4 December 1999
"Which raises the question: Just how low can Potter go? As for perennial bad boy Draco Malfoy, it seems the old adage is true. Money really can't buy—"
"Incendio," Draco muttered darkly, flicking his wand sharply in the direction of the Saturday morning edition of the Prophet.
Pansy raised a long-suffering eyebrow and brushed the pile of ashes from her lap before critically examining her slightly singed fingernails.
"I'll just send you the bill for my new dressing gown and manicure, shall I?"
"Lovely," Draco snapped. "While you're at it, tack on the cost of a flat of your own. I think I'd quite enjoy a Saturday morning free from your recitations of Page Eleven. So much so, I'm willing to pay for the pleasure."
"Nonsense, Draco. If I weren't present on Saturdays, you'd have no one to immolate in your impotent rage." She paused to savour Draco's glare. "Furthermore, my readings are vastly superior to yours. You've no sense of humour about it. Imagine how much worse that would have sounded if you'd read it to yourself."
She banished the smouldering remains of the paper from the carpet and stood.
"I'm making coffee. Go and bathe; you smell like a brothel."
In testament to the number of times this scene had played out in the past, she didn't so much as flinch when the Stinging Hex hit her on the backside on her way through the sitting room door.
* * *
Three twists of the icy high street, a sharp and slippery right turn on to Grimmauld Place, and two floors up, Hermione Granger picked newspaper confetti out of her hair with a loud sigh.
"It isn't as if anyone actually believes the rubbish on Page Eleven, Harry. Why do you insist on reading it when it has this effect on you?"
"Because I'm a masochist with no sense of self-preservation," Harry chirped in an alarmingly spot-on impression of Rita Skeeter. "Don't you remember last week's column?"
Hermione picked nervously at a clump of confetti stuck to her lime-green Weasley jumper.
"That photograph could have been anyone. With the low light and the angle, I thought perhaps it was Marcus Flint."
Harry snorted. "It was Flint, Hermione. His thing for inflicting pain took a turn inward after school." He fiddled with his wand, glancing around at anything but Hermione's quizzical expression. "Or, so I've heard."
She stared him down for a moment, but Harry was apparently done spreading his own gossip for the day.
"Take a bath, Harry," she said with a wry grin. "You smell like a vat of Old Ogden's. I'll make the tea."
* * *
10 December 1999
The Portkey was oddly empty for the late hour on a Friday. Harry surmised that it probably had something to do with the hideous, cloying aroma of cinnamon and burnt sugar that permeated the air and choked his every breath.
"You might want to lay off on the fragrance charms," he suggested, without feigning politeness. "It's literally gagging me."
He merely got a dismissive shrug from Seamus, who was busying himself charming miniature plastic reindeer to trot up and down the bar towing small sleds full of salted peanuts for the patrons to snack on.
"Word is you don't normally object to that sort of thing," he said with a rude grin.
"Very funny. We'll see who's laughing when all your holiday business moves to the Leaky for want of a touch of class."
"Never happen, mate," Seamus deadpanned. "The Leaky monitors activities in the toilets. As you well know."
Harry scowled and turned his attention to the slim pickings on the dance floor. And scowled even harder. The only remotely passable bit of arse he'd spotted all night was at that very moment following a pointy blond git off the floor and towards the unmonitored lavatory in question.
"Fuck," Harry sighed, reaching for a passing sleigh of peanuts.
"Not at the moment," Seamus grinned. "But if you get in a bind, I'll be off at eleven."
* * *
11 December 1999
"Sadly, The Chosen One doesn't seem to be a Choosy One."
Pansy cackled loudly, apparently completely insensitive to Draco's splitting headache. He refrained from rubbing his temples only because he knew it would simply incite her to take it up a notch.
"Really," she continued, grinning as she summoned the coffee set, "I have to concur with Rita on this one. What on earth was he thinking? Marcus!" She nearly shrieked this last bit, and Draco could no longer restrain his hands.
"Pansy, darling, could you possibly not squeal like newborn mandrake?" he hissed, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "At least until I've had my first cup?"
"Oh, poor dear," she sing-songed in a voice full of playful malice. "Rough night with the Puddlemere Beaters?"
"Wood is a Keeper, you ignorant harpy. And there's only one of him."
"Hmm," Pansy smirked. "There are three of them in this photo."
She anticipated Draco snatching for the paper and moved it out of his grasp with a graceful flick of her wrist.
"I do love a group of men in uniforms, don't you, Draco?"
Draco glowered at her while trying to recall what he had done with his wand when he'd stumbled home.
"Chin up, love," she chirped, holding the photo up from a distance. "Your new haircut looks absolutely fabulous in motion."
* * *
"Oh, Harry. You didn't. Please tell me you didn't."
"Alright. I didn't."
"I understand what you're trying to do here, Harry, I do. But don't you think this is a step too far?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. I've just told you I didn't."
Hermione sighed. "I'm just not sure this is the way to get the, er, results you're after, Harry."
"I know what I'm doing, Hermione. Let it be."
She nodded stiffly. "I'm sure you do, then. Tea?"
* * *
17 December 1999
The following Friday evening found Harry leaning grumpily up against the wall at the corner of the bar, deeply regretting having ordered the "seasonal" cranberry-gingerbread martini and watching Malfoy steal his thunder for the second week in a row.
