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There’s a snort from the corner of the room and Harry looks up with his brow furrowed.  Trust Malfoy to have something to say.

Malfoy steps into the spill from the overhead light and bares his teeth.  “If you mean to act like a Class A fuck-wit about it then, yes, let’s all go along with Potter’s brilliant plan.”  His eyes slice over to Harry before cutting away to the rest of the room.  “Our bloody prophet has spoken.  Shall we all die following his brilliant lead now or wait until after we’ve had afternoon tea?”

Harry clenches his fists around the map, the parchment crinkling and threatening to tear.  “And what do you suggest then, Malfoy?”

Malfoy watches the muscle in Harry’s jaw flutter with a pernicious glee before turning to Ron and bowing his head.  “I suggest you listen to Weaselby.”  Malfoy crosses his arms and scoffs.  “Isn’t that the reason he’s here, to be the bloody strategist?”

Ron looks torn between gratefulness and disapproval.  Malfoy’s rarely this hostile and it’s causing a lot of uncomfortable tension in the room.  His eyes are still dancing with malice when Ron grabs him by the neck of his robes and slams him into the wall.  Harry knows it’s more to show solidarity to him than to reprimand Malfoy.  “Back the fuck off, Malfoy,” he growls.  “Harry’s in the same clusterfuck of a situation you are.”  Fury twists Malfoy’s face but Ron only waits for it to relax into distaste before he leans close and says with a sympathetic frown, “He’ll be all right.  You know that.”

Malfoy pushes him off with ease, a sneer coloring his features, and whirls out of the room with the effortless grace of a born aristocrat.

Harry blinks after him before clearing his throat and dismissing everyone.  He rubs a tired hand over the etched lines in his forehead.

He still doesn’t know how he’s got Malfoy.  Most days he still acts as if he wishes Harry would get crushed beneath Voldemort’s heel and Harry knows he has less than zero loyalty to anyone present.  The former bothers Harry more than anything else.

He does know that one day Malfoy’s parents were just gone.  Lucius was murdered and Narcissa was ‘missing’ but Harry figured Malfoy knew that meant dead just as well as Harry did.  Then he’d just been there, with information and a snarky attitude and not much else and he hadn’t left, though Harry often felt everyone was waiting for the day he would.

Harry regularly stares up at his discolored ceiling in the middle of the night, picturing that moment when Malfoy realizes what everyone else already has: he could run.  He could run and no one would blame him for it.

After each argument Harry expects he’ll wake up the next morning and Malfoy will have gone but he always comes down to find Malfoy taking breakfast with everyone else, a book pressed flat with magic beside him while he eats, somehow never missing his mouth.  And if Harry tries to find some pretense to touch him, to assure himself he’s really there, well that’s between him and his mucked up brain.

Though the smirks that inevitably get tossed his way when he slides his fingers over Malfoy’s as they exchange parchments or leans his chest against Malfoy’s back as he looks over his shoulder or touches his forearm when he’s encouraging Malfoy to share his opinions or keep him engaged in conversation – both of which come much less reluctantly as time wears on – tell him it’s between quite a few more entities than that.

In fact, the only person who seems oblivious to his not-so-subtle interest is Malfoy himself.

Hermione had snorted one night, years ago now, and told him to simply, “Go for it,” as “Malfoy’ll basically fuck anything that moves.”  She’d been drunk on hundred-year-old spirits and her exaggerated hand movements had sent Ron into fits of laughter.  Harry had colored all the way down to his toes, his face fresh-brick red.  It had only taken Hermione a minute before she’d brought her hand up to her mouth and let out an overstated gasp.  Ron had blinked a lot.  She’d lowered her hand to pat his knee and said with heavy sympathy, “Oh Harry.”

Harry thinks that pretty much sums things up.

 


 

He finds Ron in the living room after levering himself up out of the stiff dining room chair.  He’s staring out the window as though he expects someone to be glaring back.  Harry cricks his neck as he comes up behind him.  It’s a warning of sorts.  He tries to ask as nonchalantly as possible, “What’s crawled up Malfoy’s arse today?”

By Ron’s snort, he knows he hasn’t succeeded in sounding as unaffected as he’d have liked.  “Dean was in the raid last night.”  Ron shrugs.  “He’s getting patched up all right but he nearly lost his leg.”

Harry pulls a face.  “I didn’t know they were…”  Just the thought has caused his stomach to twist up something awful.

That gets Ron to look at him.  He frowns and it softens all the lines of his face.  “You know how Malfoy is about his… conquests,” he assures without it sounding as if he’s being reassuring.  Harry likes that about Ron, the way he can so effortlessly speak ‘adult’ like that.  He shrugs again.  “I’m pretty sure they’re friends though.”

