They all went to the same bar on Fridays after work, but much like Hogwarts with its separate houses, Aurors and Unspeakables just didn't seem to mix. Unspeakables tended toward their corner tables and their dancing. Aurors tended toward barstools and tall tales.
Unspeakables were a mysterious, loungy bunch.
Aurors belched and played darts.
Not that Harry hadn't thought of inviting them – okay, one in particular – over to their end of the bar for drinks, but despite all his Gryffindor courage, he'd never worked up enough for that. One reason might possibly be that the bloke he wanted to invite over was one Draco Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy – while still likely an aloof git -- had obviously really come into his own since taking the position down in the Department of Mysteries. And "his own" just happened to include wearing black eyeliner and leather trousers and strutting around everywhere like he owned everything.
He probably did.
Not that Harry could summon the venom with which he used to regard Malfoy. He'd clearly changed. Very, very clearly. It was rare that Harry ever saw him inside the Ministry (and when he did, Malfoy was simply a swirl of deep black robes on his way down a flight of stairs), and when he saw him out of it…well, he looked like he did now.
Not that Harry had anything against leather trousers and eyeliner and his tight white t-shirts and that Slytherin slinking thing that he did. Not at all, really. It was sort of the opposite of a having a problem. Well, actually, it was a different sort of problem.
The problem was that Harry found Malfoy slightly attractive.
He found him quite attractive.
Okay, he found him dead sexy.
Which, frankly, sucked.
It wasn't that the leather trousers bothered Harry. Or that his floppy hair falling into his eyes was somehow entrancing. Though he wouldn't put it past those Unspeakables to be working on some Entrancing Spells down there in their cozy little Unspeakable places.
There was a Love Room.
Harry was fully aware that there was a Love Room.
And that Malfoy might possibly, maybe even probably, work there. Not that Harry would ever have that confirmed. Or denied. Or anything.
Harry took a pull off his beer and, like always, found himself staring at Malfoy from afar, wondering what went on in that mind of his, wondering if he'd do what he did last week and pull a bloke right out of the arms of the already-extremely-fit-bloke he'd been dancing with, if he'd have to watch Malfoy leave with someone (or three) tonight, if they might ever resolve their vast diff—
"Oi! Harry! Budge up, mate."
"What're you doing there?" Seamus looked over his shoulder to where Harry had been observing. Or staring. "Ogling Malfoy again?"
Harry huffed a put-out sigh. "I'm not og— Yes," he concluded. This was not his first teasing about Malfoy. His friend would get bored of it and leave off eventually.
"Christ, mate, for the love of Morgana, invite him over," Seamus sighed, signaling for the bartender. "Dean!" he yelled suddenly. He whistled. "Oi, DEAN!"
Dean looked up from his conversation with Parvati Patil three barstools away. "Hey, you arsehole!" he smiled. "When'd you get here?"
"Got stuck with Weasley's paperwork again. It's a long story. Hey, Harry wants to talk to Malfoy!"
"Shut it," Harry hissed, grabbing his arm.
"What the bloody hell else is new?" Dean laughed. Parvati, who Harry had thought he could count on not to, laughed as well. "It's the great non-love affair of the office, right? Buy him a drink, Harry!"
"I'm not-- I don't—" He lowered his voice. "He's just…worth keeping an eye on."
"Right," Seamus said, smiling that slow smile of his that made Harry want to punch him in the mouth.
"What are we talking about?" Neville asked, coming back to the bar from the loo.
"Harry's crush on Malfoy," Dean informed him.
"Oh, all right," Neville answered, as though this was not news.
"I don't--! Fucking Christ, it's not a crush. He's just…interesting-looking, all right?" Harry insisted. "I mean, fuck, am I not allowed to glance at the most interesting-looking person in the room, for fuck's sake?"
"Oh, Harry," Luna said, suddenly appearing at his right with her glass of dandelion wine swirling around. "You don't glance. You gaze."
Harry firmed his jaw. This was not the level of Malfoy-teasing he was used to. He blamed Ron for going on paternity leave and ceasing to be the target of elbows to the ribs and ribald remarks about his sexual prowess in knocking Headmistress Hermione Granger up three weeks into their marriage (and one into the school year).
He missed Ron a lot right now.
An awful lot.
"Tell you what," Seamus said happily. "I'll bet you ten Galleons you can't not look at him for an hour."
"You know what?" Harry declared. "You're on!"
"Excuse me, Potter," came the voice from right behind him, and before he could stop himself, Harry turned to find himself looking right at a very close Draco Malfoy.
Seamus pointed a mocking finger in Harry's face. "Ahhhhahahahaha!"
Malfoy ignored Seamus and squeezed between him and Harry to signal the bartender. "Five Ogden's reserves. Doubles." His hip rested temporarily against Harry's knee, and their arms touched where they lay on the bar top. Harry felt a flush warm his skin.
"Hey, Malfoy, you just made Harry lose ten Galleons to me," Seamus bragged.
"Perhaps you can use it to buy yourself some taste," Malfoy responded without missing a beat. Then he gestured at the Firewhiskys – a soft trill of his fingers – and with a wink at Harry, he started to walk away, the drinks following him like he was the Pied Piper.
