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From the Shadows

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Potter has no right looking so good. His golden skin practically glows under the dim lights of the pub, glossy dark locks curling wildly around his neck. His full lips look obscene wrapped around the top of his beer bottle, throat working steadily as he finishes off his drink.

Draco watches avidly from the other side of the bar, growling under his breath when Longbottom comes over and sits a bit too close to Potter. He slings his arm around Potter’s broad shoulders, so friendly and familiar, and Draco can feel the firewhisky he just swallowed turning in his stomach.

Potter laughs at something Weasley said, head tilting back and exposing the long line of his neck, the sharp edges of his collarbones. Draco wonders how many more Fridays he can take of slinking to the local pub, sitting in shadows and devouring Potter with his eyes. Potter sets his bottle down, gaze moving across the bar and locking eyes with Draco. Draco swallows roughly but does not back down, staring right back at Potter and fighting not to get lost in that immense green. Potter’s lips curve upwards—more smirk than smile—and he rises to his feet, eyes sweeping over Draco one more time before he heads towards the loo.

Draco can feel his heart thudding fiercely against his chest, blood rushing in his ears and he all but stumbles off his chair, racing to follow Potter.

He opens the door to the loo and finds it empty, disappointment and confusion swirling together before a strong body presses behind him and traps him against the wall.

“Why have you been watching me, Malfoy?” Potter’s voice is low in his ear, accusatory but more curious than angry.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco replies tightly, resisting the urge to arch back against Potter’s body.

“Don’t play stupid.” Potter’s breath is hot against his neck and Draco shivers at the gust of air traveling down his spine. “I want the truth.”

Draco slowly moves around, back now against the wall and turning to face Potter, his bright eyes piercing and penetrating as they glare at Draco. Potter’s hands are on either side of Draco’s head, his body so close to Draco their chests are nearly touching.

“Are you sure about that?”

The whisky has traveled through Draco’s veins, making him suddenly courageous. More than anything, though, he’s aroused and so close to the inviting heat of Potter’s body, Draco isn’t sure he can resist.

“Tell me.” Potter leans forward and Draco can see the flush across his face, the violent desire swimming in his eyes.

“I’d rather show you.”

Draco can’t help himself, he never can when it comes to Potter, and in an instant he drops to his knees. Potter’s already scrambling with his own trousers, undoing the flies and pulling out his hard cock. Draco thinks he hears Potter mutter a locking spell, but he can’t be bothered to care whether or not someone enters the pub’s loo. All that matters right now is the long prick bouncing in front of his face, the rosy swollen head that’s shiny with pre-come. Draco’s tongue darts out to collect the pool of liquid, a tangy burst of salt filling his mouth.

Fuck, Potter tastes delicious and he makes the most beautiful sounds when Draco swallows him whole. Potter’s cock fills his mouth, thick and hot and velvety smooth against Draco’s tongue. Potter’s hands sink into Draco’s hair, pulling sharply as he rocks his hips into Draco’s mouth, grunts and sighs filling the empty loo.

Draco’s never been so turned on before and he palms his own aching cock, trapped inside his trousers. He undoes the fastenings and slips his hand inside, sighing around Potter’s prick as his fingers curl around his own cock.

“Fuck, Malfoy. Your mouth, your fucking hot mouth.”

Potter’s thrusts are erratic, increasing in speed and becoming rougher and wilder. Potter is mewling in pleasure, his hips snapping fiercely until he stills, pulse after pulse of come filling Draco’s mouth. Draco swallows the salty fluid, hand slipping free on his cock as Potter pulls him off the floor and onto his feet. Potter’s mouth is on Draco, tasting himself on his tongue, and his head reaches down and pulls on Draco’s leaking cock. Potter’s hands are hot and rough and—after a few purposeful tugs—Draco is crying out into Potter’s mouth, spilling his release all over Potter’s fingers.

A heavy silence follows, the only sound is the rustling of clothing as Potter and Draco both readjust and refasten their trousers. Potter casts a quick cleaning charm on them both, and Draco’s skin tingles as the magic dances over him.

Potter walks towards the door, leaving Draco still leaning against the wall, head swimming and heart pounding in the aftermath of his orgasm.

“Malfoy?” Potter turns to look over his shoulder as he opens the door. “You can come sit with us next week, if you’d like.”

Potter gives him a devious smile before the door swings shut behind him but Draco remains in the loo for a few minutes more. Draco may take Potter up on his offer but, then again, there is something oddly satisfying about watching from the shadows.