It’s late, well past the hour when Draco usually leaves for the day, and the Ministry halls are dark, the lights dimmed by the evening cleaning crew as Draco pulls the door to his office closed and heads down towards the lifts. He’s not tired, exactly, but feels worn out from this recent case. He’s not an Auror, but as a prosecutor for the Ministry’s solicitor’s office, he works closely with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, especially in cases like this one, where the perpetrator has been very, very smart and very, very careful. Because they’re building a case against one of their own, they’ve had to be smarter, and even more careful, and this morning, Potter and Chang had taken the bastard down.
Draco feels a profound sense of satisfaction at the thought of the papers he’s just filed. This is as close to an airtight case as he’s ever seen, and given the details of this case, they had to do everything by the book, and they have. This man won’t see daylight again, and his victims — Draco’s mouth tightens and he sighs. Well, there will be funds for their healing, he knows. The ones who survived, anyway.
He hits the call button for the lift and waits, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension they’re carrying. The doors open, and he steps in, looking forward to getting home. He wants a glass of wine, his comfortable chair in front of the fireplace, and Finnegan’s latest thriller. He’s been saving it as a reward for closing this case.
“Hold the lift,” calls a hoarse voice and Draco sighs as he hits the button to stop the doors from closing, and who should dash in but Potter.
“Malfoy,” he says, a bit breathlessly as he skids to a halt, “Thanks.”
“Potter,” Draco nods. “Nice work today.”
Potter nods in return and Draco eyes him thoughtfully. They’ve been colleagues for fifteen years now, and they’re friendly. The lines dividing them that were so impassable when they were young have blurred and faded, and at this point, they’ve been fighting on the same side for far longer than they were foes. It turns out that Potter has a wicked sense of humour, a dry, sarcastic wit, and a decent mind under that disaster mop of dark hair. Not to mention a lean frame, a crooked and endearing smile, and a surprisingly lush ass. Not that Draco’s been looking.
Of course he’s been looking. Draco learned to be honest with himself long about who he is and what he wants, and sadly, for the last few years, what he’s wanted is what’s standing right in front of him, waiting for him to hit the button for the lobby.
“Sorry,” Draco says, and coughs a bit self-consciously, “Lost in thought.” He hits the correct button, and the doors slide shut.
“Everything filed?” Potter asks and Draco nods.
“Directly with the Court and with Kingsley.” He sighs. “He looked devastated, Kingsley did.”
“Well,” Potter shrugs, staring towards the doors of the lift. “It can’t be a good feeling, that one of your own high-ranking officials has been trafficking Squib children.” He sighs as well, long and low. “I fucking hate cases like these. Thank Merlin we don’t see them very oft—” and his words are cut off by the harsh grinding of metal on metal as simultaneously, the lift shudders to a stop and the lights go out.
It’s dark. Really dark. So dark that for a moment Draco feels dizzy, disoriented. He blinks, unsure if his eyes are open or closed.
“What the fuck?” Potter sounds more aggravated than alarmed. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Draco replies, pulling out his wand.
He casts a quiet Lumos and nothing happens. He tries again. Again, nothing.
“Why can’t I cast?”
“The magic dampening charm, remember?”
Potter’s voice is close in the dark and Draco jumps, imagining he can feel Potter’s breath on the back of his neck. He shivers, remembering the prank wars that had led to the Ministry installing magic-dampening charms in all the lifts to prevent Unfortunate Incidents.
“No Lumos,” Draco sighs. “So no Patronus. And from the sound of that, we’re not going anywhere any time soon.” Something occurs to him. “You’re strong, stronger than I am. Can you try to break through?”
It only galls him the teeniest bit, to admit this, but it’s true. He’s heard the rumours about Potter punching straight through the Ministry wards to get to Weasley’s side after that ambush; it was all anyone talked about for weeks.
“I, err.” Potter sounds a bit sheepish, “I don’t have my wand actually.”
“What? Why not? You weren’t leaving for the day?”