Malfoy ground shamelessly against his dance partner and latest conquest. A potential age-related scandal in the making, Harry noted, eyeing the Slytherin tie hanging provocatively from the young man's right rear pocket. Besides that, there was little of interest about the boy, and Malfoy was already showing signs of boredom. His body language clearly indicated that anyone who wanted to could step between them. Perhaps leery of the assured notoriety associated with Malfoy, no one had yet taken him up on his silent offer.
Harry perked up a bit. If Malfoy abandoned the kid, nothing would make nastier news than Harry Potter scooping up his leftovers. Harry's eyes shifted to the ill-concealed photographer lurking in the opposite corner. His camera lay abandoned on the table and he was poking at his own holiday-themed cocktail with a ridiculous blinking straw, apparently growing weary of the lack of excitement, as well.
Harry smirked and pushed himself off the wall, abandoning his foul beverage on the bar. Showtime.
He shoved his way through the thick crowd, ignoring the protests and outraged looks from the people he displaced. Harry stopped about five feet from Malfoy and his Azkaban-bait and began to sway to the music.
It didn't take long in the hard-press of bodies and oppressive winter heating to work up a considerable sweat. When he deemed himself suitably flushed, he turned and placed himself directly in the boy's sightline, heaved a deep breath, and casually pushed his damp hair out of his eyes and off of his forehead. He allowed himself a sardonic raised eyebrow when he saw the young man's eyes widen in recognition.
Harry stared him down, enjoying the rapid shifts between Slytherin calculation and youthful awe in the dark brown eyes. He let a small smile quirk his lips, cocked his head towards the bar, and turned away without looking back. There was no need. The boy was his.
* * *
18 December 1999
Pansy let out an inelegant snort, which she tried, ineffectively, to hide under the rustle of the newspaper.
"Mr. Potter has yet again demonstrated not only his total loss of dignity, but his increasing obsession with former Death Eater and school rival Draco Malfoy. What the prize in this bizarre contest might be is anyone's best guess. Potter appears to have 'won' this round—" Pansy paused to make air quotes with her fingers "—as he was later seen exiting the infamous establishment with Mr. Malfoy's youthful friend in tow."
"Well," Pansy said after a tense moment of silence, "any press is better than no press. Isn't that what we say?"
"Potter won nothing," Draco seethed under his breath.
"Of course not, darling," Pansy cooed. "More coffee?"
* * *
"Well," Hermione said, sounding a bit strained, "there's nothing on Page Eleven."
Harry turned to look at her in disbelief. She squirmed a bit before folding the paper and pressing it across the kitchen table towards him.
"It's the front page today."
* * *
24 December 1999
Harry fought the urge to draw his wand as he muscled his way through the paparazzi at the edge of the dance floor. And, as if photographers and grabby-handed holiday revellers weren't impediment enough, some joker had spelled gaudy silver Christmas garlands to drop from the ceiling beams and attempt to tie random bodies together.
Thousands upon thousands of fairy lights blinked and strobed in the normally dim club, adding to Harry's already heightened sense of irritation. He was not, at present, in the mood for Christmas cheer.
"Diffindo," Harry snapped, ruthlessly slashing through a garland foolish enough to attempt to lash him to an overly muscled and oiled young man dressed only in what appeared to be a red Speedo adorned with a sprig of mistletoe spelled to the crotch.
Harry wrinkled his nose in disdain, although he had to concede it was just about fucking hot enough in the club to warrant swimwear. He swiped at his brow, patience growing dangerously thin as he scanned the crowd.
At long last his eyes settled on his quarry. As if the whole scene wasn't tacky enough, Malfoy was now adding to the Christmas assault on Harry's sensibilities. The prat looked like he'd dusted himself with all the powdered moonstone in Europe. Every inch of his exposed flesh gleamed under the glare of the fairy lights, which was plenty, given that he seemed to have lost his shirt at some point in the evening.
Judging by the swooning crowd dancing tightly around him on all sides, Harry wasn't the least bit surprised to catch a strong whiff of peppermint oil as he drew closer. Typical. The bastard had actually made himself into a living, breathing, gyrating love potion.
Harry waited, arms crossed, for Malfoy to shimmy back around in his direction and notice his presence.
"That's cheating," Harry said, taking a pointed sniff of the peppermint-scented air wafting off of him. "Not that it'll do you any good now."
Malfoy said nothing. He merely smirked a bit as the two men behind him latched on to his hips and began to grind feverishly against him.
The relaxed, self-satisfied expression that took over Malfoy's face was Harry's proverbial last straw for the evening. He drew his wand and aimed it at an eager looking garland that seemed to have already set its sights on Malfoy.
He was halfway across the club, towing Malfoy by his garland-bound wrists before he had the thought to check for nearby photographers. Unable to think of a way to spin the scene into anything other than what it was, he simply jerked on Malfoy's bonds all the harder. He'd let Rita make of that what she would. And he knew she would.
* * *
The men's room was just as garishly decorated as the rest of the club, but at least the fairy lights were significantly dimmer and there seemed to be an absence of mischievous tinsel. Malfoy's glittery skin was a soft shimmer under the diminished light, and Harry found it less annoying than he had under the strobe lights of the dance floor. It was sort of pretty... festive, even.
The music was much lower as well, and he found himself less annoyed in general, now that his heart rate wasn't dictated by the pounding bass line. He flicked his wand to lock the door and cocked at grin a Malfoy.
"The hell you did." Malfoy sniffed and wrinkled his nose.
Harry dropped the grin and surged forward, pinning Malfoy's bound hands over his head and pressing him into the wall, enjoying the brief flash of uncertainty that replaced his sneer.
"I fucking won, and you know I won."
The goddamn infuriating expression was already back in place.
