Harry knows something is amiss the moment he Apparates home. Gingerly, he takes a step down the entry hall. He reaches out with a wisp of his magic, tendrils from the tips of his fingers, not enough to alert anyone. He breathes in.
Not amiss. Only different.
And then he hears.
“Care to make a statement before I throw you in a cell and let the men in there have their way with you?”
Draco’s voice, hard and smooth as granite. Harry frowns at the strange words, which Harry can’t imagine any kind of context clearing up.
But then, the soft whimper in response. “Sir, please. I told you I didn’t steal—”
Harry has moved down the hall enough now that as he peers around the corner and into the living room he sees Draco holding up what appears to be a Time Turner. A very illegal Time Turner, shimmering and spinning slowly in a bubble of magic above Draco’s palm. And it’s the least interesting thing in the room.
The tableau coalesces, piece by piece: Draco, in Harry’s spare Auror robes; he faces Teddy, sat in one of their wooden kitchen chairs, hands cuffed behind. Teddy stares fearfully up at Draco, who looms calm and deadly before him. There’s a smear of dirt on Teddy’s face. He’s in his old Hogwarts uniform: black trousers, crisp (but now skewed) white shirt, as though there’s been a scuffle; a Slytherin tie hangs unknotted and loose at his neck. Harry can tell, even from here, that his pulse is rapid… can see it fluttering in his bare neck. He hasn’t morphed himself younger, or barely. There’s little need; he was a seventh year just four years ago anyway. But it’s clear he wants to play younger than he is. Everything is so very clear. And Harry’s cock has begun to swell inside his jeans.
There’s only one thing wrong with the scene—well, if you don’t count that his husband is holding an illegal object and Harry is an actual Auror sworn to confiscate and report such things. It’s Teddy’s slouch in the chair. His face advertises fear, but his body is all languid heat, legs stretched out, hips thrust a bit forward… cock very, very hard.
“I found it on your person,” Draco continues, twirling his fingers and spinning the Time Turner in its protective magic shield slowly, threateningly. “Are you going to explain to me how else it slipped its way into your pocket?”
Harry laments that he missed that part of their role-play: Draco apprehending his suspect, shoving him face first into a wall… Merlin, the frisk. Harry never should have stopped to chat with the wand ward on his way out of the office. Definitely should not have changed clothes; he could walk in and play ‘good cop’ to Draco’s ‘cold bastard’ so seamlessly.
He’s too casually dressed regardless. As Teddy stammers inane explanations in the next room (such that Harry must stifle a chuckle—seriously, ‘A Doxy planted it there’?), Harry transfigures his jeans into dark trousers, his t-shirt into an expensive grey button-up, trainers to dress shoes. If Draco can abscond with Harry’s persona (and so successfully; fuck, Harry wants to eat him alive, he looks so bloody good), then Harry can dress like Draco does when they go out to posh Muggle restaurants and snark over 15£ whiskies until they’re both hard and aching for it.
“Please,” Teddy is now whining, his hips squirming a bit on the chair, probably seeking a bit of friction for his erection. Harry’s whole body flashes warm, watching him, watching Draco’s cool command of Teddy’s desire.
He steps into the room, his shoes softly echoing on the hardwood.
“Daddy!” Teddy exclaims at seeing him, his eyes lighting up with hope. He sits a little straighter in the chair, wiggling into position without the use of his bound arms.
Harry’s body tingles all over, from the roots of his hair to the soles of his feet, his magic igniting. His cock swells at just that one word: Daddy.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Harry asks Draco. “What’s my boy doing cuffed to a chair?”
Draco turns to him, and they square off, easily, effortlessly. “Your boy,” he says, “stole this artifact,” he tosses it to Harry, and once he catches it he feels the difference. If he had to guess, Harry would say Draco transfigured one of Harry’s coffee mugs. He fights the amused smirk off his face, tossing the ‘Time Turner’ back. Draco stuffs it into his pocket and continues. “He’s broken about five different laws, and I was about to throw him in a holding cell with the rest of his punk Slytherin friends.”