“Um, no.” Potter sounds evasive and in the dark, Draco’s eyes narrow. What on earth is he hiding? Potter continues, “I still have to finish that last field report.”
“So, you just decided to what, dash out and ride the lift down? The cafe’s been closed for hours.”
“I…” Potter’s voice trails off and Draco rolls his eyes.
“Then what the fuck are you doing?”
Draco hears Potter take a deep breath before he says, “I saw you go by and thought… I wanted to…”
“You saw me go by?”
There’s a pause and then Potter sighs and says, “Yes. Fine. I saw you go by and I realized, there’s no one else around, and that maybe I could. I don’t know, it’s stupid.”
“No,” Draco says, more intrigued by the moment. “No, Potter, I don’t think it is. What were you hoping to do?”
There’s another long pause, and then Harry says, sounding highly aggrieved, “I was hoping just to talk to you, maybe. I don’t know. See if you wanted to get a drink or something. Have a conversation about something other than work.”
“What?” Draco asks, heart pounding in his chest. “What are you talking about?”
He hears Potter’s clothes rustling as he moves, and when he speaks, his voice comes from low down — apparently, he’s now sat himself down on the floor. “I’ve just been thinking, for a while now, that I’d like to. I don’t know, spend some time with you, get to know you.”
“You’ve known me for almost twenty-five years, Potter,” Draco says drily, “I’m not sure what else there is to learn.”
“Don’t you think,” Potter asks quietly, “That after twenty-five years, you might call me Harry?”
The silence between them in the dark is heavy, full of something that Draco can’t quite put his finger on. He takes a deep breath and then pauses, unsure of what to say.
“Have I actually stunned you silent?” Harry’s voice is amused, and the way he laughs sends a thrill right through Draco’s chest to his groin.
“Maybe,” Draco finally concedes and slides down to the floor to sit next to Harry.
It’s not his fault that somehow their knees end up pressed together. It’s dark. He can’t see where he’s going. It could happen to anyone.
“I mean,” Draco says cautiously and then gasps as he feels a hand land on his knee. He gulps and continues, “Drinks? Conversation? That sounds perilously close to a date.”
“Does it?” The smile is evident in Harry’s voice. “Ten points to the Solicitor’s Office. You always were bright, Draco.”
Draco snorts. “Ta everso,” he says drily and there’s a moment of silence between them.
“Anyway,” Harry says finally, “Yes. A date. That’s very much along the lines of what I was thinking.”
“How long?” Draco is compelled to ask and Harry lets out a sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a sigh.
“Do you remember the Karkaroff trial? When you cross-examined me about the details of his arrest?”
Draco frowns. “Potter,” and there’s a soft sound of annoyance, “Fine, Harry. That was. Merlin, that has to be ten years now.”
He feels Harry shrug next to him and realizes that somehow they’ve shifted so that they’re pressed up against each other, backs against the far wall of the lift, legs stretched out, touching from shoulder to ankle.
“I mean, I just. I think it was the first time I looked at you, really looked at you.”
“And?” Draco can’t help but ask.
“And,” Harry shrugs again, “I liked what I saw, okay?”
Draco frowns into the darkness. “Ten years,” he says again. “Why haven’t you ever said anything?’
“The timing just never seemed right,” Harry says. “You were dating Alex, and then by the time you were single, I was dating Kyung-Sook. Then we were both single but we had that big fight about search and seizure laws,” Draco snorts at that, “And you’re still wrong, you know. Anyway, I don’t know. Time passed and you never seemed like you were interested. But lately…”
His hand, which has been resting lightly, almost innocently, on Draco’s knee, tightens and his thumb strokes a small circle, leaving lightning in its wake.
“Lately what?” Draco asks, and his voice is shaky; he shivers under Harry’s gentle touch. “Lately what, Harry?”
Harry’s fingers tighten at the sound of his name on Draco’s lips.
“You’ve seemed… I don’t know.”
Harry’s fingers splay out and his hand inches up Draco’s thigh, just a bit. Draco presses harder against Harry’s leg with his own, his legs falling open. It feels like he’s been set ablaze, nerve endings firing everywhere, not just where Harry’s touching him.