"You probably took the boy home to his mother and tucked him in with a bedtime story and a Chocolate Frog." Malfoy smirked when Harry didn't respond. "You did, didn't you? Pathetic attempt, Potter—you won nothing."
"I got the headline, Malfoy. Those were the terms." Harry narrowed his eyes. "Pay up."
For a long moment, nothing happened. Harry stared hard into Malfoy's defiant eyes, feeling the low end of the bass vibrate the wall beneath his hand and hijack his heartbeat once again.
But then Malfoy shifted infinitesimally. It was just a small stretch in the muscles across his neck, a slight drop in the angle of his chin, and a tiny downward flicker of his eyes. When he finally spoke, he addressed the floor.
"Took you long enough this time. I was beginning to think you weren't really trying."
"It's just getting a bit more difficult to keep it interesting for the readers," Harry said, watching Malfoy closely.
His face tightened and his eyes met Harry's coldly.
"Or perhaps the novelty of getting off with the Boy Who Lived is getting to be somewhat less than novel," Malfoy spat, digging a fingernail into the side of Harry's wrist.
Harry crowded him up against the wall, pressing in with his hips and his hands, staking his claim before the untrustworthy bastard could consider reneging on the deal. He squeezed Malfoy's wrists violently, and grinned as Malfoy grimaced and clenched his fists.
"Go on and fight back," he growled in Malfoy's ear. "I know you want to."
Malfoy responded immediately, arching his back and twisting his arms in an attempt to throw Harry's weight off of him.
"Careful, Potter. You might get a bit more than you bargained for," he hissed, twisting his left foot and managing to stand hard on Harry's instep.
"Impossible." Harry shoved forward again, smiling when hard cock met equally hard cock. "I want everything."
Malfoy sucked in a sharp breath and, for a moment, Harry thought he might have said more than he intended. But then Malfoy gritted his teeth and bit out the perfect response.
"You don't have the balls to take it, Potter."
"Funny you should mention them," Harry retorted, yanking at his zip and shoving Malfoy down by his shoulder. "I think we'll start there."
Malfoy's knees hit the tiled floor with a satisfying thump. He glared up at Harry, shifting in obvious discomfort.
"How predictable. You win the right to anything you want, and the best your imagination can summon is a blowjob."
He bent forward with an air of insulted resignation. Harry stopped him by pressing two fingers against his lips, hard enough that Malfoy parted them in surprise.
"If we're going to get along this evening, you're going to have to learn to listen a little better, Malfoy. I didn't say anything about a blowjob."
To Harry's supreme satisfaction, a bright flush appeared under the glittering stripes on Malfoy's cheekbones.
"Very well," Malfoy said cautiously. "What is it you want, then?"
Harry rolled his eyes and gave him a sharp tap on the lips with his fingers.
"Don't make me say it again, Malfoy."
And there it was again. That little curve of the neck and shift in his carriage. Harry shivered slightly as Malfoy reached slowly forward with his tied hands, eyeing him warily.
There was something there. Something Harry had caught glimpses of a few times before. It was as if there was another Malfoy under there, beneath the snotty façade. A Malfoy that Harry would quite like to have a long chat with.
This thought process came to an abrupt halt as Malfoy's bound hands reached slowly through Harry's zip and several long, warm fingers snaked themselves between his balls and his thigh. The touch was so light it bordered on ticklish.
Harry curved away from the maddening sensation and shoved his trousers down to his ankles.
"No hands. Use your mouth."
Harry watched, fascinated, as Malfoy withdrew his hands and dropped them to his lap obediently. He bent forward without comment or nasty look, pressed his nose into the crook of Harry's groin, and resumed stroking Harry with his tongue.
Interesting. And dangerously hot.
As with so many things about him, Malfoy had a perfect tongue. Soft and wet, but not tentative in any way. Harry squinted in the low light, watching Malfoy's eyelids flutter open and closed as he attempted to find a comfortable angle to reach under Harry's cock without the use of his hands.
As good as it was to watch him struggle, it was missing the main point. Harry leaned in, crowding Malfoy back into the wall, and took a helpful grip on his own cock. The barest hint of a smirk appeared on Malfoy's lips before he opened them and took Harry's balls all the way into his mouth.
And holy fuck. Harry's free hand shot to the wall for support. With alarming speed, his balls began to tighten and clench. The urge to come intensified further as he watched Malfoy press his face deeper between his thighs.
Harry dragged his nails down the wall and grabbed on to the back of Malfoy's hair, pulling him away roughly. There was no way in hell he had put in three straight weeks of media whoring and public defamation to give it up in the first five minutes.
Malfoy looked put out.
"Sorry." Harry took an unsteady breath. "But, it's not going to be that easy. This is going to take a while."
"Perhaps I should cancel my dinner date," Malfoy sneered.
Harry tightened his grip on Malfoy's hair and gave it a sharp tug.
"They'll figure it out when you don't show up."
"Pity." Malfoy's eyes flashed with something worrying. "I'm starved."
Before Harry could open his mouth to retort, Malfoy had his mouth firmly fitted around the end of his cock and his bound wrists had snaked between Harry's legs to clamp on to his lower back. He made to pull away, but Malfoy only increased his grip, pulling Harry deep into his mouth and sucking down hard.
Unfortunately, their little banter had not gone on quite long enough to take the edge off. Harry had less than ten seconds to contemplate his loss of control over the situation before he was coming violently in Malfoy's perfect, wet mouth.
"Oh, fuck, you bastard," was all he managed to choke out before his throat closed on a dry, broken groan.