Harry watched him go…the slight swing of his narrow hips and leather-clad arse.
He'd winked at him.
He'd bloody winked at him.
And he'd stood so bloody close. Harry could still feel him, still smell his subtle cologne.
"Hey, Malfoy!" Seamus hollered after him.
"Oh Merlin," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes and taking a long drink of his beer to keep from hexing his stupid, stupid friend.
Malfoy turned gracefully. He shooed the drinks back toward his booth where all his suave little Unspeakable friends sat waiting for his return. The drinks floated over the heads of the people already on the dance floor as Malfoy sauntered back over toward the bar. "Yes, Finnigan?"
"I know a way you can help Harry win his money back."
Malfoy smirked. He dug in his pocket, found a shrunken coin bag, Engorgioed it, pulled out ten Galleons, and then handed them to Harry. "So do I," he said to Seamus, and then turned, shaking his head, and started off toward his table again.
The coins were warm in Harry's palm from where they'd sat, deep in Malfoy's pocket. Harry looked at them for a second and then promptly handed them over to Seamus with what he hoped was an unfazed, beatific smile. (Or at least a shit-eating grin.) Maybe it was the three beers he'd guzzled down, but it was sort of fun and nice, feeling like he and Malfoy had ganged up on Seamus for a moment.
"Wait!" Seamus yelled over the music.
Harry groaned openly and cast his hand over his face in near despair at his friend's obtuse ham-handedness. "Dear God, Seamus, just shut the fuck up," Harry moaned.
But Malfoy turned again. He strode back over slowly. "This had better be good," he said, cocking a hip and crossing his arms over his slender chest.
"In a hurry to get hammered with your pals? Wait. Can Unspeakables get hammered? Won't you spill all your secrets?" Seamus mused.
"I can't tell you that," Malfoy dead-panned.
"You can't tell anybody anything!" Parvati shouted and then slammed back her red currant rum.
Malfoy's eyes slid over to her but then blinked back to Seamus.
"Care to make a wager? Get your Galleons back?" Seamus asked.
Malfoy gave him a crooked smile that clearly said, 'I don't need ten Galleons. I don't need a thousand Galleons. I wouldn't miss them if I threw them on the floor right now and never looked back, you pathetic plonker.' But then he wiped it from his face, licked his lips, and humoured him. "Pray tell, what kind of wager?"
"Harry bets you ten Galleons," Seamus started, and it was all Harry could do not to spit his beer.
"What?" Harry laughed once he'd swallowed.
Seamus just went on, talking over him, putting a hand in his face like it was none of Harry's business. "Harry bets you ten Galleons that you can't make three bulls-eyes in a row."
Malfoy lifted a brow. "Harry does," he said.
"Look, Malfoy, he's pissed. Just—" Harry began.
"You're on," Malfoy said easily. He uncrossed his arms, gave Harry a long, indecipherable look, and then sauntered over to the dartboard across the room.
"Draco, what are you on about?" Pansy Parkinson called from their booth, and he raised a hand to her just like Seamus had done to Harry. Like this wouldn't take long. Like he'd make off with Harry's money in no more time than it took to swat a fly. Or torture a house-elf. Not that he'd been doing any of that of late, Harry knew.
Still. It was arrogant as all fuck.
Harry didn't know if he wanted to jinx him, punch him, or…
His gaze dropped to that tight, sashaying arse.
"Do you want to see the money?" Seamus asked.
Malfoy looked over his shoulder like Seamus was the most daft git alive. "Please," he replied scathingly. Which, really, was more of a compliment to Harry than anything. Harry blinked, watching him yank three darts from the board and make his way back to the line on the floor, processing that Malfoy not only trusted that Harry was good for it but that he'd honour a bet he'd never officially even made in the first place.
He processed that it seemed oddly possible that Malfoy believed in Harry to some unknown extent and for certainly unknowable reasons.
As he watched Malfoy take his position, Harry realised he had never seen Malfoy play darts before. Not in the six months they'd all been coming here every week. Harry would have bet, before tonight, that Malfoy had never even seen a dartboard in his life.
"And no magic!" Seamus called. "Or Harry will know."
Malfoy huffed a short laugh but then nodded in agreement.
Harry and his friends, and Malfoy's friends, too, watched him take his stance. His t-shirt stretched over his shoulder blades, around his upper arms, defining the wiry muscles there. He got very still, and then one after the other, in quick succession, he threw the darts. They struck like unerring spells, and Harry thought he heard the whistle of their flight even over the last strains of The Weird Sisters' rendition of 'Love Potion Number Nine'.
And each of them, all three, stuck right in the middle of the bulls-eye.
A cheer went up from Malfoy's table. Dean yelled, "Bloody hell!" And Malfoy just turned with a soft smile and sauntered back over.
Harry, belatedly, realised he was smiling back. He cleared his throat, tamped down whatever this strange feeling was – admiration, amusement…
Arousal, his dick supplied.
He pulled the Galleons from his pocket as Malfoy approached, handing them over with a quiet, "Nice job."
Malfoy pocketed his money. He started to walk away.
