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Draco watches Harry from across the table. His features appear more angular in the candlelight and his jawline is shadowed with dark stubble. His appearance is surprisingly pleasing. He’s obviously tried to select something smart for reasons Draco can’t begin to fathom. He looks good, dressed in an elegant Muggle blazer and crisp shirt which is open just enough to expose a tantalising patch of skin and a hint of dark chest hair. The change from Potter’s usual casual attire makes Draco wonder if this is supposed to be a date, despite the fact neither of them ever mentioned the word. Harry certainly seems nervous, chattering at a hundred miles an hour and almost bouncing off the walls. If Draco didn’t know better, he would put Harry’s nervous energy down to one Muggle substance or another. Because he does know better, he can’t help but wonder if it’s their romantic, candlelit supper that’s making Harry so on edge. Draco narrows his eyes and dabs his mouth at the corners with a napkin. Harry stops talking mid-sentence, his eyes dropping to Draco’s lips then up again. Draco arches an eyebrow and doesn’t miss the flush on Harry’s neck. Interesting. He gives Harry the barest hint of a smile.

“Something on your mind, Potter?”

“No.” Harry shakes his head and takes a forkful of his food. Draco has no idea what he’s done to make Harry so unsettled. He would love to imagine it’s his irresistible charm, but something tells him it’s more than that. Besides, Potter hasn’t exactly been charmed for the last two years of their acquaintance. After a year of arguing over everything under the sun, Shacklebolt threatened to bang their heads together and their working relationship improved somewhat. It was almost at the point that Draco could refer to Harry as a friend without sniggering. That was all before Harry started avoiding Draco, ducking into meeting rooms with Weasley whenever Draco was around. Harry’s behaviour has been out of character for weeks, even before he barged into Draco’s office and asked him for supper completely out of the blue. He’s been making any excuse to get out of conversing with Draco for any length of time, and he’s been clumsier than usual although that’s not new, exactly. Prior to whatever it was that caused the sudden shift in Harry’s mood, Harry treated Draco with the same casual ease as any other Ministry colleague. Draco can’t help but wonder if the rumours about Harry being interested in men are true, but he’s not sure it’s a polite subject to broach over supper. The fact he’s even dining in such an intimate setting with Harry Potter is peculiar enough. The last thing he wants to do is make it stranger still by bringing up one of his many questions about Harry’s proclivities.

“Shacklebolt was singing your praises today,” Harry says. His face is so expressive and open. He nudges his glasses higher on his nose and Draco can’t help but linger on the strong line of his jaw and the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. It makes Draco want to suck a mark on Harry’s neck and run his tongue along the bit of Harry’s skin where his pulse beats the strongest. The tension headache that’s been threatening all day returns and Draco rubs his temple with a grimace. He’s not used to being caught off-guard by any of his dates. He’s not used to having to question if it’s even a date at all. It’s usually obvious when people are flirting with him and by this point in the evening he’s usually suggesting with a low drawl that they skip dessert. Potter is, as ever, an enigma. An unfamiliar curl of anticipatory pleasure settles in Draco’s belly and he needs to have a sharp word with himself if he’s charmed by Potter shovelling boeuf bourguignon in his mouth in an inelegant fashion. The inconvenient thing about all of this is that Harry is exactly Draco’s type. Toned, without being stocky. Athletic and full of the kind of restless energy that could be put to excellent use in the bedroom. Harry’s just the slightest bit shorter than Draco and even his messy, rumpled hair seems less offensive than usual, largely because it makes Harry look well shagged.

“He was?” Draco puts thoughts of fucking Potter to the farthest recesses of his mind and takes another bite of his food. “Perhaps there’s hope for the Malfoy name yet.”

“Yeah.” Harry shrugs, returning to his food as heat crawls across Draco’s skin. Every nerve in his body seems programmed to respond to Harry doing the most innocuous things. Draco knows nothing about Harry’s private life, not really. Just rumours and hearsay. It’s entirely possible the gossipmongers are as woefully off-base about Harry as they are about Draco and even if they’re not, being around another man who is interested in men is hardly a rare occurrence. It’s certainly no excuse for Draco getting hot and bothered about Potter. It must be all the candles.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” Harry says. He pushes his plate away and crumples his napkin on the table, after wiping his mouth. It takes more effort than it should not to stare at Harry’s lips.

“My pleasure.” Draco is surprised to admit it really is a pleasure. Mercifully his voice stays cool and controlled, despite the fact his shirt feels as though it’s sticking to his back and he has to tug his collar away from his throat with his finger. “I can get this.”

“I said it was my treat.” Harry looks up and meets Draco’s gaze. He shifts in his seat and tips his chin as if he’s fighting an internal battle and looking at Draco head-on increases his discomfort.

“I’m filthy rich, Potter.” Draco’s lips tug into a smirk. He sips his wine, a bead of liquid settling on his lip. He swipes it away with a flick of his tongue. “Besides, I owe you.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, a smile playing over his lips. “Oh?”

“For the coffee last week.” Draco waves a dismissive hand, pointedly refusing to say for saving my life or for keeping me out of Azkaban.
Harry laughs, and the sound is rich, warm and low. It does things to Draco’s body. Damned inconvenient things. “Well, if you insist.”

“I do.” Draco gestures for the bill and doesn’t look at Harry as he checks the items. “Fancy a nightcap at mine?”

“Please.”

Draco finishes signing his name with a flourish and tries not to think about the fact that Harry’s acceptance of his offer sounded almost breathless.

*

If somebody had told Draco a few years ago that he would be sitting in his living room making small talk with an antsy Harry Potter – making small talk and enjoying it – he would have thought them quite deluded. Of course, he didn’t know then that Harry would be the one to stand up in front of the Wizengamot, unshaven and with dark circles under his eyes, fighting for Draco’s assets to remain under his control. He didn’t know Harry would advocate for overturning Draco’s Azkaban sentence in favour of a charitable donation and Draco’s enrolment on a Ministry programme for young children of Death Eaters designed by Granger. Draco owes Potter more than a spaghetti carbonara and a few glasses of mediocre red wine, loathe as he is to admit it.

“Another brandy?” Draco holds up the bottle and Harry nods, tipping his empty glass towards Draco.

“What’s on your mind?” Harry takes a sip of his brandy, wincing as he swallows. Draco isn’t entirely convinced Harry even likes brandy. He resists the urge to tell him it’s one of the finest cognacs in the Malfoy cellars. He has a feeling Harry couldn’t give a flying fuck about the quality of Draco’s booze.

“Nothing.” Draco flicks his gaze over Harry, allowing himself a moment to appreciate the expanse of tanned skin beneath the open collar of Harry’s shirt and the dark jeans which make his legs and thighs look sinfully good. “You’re dressed for an evening out. Should we have gone to a bar?” Draco keeps his tone deliberately casual, wondering if the rumours about the bars Potter frequents are accurate.

Harry shrugs. “I’m not all that keen on nights out.” He smiles, the look of a co-conspirator about him. “I haven’t exactly found what I’m looking for at Aparecium.”