Dimly, over the rushing sound of the blood pumping past his ears and the embarrassing echoes of his own voice off the tiled walls, Harry became aware of a repeated thumping coming from the door.
"Open up, or I'm calling the manager!" shouted an unfortunately recognizable voice.
Harry jumped as Malfoy's voice boomed through the relative quiet of the room.
"Fuck off, Flint!"
Malfoy struggled up off the floor, yanked the garland from his wrists with his teeth, and pulled his wand from his back pocket.
"Whiny bastard probably doesn't even need the fucking loo," he muttered. "He must have seen you come in here."
He looked positively furious, and when he stepped towards Harry it was all he could do not to take a step back.
Harry blinked. This was, to say the least, an unexpected request. He reached tentatively for Malfoy's waist, unsure what was expected of him. Malfoy rolled his eyes and clamped his free hand onto Harry's wrist. "11 Element Alley," he snapped, and Harry's stomach swooped as he was yanked into an unexpected Apparition.
* * *
Harry reached out woozily and found the textured surface of a wall when they had stopped spinning. He cleared his throat, unsure how to respond to having been taken to what he was quite sure was Malfoy's actual home.
"Nice wallpaper," he commented.
"Right," Malfoy snapped, twirling his wand like a baton. "Where were we?"
Harry cleared his throat again.
"Fucking in a foul, public men's room, I believe."
"Getting there, anyway," Malfoy said with a sharp nod. "But we've come nowhere near 'everything'. Hands on the wall."
This last command was so simple and calm that Harry followed it without question. At least until he gave a thought to the fact that he had just turned his back on an armed and clearly irritated Draco Malfoy and he had yet to even pull his trousers back up.
Malfoy answered his unfinished question by sinking back to his knees and licking Harry from tailbone to arsehole in a single fluid motion.
"Ah, okay—yeah," Harry hissed, allowing his head to drop forward to rest against the velvety fabric on the wall. Unsettling as this change of venue was, he was grateful not to have his face pressed against the stained and peeling wall of The Portkey loo. The fact that he was rapidly losing his command over the situation also probably should have worried him, but it only caused his still half-hard cock to jerk back into action.
If he was honest, this was the true prize—the thing that no one but Malfoy had ever been able to give him—this wild and heady state of unpredictability. He'd had a few partners that were willing to hold him down and overpower him, somehow uncowed by the legend of the Boy Who Lived. He'd had a lot more that just lay there in supplication, seemingly overwhelmed with gratefulness that he had deigned to touch them.
But Malfoy gave him both. Everything he craved in one gorgeous, if volatile, package. At any given second he might get anger, pointless contrariness, passion, awe, or a disconcertingly casual dismissal. Everything.
Harry shuddered as Malfoy roughly spread his ass and drove his tongue inside.
How Malfoy managed to make rimming feel so invasive was a mystery. The handful of times that Harry had allowed others to do this, it had been nice, but a bit…topical. Like a teaser of things to come.
Not so with Malfoy. He felt completely devoured and filled, totally beyond any thought or action besides grinding back and trying not to shamelessly beg. Unsuccessfully.
Harry had to bite down on laughter when he actually felt Malfoy scowl against his backside. To Harry's relief, however, he did not so much as pause. He was ploughing into Harry now with the obvious intent of unravelling him. Harry swore he even heard Malfoy grunt with effort of forcing him open with his tongue.
Malfoy slowed after a few bone-melting minutes, pulling back to rest his face against the round of Harry's arse and began instead to stroke the underside of his cock with his fingers, while his thumb stretched back to press firmly against Harry's spit-soaked arsehole. Harry tensed.
"What?" Malfoy drawled against his skin. "Do you want to redefine everything?"
Harry shook his head, wincing at the carpet-burn sensation that the wallpaper caused against his cheek.
"No. I won. All of it."
Malfoy's thumb pressed inside a fraction of an inch.
"If you say so, Potter."
Harry held his breath as Malfoy pushed in the rest of the way, gripping Harry's balls with his fingers for leverage.
There was the clink of buckle, and then a hard metallic clang on the floor, followed by the rustle of trousers being kicked away. Harry forced in a breath, and then huffed it back out immediately as Malfoy once again knelt down behind him, running his free hand down the length of Harry's leg and into his own trouser pocket, which was still crumpled at his ankle.
Malfoy chuckled as his hand closed around the tube he had been searching for.
"You always come prepared, don't you, Potter?"
"Didn't want to give you any excuse not to pay up," Harry said, pleased with the amount of smugness he managed to infuse the words with.
"Clever," retorted Malfoy, shoving Harry back up against the wall. "No chance of that now."
Harry allowed himself a small, private smile since his face was pressed into the wallpaper again, and it wasn't likely to be seen. "I won," he mouthed against the faintly musty surface.
The roughness with which Malfoy drove his fingers into Harry suggested that his comment might have been audible after all.
Yeah, he definitely heard, Harry thought as Malfoy yanked his hand away mere moments later and pressed the head of his cock inside Harry instead. Harry pushed back, determined to collect his prize in full, but Malfoy's hand was planted on his tailbone, thwarting any such designs.
"It occurs to me," Malfoy drawled in a tone dripping with apparent boredom, "that as the winner, you should really be the one deciding what we do, shouldn't you?" He drew himself back out of Harry and slid his cock up to rest hotly against the crack of Harry's ass. "So, Potter…any requests?"
Harry thought of at least six at once.