Harry’s eyebrow goes up. Draco stares him down, all but daring him to break role. Instead, Harry lets his gaze drag appreciatively down Draco’s body. The Auror uniform has been adjusted to fit him perfectly, his slighter frame, his longer legs. Merlin, it’s everything Harry can do not to rip into it, to claw his way through the fabric until he gets to pale skin, the heat of which he practically itches to feel under his hands, Draco’s body rippling with want for him. He eyes Draco’s cock, straining slightly against the flies of Harry’s trousers. He blinks his hard gaze back up to Draco’s face, stepping closer, almost close enough to brush up against him. Draco holds his ground, jaw firming.
“Daddy, please,” Teddy cries.
Harry looks into Draco’s eyes, implacable except for the sheen of desire he can’t help.
Harry turns to Teddy. “Is it true?”
“No, Daddy. I would never. I’m a good boy.”
It’s a little much. But Teddy’s never really been able to keep it under wraps for long when he wants it this badly.
Harry takes the end of his shiny green tie in his hand, slipping it between thumb and fingers. It’s Draco’s, he realises, his actual tie from Hogwarts, rather than Teddy’s Hufflepuff one transfigured. Merlin, it’s a turn-on. But Harry maintains his unruffled exterior as he slowly slips the tie free of Teddy’s collar.
“Uncuff him,” Harry says to Draco, gaze still boring into Teddy. “Now.”
Thankfully, Draco doesn’t fight him on it, trusting that Harry’s going somewhere with it that they’ll all appreciate, but as he walks around behind Teddy and works to unlock the cuffs, he mutters, “Sodding pureblood families… you’re all alike, an entitled, spoiled rotten lot.”
As Teddy circles his newly freed wrists rather dramatically, Harry can’t stop the swell of delight at Draco’s cheek. The smile that follows is one he can barely contain. Draco catches him at it and blushes slightly.
Harry clears his throat to keep from ruining everything.
Draco straightens his—Harry’s—uniform and wrangles the sharp, angry glare back into his eyes as he stalks back around.
“Tie his hands in front,” says Harry, “with this.” He holds the tie out to Draco.
Draco takes it, lips parting on a slow, predatory smile now. He yanks Teddy’s wrists in front of him, meets Teddy’s eyes, and knots the tie.
“Daddy,” Teddy pleads now as Draco drags him up out of the chair and onto his feet. But as Draco spins Teddy around, Harry wordlessly steps in front of him.
Draco holds Teddy’s trembling arms. The look on Teddy’s face, if real, could break a person.
Harry sighs. “What happens to bad boys?” Then to Draco he says, “Lift his arms up over his head, would you?”
Draco obliges, and Teddy’s arms rise, wrists clenched together beneath the grip of Draco’s fingers. Harry unbuckles Teddy’s belt, unbuttons his trousers.
“Hmm?” he asks. There seem to be real tears swimming in Teddy’s eyes, but Harry recognises them for what they are: a well of desire, unrelenting, so powerful it must emerge, any way it can. He’s so unearthly beautiful like this, Harry thinks.
“They get a-a whipping,” Teddy nearly whispers, and Harry feels Teddy’s cock jerk hard against his hands as he lowers the zip on his trousers.
Draco, showing a commendable initiative, works on the buttons of Teddy’s shirt, getting it open. Teddy’s chest is flushed, his nipples tight with anticipation. Harry takes his trousers and pants and yanks them down, evoking a small cry from Teddy’s lips. His cock bounces up, proud, so stiff it nearly reaches his belly. It’s shiny from all the precome he’s already leaked.
Teddy’s bound wrists drop behind Draco’s head, an inescapable moment of intimacy, of need. Draco holds him up, sure hands on his waist.
“Auror Malfoy,” Teddy breathes. “Sir, please, I won’t steal again.”