Harry wonders if Malfoy would call them friends.  He spends the rest of the night drinking heavily.  The answer is an unequivocal ‘no’ and he knows it.

 


 

“Harry, get up.”

Something is kicking the sole of his boot, hard.  Harry drags a clammy hand over his face and knocks his glasses askew.  He’d fallen asleep on the grimy couch in the drawing room of Grimmauld, fully dressed and still bespectacled.  He lifts his head and both it and his stomach rebel horribly.  “Urgh,” he manages to get out.  His mouth tastes like an ashtray.  “I think I had too much to drink.”

Something cold is shoved into his hand and he realizes he hasn’t managed to open his crusted eyes yet.  It takes a bit of effort and the light that seeps in makes him hiss.

His groan almost drowns out the sharp, “Malfoy’s missing.”

He’s on his feet in an instant and it’s a mistake if he’s ever seen one.  His balance is shot and he sways dangerously.  He recognizes the thing pressed into his palm as a Hangover Draught.  He swallows it in one go, not even pulling a face at the taste.  He almost asks for another when thirty seconds have passed and his vision is still swimming.  Finally the world rights itself and he snaps, “Tell me.”

 


 

Malfoy had gone into Hogsmeade, the fool.  Aberforth had information on the handful of Death Eaters stationed around Hogwarts and Malfoy had decided he would be the one to get it.  Because he was an idiot with a death wish and Harry is going to kill him.

He ignores the voice in his head that says, Unless he’s already dead.

Harry plays out his own suicide mission when he’s tipped off that Greyback has him in a run down corner of a Swiss village called Appenzell.  He’s alone when he gets the information and he doesn’t even think to tell anyone else where he’s going.  By all rights, he should feel Greyback’s teeth snapping into the tendons of his neck but Malfoy manages to rally himself and slam into the wolf, breaking the legs of a chair over its back.  Greyback shakes his snout, momentarily disoriented, before redirecting his attention to Malfoy.  He’s about to charge him when Harry catches him with a Killing Curse.

Malfoy’s collarbone is broken and his clothes are torn, deep claw marks through every layer and down to the skin.  Nothing’s bleeding profusely but everything’s bleeding.  There’s a nasty cut over his eyebrow and Harry nearly whimpers at the sight of the dark, dark blood caressing his cheek as it drops off down the neck of his tattered robes.  He’s distracted by the pure rage Malfoy is vibrating with.

Harry had thought it was for Greyback but when Malfoy’s eyes narrow on him, he knows he’s wrong about that.

“C’mon,” he mutters rather than having it out.  All that matters is that Malfoy’s still breathing.  He doesn’t give a shit about any of the rest.

He leads Malfoy into the kitchen and heals his collarbone first.  He refuses to meet Malfoy’s furious gaze, instead staring down at the bruised skin, watching the blue-black get soaked up into the tip of his wand.  “I don’t think any of the cuts’ll turn you,” he says and it’s mostly to avoid the tense silence that is settling heavy between them.  “I think they’ve got to be a lot deeper for that.  We can ask Bill if you want but I’m pretty sure you’ll be all right.”  Malfoy’s expression doesn’t flicker and the anger in his eyes doesn’t extinguish any.  Harry swallows.  “Is there anything else besides the gash,” Harry flicks his eyes up to Malfoy’s eyebrow with a nod of his head, “that I can’t see?”

Malfoy snarls and Harry has to rethink the whole Malfoy’s-not-a-werewolf thing for a moment.  He holds one hand up, palm facing Malfoy before using the other to press his wand to the wound on his forehead.  It’s moments before Malfoy’s healed of all his scrapes and bruises.  Dried blood is still caked to every inch of him though.  Harry hunches up his shoulders.  “You could probably shower before we go.  I’ll send a Patronus to let everyone know you’re all right while you do.”

Malfoy doesn’t move and Harry looks at him awkwardly before giving up on getting a reaction from him and starting off for the next room.  He doesn’t get past Malfoy’s shoulder before fingers are digging into his skin and hauling him back so violently that he slams into the kitchen counter.  His hip will bear the bruise for weeks.

He squawks but closes his mouth before he can get out a complaint because Malfoy is bloody livid.  He’s an inch away from Harry’s face and he grits out through teeth that are clenched so hard they squeak, “What the actual fuck were you thinking?”

Harry tries to squirm out of his grip because, even though it’s wholly inappropriate, Malfoy never gets this close to him and his idiot dick is looking at the whole thing as a grand opportunity.  Harry’s face is splotchy with anger and he’s starting to match Malfoy’s level of pissed.  “I was thinking: you could’ve died!”