"Yeah. Shut up and pay up." Harry grinned against the wall again. "If it is, in fact, possible for you to shut up, that is."
He was prepared for Malfoy to drive his cock into him without mercy, but first few strokes still took Harry's breath. Malfoy could be surprisingly rough for such a slender, delicate looking thing. Feeling adventurous, Harry said as much.
Rather than the onslaught of teeth and fingernails that Harry was expecting in response, Malfoy actually suddenly slowed to a near languorous pace, and his hands became petal-soft in their exploration of the skin on Harry's hips and back.
"Delicate?" Malfoy whispered, almost sounding amused. He ran a hand up Harry's neck and into his hair, tugging lightly as Harry curved his head into the sensation. "Fair enough. I do have a relatively fine bone structure."
He pressed himself across the length of Harry's back, easing himself even deeper inside and speaking right behind Harry's ear.
"Looks can be deceiving, though, can't they, Potter?"
The pressure on Harry's hair became harder, pulling his head around toward the far end of the hallway and calling his attention to a large dressing mirror he had not noticed on arrival. His cock jerked at the sight of Malfoy pressing him into the wall, so clearly buried balls-deep in his arse, though his hips were barely moving.
"Take yourself, for instance," Malfoy continued, increasing his pace very slightly. "War hero, defender of light, and all around scar-covered bad motherfucker, right?"
Malfoy released Harry's hair and trailed his hand down his stomach to grasp hold of his erection. He stroked slowly, in perfect counterpoint to his thrusts, exhaling harshly in an echo of each of Harry's now constant moans.
"And yet—" Malfoy breathed unevenly, "—you love nothing more than to be held down—pinned and at my mercy. Isn't that right, Potter?"
Confronted with the damning evidence of his reflection, Harry saw no point in denying it.
"It's alright for now," he said, staring Malfoy down in the mirror.
Malfoy's eyes shifted away from the mirror and fixed on Harry's arse, watching open-mouthed as his own dick moved in and out, his measured pace increasing on both ends.
Harry, on the other hand, could not look away from the reflection. He could not tear his eyes away from the way Malfoy's slim fingers curled around his hips, tight but graceful, as though he was holding a precious, fragile object. Or the way his skin glistened with sweat and moonstone powder. Or the way his neck had begun to arch back with each inward thrust. Or his mouth…
Harry watched as Malfoy's mouth opened even wider on a gasp, as his graceful back snapped to rigid straightness, as his gentle fingers turned to a vice-grip. Oh, fuck.
"Oh, fuck." Malfoy choked out, echoing his sentiments exactly.
Eyes still glued on the mirror, Harry stared as Malfoy pulled out of him and began to roughly fist his cock with one hand while the other released his hip to grab hold of his arse and spread him open.
This, at last, he could not keep his eyes open for. He wanted to feel it when it happened. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and spread his legs wider, breathing harshly in time with Malfoy as he waited for the first hot splash of come to hit his exposed flesh.
His entire body clenched when it happened, tensing in perfect time with the hand clutching his arse cheek. He managed to hide a pathetic whimper of pleasure under Malfoy's unabashed animalistic grunts of release, but could do nothing to stop himself arching back in an obvious plea for more.
He writhed shamelessly as Malfoy pressed against his hole with the head of his cock, still wetting Harry with shot after shot.
"Oh, fuck, yes," Harry whined, totally beyond the game at this point, pressing back for any kind of contact he could have.
"Greedy," Malfoy huffed into his ear. "So fucking greedy. Nothing and nobody is enough for you, are they, Potter?"
Harry gasped as Malfoy, still somehow erect, pushed his cock back inside him, fucking him fast and hard with the slick mess of his own come.
"What will it take to satisfy you, you greedy fuck?" Malfoy's voice was distorted and desperate from the effort, his breaths broken and laboured as he continued to come in Harry's arse.
The very thought of it made the muscles in Harry's tense arms begin to shake as he tried to hold himself up for more.
"Everything," he choked out, trying to remove a hand from the wall, but unable to hold himself up enough to do so. "Fuck. Touch me."
Malfoy shuddered hard enough that it reverberated through Harry's own body, and pulled out, collapsing his body weight on Harry and nearly taking them both down.
"Not yet. You're going to need that."
He ran a hand around Harry's waist and let his fingertips cruelly brush the agonized tip of Harry's erection.
Harry clutched the wall and tried to pull himself together. Right. Everything.
Malfoy's body continued to shiver with aftershocks for several long minutes, during which time Harry weighed his options for wringing whatever Malfoy had left out of him. The list was extensive, and probably not feasible in a single go, but Malfoy had gotten that bit right. Harry was feeling greedy as fuck.
He jumped as the massive grandfather clock at the other end of the hallway gonged midnight. Malfoy startled as well, sliding in the mingled sweat between them and gouging the pads of his fingers into the sensitized skin of Harry's abdomen.
"Happy Christmas," Malfoy said to Harry's shoulder blades, rubbing his chin against the tight muscles there.
"Mmm. Same to you." Harry felt a small twinge of guilt about the fact that what he really wanted to give Malfoy for Christmas was an absolutely brutal fucking on the nearby landing. The guilt passed quickly enough, as Malfoy's hands began a shaky exploration of the state of Harry's erection.
Harry was on the verge of summoning the energy to relocate them to the landing in question when the sound of a fireplace roaring to life issued from a nearby doorway.
"Pansy," Malfoy hissed into his back, suddenly in control of his own body weight. When Harry didn't immediately respond to this incongruous statement, Malfoy wrenched him violently from the wall by his hair. Harry's back bowed with the force of it, and he moaned feebly as his desperate cock grazed the prickly velvet of the wallpaper.
