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Postcards From Italy

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Somewhere in Northern Italy

Harry hadn’t even planned on going to the party. He sat with his feet in the pool, listening to the sound of his classmates from uni splashing and laughing. Their conversation in Italian floated around him, light and breezy in the fragrant, summer air. It was a Friday afternoon in August, and class had been canceled in favor of a gathering at the home of one of their professors. A home that was actually an 18th century villa with orchards, the old stone swimming pool, and gardens that stretched out to the river beyond, verdant and lush, like something out of a fairy tale. Harry could hear the professor calling out to him from the entrance to the garden.

“Harry, Harry, you must come and meet the other English student. Here for the fall term, like I told you. From your school!” Harry hopped up and jogged over, barefoot on the grass. The professor was beaming, beckoning with one hand, using the other to reach out to put an arm around Draco Malfoy.

Harry stopped jogging and stared. He hadn’t planned on coming to the party but the professor had insisted, wanting him to be there to welcome the newest arrival, a fellow Hogwarts alum.

“It’s you,” Harry said dumbly. He felt sort of numb, his mind blank with surprise. “You’re the Potions apprentice staying for the fall.”

Malfoy was taller than Harry remembered, and he wore a white short-sleeve button down that billowed out over green swim trunks. His hair was still that familiar shocking blonde, but now it fell to his shoulders and the front pieces were held in place by a pair of expensive looking sunglasses perched on top of his head. The long hair should have made Draco look like Lucius but instead Harry was somehow reminded of Sirius, in photos he’d seen from the summer of 1978.

Harry didn’t know where to look. He hadn’t seen Malfoy in so long, since even before he had left England to start the program, two years earlier.

“Uh, yes. I suppose I am.” Malfoy glanced over at the professor, who was still smiling proudly with his arms open, as if waiting for Harry or Draco to say how thrilled they were to be reacquainted.

“I heard that you were doing a Potions Mastery,” Harry said flatly. It was the best he could manage in the moment. If it didn’t come out sounding friendly, the professor didn’t appear to notice.

Malfoy raised his chin, and asked,“Keeping tabs on me, Potter?”

Harry forced himself to shrug. “Someone should.”

“Oh, sure, I would have thought that someone should be my probation Auror, not, you know, Harry Potter himself.”

Harry’s cheeks burned. No one said his name like that anymore. Next to Malfoy, the professor nodded to himself and mouthed the words ‘probation Auror’ with his brow furrowed. Then he looked up and smiled, eyebrows raised, patted Malfoy’s shoulder, and said “I’ll just leave you two boys to it, eh? Lots to catch up on, I’m sure.”

When the professor was gone, Malfoy and Harry stood still, neither one saying anything as the silence stretched between them. Just when Harry was about to open his mouth to say something, anything, Malfoy tilted his head and said, “Later.”

He gave Harry an aborted wave, reached up to put his sunglasses on and walked over to a chaise lounge by the pool’s edge. There, Draco pulled a worn paperback out of his back pocket before he sat down. Harry resisted the urge to follow and stalked to the other side of the garden instead.

“Harry!” Chiara, another student in the program and the person who he’d become closest to in their cohort, waved him over. “Who’s the new guy?” She nodded towards Malfoy. “Do you know him?”

“That’s Draco Malfoy. We went to school together.” Harry knew he sounded annoyed, but he couldn’t help it, too thrown by Malfoy’s sudden presence to mask how he felt. Chiara was standing next to him and he couldn’t see her face, couldn’t gauge how much he should share. Since starting the program, so far from home, Harry was never sure what his classmates knew about him or the war. Chiara definitely could tell Harry was a little powerful and a little fucked up, but she rarely commented on it.

They stood and watched as Malfoy ran a hand through his hair and then turned the page of his book. Chiara giggled and leaned her head on Harry’s shoulder.

“He’s cute. I bet everyone had a crush on him in school.”

“Hmm, some people, maybe.” Harry pictured Malfoy back at Hogwarts, sneering at him from across the Great Hall in his Slytherin tie and robes. Objectively, the summery white shirt and sunglasses were a better look. While Harry was trying to remember if he’d ever seen Draco’s calves before – they were very pale and he thought there might be a fine dusting of hair – Chiara grabbed his hand and tugged him towards a volleyball net someone had charmed to hang, floating above the lawn.