Malfoy rolls his eyes, looking so far from impressed it’s ridiculous.  “Then you should’ve let me!” he shouts, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry sees red and breaks Malfoy’s grip on him in a way he knows is painful.  He couldn’t fucking care less.  “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” he snarls.  He shoves Malfoy hard.  “Try and get a handle on yourself, Malfoy,” he tosses back at him as he makes to leave the room again.

Malfoy rams a shoulder into him to stop him and Harry hits the sink with his full body.  Malfoy huffs the hair out of his eyes and repeats with incredulity, “A handle on…”  He looks up suddenly, his eyes alight with some manic idea, and he crowds Harry’s back up against the counter, his hands on either side of his hips.  He leans in with a wide grin.  “Why should I when I can just run about risking my life even when I know full well the entire end to the whole bloody fucking war rests entirely on my shoulders and my shit ability to stay alive?”

Harry’s eyes flash.  Is that what Malfoy really thinks of him?  Well, two can play at that game.  “That’s good,” Harry spits into his face.  “And I can sit here and pretend like my life’s entirely dispensable, I’m completely unimportant to the war effort and no one would give a shit if I died.”

Malfoy’s face twists into ugly derision.  “Doubt I took any of that into consideration though, playing hero is so much more important than any of that.”  He knows Malfoy’s always thought he was more interested in getting the glory than listening to strategy but it’s something else to hear him say it out loud.

Harry sneers right back into Malfoy’s stupid, beautiful face, anger flogging his insides.  “And being a complete cockslut for the side of Light is my only real use.”

Malfoy’s fingers tighten on the counter so much that Harry hears a crack.  “I wouldn’t know sex if it came up and bit me in the arse,” Malfoy hisses low into his ear.  “Got to be a bloody paragon of virtue to lead something as self-serving and Puritanical as the ‘side of Light’.”

Harry presses his shoulder into Malfoy’s chest, trying to get him to back the fuck off.  He’s only about to hyperventilate over his closeness.  He sees the hatred in Malfoy’s eyes and Harry wants to rail against it.  “I’m just a little too Dark, a little too Marked to be allowed here and if I don’t spread my legs for every bloke who looks at me sideways they’ll figure it out.”  Malfoy’s gaze darkens even further.  “I don’t belong here but I’m not evil enough to change sides.  I’m nothing.”

Harry knows what Malfoy thinks of himself and it’s all too easy to throw his own fears back in his face.  He sees the way the last of it crumples him and he almost thinks Malfoy won’t be able to respond when he says softly, “I’m only hoping I can run headlong into a situation where I can finally kill myself and get it over with without it looking like that was my endgame.”

Harry doesn’t want to be the one inflicting hurt on Malfoy, he doesn’t want to be the person who makes him sound like that.  Harry wrenches his arm out from in between them and touches Malfoy’s jaw with the edges of his fingers.  “I’m the only thing holding all of this together,” Harry tells him softly.  “I’m the one who translates Granger, who keeps Weasley’s confidence up and who can talk Potter out of all his shit ideas and yet somehow I have no fucking clue how vital I am.”  Harry snorts because truer fucking words…  “I don’t get why maybe people would go out of their way to make sure I live to see tomorrow.”

Malfoy snorts, looking down at Harry’s chest to hide the glossiness of his eyes.  “It’s only fair,” he counters, his voice still hoarse.  “I have no clue how respected I am or how that respect has shifted from being for ‘the Chosen One’ to being for ‘Harry’.  I’m becoming a real person to these people I’m leading and they like me, trust me more than they ever did Harry Potter: The Legend.  It makes being the one who has to end it, the one who has to be there at the finish a lot easier, knowing there are all these people about who are really following me and not a side.”

Harry had wanted to believe that, that he was just Harry to the Order now, but only now Malfoy’s said it can he actually bring himself to.  If nothing else, Malfoy doesn’t lie to him.  Even when there are times he probably should.  Harry decides to give him something back for the honesty.

He presses his hand to Malfoy’s chest and pushes without much pressure.  Malfoy backs up a step.  He knows they’ll be all right when Malfoy does it without resistance.  Harry stares down at his hands and inhales.  “I fuck my way through entire squadrons of men.  But I won’t touch you, Potter.  I’d never stoop so low as to touch you.”

Malfoy’s eyes flare to life and he makes a soft, surprised sound that he quickly cuts off.  “You—“  He shakes his head and snarls.  “It’s a good thing too, having your hands on me might be enough to make me physically ill.”