“No, you won’t,” Draco says behind the dainty shell of Teddy’s ear, looking at Harry. “Not after this.”
Harry sits in the abandoned chair.
“No,” Teddy begs. Not the safeword. Not even close. He loves to say no. He comes for it. “Daddy. Daddy, don’t.”
“Over my knee,” Harry says, widening his legs to make a nice, safe shelf on which Teddy can rest and rut.
Draco helps get him into position, Teddy sniffling believably.
“Daddy, not on my bottom,” he cries as he lies face down over Harry’s lap, presenting the very part of himself he wants most to be touched.
“Would you rather go in the cell?” Draco asks. He’s using his best Auror voice, very firm. But Harry senses the torrent underneath, the rise of his own excitement, the anticipation of what comes next.
Teddy shakes his head. “I’ll be good,” he says. His cock is like a metal pipe against Harry’s leg, the weight of his body both comforting and titillating.
Harry holds out his open hand and Summons the switch. It’s a birch rod, Teddy’s favourite, made with smooth twigs from a Whomping Willow, as they’re particularly well-suited for this type of play, the wood itself being more than willing. In his hand now, it shivers with delight.
“How many, do you think?” Harry runs the rod over Teddy’s lower back, down over his arse, letting it tickle his crack.
“Five?” Teddy tries, piteously.
Draco scoffs, crossing his arms. “Twenty.”
Harry lets the rod drift lower, stroking the backs of Teddy’s thighs.
“Daddy, don’t,” Teddy complains. “It tickles in my…” He drops his voice to a whisper. “My bad parts.”
And oh how Harry wants to dispense with the rod and ‘tickle his bad parts’ with his hands, his mouth, his cock. He wants to slam his hand down on the sweet arse now wiggling for his attention and then sit it right down on his cock until he’s buried deeper than deep.
Draco walks around to stand in front of Teddy’s face. “Look at me, boy.”
Teddy raises his chin. He blinks up into Draco’s gaze as it drifts from punitive to something bordering on sweet. Something that is, somehow, both.
“Count them out, my darling.”
It’s a breach, but one Harry can’t help but revel in. They have such a complex relationship, Draco and Teddy, one in which Draco feels a great deal of protectiveness, Harry knows. It sometimes surfaces when Harry least expects it, when Draco’s affinity with Teddy mounts and reaches inescapable degrees. Perhaps only as a counterpoint when Harry himself becomes too stubborn or impulsive or brash.
Teddy swallows now, and, looking into Draco’s eyes, he nods. Draco cups Teddy’s cheek, thumb brushing his lips. Teddy parts them on a sigh. And that’s when Harry rears back with the switch and strikes his buttocks.
A sharp gasp turns at once to a moaning sigh. Then, shivering, looking at Draco again, “One.”
Two in a row, unexpected, have Teddy up on his toes, lifting his arse. “Two, th-three. Oh Daddy...” When he goes to lick Draco’s palm, to angle for his fingers, Draco slips his hand free, crossing his arms once again. Teddy stares pleadingly up at Draco’s now expressionless face as Harry whips him: “Four, five, ssssix, oh fuck.”
Teddy drops his head down, weeping.
Draco’s gaze meets Harry’s, and Harry asks, “‘Asphodel’?”
Teddy shakes his head, breathless for a moment, and then gusts out, “No.”
Draco reaches out, runs his hand over Teddy’s hair; it’s pulsing a dark plum. Harry feels the slick from Teddy’s cock dampening his trousers. His own dick is only half-hard, not from lack of desire but because he’s delaying his own pleasure for Teddy’s. He risks becoming blinded by it, overrun, and he knows how much better it will be if he can stave it off… take care of his boy’s needs before his own.
“No, what?” Draco asks patiently. God, his cock, though: Trapped in his trousers, it bulges, hard and ready, and Harry doesn’t know how he’s not stroking himself off all over Teddy’s face right now.
