's too young for Harry to tell her details, but he knows he has to, some day.

He can only hope that she won't be too angry with him.

"Of course I am, silly goose," Harry says. He bends down to ruffle her hair affectionately. The nickname elicits a giggle from Marjorie, and she skips towards the door, dragging Harry behind her.

Still smiling, Harry swings the door open and comes face-to-face with the man that he can't stop thinking about.

"Good afternoon, Potter," Malfoy greets in a formal tone, inclining his head.

Harry's smile fades.

Although Malfoy isn't dressed in a Muggle suit, he still looks drop-dead gorgeous. He's wearing a grey shirt, paired with a black robe thrown casually over his shoulders, reaching down to his knees. The robe is fastened on the base of Malfoy's throat with a black and green brooch emblazoned with the Malfoy crest. The chain of a pocket watch peeks out from the pocket of his black trousers, and his polished shoes shine in the sunlight.

He is the very picture of aristocracy and money.  

The silver dragon earring studded on Malfoy's left earlobe twinkles when he looks down at Marjorie with curiosity. She darts behind Harry's legs and eyes Malfoy with apprehension.

Harry wants to say a simple and welcoming hello to Malfoy, but instead he blurts out, "How d'you know my address?"

Malfoy turns his attention back to Harry.

"I obtained it from your secretary. I told her there was a problem with the Galleons deducted from my vaults. I lied, obviously, I just wanted to come and see you," he replies. His words are sleek and rehearsed, as if he's said these exact words out loud a few times.

They blink at each other for a moment.

"May I enter?" Malfoy finally asks, his words clipped and polite.

You've already entered loads of times, a playful voice chirps in Harry, much to his embarrassment. He nods and steps to the side, allowing Malfoy into Grimmauld Place. Marjorie throws one last look at Malfoy before scampering away to her corner of books in the living room.

Suddenly self-conscious, Harry pats his hair to tame it into some semblance of submission. As he leads Malfoy towards the drawing room, he mutters Cleaning Charms over the mud that the Quidditch team had tracked on the floorboards. The house is rather messy, Harry has to admit: there are soft toys, crayons, picture-books and Lego blocks heaped on the tables, along with parchment and school textbooks that belonged to the older kids. There are coats flung on the backs of armchairs and boots piled on the foot of the stairs. An entire wall of the living room is devoted to drawings that his kids have done, while framed photographs of his loved ones — Hermione and Ron, the Weasleys, his friends from school and of course, all of his kids — jostle for space on the mantelpiece.

They enter the drawing room. When a screech of laughter rings from the rooms upstairs, Harry closes the door behind him.

"You've done a lot with the place," Malfoy remarks. "When I visited as a child, everything was so dark and dreary." Grey eyes scan the room, and Malfoy steps away from the sunlight streaming through the white curtains.

"I wanted the kids to live somewhere happy." Harry shrugs. "We practically had to tear half the place apart during the re-modelling. Even now, I think there are still some rooms we know nothing about."

"Well, if that's the case..." Malfoy trails off, a crafty smirk on his face as he pulls off his gloves slowly, revealing long fingers and elegant wrists — Harry registers the brief tremble of his hands that betray his tension. "Would you like to discuss the history of Grimmauld Place over dinner next Saturday?"

Harry's brain stutters to a stop.

"What," he says rather weakly.

Damn, Malfoy is smooth.

"Dinner, the main meal of the evening? Usually happens after tea?" Malfoy supplies, his smirk widening.

"I know what dinner is!" Harry snaps, eyes flashing. He scowls, annoyed. "You're asking me out on a date?" Try as he might, he can't keep the incredulity out of his voice. "You don't have to ask me out because we fucked!" The second the words are out, he winces at the crass statement.

"I don't have to do anything," Malfoy scoffs in that imperious tone that he knows so well. Harry's hands curl up into fists — bloody hell, after everything that has happened, he still doesn't know whether he should punch or kiss the living daylights out of Draco Malfoy.

"Besides, I think you'd enjoy it," Malfoy says, his tone silky and confident. He advances towards Harry. The sudden proximity of the other man, along with his heady vanilla scent, makes Harry's breath hitch. Malfoy grins in a self-satisfied manner and lifts a hand to tuck a finger under Harry's chin. He brushes his thumb on Harry's lower lip.

Harry gulps.

"I'd wine and dine you, take you for a stroll along the river, or do whatever you'd like on a date," Malfoy offers, his voice low and seductive, brimming with promise.

In return, Harry nips at Malfoy's thumb and steps back.

"Don't get too cocky, Malfoy. Maybe I'll be the one wining and dining you," Harry says, raising an eyebrow in challenge and jutting his chin out.

Malfoy's eyes twinkle. "Oh, really? We'll see about that, then." He promptly pushes Harry up against the edge of the table—

Squeak.

They look down at the table. Harry retrieves a rubber duck wearing painted-on sunglasses and a pink polka dotted ribbon on its head.

Malfoy frowns, his palms still on Harry's waist. "Does this belong to that little girl?"

Harry stifles a sigh. "No. This is Arthur Weasley's." He chucks the offending duck somewhere to the side and turns back to Malfoy.

“Why are you asking me out? After what you said that afternoon, I thought…” he trails off, looking away.

"I would like to apologise for that day. Since I paid for you, I foolishly thought that I had to pay to have you again." Malfoy catches Harry's hand in his own. "You're not a whore, far from it. I didn't want you to leave. I wanted you to..." He glances away briefly before looking back at Harry, his fingers tightening over Harry's. "One night with you would never be enough."

Harry's heart is beating so fast that he's afraid it might leap right out of his ribcage. Malfoy looks so vulnerable, an uncertain half-smile on his lips and his cheeks stained with a tinge of rose.

Harry can’t help but to lean in towards Malfoy, and Malfoy's moving closer too. Their lips are so close... just a bit more and they'll be kissing, but neither of them wants to be the one to make the first move.

The air is electric with promise, crackling with potential.

"See you next Saturday then," Harry quips, the corners of his mouth hiking up into a playful grin. They withdraw, and Harry's heart soars at Malfoy's radiant smile.

They make their way back to the door of Grimmauld Place.

"I'll be waiting," Malfoy says, hovering at the threshold.

Me too, Harry adds. He waves at Malfoy, who turns on his heel and saunters away. Harry stares at his retreating back the entire time, his features melting into a gooey smile as he admires the blond hair glinting in the sunlight, the curve of Malfoy's arse, and those long, long legs that just won't quit.

When Malfoy turns the corner, Harry closes the door. With his back pressed against the door, he slides down to the floor, a long and dreamy sigh accompanying his descent.

Next Saturday can't come fast enough.

 


 /fin