"Trousers—fuck—wands." Malfoy's hair brushed across Harry's arse as he bent to frantically search the floor.
Harry rutted lightly against the wall, unable to resign himself to the sudden change of events. He listened distantly to the rustle of clothes and objects, and the clacking of a pair of high heels on the floor nearby. The staccato footsteps moved away and down another passageway, and Pansy Parkinson's shrill voice sounded through the air,
"Draco Malfoy! You had better have a damned good excuse for how I ended up spending Christmas Eve alone with Zabini and that jackal of a woman he's calling a wife!"
Her footsteps pounded up a distant set of stairs and a door on an upper landing slammed open.
"Hiding isn't going to save your useless hide!" she shrieked. "I just spent nearly two hours discussing hemline trends!"
Harry stirred from the wall and stared down at Malfoy curiously.
"That was your dinner date? Pansy and Blaise?"
Malfoy dodged the question by thrusting Harry's wand at him.
"Clean up. Get dressed. You have no idea how insufferable—"
"I swear to you, Draco," Pansy voice began again, coming nearer once more. "If you don't have Potter himself shackled in the attic, there is no excuse worthy of the torture I have just endured."
Harry raised an eyebrow at Malfoy, who busied himself scooping up the items that had fallen from Harry's pockets and trying to both shove them back in and push the trousers back up at the same time.
"Shackled in the attic?" he whispered with a grin.
Malfoy's face flushed. "She is…aware. Of our wager."
"More aware than I am, apparently," Harry teased, enjoying the mounting discomfort on Malfoy's face. "I had no idea we had agreed on shackling."
"Well you should have read the fine print," Malfoy spat, finally locating his own wand and struggling to his feet while trying to get his own trousers on simultaneously.
The clacking of Pansy's shoes drew nearer. Harry watched, amused, as Malfoy ran his hands frantically through his hair, doing absolutely nothing to tame the mess Harry had made of it.
He finally took pity and reached for Malfoy's agitated hands, squeezing his wrists lightly.
"Hey." Malfoy's eyes shot in panic from the doorway back to Harry. "My version of everything doesn't actually include Parkinson. Come on."
He flicked his wand just as the tip of a bright red stiletto rounded the corner of the doorframe. Harry grinned as they spun away, feeling Malfoy cling to him desperately as he Apparated without warning.
* * *
25 December 1999
"You absolute wanker," Malfoy complained, rubbing his hip where it had slammed into Harry's bedpost on arrival.
"Not tonight," Harry quipped, but he gently laid his hand over Malfoy's in apology. A childish little voice in his head made note of the fact that they were now even on the surprise Apparition score, but he kept the thought to himself.
As Malfoy began to relax, Harry moved a little further into his personal space, pressing him up against the bedpost.
"Right," he whispered, echoing the earlier version of these events. "Where were we?"
"About to be caught with our pants down by the second nosiest busybody in the wizarding world."
Harry sniggered. "She can't be anywhere near as bad as Skeeter. You'd surely have killed her by now if she was."
Malfoy sniffed. "She makes me coffee. It goes a long way to making up for the rest."
"If you say so." Harry slipped his hand under Malfoy's belt and gave him a small, sharp tug. "But I meant before that…oh, yes, I remember now." He spun Malfoy around and guided his hands to grip the footboard, pressing his still rock-hard cock against his arse with a groan.
He wrapped an arm around Malfoy's slender chest and pressed their bodies together tightly from hip to shoulder, tucking his mouth in right behind Malfoy's ear.
"Unfortunately, there are very nasty things in the attic here, and I haven't got any proper shackles, but I think we can make do with these."
He reached out for the nearest bed curtain cord and tugged it free, running the silk tasselled end across Malfoy's bare shoulder. The flesh broke out in goose pimples in the wake of the trailing threads.
"What do you think, Malfoy?" He made a point of grazing his lips along the thin skin of Malfoy's shoulder as he spoke, feeling the bumps multiply under his gentle touch.
Malfoy's neck bowed a fraction, and Harry grinned.
"I'll take that as a yes."
He flicked his wand and the bed curtains fell loose, cords dangling provocatively at each corner. Malfoy remained still, his knuckles white where they clutched the footboard. Not exactly the enthusiastic response Harry was looking for.
Harry slid his hands down Malfoy's taut stomach and began unbuckling his belt again. The muscles beneath his fingers expanded and contracted wildly as Malfoy drew several haggard breaths.
"On the bed," Harry coaxed, backing away and shoving his own trousers back to the floor. He bent to retrieve the tube from his pocket, and by the time he straightened up again, Malfoy was lying in the middle of the bed, staring intently at the nearest curtain tie.
Harry crossed to him slowly, fascinated by the open look of trepidation on Malfoy's face. He pulled a cord with him as he crawled on to the bed, trailing it across Malfoy's wrist as he straddled him. Malfoy tensed noticeably, his fist clenching and releasing as the tassels trailed across his fingers.
Harry curled the length around Malfoy's wrist and tugged it tight. Malfoy's eyes snapped shut, and his jaw twitched, but he said nothing. Harry pondered the exact words Parkinson had used.
If you don't have Potter himself shackled in the attic…
"Oh!" Harry said aloud, as the realisation dawned on him. "Not like this."
Malfoy's eyes snapped open and he glared at Harry.
"I'm not having you tie me up if you're mentally imbalanced, Potter. Are you actually talking to yourself?"