“No, s-sir. No, Daddy,” Teddy mewls. “I’m a bad boy. I’m a b-bad boy.” And Merlin, if he doesn’t relax his pretty arsehole after he says it. So vulnerable. Such a little slag.
Harry draws his arm back and lands four cracks on his backside in quick succession, forcing the words from Teddy’s lungs in panting shouts: ”Seven, eight, nine, TEN, shhhhhit.”
Harry flings the rod away, and it jitters on the floor, wanting to continue. “Draco,” Harry says, running his hand over the swell of Teddy’s now reddened arse. Draco draws his wand and casts, stilling the eager switch where it lies, now with an air of petulance.
“Shhh, shh-shh,” Harry soothes, petting Teddy gently, knowing the strokes are, themselves, a form of fire.
“Daddy,” Teddy cries quietly. Belatedly, Harry realises Teddy’s bound hands are gripping the leg of his trousers. It’s so sweet it almost unravels his resolve in one decimating moment.
Harry gives one cheek a moderate spank, the slapping sound of flesh to flesh ringing through the room. Teddy cries out and then sniffles. “Eleven.”
“That’s my good boy,” Harry praises, rubbing over the place he just struck. Teddy lifts into it.
Draco’s stepped closer, and his hand falls into Harry’s hair. His nails scrape lightly over Harry’s scalp, and Harry’s cock twitches beneath Teddy’s weight.
“Good boys get a finger up the bum,” Draco says. Teddy’s pink arsehole clenches.
“No, that’s bad,” Teddy argues weakly, and Harry spanks him again, underneath the swell of both cheeks, catching the softest bit: “Twelve, thirteen, fourteen. Ohhh… Tha— That’s one of m-my… bad places, Daddy.”
“Only the very best boys get a finger up there,” Draco corrects, and Harry shoots him a look, the edge of a Leglilimens: You’re so bloody bad. Draco winks at him. “But you can’t be very good? Can you, my little thief?”
Teddy perks up at that. “I can!” he insists. “I can be very, very good.”
Harry’s fingers have been fondling the shadowed curve under Teddy’s arse. A warm spread of new precome blooms against his thigh. Harry would wonder if he was simply coming, but he’s still so hard, still so desperate. Draco’s hand drifts to the back of Harry’s neck. “I don’t think he can be good enough, Potter.”
“Sir, please! I can be good.” Teddy drops his head, lifting his arse, bouncing a little.
Draco moves back around in front of Teddy’s face. He grasps the hair at the top of his head, tugging up. “Hit him hard.”
Harry makes the last six slaps sharp and focused, cracking loud through the silent room. Teddy cries out, unable to count, tears streaming down his raised face. And at the end, barely there, a broken whisper, “Twen-ty… Daddy, please.”
Harry shushes him… has the intense desire to gather Teddy up in his arms and just hold him. He will. Eventually. But it’s not yet time. Teddy needs to come. He’s worked up for it perfectly.
Draco steps close and lets Teddy rest his head against his clothed cock. Teddy’s face turns soft, and he rubs his cheek on it, weeping quietly as Harry pats his arse, as he pets it, calls him, “Our boy. Our wonderful boy.”
Draco murmurs a lube charm, and Teddy goes obscenely slick, the kind of slick they get him if they’re both going to be inside at the same time. Harry touches between his legs, tugging very gently on Teddy’s balls.
“Ohhhh!” Teddy moans, opening his quivering thighs.
“This is only for the best boys,” Harry assures him. A shard of guilt slips through the tender tissue of his heart—because now, now, Harry has gone fully hard. The degree to which he wants this, independent of Teddy’s own desire, floods him with a heady infusion of mixed feelings. Like he’s drunk, maybe too drunk and might be sick, but he takes another sip anyway, letting himself drop into the sensation of it, the intoxicating nirvana.
Harry taps Teddy’s wet arsehole with the tip of his finger. “Be a good boy and let Daddy in.”
“Oh, fffff—” Teddy buries his face against Draco’s thigh now to keep the expletive from surfacing.