Draco’s breath catches in his throat and he takes a careful sip of his drink to steady himself. The rumours were right for once, then. Harry’s as gay as he is, or bisexual. Aparecium isn’t a place frequented by straight wizards looking for a nice witch to settle down with. Draco collects himself. “I’m surprised I haven’t seen you there before,” he says. It’s a way of confirming me too without giving Potter his coming out speech.

Harry’s eyes flare with interest. He tips his head to one side, watching Draco. “I’m not that surprised. Like I said, I don’t go out a lot.”

Draco raises his eyebrows at Harry. “Have you exhausted all of your options already?” He wonders if Harry sometimes emerges from the bathrooms with a blissed out look on his face and an easy smile. He knows that Harry often goes out on raucous nights with his friends and he imagines Harry leaving Weasley and Granger snogging outside an All Bar One at the end of the night, before going off to sample the Muggle saunas. Maybe Harry has a Muggle phone like Draco, exclusively for nights out in London and easy, anonymous but frequently forgettable sexual encounters. He’s surprised by the unexpected spike of jealousy which knifes through him at the thought of Harry on his knees for someone else. Draco swallows, his mouth dry. Christ, when did those possessive desires to take and claim and own start being about Harry Potter of all people?

“Hardly.” Harry laughs, pushing a hand through his hair. His eyes carry a boozy brightness and he looks relaxed. Content. He takes a moment before continuing, with uncharacteristic quietness. “I don’t really think there are too many people in that place that would be into the stuff I like.”

Draco’s prick twitches in his trousers and he adjusts himself surreptitiously, studying Harry. “Such as?”

“Nope.” The sharp flash of pink in Harry’s cheeks gives him away. “I’m not getting into it with you.”

“You may as well.” Draco smirks at Harry. “I am sure I could get it out of you anyway.”

Harry’s throat works even as he laughs low in his throat. “I’m sure you could. I don’t think it’s very fair to feed me brandy and use Legilimency when I least expect it.”

“I’m not entirely sure where you developed the misguided impression that I have any interest in fair.” Draco rolls his eyes. It’s as close as they’ve been to flirting all evening and a peculiar tension hangs in the air. The room buzzes with energy and Draco is suddenly desperate to unveil every single one of Potter’s kinky little secrets, peeling them away from his skin together with his unusually neat clothes. He likes the idea of messing Harry up. He likes it more than he probably should.

“I don’t like talking about it in detail.” Harry waves a dismissive hand. “Besides, it’s not something you’d be interested in.”

“How would you know?” Draco glares at Harry. “I suppose you think you’re the only person who can get a bit kinky?” He feigns a yawn, despite the fact he’s so interested in discovering the peculiarities of Potter’s fetishes he could almost burst out of his skin. Knowing his luck, they’re probably just dull, vanilla fantasies or the racy suggestion of introducing some fluffy handcuffs for a bit of a giggle. Potter probably wouldn’t know kinky if it jumped up and bit him on the arse.

“You don’t want to hear about my sex life.” Harry gives Draco a curious look. There’s the hint of challenge in his gaze which makes Draco feel as though he’s being tested.

“About some unsatisfying fumbles in your past?” Draco snorts and has another sip of his brandy. “Not particularly. If you’ve got anything interesting to share, then I might want to hear it.”

Harry seems to be toying with himself, his expression grim. The flush on his neck has travelled into his face and he runs his hand through his hair again, a sure sign he’s nervous and biding his time. Draco swallows back the images in his mind of Potter bound and begging because it’s not a good idea to let his thoughts wander too far down that path.

“I heard a rumour,” Harry says. He has the same determined look about him that he gets when he’s interrogating a particularly difficult suspect.

“I hear a lot of rumours,” Draco replies. He keeps his tone smooth and doesn’t shy away from the intensity of Harry’s stare.

“About you.” Harry rubs his jaw and narrows his eyes. “Didn’t believe it at first. You should hear some of the stuff about me.”

“Oh, I’m probably familiar with most of it.” Draco barely suppresses his smile. If the Prophet wasn’t such a rag he would applaud their ingenuity. Some of the gossip columns are truly spectacular and Potter makes frequent appearances.

“I bet.” Harry pulls a face. “It got me wondering, though. This particular rumour.”

“Dangerous,” Draco says. He wouldn’t like to admit his curiosity is piqued. A thought occurs to him and he raises an eyebrow at Harry. “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t!” Harry huffs and folds his arms. “I’ve been busy.”

“Whatever.” Draco rolls his eyes. Harry’s definitely been avoiding him. The fact he won’t admit it makes Draco even more curious about the nature of these rumours. He hopes they’re flattering. Another rumour about the size of his bank account would be terribly gauche, not to mention modest. They’re usually a few hundred thousand galleons off-base, at least. “I hope you haven’t been spreading this rumour of yours. Unless it’s complimentary, in which case tell whoever you like.”

“I haven’t told anyone.” Harry rubs his hands on his jeans, another sign of nerves. Draco wonders what’s got him clammy-palmed and flushing. Draco trails his eyes over Harry’s body and it occurs to him with startling clarity that the rumour – whatever the bloody hell it is – made Potter dress up. It prompted Harry ask Draco for dinner in that brusque, too-casual way of his and then choose something tailored and flattering to wear for the occasion. “Busy my arse,” Draco mutters.

“What?” Harry frowns at Draco.

“Nothing.” Draco gives him an innocent smile. “Christ, spit it out, Potter. I’ve had easier conversations with a drunk Pygmy Puff.”

Fine.” Still glaring, Harry takes a breath. He taps a finger against his lip and then shakes himself with a sigh. “Someone might have mentioned you did kinky stuff.” He swallows and it’s strangely disarming. “Like, whips and chains kind of stuff.”

Draco’s heart nearly stops in his chest and he has to take a moment before responding. “Did they?”

“Yep.” Harry’s confidence improves as if broaching the topic was the hardest part. “They also said you have a sex dungeon.” He looks around the room as if he’s expecting a magnolia wall to slide back to reveal a spanking bench.

“That bit’s not true.” Draco puts his brandy down and crosses his legs. “As you can probably see.”

“Pity,” Potter says. He’s grinning and cheeky, back to his usual self. “Why not?”

Draco gestures to their surroundings. “I live in a Muggle flat in Chelsea. I barely have room for a walk-in wardrobe and a dining room table that seats more than six people. Father was very generous with presents during my childhood, but he never delivered on that sex dungeon.”

Harry laughs, and he takes another gulp of the brandy. “How rude of him. Christmas must have been horrible at the Manor.”

“Terrible.” Draco smiles at Harry, a heat settling in his chest. “I hate it when I don’t get good gifts.”

“Spoilt brat,” Potter mutters. It doesn’t sound judgmental, though. It sounds almost fond, and the warmth in Draco’s chest intensifies.

“Absolutely.” Draco licks his lips and keeps his voice even. “I like getting my way.”

“So I hear.” Harry’s voice is low and rough. His eyes are dark and Draco’s not sure if the heat in his cheeks is booze or arousal. Either way, it’s a lot to handle.