“You’ve been coming out more, stopping by my office more. You didn’t even hex me about the Addison case. You’ve seemed…”
Harry’s hand moves a bit higher and then stills and Draco can’t help the groan that’s pulled from his lips.
“Draco,” Harry whispers, “Do you want…?”
“Yes,” Draco gasps, and turning, reaches blindly in the dark and pulls Harry to him.
It’s a terrible first kiss. They miss each other’s mouths entirely and Draco’s pretty sure he just licked Harry’s nose, but then they’re laughing, and he feels Harry’s breath on his lips and it’s like instinct kicks in and he knows. He knows exactly where Harry is and their lips meet and it’s like music, Draco thinks blindly, like the swelling crescendo of Brahms when the entire orchestra resolves. It’s overwhelming and somehow beautiful.
There’s something about the dark that makes it so achingly intimate. He’s immersed in the sounds and smells, the taste of Harry, and of course, the feel of him. They lean in, Harry’s hand still holding tight to Draco’s thigh, and Draco brings one hand up to cup it around Harry’s face, dragging his thumb along the scruff that covers the sharp jawline he knows almost as well as his own, he’s traced it with his eyes so many times. To feel it, though, brings something wholly new to Draco’s perspective and he lets himself imagine the wonders yet to unfold under his fingertips.
“Draco,” Harry’s voice is a groan in Draco’s mouth. “Fuck, Draco,” and it’s like they both go up in flames.
Harry pulls and Draco shifts and suddenly he’s straddling Harry, legs splayed wide around him, and Harry moves against him and he’s hard, he’s hard right here in the Ministry elevator, and Draco knows he’s in much the same state.
“Shit,” Harry mutters between kisses, “Draco, I wanted to take you out.”
Draco snorts and rolls his hips against Harry’s. “I’m not at all averse to that idea, Potter,” he says and Harry laughs, pressing his forehead to Draco’s.
“I don’t just,” he says awkwardly. “You know. Want this. I mean.” He groans as Draco reaches up and unbuttons the top two buttons of his white dress shirt, and begins working his way across Harry’s collar bones.
It’s like now that Draco knows he’s allowed to touch, he wants to touch everything.
“Hold… just, fuck Draco, hold up a moment,” and Draco can feel the pout cross his face and is even more thankful for the dark, as he sits back, his hands resting on Harry’s shoulders.
“You really want to talk right now?” he asks, and Harry snickers.
“I just, I want to know…”
Draco can’t help if he gets a little impatient. He’s wanted Harry for years, and now, it seems, he has a chance to, well, have him, and he doesn’t really want to talk any more. He wiggles and Harry hisses.
“Stop it, I’m trying to…” and Harry’s voice trails off as Draco reattaches himself to Harry’s collarbone. “Draco, c’mon, I feel like we should, ahh….”
Draco pauses for a moment and then says decisively, “Yes.”
“Yes? What do you mean?” Harry asks, sounding distracted and confused.
“I mean,” Draco says, “Clearly you’ve been pining after me, and while I'll never admit this to another living soul ever again, it’s possible I’ve been pining a bit for you, so yes. Yes to anything. Yes to drinks. Yes to dinner. Yes to long walks and holding hands.” He shifts, rolls his hips again and Harry shudders beneath him. “Yes, Harry, yes to everything.”
“Oh,” Harry is a bit breathless as if he hadn’t quite expected the conversation to go this way. “So, yes to…”
“Yes,” Draco says and kisses him again, slips him a bit of tongue just to convey how truly on-board he is with this whole experience. “ Yes, Harry.”
Harry exhales, one gentle sigh, and they’re off.
Harry yanks Draco as flush to his body as possible while still wearing clothes, and Draco yelps and throws his hands back to steady himself on the rear wall of the lift. Harry’s kissing him now, deep, open-mouthed kisses, and Draco feels like he’s surrounded by Harry, his arms wrapped around him, his hands spread across Draco’s arse. Harry tastes like mint and chocolate, smells like parchment and the last traces of his cologne, something spicy and woodsy, and under Draco’s hands, he feels like the best thing Draco’s ever encountered.