Harry makes gentle circles at his opening. Teddy’s always been quite responsive to fingering, and now is no different. He relaxes, and Harry inserts only the tip of his finger, in and out, slowly and patiently. Teddy arches his back for more, a small, agonised sound bubbling up out of him.
Harry watches his finger. “That’s it. You’re doing so well.” He glances up at Draco’s face to find him looking almost malevolent with lust. Harry watches him as his finger goes in a little further; Draco’s pulse pounds in the hollow of his throat. He swallows, the hand holding Teddy’s head against his body making a brief fist. When Harry takes up a rhythm, Teddy’s arse opening up for him so nicely, so eagerly, Draco watches, tongue darting over his bottom lip, and then his hips thrust, just once, against Teddy’s face.
Teddy turns his mouth to Draco’s cock, parting his lips and encouraging Draco to move his cock over them. Harry withdraws to tickle around his rim, provoking a small frown, a tight moan.
“You need a cock inside you,” Draco says, his voice roughened by desire. Harry’s dick strains at the sound, at the anticipation.
Teddy nods enthusiastically. “I need it,” he whines. “I’ve been bad, but I want to be good. I can be good.”
Harry inserts two fingers, a smooth push up his arsehole. Teddy holds himself still for it, panting.
“You want to take a cock?” Draco asks. He’s unfastening his trousers. Harry, quite suddenly, loses his breath.
Teddy moves on his fingers until Harry lays an arm over his hips, holding him still again.
“You want your Daddy’s cock inside you?” Draco nearly whispers. At Teddy’s wild nod of assent, Draco takes himself out. “You’ll suck mine first.”
Teddy’s moan chokes off as Draco slips his cock between his open lips. Teddy sucks on the head until Draco tires of letting him, sliding deeper, stretching Teddy’s lips into a pliant O.
Draco slants a look at Harry’s face, his own transformed. Together, they begin thrusting into him, Harry’s fingers, Draco’s cock.
Draco’s gaze drops to where Harry’s fingers are disappearing into him, and he bites his lip, fucking Teddy’s mouth, switching to watch Teddy take his cock.
“Daddy has good hands, doesn’t he?” Draco breathes. “You like how that feels?”
He pulls his cock out to allow Teddy to nod.
Draco traces Teddy’s lips with the crown of his cock, lightly slapping Teddy’s lips, his tongue.
“Can you take more for Daddy?” Harry asks. He adds a third finger on his next careful insertion. Teddy pushes at the floor with socked toes, lifting his arse. His eyes roll shut as he takes Harry’s fingers, and Draco shoves back inside his mouth.
The sounds they make as they fuck him are ludicrously wet, only broken by Teddy’s whimpers, and then, because he’s getting close, a soft growl from Draco. He holds Teddy’s hair in a fist and fucks his face. Harry presses in hard, finding that spot inside and grinding against it.
Teddy cries as he starts to come, and Harry relaxes the arm holding him down so that he can finally rut and thrust through it, hips fast and needy, working Harry’s fingers inside him, swallowing Draco’s cock. Draco holds his breath… it gusts out. And Harry watches the semen leak from the corner of Teddy’s mouth now, the both of them sharing an orgasm while Harry coaxes, watches, whispers, “Merlin, that’s it. That’s a good boy. Fuck, Teddy.”
Draco’s hooded gaze meets Harry’s, and a sly smile lifts the corner of his mouth, the soft huff of an amazed laugh. His cock pushes slow and steady in and out of Teddy’s mouth. Teddy licks and sucks and leaves little breathy moans along the length, his hips relaxing.
Harry pulls his fingers free of the sweet grip of Teddy’s hole, and he strokes over the reddened flesh of his bottom, giving him a pat, and when Teddy mewls, another one, and another, the bruised flesh jiggling.
Draco’s cock slips from his lips. They’re both panting. Draco thumbs the shine of his come from Teddy’s chin, pushes it between Teddy’s lips once, eliciting a groaning suckle, and then backs away, refastening his trousers.
