I’ve been in love with Draco Malfoy for as long as I can remember.
My earliest memories of him consist of warm summer days running through the Manor gardens. I can recall the feel of his cool hand clasped in mine, the fragrant scent of rose bushes, the way the golden sunshine reflected off his pale hair. He was so bright, like the glowing sun, and gazing at him in admiration was almost a painful joy. I remember his face, rolling his eyes in exasperation as I slipped free and bounded towards the hedge maze. He would chase me and I would erupt into a fit of giggles, breathless when he finally caught me. Draco would scold me and put on a stern expression but his eyes would dance with kindness and laughter. I knew I loved him even then.
As I got older my feelings grew even stronger. Draco filled my every waking thought. I enjoyed going off to Hogwarts, learning so much and making new friends, but I missed him terribly. Every winter break I would fervently beg grandma to go visit the Manor and see my favourite cousin. She was happy to oblige, having reconnected with her sister, and my heart would swell with joy when we approached the gates.
Harry was always a bit more reluctant to bring me over, and he often refused to even come inside with me. Hermione told me all about my godfather and Draco’s turbulent history in school but I didn’t understand why they couldn’t just let the past go. By my final year at Hogwarts, I finally convinced Harry to come in with me and drink at least one cup of tea before hurriedly flooing away. The tension in the air was always so thick between them but I could hardly bring myself to care. How could I focus on anything else when I was sitting next to Draco, inhaling his spicy-sweet scent and soaking in the warmth of his leg pressed against mine?
I would stay over for hours; long after everyone else had left, long after the tea had turned cool, long after dusk arrived and filled the room with hues of blue. Draco never made me feel unwelcome. He’d pull out his Alchemy book and absentmindedly chew the end of his quill while he made notes in the margin. It was easy to fall asleep to the gentle scratching of his quill against the paper. Even then Draco wouldn’t send me home—he allowed me to rest against his shoulder until he was done, carefully waking me with a soft stroke of my hair before bringing me to the guest room.
I would huddle under the covers, wrap my hand around my stiff erection and stroke my cock to the memory of his fingers in my hair and the tender caress of his robes against my cheek.
It shouldn’t surprise me that years later my feelings remain unchanged. Even at twenty five years old I feel like a smitten schoolboy whenever I come to visit.
Draco greets me at the door and the slightest lines appear around his eyes as his lips spread into a warm smile. It makes him look refined, softens his sharp features, and my heart flutters at the sight. He glances at my overstuffed luggage with a raised eyebrow but releases a soft laugh in response and instructs a house elf to bring it to my room. I’m only staying for a week this time, but I would gladly stay forever.
Maybe tonight I’ll make my move, finally tell Draco about all the feelings that have been building in me for years. If only I could gather the courage. Draco throws his arm around my shoulder and leads me into the dining room, the rich smell of dinner wafting through the long hallway. I savour the pressure of his body against mine before he pulls away and takes a seat. I watch him sit, soak in the lines of his body against his fitted trousers and pressed button up. His eye meets mine and I flush hotly before scrambling to my chair. It’s becoming more and more difficult to hide my desires—at this rate, how could Draco not know how I feel?
The blankets are soft and the bed is perfectly warm when I finally make it to my room, but sleep evades me. I stare at the ceiling, my mind consumed with thoughts of Draco and how badly I want him. The Manor is always quiet at night but I detect the slightest sound of movement at the end of the hall. Soft footsteps and a muffled voice—maybe Draco can’t sleep either. I push the covers away and step out into the hallway, my heart racing with the idea of seeing Draco in the dark of the night. Perhaps the shadows of evening will hide my fears and doubts, maybe the dim glow of the moon will give me the courage I need.
Soft, flickering light spills into the hallway from Draco’s room. His door is slightly ajar and as I slowly approach it I can hear muffled moans and wet, slick sounds. Is Draco touching himself? My breathing becomes shallow as I peek through the crack wondering who he might be thinking of.
He’s not alone.
My breath catches in my throat and I grip the edge of the doorway to steady my shaky legs. No one notices my surprised gasp, how could they? How could Draco hear a thing with his head tilted back and his hands firmly tangled into dark hair as he guides that eager mouth onto his glistening cock? How could Harry see a thing with his eyes squeezed shut as he readily parts his lips and swallows Draco’s prick whole?