"Wait!" Seamus bellowed again.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Harry sighed. Though, really, he wasn't all that arsed.
Because Malfoy turned back again with that haughty eyebrow up. "Yes?"
"Double or nothing," Seamus said. "And you drink a shot of Firewhisky first."
"Are you buying, Finnigan?"
"Harry is," said Seamus with a confident nod Harry's direction. Harry was beginning to feel like his presence wasn't really essential, only his wallet.
Malfoy looked at Harry. Their eyes met, and Harry held the gaze for a moment. (Yes, Luna, it was a gaze.) Then he shrugged, sighed, and signalled the bartender. Malfoy came closer. Once again, his hip rested against Harry's leg while the bartender poured the shot. He took the glass off the bar, gave Harry a look that felt, frankly, invasive, and then threw the liquor back before handing the glass to Harry and then (finally) moving away.
It was only after he'd left that Harry realised he'd been holding his breath like a love-sick sappy sod. He compressed his lips and cursed the beginning of a halfie he had inside his jeans as Malfoy took his darts and once again assumed the position.
So to speak.
Except for the music, which was now blaring Transfigure My Heart, the room fell to a hush. There was no clinking of glasses, no laughter or talk. Everyone stopped to watch Malfoy go completely still, like a lioness in the grass watching a gazelle. Then, again, he drew his hand back and made three quick bulls-eyes.
"No way," Parvati laughed.
Again, Malfoy's group cheered. He didn't even spare them a glance. He'd turned, and he only looked at Harry. Harry raised his beer bottle in a toast, sipped, and then started rooting around for the twenty Galleons.
"Double the double or nothing!" Seamus bellowed.
Harry turned on his barstool and openly frowned at him in disbelief. "What are you on about?"
Malfoy came back over and crossed his arms, looking anything but nonplussed.
"Look at him," Harry said to his friend. "Do you think he gives a toss if he wins or loses forty Galleons?"
"He has a point," Malfoy broke in.
Harry turned back to look at him, studying the pompous git for motive. His smirk was that infuriating one he wore that suggested untold secrets and amusement at your expense. But his lips looked soft, and his eyes, lined in kohl, twinkled and shone, and they were almost...they were very...well, pretty.
"And what's your point, Malfoy?" Dean cut in.
And that's about the time when Harry noticed that Pansy Parkinson and Lee Jordan (a patently bizarre choice for Unspeakable if ever there had been one) had wandered over, sensing that things could get interesting. Pansy was likely able to smell blood five miles away. Like a shark.
Not that there would be blood.
There probably wouldn't, Harry theorised.
"Well," Malfoy went on, "Potter's right. I couldn't be less arsed about the money."
Harry, of course, got stuck on the 'Potter's right' part. So he almost missed this next bit:
"Come on. A good bet would have me doing something horribly humiliating should I lose." Malfoy inspected his nails for a moment before turning bored eyes back on Seamus.
Seamus bit his lip in thought. Then, dear God help them all, his eyes lit up. Harry hated when his eyes lit up. It never meant anything good.
"If you lose..." he began and then bit his lip again.
"Yeees," Malfoy encouraged patiently.
"You give Harry a lap dance."
"What?!" Harry squeaked, wide eyes on his ex-friend.
"And if Potter loses?" Malfoy asked, as though this was all perfectly normal and he wasn't about to run for the hills and why on earth would he?
Harry blinked his astonished gaze back to a very calm Malfoy. He stood there without a care in the world. Maybe. As Seamus thought, Harry noticed that Malfoy's pulse was beating hard in his neck, the little throb thudding quickly, more quickly than his relaxed stance and clever look let on.
Despite the cocked up situation, Harry found himself just slightly mesmerised by that swift, telling, rhythmic jump in Malfoy's neck. Watching it and feeling the music's bass through the soles of his shoes, Harry had to shift in his seat to alleviate the pressure on his crotch.
But when Seamus spoke again and broke the spell (for lack of a better word), Harry very nearly Silencioed him in retaliation.
"If Harry loses, he has to snog you."
Harry hissed at him beneath his breath, "Are you bloody mad?! Why would he agree--?"
It was Luna who cut him off with her own urgent whisper. In fact, it was one of the more urgent things to come out of her mouth that Harry had ever heard. "Shut it. He's going to agree, you blind bandicoot, watch."
"He has to snog me? I'm sorry, are we still first years?" Malfoy scoffed. Then his eyes went dangerously dark. "Don't you mean you want us to make out, you uncouth pervert? You want our tongues to tangle and my hands getting stuck in that mess he calls hair? Like to watch, do you, Finnigan?" When Seamus only gaped, Malfoy shrugged. "Fine."
"Fine?" Harry blurted.
This time Malfoy only spared him the most fleeting of looks, like he was an annoying little buzzing insect with which he needn't trifle.
"Yeah, er...yeah. He's got to kiss you. Right," Seamus babbled, seemingly caught just as off-guard with Malfoy's agreement as Harry was.
"Same challenge then?" Malfoy replied, business-like. "Shot of Firewhisky, three bulls-eyes?" As though he simply could not lose.
Harry swallowed as he realised that one way or another, if Malfoy did this, they'd end up all over each other.