He can’t think that.  He can’t.  One look at Malfoy says he does though.  Before Harry knows what he’s doing, he’s pressed Malfoy up against the table behind him and he’s cupped a hand to his cock.  “Oh yeah,” he snarls, more hacked off at himself than Malfoy, “does this make you feel ill, Potter?”  Malfoy gasps as the heel of Harry’s palm presses against the head of his cock.  His legs fall open as he grips at the edges of the table.  “I bet you’ve been gagging for it for years,” Harry says, voice harsh.  “I bet you want to touch me so fucking bad you’re going to spend it in your pants before you even get my shirt off.”  And that’s too fucking true because his own cock is bloody throbbing.  He’s been hard for so damn long.

Malfoy’s hand comes up to cover his and together they curl his fingers around Malfoy’s cock through what’s left of his trousers.  Harry’s head falls forward and his hips buck, his cock catching on the slight brush of his own robes and thin air.  He presses closer to Malfoy without thinking so he can thrust into his hip.  Malfoy takes Harry’s hand and shoves it down the front of his pants and Harry bites at a torn bit of Malfoy’s shirt to keep from whimpering out loud.

He’s already so close and the feel of Malfoy’s cock, so fucking hard for him, isn’t helping matters any.  He doesn’t want to come before things have really got started though.  Malfoy’s head falls against his shoulder.  He drags Harry into his body so they’re hunched into each other as Harry humps Malfoy’s hip.  He closes his hand around Malfoy’s cock and pumps him.  Malfoy turns his face into his neck and his breath is warm and his lips soft.  “And you’re so fucking eager Malfoy,” he breathes out, heavy and almost too low to hear, “because you know as soon as you touch me you’re going to sully me, tarnish me somehow.  You ruin every-fucking-thing you touch.”

Harry’s hips had stilled at the ticklish feel of Malfoy’s lips just barely moving over his skin, every muscle tensing trying to hold off his orgasm when the words sunk in.  Harry’s mouth drops open in shock and he pulls his hand out of Malfoy’s pants.

Malfoy’s hand is still curled around his shoulder.  His other drops to Harry’s hip to draw him in to the pressure of his thigh again.

Harry pushes him away, getting more and more agitated the longer he’s held on to.  “Stop it.  You don’t believe that.  You can’t.”  Malfoy blinks up at him.  Harry’s beginning to doubt he’d even realized what he said.  Slowly, understanding filters through his features.  Harry shifts uncomfortably on his feet.   “I’ve been told, by a few different sources,” try everyone, “that I’m…” he twirls his hand in front of him, the hand that was on Malfoy’s cock, “painfully obvious.”

Malfoy frowns at him.  “You’re ruining the game, Potter.”  He sounds disappointed and his legs are coming together.  He obviously thinks they’re done… doing what they were doing.

Harry uses the heels of his palms to push his knees apart so he can stand between them.  Malfoy looks so goddamned pornographic like this, his arse resting on the edge of the table, his hands splayed behind him, his chest only covered by tatters of robes and a shirt and heaving, his hair mussed and his cheeks pinked and Harry wants to bloody devour him.

He decides the only way to get there is to show Malfoy how grotesquely earnest he is about all this.  “I don’t want to play games with you,” he says.  “This is so much more than a game.  You are so much more than…”

Harry has to look away, embarrassed beyond belief at exactly how much this actually does mean to him.  Why did he have to ruin this by getting his feelings all over Malfoy?

“I never knew,” Malfoy says, one shoulder coming up awkwardly.

Harry’s mouth tilts.  “Really?”

Malfoy makes a strained sound of negation.  His hands are shaking and he closes those long fingers around the edge of the table.

Harry’s still staring at them.  He wants to place his hands over Malfoy’s, to know if his skin will feel cold or hot to his touch, to feel its smoothness for himself, to calm him like a friend would – like someone who got to touch him would.  He thinks that might be him now but he can’t be sure.  Instead he holds his hands out in front of him, fingers apart, and closes his eyes, feeling horrifically vulnerable.  “Did you ever…” His voice breaks and it’s more than embarrassing.  He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole.  His voice still croaks when he strangles out, “I mean, did you think—”

“I didn’t,” Malfoy cuts him off coldly and Harry flinches like he’s taken an actual blow.  Malfoy frowns and it softens the lines around his mouth.  “I never let myself,” he clarifies kindly, his eyebrows still drawn down in confusion.  “You were Potter and I was Malfoy and there was no point in looking for anything beyond that.”

Harry snorts softly and falls back a step.  He lets his head hang back.  “I wish I could’ve been so rational about it.  I fell in love with you knowing full well you were Malfoy and I was Potter.”