“You think you’ve earned your Daddy’s cock?” he asks.
Teddy looks up at him, blinks. “I hope so. I want it.”
“Do you think you can take it? It might be too big. Might not fit inside you.”
“I can do it. Please let me do it.”
Draco helps him stand on wobbly legs as Harry gets his trousers open, his cock out. It’s so hard, it’s coming out of its foreskin, shining with slick.
Draco strips Teddy the rest of the way, unbinding his wrists and flinging the tie around his own neck now, stroking Teddy’s lithe body as he strips off each piece of clothing, whispering things to him Harry can’t hear, kissing his cheek. Harry grips the base of his cock.
“You ready?” Draco asks. At Teddy’s glazed-over nod, he urges, “Straddle his lap, darling. No, the other way. Back into it.”
Draco helps him, and Harry aims his cock at Teddy’s rosy-pink and glistening hole. Draco parts the fiery cheeks of his bum, and Teddy gingerly begins to impale himself on Harry’s dick.
“That’s a good, good boy,” Draco breathes.
Harry holds his breath as Teddy sheathes his cock inside, warm and wet and tight still.
“Oh, Daddy. It’s too big,” Teddy complains. Truthfully, they all love this part.
Draco instructs him, “Just ease up and down on it a little. Not the whole thing. Half. Just half of it inside you.”
“Nnggh,” Teddy whines. He braces on Draco’s arms, looking over his shoulder at it, as he takes a little of Harry’s cock in and out, not yet sitting on it as they all know he will. Harry grasps his hips and watches it happen, the obscene stretch of it, every little yelp or groan from Teddy threatening his control. He just wants to bury himself inside and fuck as hard as he can until he comes. But as much as he wants that, he wants this too… this slowness, this carefulness, Teddy virginal and a little scared, yet his cock hardly softened since he himself came. It bounces a little between his thighs as he starts pulsing his hips back and forth. Teddy looks up at Draco for approval.
“It feels good now, doesn’t it?” Draco asks.
“You love your Daddy’s cock.”
At its mention it stiffens dramatically inside Teddy, and Harry has to stifle a gasp. His fingers tighten down on Teddy’s squirming hips.
“It… feels good,” Teddy sighs.
“What feels good?” Draco does adore making him say it. Almost as much as Teddy loves being made to.
“His… thing. It feels good in me.” Then he turns his head. “Daddy, is it bad? That I want your thing in my bottom?”
“No, my love,” Harry tells him. “It feels good to Daddy too.” Then, “Ease back into me, sweetheart.”
“It’s too big.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got you. Sit down on Daddy’s lap, honey.”
Draco’s looking at him like they’ve swapped houses and Harry is the most Slytherin thing he’s ever seen.
Teddy bites his lip hard and takes the rest of Harry’s cock slowly and with little whines.
Finally, he settles, hands slipping from Draco’s arms, Harry’s cock deep inside. Teddy leans back into Harry’s body with a sigh, his lips turned to Harry’s jaw, warm breaths shallow and soft. “Oh, Harry.”
Harry tilts his head, finds his lips, and leaves a soft kiss there. “Alright?” For just this moment, Teddy is his lover; they’re equals, joined.
Teddy nods, licks his lips, inadvertently catching Harry’s own with the tip of his tongue. “Fuck me,” he whispers.
There’s not a great deal of leverage to be had, but Harry holds Teddy’s hips and thrusts up into him, grinding deep inside.
“Oh,” whines Teddy, a slight crease of a frown on his brows. Harry mouths kisses against his neck, and when he looks up it’s to find Draco has sat himself on the sofa facing them, ankle resting on knee and… he’s got a martini in his hand, the smug bastard.
“That’s a boy,” he says. “Get fucked by Daddy’s big cock.”
Teddy whines, bouncing.