They'd end up all over each other.
And Malfoy was all in.
Malfoy was all in.
Harry looked at him anew, and it was like he'd just cleaned his glasses. Instead of seeing a fantastic git who'd as soon have nothing to do with Harry, now he saw the sparkle in Malfoy's eyes, the readiness behind the supposedly casual, even blasé, stance.
Malfoy wanted this.
Malfoy wanted him.
"Er, yeah," Seamus fumbled, clearly out of his depth now that Malfoy had wrested the definition of 'snog' for himself and one-upped him.
Malfoy flicked two fingers at the bartender matter-of-factly.
"Wait," Seamus said.
The entire pub groaned.
"What," Malfoy bit out.
"You do two shots," Seamus constructed on the fly. "And you throw left-handed."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow at this. He looked at Harry and seemed to assess if this was all worth the trouble. Harry took a chance, crossed his arms over his own chest challengingly, and spread his legs where he sat, planting a foot on the barstool rung and the other on the floor. He stared at Malfoy evenly.
Malfoy looked back at Seamus and sighed. "Very well. But Potter does the two shots with me."
"You're on," Harry replied before Seamus could, once again, do so on his behalf.
At this, Malfoy smirked a bit, and as before, he walked in close. The bartender set four shots on the bar. Malfoy stood between Harry's legs and leaned over to pick up the first glass, his leg brushing Harry's, his whole body entirely too close. (And really, what the fuck was Harry thinking that for, since if Malfoy lost the bet, he'd literally be in Harry's lap? And Harry had agreed to this.) Seamus handed Harry his shot, and then Harry and Malfoy looked at each other as they lifted the glasses to their lips and only broke eye contact to throw back the abrasive liquor. (This was not Malfoy's 'Reserve', after all.) Harry watched him fight back a grimace. He had to be feeling his liquor by now. Harry's buzz intensified, but whether from the drink or Malfoy's proximity, he couldn't be sure.
They downed their second shots in much the same fashion and to the tune of a cheering crowd. Then Malfoy gave him a look that held a multitude of filthy promises before turning and swaying those bloody hips of his back over to the dartboard.
"You can do it, Draco!" Pansy yelled between cupped hands.
"Off by a mile!" Neville shouted in return, rather bravely, Harry thought.
It was then that he realised that his hands were sweating. He wondered if Malfoy's were, too, or if he was as cool as he appeared.
Malfoy took his stance. The room hushed. Even the music faded away as the magical jukebox switched its records.
Malfoy raised his arm. He threw the first dart. It landed true, in the very middle of the bulls-eye. A cheer went up from the Unspeakables.
Malfoy took aim again, going slower now that he was forced to use his non-dominant hand (and was very possibly slightly pissed). He moved his hand forward and back, parallel to the floor, slowly, eyeing the board. He threw again, and the second dart joined the first, quivering there for a moment before coming to a rest.
Another yell of triumph went up from the crowd.
Malfoy raised his right hand then and wiggled his fingers in a strangely intoxicating gesture that made Harry's stomach feel...floppy.
And then everything stopped.
It all stopped.
The crowd went completely quiet and still. There was no sound but the traffic zooming by outside and Harry's own breathing.
It seemed Malfoy was the only other person unaffected, and he turned and looked at Harry over his shoulder, even as the other patrons stood or sat or half-stood, frozen in space and in time. Harry blinked at Malfoy, and Malfoy smiled back – not like his other smiles either. This was a blaze of sincere mischief. He winked again. Then he turned back around, wiggled his Unspeakable fingers, the crowd came back to life as though it had never stopped, and Malfoy threw the dart.
It stuck three rings from center, nowhere even close.
The Unspeakables groaned. Harry's friends cheered wildly. But Harry just watched Malfoy turn. Their eyes met. A new song started up. Malfoy nudged an empty chair at a nearby table with his foot, turning it toward Harry. He crooked his finger at Harry three times in that unmistakable c'mere gesture, a sultry smirk lifting his lips.
Seamus shoved him off his barstool, and Harry turned to shoot him a frown in return. But his friend just gave him two enthusiastic thumbs up and a huge grin. Dean slapped him on the back like he was about to get married or something. Luna cheered and did a little dance.
They were all so bloody happy about this!
Harry looked at their ridiculous, smiling faces, then turned and saw that the Unspeakables wore their own pleased smirks.
"Give 'im hell, Draco!" Pansy called, practically leering.
Lee whooped between cupped hands and then clapped.
Harry took a step toward Malfoy's waiting chair.
By the time he was between the chair and Malfoy, the place was in a tizzy. The bass throbbed hard through the room. Harry looked into Malfoy's eyes and felt himself blushing madly. He half expected Malfoy to wave the whole thing off and throw a bunch of Galleons at him. But instead he touched a bony finger to the middle of Harry's chest, right over his rapidly hammering heart, and shoved.
Harry's arse hit the chair, and the room went wild. Malfoy straddled it, standing over him, and began to sway his hips.
His bloody amazing hips.
He raised his arms over his head and slowly...well, he undulated, didn't he?...to the driving music. The whole club went up in a roar. Harry gripped the sides of the chair as though the world could tip any moment and throw him off.