Malfoy stiffens and Harry can tell he hadn’t sussed that much out for himself yet.  He shrugs to himself.  It was only a matter of time until he would’ve.  Whatever it takes to speed up Malfoy’s rejection is helpful at this point.  Because Harry knows it’s coming and the less time he has to spend in this room, with Malfoy looking at him like a pitiful puppy, the better.  He may get to fuck him, but he won’t get him.  That’s clear enough.

“You’ve felt this for awhile,” Malfoy says slowly and it’s a question that isn’t.

Harry nods anyway, staring up at the ceiling.  “Try five years, give or take a few months.”  He hears Malfoy’s sharp intake of breath and huffs out a laugh.  “You must think I’m so pathetic.”

“Hot,” Malfoy says, and he’s right there.  “I was thinking hot.”  And then his mouth is on Harry’s neck and all Harry can do is make a ‘guh’ sort of noise and flail around for Malfoy’s arms so he can pull him in closer.  “You have no idea what you look like right now,” Malfoy says it like he’s only realizing it as he the words fall out of his mouth.  The mouth that was just on Harry’s neck.  “Your head thrown back like that, your throat stretched and you keep swallowing like you have no idea what it’s doing to me.”

Harry’s, completely unintentional, response is to swallow nervously and Malfoy smirks.  “You have such a nice… long… neck, Potter.”  Malfoy follows up each adjective with a lick from the base of his neck to Harry’s earlobe.

Harry’s brain short-circuits but somehow he knows enough to say, “If this is—I don’t want a fuck and run.”

Malfoy looks torn between amusement and exasperation.  He moves away and Harry whines at the loss.  Malfoy furrows his brow and closes his hands around Harry’s shoulders to show he’s not leaving so much as backing away so he can say what he means to.  “I’m not—this isn’t a fairytale or a ten-year-old girl’s fantasy.  I haven’t been pining too, just waiting for you to notice me.”  Harry nods at this.  He’s expected nothing less.  “There’s no neat bow to wrap this up in.  I wasn’t waiting but I do know I mean to do this again.”

Harry looks up at him with guarded hope.  “You do?”

Malfoy’s smirk is all cheek and he presses close again to say in Harry’s ear, “It’s a bit of a power trip, Potter.  You wanting me.”

Harry suppresses a frown.  He doesn’t want to be a power trip.  Weighing his options, he really thinks he’d rather be living in the ten-year-old girl’s fantasy where Malfoy’s been aching for him too.  The spark of triumph in Malfoy’s eyes is a bit disconcerting but for now it’s enough.  They can get to the feelings bit when the time comes, now he’s got Malfoy pressed against him and Harry can live with that.  Especially as he’s never thought he’d get this much.

Malfoy’s thigh parts Harry’s legs and Harry presses down into him with a moan.  Malfoy’s letting Harry ride him and Harry scrabbles for his shoulders as he pants out, “I love you, did I mention?”

Malfoy smirks.  “Might’ve heard something about that,” he says as his hand finds Harry’s arse and pulls him in closer.

Harry’s cock jerks and he babbles, “Still true.  Possibly even truer now.  More true?  Is ‘truer’ a word?”

Malfoy’s hand grips the globe of his arse almost tight enough to be painful and he pulls back to level Harry with a serious stare.  “Potter.”  He waits until Harry focuses on his face.  “I have no response equal to what you’re saying.”

“Oh.”  And then Harry realizes what he’s doing.  Malfoy’s only just told him that this is completely new to him and Harry’s going out of his way to remind him that it’s five years past new for Harry.  He frowns and says apologetically – he manages to squeeze all the bitterness out, he thinks, “I’m making you uncomfortable.”

Malfoy hmms rather than opening his mouth and cruelly confirming it.  Harry curls his fingers around Malfoy’s limp ones in between their bodies for the kindness.  He wiggles away from him and tugs him into the living room, looking for the hallway that might break off into a bedroom.  It’s effortless to ignore Greyback’s dead body, shifted from wolf to human once again.  Though Harry does kind of want to give it a good kick on his way past.  Malfoy spots the master bedroom before him and the hunger on his face makes Harry’s own heat up.

Malfoy’s hands are at his trousers before Harry’s even managed to close the door. As soon as he does, Malfoy’s got him shoved up against it.  Harry clenches his fists around Malfoy’s back, his fingers tangled up in the tatters of his robes so that he’s sometimes brushing against smooth skin as well as fabric.

He brings one hand up to slide over Malfoy’s neck and he uses his thumb to jerk Malfoy’s chin up when he says, “Bet you’d like to be touched here, Potter.”