“I can’t imagine you wouldn’t be able to find someone more than prepared to take a flogger to you if that’s what you’re looking for.” Draco takes in Harry’s strong frame and the very idea is almost enough to make him hard. Harry would look delightful trussed up and perspiring.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that.” Harry winces. “I’m not just into that.” He rubs his temple. “I don’t feel good about the stuff I get off on and it’s not the kind of thing I can just explore with strangers. I don’t think I’d let just anyone tie me up. It’s…difficult.”

The thought of why it might be difficult leaves a bitter taste in Draco’s mouth which contrasts sharply with the way his heart leaps and skips at the implication that Harry might trust him of all people. “You’re an idiot if you trust me, Potter.” Draco knows Harry doesn’t miss the low cadence of his voice or the way it dips as he speaks. “There’s still part of me that would get a great deal of pleasure out of humiliating you if I had you in a position like that.”

“I know.” Harry’s voice is clear and strong. “I…wouldn’t mind.”

Christ. Draco almost can’t speak when Harry says that. Potter is a seething mass of complications and it ignites another unexpected possessive heat which burns through Draco’s veins. Harry must know how dangerous it is to leave himself vulnerable and exposed, not only asking for pleasure, but craving humiliation. Draco can list at least ten people off the top of his head that would take sadistic pleasure from that scenario without a moment’s concern for Potter’s wellbeing.

“What else is there?” Draco considers Harry. “It’s not as simple as opposites attract, just because I like to take control and you, apparently, like to give it up.”

“I’m not stupid.” Harry rolls his eyes and gives Draco a small smile. “I have managed to have some sex you know.”

That sparks another pulse of jealousy and Draco’s starting to suspect he’s done for. He wants a list of all of the cretins who have so much as stroked a finger down Harry’s naked torso, let alone those that have done anything else. Preferably so he can hex every last one of them. “So easy, Potter.”

“Yeah.” Harry’s eyes are bright, and Draco doesn’t miss the slight tremor which passes through his body. “So…desperate.”

Fucking hell, Potter should do this to all his opponents. Forget Avada Kedavra, he could kill a grown man just by saying things like that.

“A desperate boy,” Draco says. He’s not sure where it comes from, but clearly somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind are long-held fantasies about Harry Potter being Draco’s boy. He’s never been one for being called Daddy or babying his paramours. When he does play he prefers the elegant formality of Sir and he enjoys being rude to the point of obnoxious to whichever dull man de jour has galleons in his eyes for Draco’s bank account. It’s different, looking at Harry’s flushed cheeks and his nice outfit. The desire to do all kinds of things to Harry – to humiliate him, infantilise him, fuck him until he can’t be fucked anymore and, worst of all, protect him – have Draco rethinking his bad pre-Harry sex choices.

“Merlin, yes.” Harry’s eyes shutter closed, and his breathing is ragged. Draco isn’t even touching him yet and his legs are spread, the line of his hardening cock clear even through his jeans. He looks…delectable. Like something to be taken apart and put back together again. Debauched and rumpled, eager to let somebody else take charge for once.

“You’ve been drinking,” Draco says. Largely for wont of something to say that doesn’t instigate something he’s not sure his traitorous heart can take.

“A bit.” Harry’s eyes open and he gives Draco a lazy smile. “You too. Don’t we have potions for that?”

“We might.” Draco’s voice is thicker than usual. He flicks his wand and murmurs a summoning charm, throwing a phial in Harry’s direction, which he catches deftly and downs in one. “Potter…” Draco rubs the back of his neck and is surprised to find he’s sweating.

“Yeah?” Harry looks clear-headed but defiant. He raises his eyebrows at Draco. “You’re going to tell me that was stupid.”

Draco nods, drinking his own Sober-Up potion and depositing the bottle on the table. “It could have been anything. You’re an idiot.”

“No.” Harry shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. “I’m an Auror, Draco. I know my Sober-Ups from other stuff. I’m not as daft as you think I am. Besides, I trust you.”

That sends a pleasant warmth through Draco’s body. “Why?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Because I’ve learned to trust my instincts, that’s why.”

“You didn’t always trust me,” Draco points out.

“No,” Harry agrees. “But I had good reason not to, didn’t I?”

“Perhaps.” Draco swallows, because of course Harry was right not to trust him. It’s just mind-boggling that his opinion has changed.

“Instinct.” Harry shrugs again. “Am I wrong to trust you now?”

Draco shakes his head. He’s tempted to point out that he wouldn’t tell the truth if Harry’s trust was misplaced but it isn’t, so he doesn’t. He narrows his eyes at Harry. “This other stuff…

Harry gives Draco an easy smile. “Why don’t we see how we get along with the basics first?”

Draco isn’t going to argue. He stands at the same time Harry does and it’s like the magnetism in the air draws them together. Draco has had a lot of sex, but he’s never been quite so aroused by the simple possibility of kissing someone as he is now. He pushes Harry back against the nearest wall and captures his eager mouth in a kiss he hopes will leave Harry weak at the knees, but as always, Harry is unexpected. He melds his mouth to Draco’s, hot and insistent and he tugs Draco closer with a low murmur of Draco’s name that’s sinfully erotic. For someone who showed a flicker of shy submission, Harry seems to have no qualms about assaulting Draco’s mouth with eager readiness, or grinding against him with purpose. It’s exquisite, Harry’s tongue warm against Draco’s and his hard body pushed against every inch of Draco. The ragged puffs of breath that pass between them fuel the heat in Draco’s veins until desire flames through him.

Draco cups Harry’s cock through his jeans, biting back a groan at the hard length of him. “Exquisite.” He brushes his lips to Harry’s ear then steps back to take Harry in. His chest heaves and his lips are red and plump from kissing. He really does look divine when he’s dishevelled and lost in pleasure. “Strip for me.”

Harry swallows, his throat working. He looks as though he wants to protest, heat travelling from his neck to his face. “I…”

“Do you want this?” Draco watches Harry carefully, wondering what battles are raging within him.

“Yes.” Harry’s voice is unusually quiet and soft. He meets Draco’s gaze head on and squares his jaw. “More than anything. I told you that it’s difficult. Giving up control.”

Draco nods, even as a flash of fear makes him doubt the earlier connection. “Is it…our situation?” That’s the closest Draco can get to is it me? without humiliating himself.

Harry’s brow furrows and then his expression eases as he seems to understand the question Draco’s really asking. He gives Draco a lopsided smile. “I’ve already said I trust you, Malfoy. It might seem weird and I don’t know why I do, but I do. More than anyone with something like this.” Harry pauses and taps his fingers against his head. “It’s the stuff up here that makes it difficult. Everything that’s telling me wanting this makes me a pervert.”

Draco’s heart clenches and he glares at Potter for making him feel things. He moves back into Harry’s space and runs a finger along the line of Harry’s jaw, not missing how even the light touch makes Harry’s breath rough. “Such a desperate boy for me. Such a dirty boy.”