Everyone in the program insisted on calling the game Wizarding Volleyball, and Harry had played all summer the year before, waiting to figure out why the game was different from Muggle Volleyball. Now, at the end of a second summer, he still wasn’t sure. He’d brought it up the first time they had played, saying, “Oh, like in the Olympics, on telly.”

The student organizing the game had given Harry a pitying look and replied, “But that would have been Muggle Volleyball. Don’t worry too much, I’m sure you’ll catch on.”

Even if it was just Muggle Volleyball, it was still stupidly fun and more importantly, a welcome distraction from Draco, who was hovering in Harry's periphery like the ghost of Hogwarts past. Chiara’s enthusiasm was infectious and each time they gained a point she would whoop and cheer while giving Harry a celebratory swat on the arse. When they won, she launched herself into Harry’s arms, bikini-clad body pressed against him, warm and friendly, her curly hair tickling his nose. Harry grinned and carried her over to a table with water, belting “We are the champions…” terribly off key.

Once he had put her down, Chiara held the cold bottle against Harry’s flushed cheek and said, “You know, maybe I had it wrong.”

“Hmm?” Harry took the water from her and drank.

“About your friend, Dray-co.” She said his name in a sing-song voice. Harry made a face at the ground. “I mean, maybe everyone at your school did have a crush on him, but he definitely had a crush on you. He hasn’t stopped watching you since he got here.” Harry’s head jerked up in surprise.

“I dunno, we really didn’t get on. He’s probably just thinking about hexing me or something.”

“I thought he was going to hex me when I hugged you.” Chiara didn’t sound convinced.

Harry shook his head. “Trust me, there’s no one in history who’s ever had less of a crush on me than Draco Malfoy.” Across the garden, Draco put his book down and started unbuttoning his shirt. Harry turned away. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

Over on the patio, the professor had set out an assortment: mini-panini, pizette, crisps, and fruit from the orchards. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Draco folding his white shirt neatly, then attempting to apply a sun protection charm to his back. Harry bit aggressively into a panini, tearing at the bread with his teeth, sending olive oil and tomato running down his arm, crumbs everywhere.

“Harry! You’re such a mess.” Chiara leaned over to offer him a napkin and an eye roll. “Maybe you should get a plate.”

“Don’t bother.” A shadow fell over Harry as he brushed the crumbs off his shirt. It was Draco of course, because who else would appear to stand ominously over Harry while he was trying to eat a sandwich? He hadn’t just come over to annoy Harry, he was also fondling the apricots, pressing his thumb firmly into the flesh of one, then another.

“Don’t bother?” Chiara asked, sounding interested.

Draco gave her a knowing look. “He’s always been this way. We used to glare at each other over breakfast, and he had terrible table manners.”

Chiara lit up at Draco’s flippant dig, clearly charmed. For his part, Harry couldn’t believe six years of bitter animosity was being boiled down to angry looks over breakfast. He scowled out towards the pool.

“Yeah, that’s exactly it.” Draco pointed a finger in Harry’s face. “Honestly, I’m surprised it never put me off my weetabix.”

Harry cleared his throat. “What do you want, Malfoy? You took your shirt off and walked over here to call me ugly?” Chiara snorted.

“No, I came over here for a snack.” Draco raised his eyebrows and bit into an apricot. The juices went everywhere, smearing across his cheek and dripping onto his bare chest.

Chiara looked like she was trying not to laugh and handed him a napkin as well, saying, “Okay, okay, so you’re just as much of a disaster as Harry. Anyways, I’m Chiara, and you have to tell me what charms you use to get your hair that color.”

“That’s just years of inbreeding and bigotry, I’m afraid.” Draco took the napkin and wiped his face and sternum. “The Malfoy special.” He gave a rueful little grin, as though Harry were in on the joke, which Harry supposed he was, only he was surprised that Draco was the one telling it.

Chiara pouted and said, “That’s no fun. Am I supposed to feel bad for you that you hit the genetic lottery for natural blonde hair?”

“No, not at all. You’re supposed to feel bad for Potter over here, who’s never had a good hair day in his life.”

“Oi!” Harry protested, reaching up to pat at his head. He was still sort of sweaty from playing volleyball, and it felt like things might be even wilder than usual.