Malfoy gets it a second later and latches back onto Harry’s neck, making sure to leave evidence of his visit.  “Got a bit of a neck kink, do you, Potter?”  He laughs and Harry doesn’t say it’s more about Malfoy leaving his mark on him, claiming him.  Malfoy bites down as he lifts Harry’s legs up around his waist.  The, “Lucky me,” is muffled against Harry’s neck as Harry’s dick gets trapped against the warm skin of Malfoy’s stomach.

He pushes back at Malfoy’s shoulders, trying to organize his thoughts. “Malfoy, wait—I—”  He knows it’s important that Malfoy knows he doesn’t want to be another conquest to him but he can’t seem to put what he wants to say into words.

Malfoy’s not helping at all as he grins up at him and says, “Think too much?  I know.  And believe me it’s a bit of a shock.”

Harry snorts despite himself.  He flexes his fingers on Malfoy’s shoulders.  This is important, he knows that, but he also just wants Malfoy to grin at him like that again.  “No, really, I—”

Malfoy picks him up off the door and throws him down on the bed so hard that Harry bounces a bit.  Malfoy rolls his eyes.  “Considering you’ve wanted this so long, shouldn’t you maybe shut up and let it happen?”  He sounds genuinely curious and Harry opens his mouth but promptly clams up when Malfoy starts stripping away the last of his worse-for-wear clothing.  When he lowers his pants, Harry thinks he might pass out.  His torso is lean and trim and there’s more muscle than he’d expected and his cock.  It’s bigger than it’d felt when it was in Harry’s hand and Harry can’t tear his eyes away.  Even all the dried blood doesn’t dampen his excitement.  “Potter, relax,” Malfoy says encouragingly as he crawls up the bed and leans over him.

Harry hadn’t realized his breathing had ratcheted up so much until Malfoy starts trying to calm it.  He nods slowly.  “Okay.”

Malfoy smiles at him like he’s said the right thing and that’s the first time Harry’s ever seen that.  He blinks and Malfoy’s smile only grows.  Harry stupidly reaches out a hand for it, wanting to know the feel of it even and Malfoy presses soft kisses to the pads of his fingers but he always goes back to the smile when he’s done.  Malfoy’s eyebrow perks and Harry remembers the cut that had been there less than an hour ago with a twist of his stomach.  “Living up to the fantasy so far?”

Harry’s mouth goes dry and he shakes his head.  “I didn’t expect you would be so…”

“Difficult?” Malfoy suggests with a grin that’s only the slightest bit forced.

Harry shakes his head a second time.  He lets his hand leave Malfoy’s mouth to skim down his neck and over his shoulder.  “I can’t describe it.”  Malfoy’s watching him carefully and Harry swallows dryly.  “It’s more.  It’s not—It’s just more.”

Malfoy’s gaze is incredibly soft when he starts to push Harry’s robes off his shoulders.  He moves away when Harry sits up so he can strip faster.  He’s never been terribly self-conscious but Malfoy’s always had that ability to make him feel worthless in comparison.  When he’s finally naked, he can only sit there and try not to cringe.  There’s no way he looks anything like Malfoy, pale and perfect and fucking inspiring.  Looking at him makes Harry feel like he should find a way to draw him or write poetry about the way his clavicle curves under his skin or even plan a particularly muse-worthy raid.

Malfoy doesn’t waste even a moment before he’s tracing down the slope of his stomach.  When he looks up there’s no way Harry can mistake his gaze for anything other than appreciative.  A deep flush of pleasure flares in Harry’s gut at the thought that Malfoy can look at him and not find him wanting.  Fingers track their way through the wiry hair below Harry’s navel before firming up to grip the base of Harry’s cock with a surety Harry’s own have never managed.  Malfoy gives a slow stroke and Harry throws his head back, his hips trying to meet Malfoy’s stomach.  “What do you want, Potter?”

The hunger’s back in Malfoy’s eyes and a million different things fly through Harry’s mind.  “Your mouth,” is the first thing that works its way out of his.  He’s wanted to fuck Malfoy’s mouth since school, since before feelings, since before he even liked him.  He’d wanted to back him up against a wall, shove him down by his shoulder and tell Malfoy to suck it, to finally put his hateful little mouth to good use.  He’d brought himself off to the fantasy every time he’d wanked in sixth year.

It’s changed now, how he wants it, but not what.

Malfoy smirks.  “Like my mouth, do you?”

Harry keens and stretches his neck back as Malfoy slides between his thighs.  “Ngggh,” he says, trying for ‘no’ but Malfoy’s mouth closes around the head of his cock, his lips suctioning there.  “Love it.  Love your mouth.  So wide, mobile, think about what it’d be like wrapped around me all the goddamn time.”