Malfoy smiled down at him, bent his knees, and right when Harry thought he'd sit his arse down right on top of Harry's growing erection, he straightened his legs again, still smiling at Harry like this bloody sadistic angel or something.
He wasn't mortified in the least. Why wasn't he mortified? Harry was. But Malfoy swayed over him looking like he might actually be enjoying himself.
Maybe that's because he was really good at what he was doing.
Harry gulped again as Malfoy did a little kick and unstraddled his legs. He wandered slowly behind Harry's chair, making him feel completely exposed now that he didn't have Malfoy's writhing body there to cover himself. Malfoy trailed his hand along the back of the chair, then Harry felt his fingers sift up onto his head, through his hair, lightly scraping his nails along Harry's scalp so that he shivered.
The club whooped and shouted encouragement. Harry closed his eyes and gripped the chair harder.
Malfoy's hand dropped to fondle Harry's ear, tickled down his neck, and came to rest on Harry's shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. It was almost...reassuring?
Harry hated how good it felt. How warm and strong and real.
"Tease him good, Draco!" Pansy called out.
Malfoy spared her a brief look with a rather placid smile as he came around in front of Harry's chair again. Harry watched, transfixed, as he faced away this time, restraddled Harry's legs, and then bent his knees and swivelled his hips until he really did sit himself right down on Harry's lap.
Harry inhaled sharply at the first touch of Malfoy's leather-clad arse against his crotch. Malfoy settled, squirming a bit as the crowd, including Harry's traitor friends, went mad with this new backwards cowboy position Malfoy had adopted. Then Malfoy took Harry's legs in his hands. He arched his back, his hands sliding down Harry's legs to his ankles, as he bent forward.
Harry couldn't be sure which felt more amazing: the hands slipping down his legs or the arse grinding back into his cock.
Okay, well, probably that second thing.
But the hands were nice, too.
They were bloody nice, Malfoy's long fingers gently gripping.
Harry gulped and closed his eyes. But then he opened them again as Malfoy rolled back up and leaned back all the way so that his back was to Harry's chest, his head coming to rest intimately on Harry's shoulder. Suddenly, Harry could feel Malfoy's breath. Malfoy raised his arm and gripped the back of Harry's head. He undulated his hips, rubbing himself against Harry's erection slowly while he breathed hot in Harry's ear.
And his breaths were...shuddering, uneven...
Harry let himself look at this creature writhing on his lap. The white t-shirt was practically see-through, and this close he could certainly see Malfoy's dark little nipples under the fabric, hard and lickable. Malfoy rolled his torso, and his tits pressed to the cotton enticingly.
Harry swallowed. His cock twitched against Malfoy's arse as he rolled his hips, too, and Malfoy gasped against the shell of his ear.
And now Harry was gripping the chair for an entirely different reason: not from mortification, but to keep from grabbing him, from touching him, from molesting him in front of an entire bar-full of their friends.
Because holy fuck, he felt so bloody good!
Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Seamus high-five Dean. And he didn't care. He saw Parvati whisper to Luna and the both of them giggle. And he didn't care. He saw Pansy wink at Lee. And he so didn't care.
He cared when Malfoy undraped himself from atop Harry's body and stood. But it was only to turn to face him once more. Harry got to see his flushed face and neck, his dilated eyes. Then Malfoy straddled his lap again and sat himself down on top of Harry. He wrapped his long, sinewy arms around Harry's neck, and then he ground his very hard cock against Harry's, almost with no pretense of "dancing" anymore.
His hot breaths huffed in Harry's face, his hands back in Harry's hair, nails stroking. He leaned in and placed his lips against Harry's ear again. The song started to die down. He licked Harry's earlobe, then he murmured, "Don't go anywhere. I'm not done yet."
Before Harry could process that he'd just been given instructions to sit and stay, Malfoy was standing. The crowd applauded as he smiled down at Harry and backed away. They yelled their appreciation as Harry blinked in the aftermath, hard as hell, and Malfoy winked at him and then turned and took an ostentatious bow, eliciting cat calls and whistles.
Harry didn't stay in the chair because he'd been told to, though. He stayed because he was bloody shocked into non-movement.
Malfoy waved at the bartender. "One more whiskey," he called. When it was poured, he took it off the bar and downed it. He gave the empty glass to Seamus and then walked past Harry to the dartboard again. He took three darts, walked to the line, took his stance, and then with his left hand, he threw three bulls-eyes in quick succession.
No bloody problem.
The room sat stunned.
Then Malfoy looked at him, grinning, and crooked his finger again.
With strength and balance he was stunned to find he had, Harry stood. There was murmuring all around as he walked up to Malfoy in the middle of the room. Then Malfoy reached out, grabbed the front of Harry's shirt, and jerked him in, mashing their lips together.
The place exploded with cheering such that Harry was surprised the building stayed on its foundation.
For a moment, Harry couldn't process it. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He just stood there with Malfoy's lips pressed to his own. Then, in a way that felt oddly involuntary even though he could feel no magic whatsoever, Harry took hold of Malfoy's waist, pried his lips open, and licked his tongue into Malfoy's mouth.