They kiss, Draco has no idea how long, Harry slides his hands up and begins unbuttoning Draco’s shirt. While Draco mourns the loss of Harry’s very fine hands across his ass, he does like the idea of getting skin-to-skin, so he finishes the work he began of getting Harry’s shirt off and pauses to let Harry strip him out of his suit coat and shirt. Then they’re back together, and it’s, Merlin, it’s glorious.
He can feel the brush of Harry’s chest hair across his pecs and it feels so good, he moves again, and the feel of Harry’s hard cock pressed against his through their woollen dress trousers, plus the sensation across his nipples is intoxicating.
“Fuck,” Harry whispers hoarsely, and he sounds awed, almost reverent. “Fuck, Draco, you feel...” and he moans, and then, even as they kiss again, his hips shudder up against Draco’s, and he moans again, yanks Draco down tight against his cock, and gives one last cry as he thrusts up, and then his body goes still.
It’s quiet for a moment, the only sound in the lift is their panting breaths, and Draco realizes Harry is holding himself absolutely still, his forehead pressed to Draco’s sternum. Too still.
“Harry?” Draco asks cautiously and Harry moves his shoulders in a way that Draco thinks is conveying embarrassment at having just come in his pants like a fifteen-year-old, but it’s hard to tell, what with the absolute darkness and all.
“Are you okay?” He runs a hand up Harry’s arm and reaches up to cup his face, drifting his thumb across Harry’s lips, which don’t seem to be smiling at all, and that’s just wrong.
“Er,” Harry says, and oh yes, that’s embarrassment, which is, Draco thinks, just profoundly unacceptable.
“Did you come?” he asks gently and feels Harry shrug.
“Yeah, I mean…” but Draco doesn’t give Harry a chance to finish that sentence, just pulls him in for a deep and dirty kiss.
“That’s so fucking hot,” Draco breathes and hopes Harry can hear the truth in his words. It is so hot, one of the hottest things that's ever happened to Draco, in fact. Knowing that just being close to him like this, not even being able to see him, knowing that was enough to push Harry over the edge? “Melin, Harry.”
“Yeah?” Harry asks, but the embarrassment isn’t quite gone.
“Oh yeah,” Draco whispers, and kisses Harry again, running one hand over his hair and pressing the other hand down over Harry’s lap, and it’s damp, and Draco shudders, suddenly shocking close himself. “Fuck, Harry, I want…”
“What,” Harry breathes, and Draco knows he can feel the way Draco is pressing up against him, his hard cock trapped against Harry’s abs, and Draco curses the darkness that won’t let him see. “What do you want?”
He bites down, hard, on Draco’s shoulder and Draco cries out.
“Fuck, I want…” Draco feels overwhelmed, “I don’t know.”
“You want my hands?” Harry asks, sliding them down to curve around Draco’s arse again, squeezing as Draco rocks. He straightens his legs out, leans back a bit to give Draco room to move. “My mouth? You want my mouth, sweetheart?” and Draco moans, lost now to the pleasure building within him, as Harry curls up to flick his tongue over one nipple. “Whatever you want, darling.”
Draco gasps as Harry’s mouth closes over one nipple and he rolls the other between his fingers and Draco’s back arches as he grinds down against Harry, contemplating his menu of options, all of which sound delightful.
“Fuck,” he says, not quite able to believe the words that are coming out of his mouth, “Your mouth. I want your fucking mouth, Potter.”
Harry reaches around and Draco realizes he’s looking for Draco’s suit coat, which he grabs and spreads out before carefully tipping Draco off of his lap and onto his back on the floor and Draco doesn’t even think about the state of the floor he’s lying on, instead arching up as Harry carefully, after a bit of fumbling, unfastens Draco’s trousers and eases them and his pants down over his hips, far enough to expose his achingly hard cock to the air. Draco shivers.