“Oh, no. We love Harry’s hair. It’s such a sexy, bedhead kind of look, don’t you think?” Chiara asked, reaching out to bury her hand into Harry’s hair. She waggled her eyebrows. “Like he’s just been, you know, hot and heavy…”

Harry expected Draco to recoil in disgust at the suggestion that he might find Harry sexy. Instead, Draco just opened his mouth and closed it, a pink blush spreading high on his cheekbones. He licked his lips, eyes fixed on Chiara’s hand, now massaging Harry’s scalp, and said faintly, “I suppose some people are into that sort of thing.”

Chiara snickered. Harry stepped on her toe. “I’m going to go swim. Chiara, should we swim?”


The water was cool, and Harry found it was easier to ignore Draco this way, floating on his back, his ears mostly submerged. Somewhere to his left, Chiara was introducing Malfoy to students Harry knew were enrolled in the Potions program. Malfoy spoke more Italian than Harry, getting through the introductions and pleasantries before having to switch to English. One of the Potions students said, “Any friend of Harry’s is a friend of ours!” Harry considered getting out of the pool.

It wasn’t that he even really cared about Draco Malfoy anymore. So what if Draco was sort of funny and self-aware now? Harry had plenty of other people he could hang out with. He didn’t need to waste any energy on someone who had literally stepped on his face once. Even so, Harry knew deep down some twisted part of him was relieved to see Draco– maybe even glad– that obnoxiously posh accent making cutting remarks and curing a small homesickness Harry could never seem to shake.

And to make matters worse, Chiara was right: Malfoy looked good. He was still lean, but he’d filled out since Harry had last seen him, having gained a layer of wiry muscle that flexed gently while he treaded water. A silver hoop went through Draco’s left ear, glinting in the sunlight that bounced off the water, delicate against the cut of his jaw. It was hot. Harry groaned and dunked his head under. When he came up, Malfoy was there, watching him curiously.

“Feeling refreshed?” Draco inquired, eyes narrowed and tone gently mocking. He was only an arms length away, the water lapping at his chest. Harry leaned back against the side of the pool, struck by how weird it really was to be in a swimming pool in rural Italy, fielding teasing remarks from Draco Malfoy. He didn’t take the bait, choosing instead to ask a real question in return.

“Did you know that I’d be here, when you enrolled for the term?” Harry genuinely wanted to know. At the start of the program, he had worked hard to keep his plans hushed up. The papers had run a few stories when he left England – Where in the World is Harry Potter – but none of his friends had talked, and eventually the lack of information got boring.

Draco was quiet for a moment, and then he shrugged. “The Wizarding World is not very big.”

“Did you come here because of me, then?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Draco furrowed his brow, looking annoyed. “No, actually there aren’t very many programs who will take a junior Death Eater, even one who’s never missed a hearing or therapy appointment.”

“Junior Death Eater? Really? That’s what you’re going to call yourself?”

“That’s what you took from that? Not that I’ve been in therapy for years–”

“I think you’ve mistaken me for Hermione.” Harry interrupted Draco. “Half of why I decided to come here was just to get out of listening to her harp on about therapy.”

“It’ll shock you to hear me say it, but Granger’s right. You might find it helpful with... What did Chiara call you? A disaster?”

“She said you were a disaster too, and you’ve been to therapy, so arguably I’m still coming out on top here.”

“Well, that’s not so difficult is it?” Draco pointed at himself. “Junior Death Eater here, remember?”

Harry breathed in sharply. “Yeah, no it’s quite hard to forget that.”

“Of course.” Draco bowed his head slightly, looking contrite. “But that’s why I’m here. You being here as well was just an added… something.”

Once upon a time, that answer would have infuriated Harry. He would have been certain that Draco was leaving something out on purpose so he could hold it against Harry later, when it suited him. But now, floating in a swimming pool, five years and 850 miles later, he couldn’t come up with any reason why Draco might not be telling the truth.

Harry took a step forward and prodded Draco’s bicep where it was starting to turn red from the sun. “You should be careful. That kind of burn is difficult to heal.”

“Ouch.” Draco batted Harry’s hand away, grabbing at his wrist, his elbow. Then, before Harry could register what was happening, he pushed Harry under the water, laughing when Harry scrambled up and launched at him. They scuffled for a minute and Harry managed to dunk Draco twice, his shoulders sun-warm and slippery in Harry’s hold.