Harry’s groan goes straight to Draco’s cock. He’s already glassy-eyed and he nods as if he’s taken a decision within himself. “So dirty.” His throat works then he sinks, beautiful and impossible, to his knees. “What should I—”

“—Call me?” Draco tips Harry’s chin up, taking it in his hand and tilting his head back, watching the flex and pulse of his neck. He knows what he wants Harry to call him but it’s unexpected and he’s not sure he wants to be the one who instigates it. He has a sense that Harry has a whole host of repressed desires and the need to make him articulate every single one burns through Draco. “What do you want to call me?”

Harry’s cheeks get delightfully pink as he strokes his fingers over the line of Draco’s cock. Even through cotton trousers the touch is perfect. God, Draco wants to ruin Harry. He wants to have him stretched out and exposed, responding only to Draco’s touch. He wants to claim him and make him beg to take Draco’s cock between those sinful lips. “I don’t know.”

“Liar.” Draco brushes Harry’s hand from his cock, even though he could probably get off just from Harry’s fingers pushing and pressing against him. “Tell me.” He pushes his fingers into Harry’s hair and tugs, his voice firm and hopefully giving Harry a helping hand. “Such an eager boy.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Harry’s voice cracks around the edges. He closes his eyes like he can’t stand to look at Draco when he says it out loud. If it wasn’t for the tremble that passes through Harry’s body, Draco would almost be tempted to be stricter with him about that.

“Look at me,” Draco says. He waits until Harry’s eyes blink open and he presses his hand against Harry’s cheek just to feel the heat of it against his palm. “Good boys don’t hide.”

“No.” Harry’s breath is ragged and fuck he looks good enough to make Draco’s mouth water. His eyes are so bright and green. Because of all the kissing Draco can already imagine what Harry’s mouth looks like when he’s sucking cock. It’s desperately distracting and it’s all Draco can do to let Harry work through the thoughts which seem to be swimming through his mind. “No, they don’t hide.” Harry licks his lips and his voice gets rough again. “Daddy.”

Draco strokes his thumb over Harry’s cheek. He’s so hard and his cock twitches when Harry calls him that. The realisation that he doesn’t particularly care what Harry’s fantasies are because he wants to indulge every single one of them washes through him. He keeps his voice level, miraculously. “I thought I told you to strip.”

“Yeah. You did.” Harry sits back on his heels and for one moment it looks like they’re finished, but then he begins to unbutton his shirt. He stands, and Draco isn’t daft enough to miss how Harry’s legs aren’t holding him up in the same way they usually do, or the way his nipples get tight when he tugs off his shirt and drops it on the floor. Finally, Harry is naked in front of Draco and his chest heaves as he exposes himself to Draco’s scrutiny. His cock is divine. Hard and standing to attention, leaking at the tip and bold enough to let Draco know Harry is definitely into this. Harry’s throat works, and he meets Draco’s gaze. “Is this okay?”

Draco nods, before gesturing to a spot on the floor. “More than okay. Kneel.”

Harry bites back a groan, but it’s as if something within him releases and the pent-up energy of resisting his desires snaps. “Yeah.”

Draco is still fully clothed but he’s so hard it’s a struggle to think about what to do with Harry. He circles him, taking in the athletic curve of his back and the way his cock continues to stay hard under Draco’s scrutiny. Harry Potter is naked and kneeling in Draco’s flat and it’s a lot to take in. Draco finally stops behind Harry, pushing a hand into his hair and tipping his head back a little. It exposes the flex of his chest and the hard lines of his body, the thickness of his cock and the way he sits, already so compliant, with his legs splayed and his heels beneath his backside.

“Look at you.” Draco gives Harry’s hair a tug. “Such an eager little boy.”

F-fuck.” Harry gasps out the curse, his eyelids flickering. “Yeah. So desperate for it.”

For what? That’s what Draco can’t work out. There's something underlying Harry's plea that goes beyond a shag or a blowjob - another quiet desperation that claws at him. Something he's not able to say out loud. They should probably talk about it at some point, but not now. Not when sex seems very much on the cards and Harry’s chest rises and falls, flushed with arousal. “Have you been touching yourself thinking about this?”

The heat which flares across Potter’s cheeks is delightful to watch. He’s so open, even when he seems to be fighting against himself. It’s almost more than Draco can handle.

“I asked you a question.” Draco tugs on Harry’s hair again and he groans, low and needy.

“I’ve thought about it.”

“Tell me what you were doing when you thought about it.” Draco looks at Harry’s splayed legs and twists his hand in Harry’s hair. “Show me.”

Harry’s tongue flicks over his lips even as his hand edges towards his cock. “Isn’t it…wrong?” He almost sounds hopeful. Draco isn’t sure he can take this, his own cock already uncomfortably straining against his tight trousers.

Draco moves away from Harry, releasing his hair and making Harry gasp. He sits in an armchair, fortuitously positioned to see every last inch of Harry. “Of course it’s wrong.” Draco wonders how far he can push and decides to show Harry something of his own desires. “You’re not allowed to touch yourself unless I give you permission. Do you understand me?”

Harry puts the palms of his hands just above his knees and arches – actually arches - as if he definitely understands. “Yes. I promise.”

“Good boy.” Draco pauses. “Now open your eyes. I want you to look at me and show me what you do when you’re being naughty.”

Merlin.” Harry sounds more like his regular self for a moment, even if he does speak under his breath and the word leaves him with a rush. After a minute he seems to compose himself a little and he brings his hand to his cock, fondling it and giving it a few quick strokes. He holds Draco’s gaze as he does so and it’s so sinfully erotic, it’s all Draco can do not to reach into his own trousers. “Like this?” Harry’s throat works, and his voice gets low and jagged. “Daddy?”

Draco bites his lip to capture the groan that threatens to spill from his mouth. Damn Potter. Damn the way he’s wormed himself into Draco’s life in an entirely unexpected way. Damn the way he can make Draco feel things beyond my cock is hard. Potter really is a fucking disaster for Draco. A beautiful, glorious disaster. Draco watches the way Harry’s confident hand works over his cock. He takes in the way Harry’s breath hitches and falters and studies the slide of his fingers, the twist of his wrist and the stroke of his thumb over his slit which is already damp with pre-come.

“So easy. So desperate.” Draco doesn’t miss the twitch of Harry’s hand or the way his hips push up into his fist in response to Draco’s words. Another interesting moment. “You love this, don’t you? You want to be used.” Draco hopes he’s right, his tongue wetting his lips. He feels as though they're treading a very fragile line and every gentle nudge feels precarious.

“Yeah.” Harry’s breathing is all over the place. “I like being used. I like being told what to do. I want to be desperate.”

Draco's now positive there’s something else behind the desperate but at the moment all he cares about is that Harry Potter has his cock in his hand and he’s putting on a private show in Draco’s living room.

“Of course you do.” Draco watches Harry stroke himself and can tell by the way his jaw locks he’s close to coming, but trying to hold back. Draco tsks under his breath. “Needy boy. You know you’re not allowed to come?”

Yes.” Harry grits his teeth and squeezes the base of his cock, hard. He’s so lovely. Draco is fucking fucked. Harry’s hand stills and he looks at Draco with dark eyes. He licks his lips and pushes up into the circle of his hand, almost instinctively. “Can I do anything for you?” Harry’s eyes glisten and his lips curve into a smile. “Daddy.”