Harry pets his thighs gently and presses open-mouthed kisses to Draco’s hip, a sharp nip to his iliac crest that has him jolting and then groaning as Harry presses him down, the command firm but unspoken: be still.
Harry trails his tongue across Draco’s skin and then, finally, after an eternity and a half, wraps his hand around the base of Draco’s cock and sucks the head into his mouth.
“Fuck,” Draco shouts, his head thunking against the floor, “Oh Merlin, Harry.”
His voice trails off into an incoherent moan and he can’t think, can’t focus, can’t do anything but lie back and take what Harry is giving him, and what a gift it is.
Harry’s mouth is hot around him, his tongue relentless as he sucks and sweeps around the head of Draco’s cock, sometimes taking him deeper, sometimes letting Draco’s cock rest on his tongue as he breathes in, and Draco shudders at the rush of cool air over the damp, pulsing skin.
He’s babbling now, he knows it, but this is so good, so fucking good, he feels tears spring to his eyes as he buries his hands in Harry’s hair, gives one last cry as Harry sucks firmly, moaning with his mouth full of Draco’s cock, and Draco curses once more that he can’t see and then even that thought is lost as he curls up and comes, clinging to Harry as he shudders his way through one of the more spectacular orgasms he’s been privileged to experience.
Draco lies, splayed out on the filthy floor, and he wouldn’t be surprised to see that he’s glowing in the dark, he feels so lit up from the inside. Finally, he sighs, lifts his hips to yank up his pants and trousers, and without bothering to fasten them, he rolls over and pushes up to sitting. He feels the heat of Harry’s body next to him and suddenly needs to be close, closer, as close as he can be. He reaches over to push Harry back off his knees and climbs into his lap. There’s a moment of chaos as Harry shifts and adjusts, then Draco is winding his arms around Harry and holding on tight.
“Was that okay?” Harry asks and Draco tightens his grip and presses a kiss to whatever part of Harry he can reach, which turns out to be his ear.
“That was, fuck, Harry, that was absolutely amazing.”
Draco looks down and realizes that he can see Harry’s eyes gleaming in a very low light that gets stronger and stronger even as they look at each other. Draco can’t help but feel a moment of regret even as he leans back to check Harry out. Harry’s hair is a disaster, his face is flushed, and, as Draco climbs off of him and pulls him to standing, he sees that Harry’s got a suspiciously large damp spot on his trousers.
There’s a thump and a thud and another screech of metal and then the lift shudders and starts moving slowly as they hastily pull on their shirts. Draco grabs his suit coat and picks up his briefcase, grimacing at the situation in his trousers.
They step out into the hushed low light of the Ministry entry hall and there’s an awkward pause as they eye each other carefully.
“So,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair, “I guess it’s too late for dinner now,” and Draco shrugs regretfully, casting a quick Tempus.
“It’s late,” he says, realizing they were in the elevator for more than an hour. “And sadly, we both have work tomorrow.”
Harry makes a face and Draco rolls his eyes in agreement. It’s going to be a long and terrible day tomorrow, and they’re going to be arresting their own.
“Maybe,” Draco says tentatively, and Harry brightens.
“Yes,” he says firmly, “I don’t even care what.” He leans and kisses Draco, long and slow, sweet and full of promise. “Whatever it is, yes.”
Draco leans into the kiss and then sighs, regretting so much that he’s got to be a reasonable adult, when what he wants to do is pull Harry into the floo with him, destination irrelevant as long as it includes the two of them, no one else, and a bed. He still hasn’t really got to see.
“Fine,” he says, “After work tomorrow. We’ll figure it out.”
“We will,” Harry says, and presses one last kiss to Draco’s mouth.
Draco offers him a smile, small and secret, just for them, and Harry’s own grin deepens. Draco walks away over to the floos, and then stops, turning around to face the hall. Harry’s back is facing him now; he’s pushed the call button of the lift, presumably to go back upstairs and gather his things before heading home. Even as Draco watches, the doors open, and Harry steps in, and Draco changes his mind.
“Wait,” he calls, and dashes across the floor, “Hold the lift.”