Malfoy moans and the vibration is almost enough to make Harry fly apart.  Malfoy holds him tight by the base and then he leisurely engulfs him in that smirking mouth.  Harry digs his fingers into the sheets, using everything in his power not to thrust up.  Malfoy’s hand slowly uncurls while his mouth gradually inches down the freed skin until his nose is pressed to the dark hair around the base of Harry’s cock.  Harry’s eyes roll back in his head and he can feel the flutter at the back of Malfoy’s throat where his cock is pressed tight against it and he wants to fucking cry.

“Malfoy—”

The hand comes back and Malfoy moves up just as slowly as he went down and Harry realizes Malfoy’s eyes were on him the entire time, practically bloody glowing with mirth.  Harry whimpers and Malfoy’s hand follows his mouth up until he pops off completely, twists his hand over the head of his cock and races his fist back down, his mouth following just as fast now and Harry’s going to come.

He’s given up the ghost of not forcing it and his hips are arcing up off the bed and Malfoy’s doing nothing to stop him.  Harry tangles his fingers into the hair at the nape of Malfoy’s neck, those laughing eyes still trained on him, and tugs hard because his mouth just does not work anymore.

Malfoy pulls off him with a wet pop and a satisfied look.  All the moisture in Harry’s body is apparently leaking out the precome in his dick now and Harry manages to croak – as though he was the one just deep-throating cock, “I was gonna come.”

Malfoy perks a brow, looking unimpressed.

Harry’s face goes splotchy and he hopes he’s allowed to ask for this too.  “I—uh—I want to come with you in me.”

“Lucky,” Malfoy says again and Harry can only be glad he’s doing so many things right.  He smiles goofily at Malfoy until his gaze is stolen by the way Malfoy’s arm is working under him and he realizes Malfoy has been wanking himself while he blew him.  Malfoy was actually turned on by blowing him.  “Because I want to come in you.”

Harry groans and his hips roll trying to find purchase but Malfoy is too far.  He’s leaned over the side of the bed and is muttering something about, “Hope these fuckers have lube.”

Whoever owns the bedroom they’re about to fuck in is terribly vanilla and there’s nothing but a few pens and magazines in the only drawer.  Malfoy tosses them out onto the floor, which just seems unnecessarily mean.  In doing so however, one of the pages catches in the corner of the drawer and Malfoy realizes it’s not nearly as deep as it should be.  Pressing on the back of it proves it’s a false panel.  “Kinky motherfuckers,” Malfoy huffs out on a laugh.

He pulls out a dildo, a whip, handcuffs and a few things Harry doesn’t pretend to recognize before he gets to the lube.  He shoves the rest of it away with his foot after saying, “Unless you want…” and he looks kind of eager and Harry is reminded of the fact that Malfoy’s had a lot of sex while Harry has been with Ginny and his right hand.

“Err…” Harry shrugs, “maybe next time?”

Malfoy grins like it was the answer he’d expected.  He’s lubing himself up when Harry realizes he’s pulled out a condom too.

Harry clears his throat and even though Malfoy’s had a lot of sex: “I don’t want—”

Malfoy’s brow furrows until he realizes what Harry’s talking about.  “You don’t want me to wear a condom?”

Harry shakes his head and, at Malfoy’s incredulous glare, he brings up his shoulders.  “I’d rather use the spell.  I, uh, I don’t want anything between us if that’s—I’d just, I would rather—”

Malfoy rolls his eyes.  “Try not to hurt yourself, Potter.”  And it’s so like their everyday back and forth that Harry’s immediately more at ease.  Malfoy uses the protection spell and tosses the condom back into the drawer.  He hooks his teeth back onto Harry’s neck and says against his skin, “You’re such a damn sap, you know.”

It sounds more fond than annoyed and Harry flushes.  “I, um, I’m not going to last long.  Just, uh, so don’t expect—”

“You’re going to hurt yourself again, Potter.”  Malfoy’s hands smooth down his sides until they come to a rest on his hips and pull him in close.  “You want to turn over?” Malfoy asks and Harry is pleased to hear that his voice has gone husky as his finger traces around the puckered skin of Harry’s hole.

Harry shakes his head and strangles out, “Wanna see you,” while Malfoy pushes a slick finger into him.

“Sap,” Malfoy accuses again.

Harry’s too lost in Malfoy’s actions to care.  The finger inside of him crooks as Malfoy presses down on his stomach and then it’s easing out of him so slow, like Malfoy knows it’s driving him insane.  And the look on his face says he probably does.  He waits until Harry is quivering with need to press back in, his other hand bracing himself on Harry’s thigh.  He doesn’t add a second finger until Harry’s hips are following him each time he pulls away with the first.  He finally presses in and twists.  Harry gasps at that and raises his head to scowl at him only to find Malfoy watching his fingers disappear inside of Harry with a look of pure lust on his face.