Oh god. Draco bites back a hiss and he spreads his legs, beckoning Harry close. When Harry moves to stand, Draco shakes his head.

“Crawl.” Draco half expects Harry to say no. Half wants him to refuse, because Draco’s got a horrible suspicion he’s not going to be able to think of Potter without getting hard ever again.

“Oh.” Harry’s cheeks get pink, but he doesn’t disobey. He gets on all fours and fuck Draco wants to take him. He wants to push Harry’s legs up and finger him until he’s begging for it. He wants Harry to plead for Draco’s cock. The desire that pulses through him is too great, too much. He squeezes himself in his trousers and doesn’t miss the hungry look in Harry’s eyes.

“Come here,” Draco says. He’s already beckoned Harry over but he feels as though he needs to be explicit about the fact the here is his cock. He unbuttons his trousers, opening them just enough but not releasing himself from the confines of his pants. He wants Harry to do that. Wants Harry to mouth eagerly over his boxers and then suck him down.

“I’m coming.” Harry’s eyes glint and he gives Draco a grin as he moves. “Not coming, obviously.”

Draco rolls his eyes and snorts with laughter. “Obviously. Get over here and suck my prick for fucks sake.”

Harry laughs under his breath, settling between Draco’s legs. He runs his hands over Draco’s thighs and looks at him through hooded eyes. “My pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Draco gives Harry a smile and then twists a hand back in Harry’s hair. It’s sticking up all over the place, his neck damp with flecks of perspiration. It helps Draco’s mind wander to other situations involving naked Harry, which is why he’s more than ready when Harry mouths over his cock. “Those are silk,” Draco murmurs. He couldn’t give a damn if Harry ruined a hundred pairs of his boxers, but it feels good to chastise him for making a mess.

“Sorry.” Harry’s voice is gravelly, and he pulls back. He reaches for his wand as if he’s planning to disrobe Draco with magic. “Shall I take them off?”

“Use your hands. No magic.” Draco holds out a hand a terrible, dangerous thought occurring to him. “Give me your wand.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at Draco, then shrugs. “Okay.” He hands Draco his wand and the slim wood between Draco’s fingers hums with the familiar power of Harry’s magic. Draco glares at Harry and places the wand on the table next to the armchair, within easy reach of them both.

“Never, ever give another wizard your wand just because you’re horny. What kind of Auror are you?”

Harry chuckles and he nods. “Noted.” He gives Draco a lazy smile. “I can do wandless magic, Malfoy.”

“Of course you can.” Draco’s almost disappointed that handing over his wand doesn’t apparently mean the same thing to Harry as it does to Draco, but he can’t be bothered to complain about it when Harry works him free of his trousers.

“Besides,” Harry says. “I wouldn’t do that with anyone else. Just you.”

Draco is about to ask why, but Harry chooses that moment to take Draco’s cock into the back of his throat and he decides the questions can wait until later. He pushes his hands into Harry’s hair and guides his movements, noticing how well Harry responds to that. He pushes into Harry’s mouth and holds him down, just long enough for Harry to pull off Draco with a cough. His lips are plump and his wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand.

“Sorry,” Harry murmurs. “Didn’t mean to do that.”

“You’ll just have to practice.” Draco lets Harry get his breath before guiding him down again. “Learn how to suck Daddy’s cock properly, like a good boy.”

There’s a mumbled nnngh from Harry which vibrates through Draco’s cock and it’s perfect. A messy-haired Potter in his lap, sliding his tongue over Draco and swallowing him down to the root again. The dirty talk seems to reinvigorate Harry and he pushes over Draco, his hands squeezing around Draco’s thighs as he gets to work. There’s definitely something to be said for determined, foolhardy Gryffindors, Draco decides. They have their moments. He twists at Harry’s hair again because it elicits the most delightful hums of pleasure which travel the length of Draco’s prick. Everything is hot and breathless, with the slick sound of Harry’s mouth covering Draco’s cock with saliva and the eager way he swallows and slides around Draco with one focus in mind. Draco doesn’t miss the way Harry’s hand falls to his own prick and then, just as quickly, moves back onto Draco’s knee with a vice-like grip. It’s as if the memory of Draco’s earlier instruction not to touch without permission floods back to him and clutching onto Draco’s leg keeps him anchored in place. Draco’s glad about that, because he definitely wants to see what Harry looks like when he comes and he’s far too close to his own climax to pay a great deal of attention to anything more than the sensation of Harry sucking him. He manages not to shout out any declarations of love when his orgasm finally pulses through him, but it’s a pretty close call. Trying to steady his erratic breathing, Draco collapses back in the armchair and lets Harry lick him clean with strangely kitten-like tenderness. Draco runs his finger along Harry’s jaw, enjoying the view for a moment.

“You’re like a crup,” Draco says. “Or a kneazle.”

“Really?” Harry sits back on his heels and he gives Draco a slow smile. “I mean, if you want me to be I suppose.”

“Christ, no.” Draco shudders, although the idea of Harry on a leash does hold a certain appeal.

“Okay.” Harry rubs his hands against his thighs, still watching Draco. His cock is still hard, and he squirms in place under Draco’s gaze. He’s quieter than usual, particularly noticeable after his earlier chatter. It’s as if he’s waiting for further instruction.

“So polite, like this,” Draco murmurs. “Aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Harry’s cheeks flush and he looks embarrassed, his lips twisting into a sheepish smile. “A bit.”

“Is it because you want to get off?” Draco gestures towards Harry’s cock and then meets his eyes again.

“A bit.” Harry’s shoulder lifts and falls. He takes a shaky breath. “I…don’t mind waiting. If you think I should.”

Draco’s tempted to tell Harry to put on his trousers and see if he can go a week without wanking, before making him beg and plead for release. Draco loves denying orgasms if he has an opportunity to do so. Again, though, everything feels different with Harry. Draco doesn’t want Harry not to come. He wants him to come over and over, until he’s wrung out, sated and sensitive. He wants Harry to fall apart with pleasure and to forget about any other wizards that might be eyeing up their next conquest with a view to shagging a hero. Draco wants Harry to break apart under his touch and writhe, beg and plead as he stretches out on Draco’s bed. He wants to do so many things it’s difficult to know what to do next. After a minute, Draco glances at Harry’s cock.

“I don’t want you to wait. I want you to show me how desperate you are.”

“You do?” Harry’s breath hitches, his hands curling into fists on his thighs. “How?”

“I want you to bring yourself off, all over my floor. I want you to keep your eyes open and make yourself come, because desperate boys need to come, don’t they, Harry?”

“Yes, Da-Daddy.” Harry’s voice breaks and beads of perspiration break out on his forehead. God, Draco loves watching Harry like this. Loves hearing the Daddy falling from Harry’s well-fucked mouth as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He’s starting to suspect he might discover a few kinks of his own if this thing with Harry becomes a regular occurrence. A few very Harry-specific kinks.

“Then do it.” Draco keeps his voice miraculously calm and unaffected. “Touch yourself.”