I should be horrified. I should feel humiliated and stumble away from the door, race to my room and find that hidden flask of firewhisky I stashed away in my luggage. I should drink away my sorrows and turn to the burning alcohol to soothe my jealousy. There is no use in denying it—envy curls in my stomach and rises in my throat, the taste bitter on my tongue. But against all logic, the acrid taste of jealousy pales in comparison to the overwhelming want that crashes over me at the sight of them.
I couldn’t turn away if I tried. My eyes are glued to the rise and fall of Draco’s flushed chest, the clenching of the firm muscles in his legs, the rosy hue of his rigid cock. My prick twitches in my pyjama bottoms, growing and hardening at the sight in front of me.
It’s undeniably sexy, but the spark of resentment igniting in my stomach can't be entirely ignored. I’ve always adored my godfather but in that moment I want to hate Harry. He’s fisting his own cock, spit escaping from the corner of his mouth as Draco plows into him. I would give anything to trade places with him, to have Draco’s perfect cock filling my mouth, to taste that warm flesh against my tongue.
My heart burns with anger even as my cock swells with arousal. How long have they been doing this? Is it just sex or something more? The idea of Draco gazing at Harry with the same open affection he reserves for me makes my stomach twist painfully. I’m filled with instant regret for ever convincing Harry to accompany me to the Manor, for constantly extolling Draco and his thoughtful kindness.
Did I unknowingly push them together? Did I sabotage my own happiness with such a simple gesture? Self-pity and bitterness rise in my throat but I roughly swallow it away. The vivid envy consuming my mind becomes hazy when my gaze settles on Draco.
He looks magnificent. His pale skin positively glows in the low, flickering light of the candles. His fine hair is rumpled, sticking to his damp temples, and his face is stained pink. I’ve never seen him look so undone—it’s mesmerising.
I press the heel of my palm against my straining erection—anything to relieve the ache that's building there. I’m hurt, I’m shattered, and yet I’m so hopelessly turned on I hardly know what to do with myself.
Draco’s hips snap back and forth, his fingers digging into Harry’s scalp as he thoroughly fucks his mouth. Harry just takes it. He grabs onto the back of Draco’s legs with his free arm, holding himself into place and letting himself be used. I’d like to think I would do the same, that I would relax my jaw and open my throat to Draco’s brutal thrusts. Merlin, I’d take anything Draco would give me.
A muffled moan fills the room, the strained sound escaping Harry’s cock filled mouth, and I see his release spill over his hand as he comes. I want to come. My prick throbs against the pressure of my hand, but I don’t dare make any sudden movement.
Draco pulls his cock out of Harry’s mouth with a loud, slick pop. His hand is a blur as he fiercely strokes the thick length. Fuck, he’s perfect. He’s chewing his lip, his eyes trained on Harry as Harry tilts his head back and opens his mouth. The most beautiful sounds fall from Draco's lips and then he’s coming. Long strands spill from his cock and land on Harry’s face, painting his tan skin with translucent stripes. I feel the sharpest pang of longing, my stomach twisting with the desire to be covered in Draco’s seed. I want to feel the warm wetness slide against my cheek, dart my tongue out to taste the salty bitterness coating my lips.
I can’t help it—an urgent moan escapes my mouth as I squeeze my throbbing prick. I bite my lip sharply, as if the action can somehow recall the sound, but it’s too late. Draco’s jerks the last of his orgasm against Harry’s waiting face, and his eyes slide over to the door. I freeze in place, ready for horror or anger or disappointment, but I find none of it there. Instead his eyes flash with a knowing heat, and his lips curl into a seductive smirk. I’m caught in his gaze, confusion and excitement warring with one another before my feet finally unstick.
I stagger away from the door and turn, running and refusing to stop until I’m safely in my room with the door closed against my back. My heart pounds and I roughly shove my hand into my damp pyjama bottoms, the cotton smeared with my pre-come. I barely stroke my cock once before it pulses and covers my hand with spurt after spurt of sticky seed.
I slide bonelessly to the floor, catching my breath as my head rests against the door. The reality of the night’s events begin to crash against me and waves of panic and horror fill my senses. My mind pushes them away though, settling on one vivid thought. I cast a cleaning spell and slowly climb into bed.
The only image remaining in my head as I drift to sleep is Draco’s salacious, knowing smirk.