If the room went wild, it didn't matter, and Harry didn't hear. All he could hear was the blood pounding through his head. All he felt was Malfoy returning the kiss, their tongues touching, Malfoy's arms coming around his neck, his own wrapping around Malfoy's middle, his hands pressing hard to Malfoy's back to seal them tightly together.
And Malfoy tasted divine. His lips were yielding, but his kiss was fierce. He tasted, of course, like Firewhisky, and Harry moaned as they changed the fit of their mouths and kissed deeper, slower, softer, exploring.
He felt the crowd mill about again, the song changing, the conversations starting up. He felt people merge around them and start to dance. He was peripherally aware of all of these things. But his world was mostly just one thing: Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy, you fucking beautiful git, Malfoy...
Maybe half a song later, they came up for air.
Belatedly, Harry realised they were swaying gently to the music.
Malfoy smirked at him. "Well, this is interesting, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Harry agreed, loving the feel of Malfoy's body up against his own. "Very interesting."
"I think I might adore your friends," Malfoy informed him casually.
"You do, do you?"
"Mm," Malfoy affirmed. Back and forth they swayed. It wasn't even a slow song. Harry couldn't be arsed. Malfoy's fingers were sifting around in the hair at the base of his skull and making him want to shiver again. "They had no bloody idea what they were getting themselves into, but then they just went with it, didn't they? So very daftly Gryffindor."
"I didn't exactly know what I was getting into either," Harry told him. "Where did you learn to throw darts like that?"
Malfoy's eyes sparkled. "I can't tell you that, Potter."
Harry rolled his eyes. "What can you tell me, Malfoy?"
His gaze dropped to Harry's lips. "That I think we should kiss again."
"Okay," Harry replied.
And just like that they were doing it. Just like that. Harry was astonished at how easily Malfoy opened for it, let Harry's tongue dip into his mouth and taste him. They'd had a perfectly civil conversation (in one another's arms), and now they were back to the kissing, but this time it was Malfoy who groaned into Harry's mouth, rubbing himself up against Harry and letting him feel the stiff cock still trapped inside those sexy trousers.
For the first time since the whole thing began, Harry realised that this could very well lead to sex.
With Draco Malfoy.
His own cock jumped inside his jeans, and Malfoy purred into the kiss, dropping his hands to Harry's arse and squeezing.
It was enough to make Harry gasp out of the kiss.
"All right?" Malfoy asked him, still somehow purring.
Harry watched his black-lined eyes blinking, his tongue coming out to wet his lower lip. "More than."
"Do you want to get out of here?"
"And go where?" Harry decided he needed to ask.
Malfoy leaned in and whispered it in his ear. "Somewhere where you can fuck me properly."
"I have a flat," Harry blurted. "I mean, we could go there. For that. To my flat, I mean."
He felt Malfoy smile against his ear before he gently bit and tugged on the lobe. Then he said, "Sounds lovely," and he actually sounded like he meant it.
Harry was having a bit of trouble believing this was real.
But then Malfoy took his hand and started leading him through the crowd, but not toward the door.
"I need to do something first," Malfoy said, walking them up to the bar. He let go of Harry's hand to produce his money bag again. As Seamus and Dean and the rest watched, Malfoy plunked somewhere in the vicinity of fifty Galleons onto the bar. "I'd like to buy a round for this lot," he said.
"Is he serious?" Seamus asked Harry.
Harry shrugged. "Seems to be."
Then Malfoy grabbed his hand again and yanked him none-too-gently towards the exit while his friends made their orders.
"To Malfoy!" someone shouted.
"To Malfoy," Harry said to himself, unable to quit smiling.
Malfoy turned to him, squeezed his hand, and winked.
Harry turned over, and the sunlight streaming through his parted curtains made him wince. He covered his eyes with a hand and yawned. He stretched in his bed, feeling places on his body that were oddly quite sore, and his hand collided with something too solid to be pillows and too warm as well.
And too naked.
Harry's eyes flew open, and he turned his head to see...
...that it hadn't been a dream.
Dear Merlin, he was lying right there. Draco Malfoy. His hair a dishevelled mess and his nude back one of the most beautiful sights Harry had ever seen.
He'd fucked Draco Malfoy last night.
Three bloody times!
Which would explain how sore his thighs were. There are just some things being an Auror, even with all its physical fitness training, doesn't prepare one for, and fucking all night is one of those things, Harry philosophised, even as a completely daft smile grew to ridiculous proportions on his face.
Holy fuck, it had been amazing! The memories washed over Harry one after the other until he was grinning so hard it hurt and he felt like taking his broom for a naked victory flight around the bedroom.
He remembered the fevered kissing as they crashed through the front door. The clothes strewn everywhere. His trouble with Draco's leather pants, and Draco's, "Just fuck it," and his Vanishing them completely.
He remembered the sensation that he might drool all over himself seeing Draco's body for the first time and how it had felt under his questing hands.
He remembered Draco going down on him for what seemed like an hour and how Draco had not let him come. Those wicked eyes looking up at Harry from between his legs. His lips swollen from sucking cock...