Fuck, yes.” Harry brings his hand to his cock and starts pumping it. His eyes flutter closed and then he snaps them open, as if he doesn’t want to displease Draco. A delicious groan falls from his parted lips as he tips his head back, exposing his throat. Draco can’t quite believe he’s got Harry Potter naked on his living room floor and he’s managed to restrain himself from touching Harry all over. He’s rather proud of himself, all things considered. He hopes Harry appreciates his fortitude, particularly as he plans to get Harry in his bed after this. “Like this, Daddy?”

Fucking hell. “Yes. Just like that.” Draco’s starting to wish he’d tucked his own prick away, because it’s already twitching feebly in response to Harry’s ministrations. He takes Harry’s wand and mutters a couple of sharp, quick spells, clothing himself properly again. It’s amazing he doesn’t hex his bollocks off, but Harry’s wand responds to him like a dream. The magic pulses through his hand, strong and determined, but the wand yields to him completely. It’s perfect. The sight makes Harry’s eyes wide and he pushes up into his fist, his backside raising off the floor a little as he does so. Draco swallows, his mouth dry. “My dirty boy. You’re going to make such a mess of yourself. Such a mess of Daddy’s nice floor.”

“S-sorry, I—” Harry is properly perspiring now, warm-cheeked and lovely with his darkening eyes and the clear effort he’s putting into not bringing himself over the edge without Draco’s permission. He’s learning the art of submission as quickly as he learned how to fly, only this time, Draco couldn’t be more delighted with Potter’s ability to learn.

“You want to come, don’t you?” Draco gives Harry what he hopes is an evil smirk. He’s worried he’s already looking a bit starry-eyed though, because Harry doesn’t look too put off.

“Yes. Merlin, yes.” Harry speaks through gritted teeth and Draco tuts.

“Then ask me. Say you want to make a mess of yourself.”

Harry’s breath falters and he’s trembling – a shudder passing through the length of his gorgeous body. Draco wants to lick him all over, wants to taste his sweat and touch him when he climaxes. It’s all he can do to stay exactly where he is, gripping tightly onto the arms of his chair.

“P-please.” Harry takes another shaky breath, stroking himself quickly and letting out a decadent moan of pleasure. “Please let me come, Daddy. I’ll make such a mess. I’ll be so dirty for you.”

The for you just about kills Draco and he wonders what his father would say if he died because of Harry Potter’s orgasm face. Nothing good, probably. He pushes thoughts of anyone other than Harry firmly out of his mind and luxuriates in the picture before him. After he feels Harry has probably suffered enough, he collects himself sufficiently to speak.

“Come for me, Harry.”

With a deep groan, Harry pushes into his fist a couple more times and then he comes. He pulses over his own fingers and his stomach, making a mess of himself just as Draco asked. It’s so much. It’s too much. Draco stares at Harry who stares back, the last moments of his orgasm ebbing through him before he drops his hands to his legs. He looks shocked, as if he can’t believe what he’s just done. Draco can see the flicker of panic crossing Harry’s features and he knows. He knows Harry’s going to withdraw completely like a terrified Pygmy Puff if Draco doesn’t take action. He can see the shame written over Harry’s strong face and it’s almost more difficult to watch than the unexpected brilliance of Harry getting hot and hard in front of him. The wild abandon of the moment appears to leave Harry in a rush and his shoulders get tense and stiff, his features highlighting his sudden mortification at his own nakedness.

“Do you know what happens when good boys make a mess of themselves?” Draco keeps his voice low and Harry shakes his head, bowing his head now and biting his lip. Fuck, does he think Draco’s going to humiliate him now? When he’s so clearly shaken and unsure? “They come to bed for a kiss and a cuddle.”

“They do?” Harry’s brow furrows and he looks up at Draco. He’s all man. All hard lines and tough edges, with his stubbled jaw and thick, gorgeous prick which is more than a mouthful even in its flaccid state nestled in a thatch of dark curls. He’s so capable. So powerful that magic rolls from him in waves, and yet there’s an innocence in his gaze and a hazy-eyed uncertainty that makes Draco resolve he’s going to have a good chat with Harry about who he chooses to do this kind of thing with. Not that he wants Harry to choose anyone else but him. It gathers in his chest, a fierce, protective ball and he mentally shakes his finger at his heart telling it to calm the fuck down before he becomes an unbearably sappy arse, just because Harry Potter wanked on his floor. “If you’re fucking with me, Malfoy—”

Draco rolls his eyes and stands, holding out his hand to Harry. “Come to bed, Potter. Leave your clothes, you won’t be needing them.”

Harry stands, stumbles and within a moment he’s in Draco’s arms. If everything else they have already done cemented the fact we have fun being kinky together, the kiss cements something else. It’s not as urgent or needy as before – not so much a prelude to fucking as the aftermath of a strange, tentative truce that pulls them both together. Draco wraps his arms around Potter and moves his tongue against Harry’s, capturing every broken sigh between his lips. If Harry’s earlier kisses before felt unexpected, this one seems like the inevitable culmination of the years that stretch between them etched in Fiendfyre, anger and, finally, tacit camaraderie.

Draco cups the back of Harry’s neck and deepens the kiss, largely to stop himself from speaking.

For the first time since Draco started having sex, he has absolutely no idea what to say.

*

“Nice room.” Harry pokes around Draco’s room, the curve of his arse deliciously highlighted by the silvery light which filters through the windows. Draco’s sure there’s a joke in there somewhere about moons and mooning, but he’s so thoroughly relaxed he can’t quite connect the dots. Harry's earlier embarrassment seems to have faded after being nearly chased up the stairs, which is a relief. The possibility of seeing Harry embarrassed in a good way plays on Draco's mind, but he puts it to one side for now. He's hoping they might be able to explore that, eventually.

“Of course it’s nice.” Draco undresses and folds his clothes neatly, before stretching out on the bed. He’s always been comfortable in his own nakedness. He has a decent cock, nice thighs and his mirror tells him he’s handsome as fuck most days. He knows how he looks. It’s one of the few things that makes him thankful he’s a Malfoy. There are plenty of people that don’t think he has much more to offer than a pretty face and money in the bank. Perhaps that’s another reason why Potter’s unexpected trust leaves him blindsided. He knows Harry could shag plenty of rich, attractive people without any of Draco’s baggage. Maybe it’s that knowledge that's responsible for the kernel of hope Draco tries not to focus on too deeply. Hope is a dangerous thing. Part of him wants to hide the Mark on his forearm under the sheets, but Harry knows it’s there and hiding wouldn’t do much of anything. It’s funny how previous partners have treated him for that. For some, it’s the end of a session. A disgusting blemish that no amount of apology or indication of changed allegiances can ever absolve. For others it's something to be licked, stroked and touched with fascinated reverence. That kind of response is guaranteed to get Draco’s prick soft quicker than you can say Dolores Umbridge.

“You look good, Malfoy.” As if he can read Draco’s thoughts, Harry gives him the once-over. His eyes don’t linger on the Dark Mark any more than they avoid it. He seems more interested in the scars on Draco’s belly. His throat works. “Is that…?”