After the second time, Draco held his hands up, gasping, “Truce, truce! Merlin, I should have known better.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Harry replied smugly, but he was out of breath too, his palms itching to get Draco under them again. He shook the water from his hair.

Draco looked unimpressed. “I was about to say that the water was helping, but I was wrong, your hair is beyond help. You look like an angry hedgehog.”

Harry grinned, the smug feeling morphing into something hot and bright. They were flirting. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“When it comes to you, Potter? No, definitely not.”


They stayed in the water for too long, their fingertips shriveled and chilled by the time the sun started to dip in earnest. Draco had a million questions: about the program (Harry thought it was pretty good, but he had nothing to compare it to), about the village (quaint but boring, Harry often traveled on weekends), about Harry’s own studies (still generalized, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to focus on). Sometimes, someone else would chime in, giving their opinion on the food at the cafe on campus, or which professors to avoid at all costs, but mostly it was just Harry and Draco, having the longest, most civil conversation they’d ever had.

If Harry had wanted to rationalize the choice of ignoring his new friends to chat to Draco Malfoy, telling himself that Draco had changed would only have been half true. Draco was different; he wasn’t using slurs or making thinly veiled threats, but Harry couldn’t even remember the last time Draco had really been like that. Before the war, certainly. A lifetime ago. The other half of the truth was that in a lot of ways, Draco was just like he remembered; sharp, a little mean, and singularly focused on Harry.

As they talked, the party wound down around them. The other students helped to clear the tables and went to the pool house to change out of their swimsuits. Eventually, Chiara appeared, holding out a couple of towels.

“A bunch of us are going to go drink in the village. There’s a DJ night at the bar and it should be fun,” she said.

“There’s a club in the village?” Draco asked, looking skeptical.

DJ night,” Chiara corrected. “The village definitely doesn’t have a club. But it’s usually good music. You should come because Harry is a terrible dancer, but he makes up for it with enthusiasm. Seems up your alley.”

“Well, if I wasn’t persuaded before…” Draco pressed himself up and out of the water, biceps and forearms rippling, and took one of the towels. “I’ll have to go home and change.” This statement seemed to be directed at Harry, with an air of uncertainty, as if Draco was asking permission to go out with Harry’s friends. Harry just nodded and waited for him to walk away.

When Harry took the second towel from Chiara, she said, “That didn’t look like two people who wanted to hex each other.” Her expression reminded him of Hermione, a kind of ‘I told you so’ combined with ‘Tell me everything’. Unlucky for Chiara, Harry had a lot of practice with that sort of look. After years of hanging out with Hermione, he was practically immune. This was good, if only because Harry had no idea what to say.

Instead of responding, he went to the pool house to change, shrinking down his swim trunks and putting on the clothes he’d worn earlier in the day. When Harry was ready to leave, a noise at the window startled him. He thought it was an owl at first, and it was definitely shaped like a bird. On closer inspection, it was a note, intricately folded and charmed to deliver itself.

If you don’t want me hanging out with your friends, I won’t go. Don’t want to ruin your evening more than I might have already. I really am sorry, you know. About all of it.


There was enough space left for a reply. Harry tried not to think too hard, found a pen and wrote back.

Don’t be a prick. I’ll see you there.

He crossed out his own name on the outside and wrote Draco’s. When he was finished, the note refolded itself and took flight again.


The bar was dark and loud, with all the tables pushed out to the edges for a makeshift dance floor. Harry lost Chiara almost immediately into the thrum of people, lit up sporadically by strobing charms and reflections off a disco ball that hung from the ceiling. While Harry contemplated finding her or maybe a drink, he felt someone come up next to him. It took seeing Draco, crisscrossed by a rainbow of flashing light, for Harry to realize he had been waiting.

Draco had swapped the green swim trunks for khaki shorts and converse, and the white shirt for one that made his eyes look blue instead of grey, although that could have been the lights, or maybe–

“Are you wearing eyeliner?”

“When in Rome!” Draco shouted over the music, leaning forward. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his arms making a tense, straight line down from his shoulders. Harry wanted to reach out and shake him.

“We’re in Liguria,” Harry shouted back.

Draco smiled. “Do you want something to drink? I’m going to get a drink.”