"Yes. I mean, no. I mean—" Harry paused to appreciate one of Malfoy's most scathing looks. It really was an unrivalled thing of beauty. "What I mean to say is…here."
He pressed the cord into Malfoy's hand and crawled up to sit against the headboard, legs splayed out around Malfoy's still prone body.
Malfoy continued to lie there, head between Harry's legs, staring oddly at the tassel in his fingers. Eventually, Harry reached down and slipped his hand between the soft rope and Malfoy's tense fingers.
"Do it," he whispered, finding himself a little unnerved as well.
Malfoy looped the rope around Harry's wrist loosely, before turning on to his stomach and looking up at Harry suspiciously.
"You won," he said, sounding almost accusing.
"Yes," said Harry, his nerves making him feel snappish. He was sure the difficult bastard wanted this, so he could not for the life of him understand what the problem was now. "And as you pointed out earlier, I get to decide what happens. So, fucking do it."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed.
"Careful what you ask for, Potter."
"Yeah, yeah. You said that before, as well. So far I haven't seen much cause for concern."
He hadn't quite finished his sentence before his hand was being yanked to the side, and bound tightly to the bedpost. Malfoy sat on him to keep him from moving while he grabbed his other arm to do the same. Harry noted for the first time the faint red marks around Malfoy's own wrists, presumably from his earlier use of the Christmas garland.
"That hurts," he lied, as Malfoy tightened his restraints. As he had predicted, it earned him a tiny hint of a smile.
"Not too much, I hope," Malfoy drawled, sliding down Harry's body and settling on his thighs. Harry shook his head.
"I imagine it's just about right," he said, tensing his arms and struggling a bit for show.
Actually, it wasn't all for show. He really couldn't move his arms much, and there was a part of him that wasn't sure he was entirely comfortable with that fact. On the other hand, he was very pleased with the bright gleam that was developing in Malfoy's eyes.
"So," Malfoy said slowly, running his eyes over his handiwork. "We've still got quite a bit to cover if we're going to fit in everything tonight." He scratched his fingers lightly across Harry's chest, allowing a nail to catch roughly on his right nipple.
Harry arched into the sensation, his cock once again aching with the need for contact.
"Doesn't all have to be tonight," he groaned. "Might take several if we're thorough."
Malfoy's hand stilled on the side of his rib cage, digging in to the spaces between the bones.
"It's getting difficult to get the front page, Potter." His grip actually hurt now. "Is there anyone left for you to trot out for shock value at this point?"
"I can be very imaginative when motivated," Harry shot back. "At any rate, I'd say you've exhausted far more resources than I have at this point."
Malfoy glowered and turned his attention to searching the bedding for the tube that Harry had dropped when he'd climbed into bed. He looked furious again, and Harry tried to prepare himself for a second round of merciless pounding.
But when Malfoy twisted back around, fingers coated in lube, he didn't use them on Harry. Instead, he swung his leg over and straddled Harry's stomach with his perfect arse just inches from Harry's face and reached back, pressing two fingers inside himself with about as much gentleness as he'd shown Harry earlier.
"Oh, God," Harry breathed, arching forward, but unable to move more than about an inch before his arms began to protest. Malfoy teased himself, pushing in and withdrawing, first with both fingers, then with one, then with both again. Between thrusts he rubbed his fingers along his crack, making himself wet and shiny and slick.
Harry groaned in frustration, in serious danger of coming without getting so much as a touch. He yanked furiously at his bonds, no longer amused by his limited range of motion. Everything he wanted was right within his grasp, but the fucking things were holding fast.
He'd have given anything right then to be able to reach out and take hold of Malfoy's slim hips. To be able to pull his arse back to his mouth and feast on that gorgeous little pink hole, to shove his tongue in there with Malfoy's slick, nimble fingers.
Or to be able to grab him by the waist and drop him unceremoniously on his agonized cock and thrust up into him until they both couldn't take it any more. Or even just to be able to run his fingers through the sweaty wisps of hair clumped at the back of Malfoy's gracefully bent neck.
He made another sound that was horribly like a whimper. He braced his feet into the mattress and made a feeble attempt at grinding his hips up, managing only a frustrating, fleeting contact between his own cock and Malfoy's.
As luck would have it, Malfoy must have been feeling a little frustrated himself because his breath caught at the contact and the next thing Harry knew, Malfoy had scrambled forward, grabbed hold of his cock, and was pressing the head ever so slightly inside himself.
He threw a haughty look over his shoulder, obviously completely aware of the state he had Harry in.
"Oh my." He grinned maliciously. "Someone doesn't look very happy."
"Never better," Harry bit out, digging in his heels and jerking up again.
Both he and Malfoy gasped as the head of Harry's cock pressed in and slid back out. Malfoy stilled there, hovering on shaky thighs, breathing heavily. Harry arched up again, feeling the muscles of his back twist and protest.
"That's right," Malfoy breathed, thighs now visibly quaking. "Work for it."
Harry grabbed on to his bonds for leverage, hauling himself up to his burning shoulders and pressed in again. He cursed and struggled and after about five minutes even begged, but Malfoy gave him nothing more––just the maddening, tortuous ability to press the head of his cock inside, before being forced to retreat by the limitations of his body.
Everything burned: muscles, skin, cock, even his breath. He had passed the point of playing politics long ago, and was now biting out every insult and plea that crossed his mind.
"Fuck you, you insufferable cunt," he hissed, writhing through the pain of arching his back even further, trying to get just that one millimetre more. "You can't keep me tied down forever. I swear I'm going to—oh, fuck—oh, please."