“We all have scars, Potter. I’m sure I’m responsible for a few of yours in one way or another.” Draco runs a finger over the raised lines on his stomach, which are now barely there at all. “Don’t start getting all noble on me. I can’t stand a Gryffindor with a bleeding heart.”

“Pity.” Harry’s lips quirk into a smile, but he seems to accept that particular line of conversation is over. He moves onto the bed and props himself up, looking down at Draco. “You’re soft.”

“I’m what?” Draco glares at Harry. That’s a bloody rude thing to say to someone. He wonders if Potter’s angling for a spanking, because he’s certainly going the right way about it if he is.

“Without my glasses.” Harry’s laugh bursts out of him, bright and airy. He runs a hand over the curve of Draco’s jaw. “Soft around the edges.”

“Oh.” Draco snorts under his breath. He really doesn’t deserve to find himself in this predicament, endlessly charmed by Potter’s peculiarities. It’s almost as if his father taught him nothing at all. “Well, you like you’ve had baby Hungarian Horntails nesting in your hair for a month.”

“Thanks.” Harry pushes a hand through his hair with an easy smile which does little to remedy the situation. “Didn’t seem to bother you when you had your hands in it.”

Draco tries not to flush but he isn’t sure he manages it. Merlin, Potter has him acting like a sixteen-year-old virgin. “Are we actually going to talk about it?”

Harry shrugs, looking carefully at Draco. “Do you want to?”

“We probably should.” Draco sighs. Honestly, he’d really prefer to go for another round and fuck Harry until he’s ruined for any other man because Draco is excellent at fucking.

“Or…” Harry’s fingers move in a tap, tap motion down Draco’s torso.

“Yes?” Draco likes the sound of or.

“Or we could fuck and talk about it another time?” Harry brushes his fingers against Draco’s cock. “I like to be on the bottom by the way. I mean, you might have guessed that from before, but it doesn’t always follow. I like the other way too, but…less.”

“That works,” Draco says. That works. Like it’s not enough to make Draco’s brain melt just to think about sliding inside Potter’s body. “That suits my preferences too.” He licks his lips, watching Harry’s reaction. “When I do bottom, I still prefer to top.”

“Fuck,” Harry says, ever the epitome of eloquence. “Yeah, let’s definitely do that at some point.”

At some point means they're probably going to be doing this again. More than once. Draco tries to process that information, a thought occurring to him. He narrows his eyes. “If you want to do this – the other things we’re apparently not going to talk about in particular – I expect you not to play with anyone else.”

Harry nods, as if that’s what he expected. “No problem.” He studies Draco. “What about you?”

Draco knows he's probably destined to a life of finding poor Harry substitutes to suck him off while he cries into his expensive whisky after this, but he can lie without blinking so he does just that. “I’m in charge, Potter. I can fuck whoever I wish.”

Harry rolls onto his back, blinking at the ceiling. After a desperately long pause, he finally speaks. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“Why not?” Draco holds his breath as Harry tips his head to look at him, his expression serious.

“Because if I’m not enough for you, I don’t think you’re ever going to be enough for me.” He sighs and rubs his jaw. “It’s too soon for all of this, probably, but I’m not good at casual. Never have been.”

“Should we get married?” Draco can’t resist a smirk and Harry rolls his eyes in response.

“Yes, let’s. That sounds like a great plan.”

“I’m full of them.” Draco licks his lips, his throat dry. “I don’t really believe in it. You should know that.”

Harry stares at Draco before laughing, muttering something that sounds like stupid twat under his breath. “I just said don’t fuck anyone else, Malfoy. I didn’t ask you to get married, you idiot.”

“I know.” Draco shrugs. “Still. Just in case.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t give a fuck about that either.” Harry’s still laughing under his breath and it really is tempting to spank him when he’s being a cheeky shit. “I just don’t want your dick in anyone else while we’re doing this. If you think you can control yourself.”

“If that’s the case, I expect you to keep it busy.” In truth it’s ludicrously easy for Draco to agree not to fuck anyone else. He’s never been this interested in someone, not that he plans to share that with Potter yet. He thumbs along Harry’s cheek, biting back a groan when Harry sucks his thumb between his lips. “God.” He pauses to collect himself, pushing his thumb into Harry’s mouth before removing it with a pop. “I meant what I said, you know. About not coming without my permission. I don’t care if anyone else is involved or if it’s just you, a copy of Quidditch Quarterly and your own hand. You have to ask.”

Harry sucks in a breath. He nods, slowly. His eyes are dark, and he presses his face into the crook of Draco’s neck, sucking lightly. Draco arches his neck to give Harry the best possible access.

“Malfoy?”

“Mmm?”

“I really want you to fuck me, now.” Harry’s teeth nip down lightly and then his lips travel up Draco’s neck to his ear. They press against the shell of it, hot and damp. “Fuck me, Daddy.”

With a low growl that he barely even recognises as his own, Draco pushes Harry back on the bed and captures his lips in a searing kiss. They tumble together on the bed, more push and pull than anything else and Draco loves that Harry’s like this. He loves the submission and the wide-eyed innocence, but he also loves the fight and fire. He loves that Harry’s a little thicker in the arms than him and that Draco can be wrestled onto the bed with the same ease he can push Harry back onto the sheets. He loves that there’s a pulsing, throbbing heat between them both and the way Harry grinds against Draco with reckless desire. He finally gets to taste the perspiration on Harry’s skin and the gentle slope of his toned chest. He licks a path from Harry’s torso down to his cock and sucks him to full hardness, enjoying the swell of Harry and the saltiness from before on his tongue. The sharp tang of sweat and semen should be disgusting but as ever, Harry is different. His scent sends desire burning through Draco and the need to take him is overwhelming. After tonguing over Harry’s glorious cock, Draco sits back and slaps Harry’s thigh.

“Hands and knees.”

“Yeah, okay.” Harry mutters a curse under his breath, his words carrying a happy note of amusement which sends Draco’s reckless heart beating hard all over again. He’s glad about the lie from earlier. Glad Harry said no. There are boundaries already, and Harry doesn’t seem concerned about voicing them. It sends relief washing through Draco, even as he knows they should talk about the rest of it. For now, it’s enough to know that Harry has no qualms saying no to Draco. If anything, the problem is going to be getting the damned fantasies he seems so nervous about sharing out of him. Draco looks at Harry, arse-up and legs spread for him. He looks glorious. Good enough to taste. Draco bites back a moan and reaches for a wand, summoning the lube. He barely notices he’s gone straight for Harry’s wand again, but Harry seems to. It sends a shudder of pleasure through him which makes him even look even more delightfully wanton.

“So desperate to be fucked, Harry.” Draco can’t seem to resist saying things like that. Probably because he needs to hear it repeatedly, just to believe the truth of it. People who have been with Draco before wanted nice gifts or sought to fulfil some Death Eater fetish which left Draco cold. The Muggles mainly wanted Draco because they were eager to have a shag with someone, and Draco’s good at sex. Harry has already made it clear it’s more than that. Harry doesn’t want to lick Draco’s Dark Mark and call him My Lord as if Draco wants to be reminded of the Dark Lord when he’s trying to get hard. He doesn’t want Draco to fuck anyone else or to be fucked by anyone else. He wants Draco and that in and of itself is more dizzying than whatever kinky things apparently inhabit Potter’s mind.