Harry’s orgasm is so forceful that it pulses behind his eyes before it rips through the rest of him.  He can’t catch his breath and his heart feels like it’s moved a few cavities over the way it’s jumped.  He looks down to see even Malfoy’s panting, his fingers still flexing deep inside him and Harry whines at the look of him.

Malfoy acts like he might pull away and Harry shoves back into him, curling his feet under Malfoy’s thighs to keep him there.  “I still want—” Harry’s mouth is wet and open and he’s having trouble getting anything out through his panting breaths.  He’s still trying to work his tongue around it when Malfoy pushes a third finger into him.  Harry cries out and everything on him is sensitive and he knows his eyes are tearing up but he’s never wanted anything more than he wants Malfoy not to bloody stop.

“Please don’t stop, promise me, promise you won’t stop, you can’t—” Harry babbles and there’s a blankness behind Malfoy’s eyes that clearly cares for nothing but fucking him until he screams and Harry wants to sob in gratitude.

Malfoy’s working him open again with the patience of a saint and if it didn’t feel so damn good, Harry might tell him to get on with it.  He’s glad he hasn’t when a fourth finger joins the rest and Malfoy’s still staring as he thrusts them deep into him, Harry feeling so full he could burst.  Harry rocks back into him and Malfoy plants the hand that Harry’s arse isn’t eating just above his shoulder.  “I could make you come again just from this, couldn’t I?”  Harry looks up to find Malfoy staring right at him.  Harry doesn’t think Malfoy’s ever given him such intense focus before.

He nods frantically and Malfoy smirks.  He latches his teeth onto Harry’s jaw and Harry kicks back with his head so his neck is exposed.  Malfoy groans at that and then he’s nosing under Harry’s chin, pressing the ridge of his teeth to fragile skin.  He pulls his fingers away and Harry almost shouts to put them back but then Malfoy’s pushing into him with something even bigger than fingers.

Harry’s stomach caves in as he sucks in a sharp breath and then Malfoy is easing in just as slow as he had with his finger.  It seems to go on forever and Harry thinks they must be stuck in some loop where Malfoy will be feeding his cock into Harry’s arse forever.  And it fucking hurts but Harry doesn’t want it to ever, ever stop.  Finally he feels the dampness of Malfoy’s light blond thatch scrub up against his arsecheeks and Malfoy is holding himself over him with trembling arms, trying to calm his whole damn body down and Harry is so fucking in love with him he can’t breathe.  He can feel Malfoy’s thighs shaking with the effort of holding himself still and Harry wraps his calf around Malfoy’s arse to keep him there and his voice is almost bawling.  “Wish you could stay inside me like this forever,” Harry says as the fullness in his arse makes his eyes bulge.

He’d had no idea it would feel anything like this, so unbelievably sexy and right, to have something filling him like this.  It’s perfect enough that he’s terrified of what he’ll feel like after Malfoy slips away.

That appears to be all Malfoy can take as he makes a wrecked noise and pulls back only to slam back into him and being fucked is just as good as being filled.  Harry’s hard again so quickly that he barely registers it, his cock dragging between their sweaty stomachs as Malfoy’s fingers dig into his thigh hard enough to leave bruises, keeping him still as he pistons his hips into Harry’s arse.

Harry’s own hands clench around Malfoy’s sides and he feels so fucking close to him that he can barely stand it.  Malfoy’s toes curl when he comes and it’s unexpected and everything Harry’s ever wanted and Harry loves the way Malfoy buries himself in deep when he does.  Malfoy has his hand on Harry’s cock, wringing a second orgasm from him before he’s even come down from the high.

Harry holds him close while he’s still trying to catch his breath and he takes the hint and collapses onto him.  Harry’s hands make a mess of his sweat-slick back but Malfoy doesn’t seem to mind as he lazily drags his lips along Harry’s neck.  It’s a respectable time later when Malfoy finally rolls off of him, his breathing back to normal and his heart no longer pounding in his chest.

Harry grabs his hand as Malfoy twists away.  He rolls onto his side so he won’t have to look at Malfoy as he says, “You won’t run off?”

Harry doesn’t hear Malfoy’s laugh but he feels it against the back of his neck.  Teeth hook onto his earlobe and Malfoy’s arm slides over his waist.  “Not tonight,” he says and Harry rolls over to see his eyes dancing with mirth.

He smiles back into them.