He brought Harry back a beer. It was light and cold, and he had another glass for himself as well. They stood shoulder to shoulder and watched people dance, a mix of students from the university and locals—the farm kids who mostly hated the students, but came to their parties anyway.

“I’m here because I thought I was going to get to see some terrible dancing,” Draco said, “not that these people are particularly good, but I think the implication was that you are on a different level…” He didn’t look at Harry as he spoke, addressing the crowd, and then his beer.

“Are you asking me to dance, Malfoy?” Harry spoke lightly, trying to use that gentle, teasing voice Draco was so good at.

The side of Draco’s mouth quirked up. “When in Liguria, right?”

Draco could dance. Harry tried to remember if he knew that already, dredging up long forgotten memories of Draco in dress robes with Pansy Parkinson at the Yule Ball. He felt a hot lick of jealousy, which was ridiculous because Draco was right there in front of him, losing his mind to What is Love. Emboldened by something – The noise? The dark? The jealousy? – Harry reached out and gripped Draco’s hips, leaning up to speak directly in his ear, closer than was strictly necessary.

“I didn’t know you were a fan of Muggle dance mixes.” Harry’s lips caught Draco’s ear and he felt him shiver. “I would have thought you were too Pureblood for that.” Draco moved a fraction of an inch, so they were cheek to cheek.

“That just shows how unobservant you are, Potter.” His voice was deeper up close. “Slytherin had the best parties, and we weren’t going to let our prejudices get in the way of that.” Harry laughed in spite of himself. “Cher, Whitney, we had it all.”

The DJ fumbled the fade into the next song, and a startling quiet came over the room. It only lasted a few seconds before a Madonna remix came thumping on, but that was long enough for Harry to lose his nerve. He let go of Draco and took a step back, suddenly extremely aware of his hands and not sure what he was doing with them. Sweat was gathering on his palms and at the back of his neck, his heartbeat thudding wildly in his chest.

Draco looked concerned and he was asking something, although it was hard to tell what, with the music and the distance between them. Thinking quickly, Harry mimed smoking a cigarette and pointed to the back patio. Draco seemed to get it, nodding and giving Harry a little wave. He felt a bit guilty, leaving Draco like that with no warning, but Draco had just melted into the crowd to dance with some witches Harry didn’t recognize.

The air outside was cooler than in the bar, a relief against Harry’s skin. Chiara was on the patio already, smoking and chatting with some of the local teens. Harry wasn’t surprised to see her. She had this knack for being where he needed her to be: in the library when he couldn’t understand the reading, at the cafe when he wanted a coffee and some gossip, and once during the first term, on his doorstep with takeaway pizza when he was too exhausted to cook and too lonely to be alone. The night with the pizza, after they’d eaten and Harry felt better, he’d asked her if she had the Sight. It was meant to be a joke, but Chiara had been serious in her reply.

“Sometimes I just know, when it comes to my friends.” If it was improbable, Harry had decided not to think about that, choosing instead to be grateful that he had met her at all.

She clocked him immediately outside the bar. “How’s it going with your old friend Dray-co?”

“Not my old friend,” Harry said automatically. He reached over to steal Chiara’s cigarette and take a drag. “God, it’s just so annoying that he turned out to be so hot.”

“Mmm. I think you should go for it.”

“Go for what?”

Chiara took back the cigarette. “Just, whatever it is you want.” She hip-checked him gently. “He’s looking for you.” Harry stared into the bar. It only took a moment to spot Draco, standing taller than most, peering out towards the back patio. “I bet if you go over there, you’ll figure it out.”

Harry felt less certain. If Chiara told Harry what to do and he listened, did that mean her ability to be in the right place at the right time would transfer to him? He hoped so. It was simpler to go back over to Draco than Harry anticipated. Just six long strides and they were side by side again, far enough from the speakers that Harry could hear when Draco said, “I got this for you.”

He pressed a shot glass of something clear into Harry’s hand and clinked his own identical glass against it in a toast. Whatever it was, it went down easy.

“Sorry I left you in here. Got a bit warm, that’s all,” Harry said. Draco shrugged in response and reached up to tuck some hair behind his ear. Chiara was visible to Harry’s left, giving him a massive thumbs up. Harry took a breath and soldiered on. “I mean, it’s just that time of year when it barely even cools off in the evenings. I’d give anything to go back and jump in the professor’s pool now.”