Harry wiggles his backside, distracting Draco from his thoughts. He sounds amused and breathless when he speaks. “Run out of lube?”

“Cheeky.” Draco swats Harry lightly on the backside and it elicits a groan of approval. He adds it to his list of things he’s filing away for another time. He’s happy to take Harry over his knee and spank him until he cries if that’s what Harry needs, but he’s not about to start doing much more than a light swat until they’ve had that chat they’re both avoiding. Besides, Draco really wants to have a shag. He slicks his fingers and rubs them over Harry’s hole before slipping one inside. He wants to take his time fingering Harry open, particularly when Harry clearly enjoys it. Harry pushes back and almost mewls. He’s definitely going to be responsible for Draco’s untimely death, panting and pushing back against Draco’s fingers as he adds a second.

“Just…fuck me, will you?” Harry’s voice has lost any note of amusement. His words leave him with rough pants and he trails off with a desperate moan when Draco rubs his fingers inside Harry before fucking into him again, hard. So much for the lengthy fingering. Draco refuses to embarrass himself by nearly coming before he's even inside Harry.

“Such a slut for my fingers, Potter.” Draco doesn’t even bother trying to sound like he doesn’t love it. Just watching Harry like this gives him ideas. Lots of ideas. Ideas for when he can take his time and bind Harry to the bed, with a pillow shoved under his arse and his gorgeous bum on display for Draco’s tongue and fingers to tease mercilessly. Plans for toys. For their wands. For a long fingering when Harry’s arse is red from a merciless spanking. Oh, Draco has some very good plans and he promises himself that he’s going to see through every last one of them. Maybe he should get a dungeon of some sort after all. Somewhere just for Harry to be flogged, teased and fucked. Somewhere for him to be shackled and desperate, calling Draco Daddy. Merlin.

“Come on, Draco.” Harry pushes back onto Draco’s fingers. “Fuck me.”

Draco slips his fingers from Harry, lubing up his cock and casting a quick protective spell. He’s not the sort to be churlish about condoms, but he can’t pretend he doesn’t love being a wizard and dispensing with certain Muggle necessities from time to time. Lube is different. There are spells for that, too. Spells for stretching, for preparing, but not one of them beats watching his fingers slide inside Potter’s beautiful arse and hearing him beg so prettily for Draco to fuck him.

“Ask nicely.” Honestly, Draco would fuck Harry if he responded with a grunt right now, but part of him wants Harry to say it. He wants to hear it again. Daddy. Please. Two words that have a whole new meaning when they’re coming from Potter’s lips.

“Please fuck me, Daddy.” Harry’s babbling now, his back arching when Draco presses the head of his cock against his hole. His back is damp with perspiration and he gasps out the plea again. “Want you inside me. Want to be a good boy. Fuck want to wear knickers and satin—” he trails off, his voice gruff and a moan leaving his lips. “Please.”

Knickers and satin. Draco can’t. He can’t pretend it’s just a casual fuck, because Potter is already the absolute death of him. He pushes into Harry, hard. Stills himself and then moves without giving Harry much time to adjust.

“Satin knickers?” Draco squeezes his fingers into Harry’s skin, fucking him hard and deep. He knows he’s hitting the right spot when Harry cries out, and he does so again, and again. “Such a gorgeous, filthy boy. You’re going to make a mess of yourself again aren’t you?”

Harry whimpers in response. “Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?” Draco thrusts into Harry again.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Will you make a mess of those nice expensive knickers Daddy’s going to buy you?” Draco’s head is swimming. Anything - anything - remotely feminine has just never been something he’s enjoyed. He likes hard cocks and sweaty Quidditch players. He doesn’t like bows or frills and lace reminds him of his mother. Yet once again, there’s an unexpected bolt of arousal which jolts through his body at the idea of making Harry look pretty. Maybe it’s because Harry’s never going to be pretty, not really. He’s got dark, wiry chest hair and his cock is unfairly thick and long. He’s got the kind of five-o-clock shadow that never really leaves, and every part of his body is lean, masculine lines. There’s nothing remotely feminine about Harry, which is why the idea of putting him in a pair of knickers that don’t quite contain the bulge of his cock or his bollocks is so deliciously appealing. It’s sexier than any image Draco has wanked to on those nights when he let his imagination run wild.

“Oh…fuck…” Harry hisses and grinds back into Draco. It doesn’t take long for Draco to reach the brink. He slows, just to have the pleasure of fucking into Harry for as long as he can. He thumbs the slit of Harry’s cock and works into him, fisting his cock quickly.

“You can come, darling.” Draco doesn’t even care about the endearment which so casually leaves his mouth. It seems to spark something in Harry, and he pushes into Draco’s fist then back again. His orgasm rips through him, his cock pulsing in Draco’s hand. “Dirty boy,” Draco says. He presses his lips to Harry’s back, tasting the perspiration on his tongue and keeps pushing deep into the hot channel of Harry’s eager body. It’s not long before his own orgasm follows. He prolongs it for as long as he possibly can, until he finally slips from Harry and collapses on the bed.

“Draco?” Harry sounds amused, and his fingers press against Draco’s chest.

“Go away, I’m sleeping.” Draco moves his arm from his eyes and blinks. Harry’s just there, looking at him. His eyes remind Draco of the sea in the summer. Green enough to drown in. Draco is fucked. He touches his finger to the upward tilt of Harry’s smile. “I’m sleeping.”

“You’re not.” Harry looks shifty and he clears his throat. “That knicker thing was just—”

“Heat of the moment?” Draco rolls his eyes. “Shut up, we’re doing it.”

“Oh.” A bright, delighted smile breaks over Harry’s face. “Really?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Draco puts his hand back over his eyes. He doesn’t think he’s had an orgasm like that for a very long time. Probably not since he last wanked over Harry giving him head in the Room of Requirement. An excellent fantasy. He dimly wonders if they could get into Hogwarts somehow and make that happen. “You’re a pervert, Potter.”

“I am.” Harry doesn’t sound ashamed, mercifully. He sounds content. “Sorry about that.”

“No apology necessary.” Draco stifles a yawn. “I’ve got a hellish week. Dawlish is giving me more paperwork than anybody else, because apparently I need to prove myself.” He resists the urge to sneer, but only barely. “As much as I’d love to explore whatever you’re hiding in that kinky brain of yours, we’re going to have to postpone any more shagging until the end of the week. Supper at mine on Friday night?”

“Yep.” Harry is apparently a cuddler and he curls up next to Draco, yawning against his skin. “Sounds like a plan.”

Draco huffs, because he positively hates warm bodies curled up against him post-orgasm. He’s fond of a cool bed and not getting tangled up in somebody else’s sweaty limbs unless there are more orgasms involved. “You’re an anomaly,” Draco says as he puts an arm around Harry and pulls him close. “You’re also going to be the death of me.”

He’s not positive he said those last two things out loud, but something tells Draco he must have done because he falls asleep with Potter’s smile against his skin.