Harry remembered rolling Draco over and rimming his fantastic arse for just as long. He remembered that Draco had actually cried for it, his arse working against Harry's mouth in this joyfully uninhibited way that made Harry practically mad to fuck him.
And he'd fucked him.
First, on his hands and knees, Draco's arse bouncing off his hips, Harry watching his own cock slide deep and then re-emerge.
Then, once they'd come and then lain there like sloths catching their breaths, Harry rolling over, pushing Draco's still-sweaty legs up, and mounting him face-to-face. Harry bit his lip remembering Draco's expression as he came with Harry fucking him hard -- the creased brows and open mouth. The way he'd clung to Harry's shoulders...
The way he'd said, "Potter...Potter...fuck, Potter..." as though Harry's name was no longer something foul in his mouth.
Like it was pleasure to him now.
And then, after they'd ventured out of the bed and gone to the bathroom (and pissed into the toilet at the same time and then laughed about it like boys), they'd gone naked into the kitchen for tall glasses of cool water and to raid Harry's cupboards for strange assortments of foods: biscuits and fruit and beans on toast. (And more biscuits. Because fucking is hungry work.)
And then how they'd sat there on their naked bums and talked. And talked and talked and talked, and how it came easy, and even their barbs were softer -- like a thorny bush overrun with its own pesky flowers.
And then Draco yawning and saying he should go home. Harry taking his hand and smiling coyly. "One more time?"
Then back in the bed. The night deep and empty, like they were the only two people awake in the world and barely at that.
Harry had rolled Draco onto his side, pushed a finger inside him, and rejoiced to the whimper of slight discomfort under the arousal. Not that Harry wanted to hurt him. But it was a beautiful sound all the same.
Then Harry had pushed slowly inside. So slowly. Draco had gripped his hip hard, but soon they were rocking together, moving with and against each other's tired bodies, and Draco had felt so good -- so soft and still so tight and warm around him.
It took a long time for Harry to come. It took Draco whispering to him, "Feels so good... So bloody good... Come on, Potter... Come in me, Potter... Come inside me, Harry...
That was actually the last thing Harry remembered: his stellar orgasm. He didn't remember slipping out or falling asleep. He didn't remember Draco falling asleep. Nothing.
But there he was. Here they were.
Harry turned over on his side, propping himself on an elbow, and he watched Draco's back...watched him breathing in sleep.
His back rose and fell, rose and fell. A soft little snuffly sound came from his nose. Harry realised that if he did it really slowly, he could probably pull the sheet off his hip without Draco noticing and get to stare at his precious arse unchecked.
Harry's eyebrows rose and he nodded at his own ingenuity. He set to his course. But when he'd got the sheet to slide off Draco's beautiful posterior...well, then all Harry wanted to do was rim him again.
For a skinny bloke, Draco had a truly luscious arse. It overflowed Harry's grasping hands so nicely. And his little hole was soft and warm and pliant. Maybe just a quick Scourgify and then Harry could just lean forward, swipe his tongue along that tantalising crease, and...
Just then, Draco stretched and groaned. Harry's heart began to pound frantically. He waited for Draco to realise where he was. Waited for him to turn and give Harry that wicked smile. Waited, like a gentleman, for Draco to properly wake before Harry set about eating his arse for breakfast.
"What...?" Draco stammered. He rubbed his eyes, looked down at his hands, and then did something wholly unexpected:
Harry jumped back about a foot. "Bloody fuck, what?"
"Stay there, Potter! Don't you move!" Draco demanded in a high voice.
"Just don't, I say!" Draco wailed. Then he grabbed the sheet, jumped off the bed, and, sheet and all, fled to the bathroom.
The door slammed, and Harry just sat there for a moment, naked now that his sheet had vacated the bed, and blinked.
Then he frowned.
Then he moved protesting limbs, climbing off the bed and padding down the hall to the bathroom. He raised his knuckles and gave a soft rap. "Draco? What's the matter?"
He heard his potions cabinet open and then a haughty curse. "Where the bloody hell do you keep your potions, Potter?"
"What potions?" Harry yelled through the door.
"Who doesn't keep potions in their potions cabinet?" Draco fumed.
"Can you come out? Or just tell me what you need, and if I have it, I'll bring it," Harry suggested.
"And have you see me like this? Are you mad?"
"See you like what?" Harry was intensely confused. He'd never quite gotten this reaction post-shag. True, it had been a few months, and it's not like he was some Don Juan, but still. He knew enough to realise this was a bit odd. And worrying.
It dawned on him suddenly. "You're not worried about... I mean, I took all the precautions. I did three different spells..."
"I know that, you imbecile," Draco spat. "I was there, remember?"
"Then what the fuck are you looking for?" Harry sighed. "Why won't you let me help you?"
The door flew open. "This!" Draco shouted in his face, pointing at his own. "This is why!" Then he slammed the door again. "I demand that you go to my house and fetch me my potions."
Harry's frown slowly transformed into a warm smile. "Draco..." he began. But he cleared his throat. The last thing he wanted to do was sound condescending. But there wasn't really a sane way to have this conversation, he didn't think. "So your make-up's run a bit. It's not--"
"Potter, I'd like you not to finish your sentence and to kindly fetch me my potions, please."