“Do you still have that cloak?”

“Not on me. And besides, I’ve given up breaking and entering these days,” Harry said wistfully.

“That must have been difficult,” Draco offered, all sarcasm and feigned solemnity. But then he paused, the sarcasm giving way to a thoughtful expression. “Actually, I might have an idea.”

“You can get into the professor’s garden?”

“I mean, I am a wizard, as are you. But no – and please, if this sounds weird we can just forget that I said it – I have a bath. At my flat.” Draco twisted the shot glass in his hands.

Harry was confused, but he didn’t want to scare Draco off, so he just nodded in what he hoped was an encouraging way, trying to adopt a polite, interested sort of posture, and asked, “A bath?” It came out sounding like a bad impression of the Queen.

“Shut up, Potter. You were never a Prefect, but there was this bath–”

“Oh, I’ve been in the Prefect's bath.” Harry grinned. “My breaking and entering days, remember?”

“Of course, you just did whatever, went wherever…” Draco trailed off, distracted. He re-tucked the hair behind his ear. “Anyway, the bath at my flat is like the Prefect’s bath. That's why I took the place. And we could go, if you wanted.”

Harry wanted.


Draco’s flat was just one block off of the square and up a flight of stairs in a short unassuming building. The main room wasn’t impressive, just a studio with dark furniture and plaster walls. Harry did his best not to look at the bed. No one had ever invited him to have a bath before.

A low door next to the kitchenette gave way to a massive bathroom. Draco hadn’t exaggerated. The bath was just like the Prefect’s bath, sunk into the floor with at least ten taps to choose from, each labeled in Italian. It was certainly big enough for two.

Draco busied himself first with the water, choosing a tap that wafted lavender, then with lighting the sconces along the walls, setting the room aglow. The bathroom was clean, no traces of soap scum or errant toothpaste in the sink, but still clearly Draco’s, his hair potions lined up neatly in the shower, the green swim trunks slung over a towel bar. They both stood barefoot on the tile.

When the tub was nearly full, Harry pulled his t-shirt over his head and slipped out of his shorts, before climbing in.

“Two years here, and you’ve become very European, very continental, haven’t you?” Draco’s eyes were wide, and focused somewhere around Harry’s left nipple. “Letting it all hang out.” He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts, hesitating.

“I’d say Italians are more of a ‘tits out’ kind of crowd.” Harry stretched his legs out, almost reaching the other end of the bath where Draco stood. “I went on a trip to Japan though, with Ron and Hermione and Ginny, before moving out here. The onsen culture there... well, you get used to bathing nude with your friends pretty quickly, anyway.”

“I’ve never been to Japan,” Draco said, finally pulling off his shorts as well. Harry’s pulse quickened and his mouth flooded with saliva. Draco’s cock was thick and pink and heavy between his legs. He didn’t know if he should be looking. He didn’t know why he had brought up Japan. This was nothing like the onsen he had visited with Ron. It was much closer to the sauna in Berlin where he’d spent time without Ron, over Easter break.

“We could go sometime… to Japan.” Harry’s cock was stirring under the water, and the steam was making him hot, or was that Draco?

“To Japan?” Draco sounded unsure. He finally got into the bath as well, settling in on the other side, his hip by Harry’s foot.

Harry nudged at Draco’s hip with his toe, pressing hard until he felt like he could breathe again. “Yeah sure, at the end of term. Let’s take a trip.”

Draco laughed a little and reached down to grip Harry’s foot, squeezing at the arch. Harry made a helpless noise, his attention caught between the delicious pressure of Draco’s thumb and the flush spreading across his chest. It was a sex flush. Harry was sure of it. He cleared his throat and asked, “What happens now?”

Draco’s eyes were wide, his pupils dilated. He licked his lips. “What do you mean?” The flush spread up his neck. Harry wanted to reach out and feel if his skin was warm from it.

“I mean, can I kiss you?” Harry thought the question was obvious, but maybe he was wrong. Draco opened his mouth, but no sound came out and the hand holding Harry’s foot went slack. Harry used the opportunity to wade across the tub, stopping when he was just in front of Draco. He tried again, reaching over to cup the side of Draco’s neck with his hand.