Draco draws his wand and flicks it, and Teddy cries out, arching. His nipples go hard for whatever Draco’s doing to them. Draco sips his martini.
Then Teddy folds forward over Harry’s knees and starts ramming himself back. It’s too good, how Teddy takes all of him, the lean curve of his quivering back. All it takes is one last whimpering, “Daddy… ohhhh, Daddy,” and Harry can’t take it. He wrestles Teddy’s pliant body out of the chair and to the floor, hands and knees. He fucks him tight and fast from behind, hearing the gulping breaths of air Teddy takes.
“Fuck,” Draco murmurs, low and appreciative. “Harry, his cock is bouncing so hard between his thighs right now.”
Harry growls, fucks him even harder, fucks himself into that arse he’d made so red. It must hurt. It must sting. He’s too close to coming.
Harry pulls out and flips Teddy over, face up. He mounts him again, thrusting inside him and relishing the hard gasp out of Teddy’s open mouth. Harry looks up at Draco as he hikes Teddy’s leg over his shoulder. And then he looms over Teddy, whipping his hips, seeking his wet gaze and holding it.
“Daddy, I need it,” Teddy says up to him. He’s so open: his thighs taking the pounding of Harry’s hips, arms wrapping around Harry’s neck, heart so fucking open. Harry bruises his lips with a hard kiss that only turns gentle when he feels Teddy begin to come between them, the soft twitches of his cock, hardly any semen. Harry joins him, unable, now, to stop. And Teddy whispers into the continuing kiss, while Harry comes, “I love you, Daddy.” Then, “Harry… Harry… Harry....”
Harry rocks into his body, groaning. Teddy’s legs slip around his waist, ankles crossing at his back. His hands sift through Harry’s hair, his face aglow with it. Then he arches his neck awkwardly and in a way only youth allows. He reaches a lazy arm up toward Draco. “Come down here.”
“I’m not ruining my trousers on the manky floor with you, what do you take me for?” He sips. But his face is awash with heat, with affection.
“They’re my trousers,” Harry corrects, still out of breath. He pulls out, but Teddy locks his legs around him, not letting him sit up. At Harry’s huff, he relents, flipping himself over as Harry sits back, and then scrambling up onto Draco’s lap and curling his naked body against Draco’s. Draco wraps his arm behind his back, setting his drink down to pull Teddy’s legs in close, holding the ball of him in a warm embrace.
Harry fastens his trousers, kicks off his stupid dress shoes, converts his clothes back to his former t-shirt and jeans, and joins them, pressing to Teddy’s back and leaning over him to meet Draco’s lips with his own.
They kiss for a long time. Longer than usual when it’s not leading to a good fuck. Sometimes it still goes to Harry’s head—that he can kiss Draco Malfoy. That it’s as good as it is. Like champagne, it effervesces through him.
“You look insanely good in these,” Harry finally says of Draco in his Auror uniform. “I’m tempted to hire you just so I get to see you in my uniform all the time.”
Harry strokes down Teddy’s bare leg, meeting Draco’s hand, their fingers intertwining only to part when Harry moves to pet the curve of Teddy’s backside, or what he can reach of it.
Teddy gasps, but then wiggles into the touch.
“Do you need salve?” Harry asks.
“No,” says Teddy.
“Yes,” says Draco sternly.
They get him situated, spread out face down on the sofa, his head pillowed on Harry’s lap, bum under Draco’s hands this time as they spend a languid half hour applying salve to his bottom and rubbing his back, petting his hair, telling him how beautiful he is, how loved, until he falls asleep.
They slip out from under him finally, and Draco floats a soft sheet over him. Teddy begins to snore quietly.
“He’ll be hungry once he’s conscious again,” Draco says.
Harry takes in his look—Auror uniform with Slytherin house tie loose at his neck and can’t suppress a smile. He steps in and begins unbuttoning his own tunic from Draco’s body, revealing the white t-shirt underneath. “I could cook something.”
“Takeaway is fine.”