He could see the muscles in the back of Malfoy's arm flexing as he jerked himself off, getting less and less rhythmic, faster and jerkier, and driving Harry mad with jealousy.
"Yeah," Malfoy gritted out over his shoulder. "You want it, don't you? Tell me. Do you beg all the boys this way?"
Harry hissed as Malfoy pulled even further away, causing his next thrust to merely brush against its target.
Through his desperation, he noticed something in Malfoy's tone. It took his addled mind a few seconds to identify it as bitterness. Oh.
"No," Harry muttered. Malfoy's hand stilled. "You're the only one cruel enough to make me."
Harry cringed in the dead silence that followed. Finally, Malfoy spoke.
"Nice to know I'm special."
"You—" Harry choked on the rest of his words as Malfoy sank onto his cock and sprawled backwards across Harry's torso.
Harry drew his legs up to hold him in place, latched his mouth on to his neck and drove into him with every ounce of strength he had left.
Malfoy let out a long high-pitched moan that hit Harry right in the gut, his hand locking onto his erection and jerking frantically once more.
Harry hammered up into Malfoy's clenching arse, sucking air into his burning lungs every few thrusts, willing himself to make it last just a few minutes more, dying to run his hands over the writhing body on top of him.
"Get these fucking things off of me, Malfoy," he spat, nearly dislocating his shoulder trying to wrench free.
With a pitiful whimper, Malfoy released his cock and reached back over his head, fumbling weakly with the ties.
The moment the first tie came away, Harry's hand wrapped viciously around Malfoy's straining cock, tight as he dared to squeeze, and resumed jerking him off at a fevered pace.
Malfoy cried out, fingers stilling on the second tie.
"Off," Harry snapped. "Get it the fuck off."
He hissed as fingernails dug into his wrist, but then he felt the tie fall away. Free at last.
Harry grabbed Malfoy's hair, twisting his face around to look at him. He looked as ruined as Harry felt.
"Malfoy," he grunted, grinning through the rising agony in his balls. "You are an incredibly special bastard."
Before Malfoy could formulate a retort to this statement, Harry drove his tongue into his mouth, his cock into his arse, and clamped his twisting fist down on the end of Malfoy's shuddering dick.
He had the supreme satisfaction of feeling every muscle in Malfoy's body go rigid, and the hot splash of come between his fingers before the white hot rush of his own orgasm robbed him of any sensation but that of emptying himself inside glorious, wet, hot perfection.
* * *
Harry awoke in the grey, pre-dawn light to a symphony of protesting, furious aches and pains across his arms and back. He could hear Malfoy to his right, fumbling through the detritus on the floor, preparing to make a stealthy getaway. While not unexpected, Harry found himself annoyed by the gesture.
"Ugh," he grunted, rolling to his side and fixing Malfoy with a hard look. "I feel like I went a round with an entire Quidditch team."
"I suppose you'd know what that feels like," Malfoy retorted, yanking his trousers on backwards, and furiously yanking them back off.
Harry frowned. "Seriously, Malfoy? Those P.U. photos weren't two weeks ago. Are you going to forget that you fucked me by next week?" He knew he sounded downright petulant, but he was too tired to care much.
"If you are referring to Oliver Wood, I did not fuck him, Potter. He's high profile, and I thought it might get me a headline with the match coming up. It's called strategy. I walked him into the loo and introduced him to Marcus."
Harry grinned. "Really?"
"Yes, really. Which, come to think of it, means you've come a good deal closer to Wood's dick than I ever have. I've always known you'll stop at nothing to win, but Flint? I can't believe you fucked that teeming mass of microbes." His face turned sour. "And now I suppose, by proxy, so have I."
"You haven't." Harry's grin got bigger.
"Do you know what 'by proxy' means, Potter?" Malfoy sneered.
Harry stopped smiling.
"Malfoy, you fucking idiot. I haven't been with anyone else in months. Not since the first bet."
"But I saw you—"
"Yeah, you saw me leave with him. Just like I saw you leave. It's called strategy, Malfoy."
Malfoy squinted at him for a moment, before bending to steal Harry's shirt from the floor.
"I need this to get home," he said briskly. "I'll return it by owl."
"Whatever you like," Harry mumbled, transfixed by the picture of a morning-after Malfoy dressed in his clothes. That was definitely going on the everything list.
"I should go," Malfoy said, looking uncharacteristically twitchy and nervous.
"All right, if you want to," Harry said, rising from the sheets, and quelling the urge to cover himself as he did so. Malfoy gave him a gratifyingly thorough once-over for his efforts.
"So, I'll see you," Malfoy mumbled, pocketing his wand.
"Yeah," Harry repeated. "See you."
He stood rooted to the spot, mind working over what had just transpired until he heard the front door slam closed. He sighed and bent to retrieve his own trousers and wandered listlessly down towards the kitchen.
He narrowly missed tripping over a stool as he spun around towards Hermione's voice.
"Uh, morning. You're early."
"Yes, well…I thought I'd come by and warn you that half of the press corps in the wizarding world is camped out on your doorstep. I'm afraid I didn't quite catch your guest in time, though."
She smirked and took a sip of tea.
* * *
Harry's shirt arrived, cleaned and pressed, a few short hours later. He dropped it on the hallway table and slowly unfolded the attached note, breath held.
No need to wait for the weekend edition.
Harry grinned and summoned a quill, flipping the parchment over and scribbling his reply.
A lot can happen in six days.
See you at the New Year.