Harry's heart broke just a little at the way Draco was clearly trying to keep calm about this. And failing. Harry placed his palm on the door as if this could placate him. "Draco. Would you come out? There's something I need to say to you."
"What." He was just on the other side of the door. Well, at least he'd moved closer. It was something. Harry smiled.
"Could you come out? Just for a bit. Please?"
Harry sighed. "I can't say this through the door. Look, I promise you can lock yourself back inside and I will fetch whatever potions you want if you just open the door for three minutes and hear me out."
A full minute went by.
Then Draco unlocked and opened the door, standing there with Harry's sheet wrapped around him and his eyeliner running down his face, looking unutterably miserable. "Two minutes," he said, eyes cast down at the floor.
"You've never slept over with anyone have you?"
He watched Draco swallow, saying nothing and everything in that moment. Harry's heart swelled for him. It swelled for them both. Draco may have dragged three men at a time out of that club before, but apparently he'd slept in Harry's arms only. It gave Harry the confidence to press on.
"You think you're beautiful because of this, don't you?" He reached out and thumbed at Draco's cheek where the black kohl had seemed to fuse in dark rivulets to his face.
Draco flinched, but he didn't pull away.
"Look at me," Harry said softly.
Draco blinked his eyes and then raised his gaze. And he must not have registered that Harry was naked before, because now his eyes glinted, and he seemed to want to smile through his pouting. "Your cock's out, Potter," he informed.
Harry held out his arms. "My everything's out, Draco," he said. "And see, here's the scar I got from fighting off an angry Acromantula without my wand three months ago." He pointed to a jagged and ugly purplish indentation on his belly. "And I have a zit on the back of my shoulder just now, as well," he went on, turning and showing him. He padded back around. "My big toes look like shovels, my hair is, as you well know, infamous, and," Harry sighed, "there's the small matter of two scars Voldemort gave me, as well. Yet somehow you still wanted to have sex with me."
Draco rolled his eyes. "That's different. I--"
"You," Harry said, taking his face in his hands, "are so beautiful I can barely stand it. Hell, I didn't invite you over for drinks for weeks because I was too intimidated by how bloody beautiful you are now."
"Because I work at it, Potter," Draco argued.
"No," Harry replied. "Draco, I love the eyeliner. I love the leather. It's all hot as fuck." Pleased with the blush that got, he went on, stepping closer. "But that's not what makes you beautiful. Do you know what does?"
Draco shook his head slowly.
Harry dropped his hand to his chest. "This," he said.
"My skinny chest?"
"No, you twit, though I'll have you know I could lick your nipples all day."
Blushing again. Harry triumphed inside.
"Then what?" Draco pouted.
"You," Harry said. "Just you. All of you. Every bit of you. The way you walk. The way you throw darts. The way you move those scandalous hips of yours. Your confidence and how it's not cruel any longer." Harry swallowed. "Your heart, you fool."
Draco blinked at him. He lifted his chin defiantly, some of that ridiculously sexy swagger coming back to him. "You like my hips."
Harry dropped his hands to them and yanked him close. Draco gasped.
"Fuck yes," Harry told him.
"And the way I walk?"
"You've no idea."
"Yes, Draco. Everything else. You could have eyeliner running down to your knees, but if you wink at me like you did last night, I'll fall into bed with you, no questions asked."
Draco's face split in a smile then. "My knees, Potter?"
"Fuck, why are we still talking?" Harry complained. He crashed their lips together, slipping his tongue into Draco's mouth and kissing him deep.
Draco let the sheet slip and wrapped his arms around Harry's neck, moaning into the kiss. Harry smoothed his hands around to Draco's back and held him close. He felt Draco's cock start to swell against his thigh, his own prick answering.
Draco pulled back only so far that they weren't kissing anymore. "Your two minutes is up," he said.
"Do you still want me to fetch your potions?" Harry asked, arms tightening around him.
"I could possibly make do with whatever it is you shower with, Potter," Draco informed him. "Maybe with a little help."
Harry's cock rose still further, and he smiled. "I'm a fantastic showerer," he declared. "I'm particularly good with the nether regions."
Draco smiled back at him. "Oh, I know."
Harry backed him into the bathroom, and Draco went willingly.
"I'm guessing I could make you come before you even have half that stuff off your face," Harry mused.
"You're awfully cocky, Potter."
Harry controlled the desire to snort. Instead he raised an eyebrow. Or tried to. He wasn't nearly as practised at it as Draco was. "Care to make a wager?"
Draco threw his beautiful head back and laughed, and Harry's chest felt tight hearing such a delightful sound come out of him. "Only if your friends are not invited," he said.
Harry smiled at him. He reached past and cranked on the water in the shower. Then he palmed Draco's stellar arse and squeezed. "Deal," he said.
They stepped under the spray and closed the curtain.
Eight minutes later, Draco gasped, "Cheater," as he came in Harry's mouth, smudges of kohl still lining his eyes, and only then did Harry realise they'd never settled on a bet, on what either one of them would lose.
A moment later, he realised there was no losing.