The transfiguration magic Draco did on the clothes has begun to fray, and the trousers are now loose on his hips. Harry tugs a little on the waistband, getting a peek of tapered abdominal muscles and blond pubic hair. He raises an eyebrow at his husband, who placidly smirks back.
“I want to cook something,” Harry says, now wrapping his hand up in the silky green tie and stepping closer.
Draco’s still not touching Harry. It’s a sort of game they play, this reluctance, more like a test of self-control. “You worked all day.”
“You can help me then.”
“I don’t want to help you.”
Harry slips a hand between them and cups Draco’s cock.
“I still don’t want to help you.” Though now he’s got that look in his eye.
Harry pushes Draco’s back against the nearest wall and exchanges his hand for the fit of his thigh between Draco’s legs, Draco’s thigh between his.
Draco’s still not touching him, but his smile is less than innocent. Harry presses his face to the side of Draco’s neck and inhales, free hand running up under his t-shirt, onto hot skin. He feels simultaneously wrung out from the sex and also starved for this.
“Later,” says Harry, “in bed, while I’m asleep, slip my pants down and rub your dick in my cleft until you come.”
“Fuck you, Potter,” Draco says, hands finally rising to grip, to pull, to haul Harry’s body even closer; Harry knows how to win this game.
“What do you want to eat?” Harry persists. In half an hour they’ll all be starving, he knows.
Draco sighs. “I just want a pizza. And a hot shower.”
Harry drops his hand to cup Draco’s arse. “Go take one. I’ll Floo in the order.”
“You don’t want to join me?”
Harry smiles. He squeezes the arse in his hand and shakes his head. “Just mix me a martini before you go.”
They grapple for a minute, the sort of handsy, fake fighting that’s a mere shadow of the days when fighting was the only way they’d touch one another, the only way they could. “Ow,” Harry laughs, when Draco jabs him none-too-gently in the ribs, following with tickling fingers that have Harry folding in half by instinct, even though he loves it, craves it.
“Bloody git, you stink.”
“You stink,” Draco rejoins, shoving Harry away with a lopsided grin, mixing him his drink, as requested.
Harry kneels to call the pizza place, and by the time he’s finished, there’s a dirty vodka martini dangling from Draco’s hand for him.
Harry sips as he watches Draco’s arse shift in his Auror trousers on his way up the stairs. He sighs, gaze turning to the rise and fall of Teddy’s nude back, the sheet only covering his middle, hairy calves and long-boned feet ranging out, one dangling off the sofa entirely.
Harry lifts one of Teddy’s legs, bending it at the knee so that he can sit and then laying it back over his lap. He stares across the room, out the big window that opens onto their cosy street and its turning trees. The drink is pleasantly strong, and one more sip has him relaxing him instantly. He twiddles his fingers, and a folder with his latest case details flaps into the room and into his hands. He opens it over Teddy’s calf, pushing his glasses up his nose. The water turns on upstairs. Teddy snuffles but doesn’t otherwise stir.
Harry reads the file for all of a few seconds and then stops to sip his drink again, letting his gaze veer out the window and onto the damp leaves, dripping with rain. The streetlamps flicker on. Harry sets the file aside and lets his hand rest on Teddy’s leg, his fingers idly stroking. The water splashes around in the shower. He sips his martini, breathing deeply of the evening, wondering if it’s cool enough to start a fire. His stomach growls. Should have ordered two pizzas, he thinks. Three, even?
Harry leans his head back on the sofa as evening dims to night. As he listens to the water turning off, a whine of old pipes, as Teddy snores: the sounds of his life. Teddy’s leg shifts in his lap as he gets more comfortable, foot pushing at a sofa cushion, arse tensing beneath the sheet, then relaxing again. Harry lifts the sheet for a peek, spying Teddy’s bum, red and shining with salve. Harry smiles and lays the sheet gently back down, dropping his head back again. Maybe, just for a moment, he’ll close his eyes. Still smiling, he does.