“Can I kiss you?”

Draco swallowed and tilted his face up. “Yes, please.”

Harry leaned down and pressed his lips to Draco’s left cheek, then the right. Draco’s eyes fluttered shut. When Harry gave in and kissed him on the lips, he sighed, as though he’d been waiting years instead of seconds. They moved together, everything slick and warm. Under the water, Harry was already fully hard. All it had taken was moving across the bath, knowing Draco was there on the other side. He went to straddle Draco’s waist, grinding against him in a bid for friction.

When Draco reached down to grip their cocks in his fist, it was almost too much, and he dropped his head onto Draco’s shoulder, breathing in. Underneath the lavender steam Draco smelled so good, like the summer air outside, the liquor from the bar, and clean skin. As Draco began to move, stroking them both in earnest, Harry remembered how good Draco’s cock had looked getting into the tub, not even halfway erect. He mumbled into Draco's neck, “I wanted to suck you.”

Draco let out a wild little huff of a laugh and said, “Later. You can suck me later, Potter.” He brought their lips together again. Harry thought he could feel him smiling, and then all he could feel was the tight heat of Draco’s hand and the sweet slide of their cocks together, building, building, building.

After, they stayed in the tub for a bit. The water prevented the normal sticky aftermath, but eventually Draco made a face and said, “Okay, I don’t think I can lay in my own spunk any longer.” He got up and made his way over to the shower and switched it on.

While he waited for the water to warm, Draco turned and caught Harry admiring the long line of his back, the dip into the swell of his arse, a sweet palmful, now out of reach. Harry blushed. Draco just smirked and asked, “Are you coming or not?”

Draco made good on his promise from earlier, letting Harry sink to his knees under the shower spray and take him down. There wasn’t any need for cushioning charms on the tiles, Draco came hard and fast down Harry’s throat with his hands buried deep in his hair. He offered to reciprocate, but Harry wanted something else.

He pressed Draco up against the wet glass of the shower stall and rode the cleft of his arse, his cockhead occasionally slipping into the tight grip of Draco’s thighs, nudging his balls. When Draco turned his head to whisper, “Do you want to fuck me?”, it was enough to push Harry over the edge.

They had to clean up again after that.

In bed, fucked out and lying on Draco’s starched sheets, something occurred to Harry.

“Was it a move? Inviting me to come and have a bath?”

“Was it a move? You’re the one who took all of your clothes off and then invited me on a trip to Japan.” Harry laughed at Draco’s indignance. “I thought we would wear our swim trunks and I’d be lucky if I got you to kiss me by the end of the night.”

“So you didn’t invite me over to suck your dick?” Harry reached down and gave the dick in question a gentle tug, swiping his thumb over the slit. Draco hissed, but Harry felt him begin to slowly harden all the same.

“Well, it wasn’t the plan specifically for tonight, but I’ve wanted you to do that for ages,” Draco said, thrusting shallowly into Harry’s hand.

“You have not!” Harry looked up in surprise. “We haven’t even seen each other in years.”

“Mmmmm. I guess not recently. But I used to spend a lot of time wanking to the idea of you sucking me off after quidditch.” Draco’s breath hitched, as Harry resumed his light stroking. “In the showers. Slytherin would have won of course, and you’d be mad. Mad about how good I was at quidditch. Mad about me.”

Harry laughed and cupped Draco’s balls with his other hand, applying gentle pressure. “I had no idea. It would have been a good stress release, probably. Better than trying to duel or whatever. There’s a fall quidditch league on campus. No shower facilities at the pitch, but we could always come back here.”

Draco rolled his hips and lifted his head so he could kiss Harry once, on the mouth. “You’re going to get me all messy again,” he said, and then reached down to find Harry’s cock and grip it firmly.

“We can scourgify and take another bath in the morning.” Harry disentangled himself slightly so he could climb on top of Draco. He felt for his wand on the bedside table, wordlessly casting a lubrication charm in the direction of Draco’s cock and then his own.

Scourgify,” Draco scoffed, “you are a disaster.”

Harry frotted against Draco, smearing lube and pre-cum everywhere. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No-o,” Draco said slowly, thrusting back. “I told you, I love that bath. I want to use it as much as possible.”

Harry leaned down and bit at Draco’s lower lip. “I’m going to hold you to that.”