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Ferocious Determination, Insufficient Deliberation, and a Slightly Wrong Destination

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His bed was too firm. And wet. The firmness he could understand, firm beds existed (though his was fluffy, normally), but the wetness was highly unusual. And somewhat uncomfortable. Even his cheek felt wet, pressed against something hard and not very pillow-like. Draco cracked an eye open, squinting at the would-be pillow. It was hard to think, because he was already half-asleep, but he was pretty sure pillows didn't have nipples. But that was what Draco saw — a dark brown, taut nipple, which had the audacity to pretend it was a part of Draco's not fluffy pillow. Frowning at the furrowed flesh, Draco stuck out his tongue and experimentally touched the nipple with the tip.

The bed twitched.

Interesting, Draco reflected. His previously fluffy, peaceful, and nipple-less bed had never done that before. It was rather entertaining. Lazily, Draco licked the nipple again.

The bed gasped.

Very interesting. It was actually making sounds now.

The bed wobbled beneath him and Draco's world tilted.

"Argh," he complained as his stomach lurched. "Stop that. Bad bed. Stay still." The bloody bed was giving him a headache.

"Malfoy?" the bed asked, whispered even, sounding fearful, which was logical since a bed shouldn't have been able to speak at all and it must have been aware of it. At least it was intelligent enough to know that.

"Shhhhh," Draco whispered back. "I'm sleeping."

"Er . . ."

Honestly. The damned bed sounded confused. The nerve of it! Draco should have been the one to complain. He was tired and he needed rest and the stupid bed was trying to unsettle him by talking and teasing him with nipples. How rude.

The bed wobbled again and Draco growled, then gasped in surprise as his biceps were gripped — by what? Draco dearly wished to know — and he was lifted in the air. An odd splashing sound distracted him as he struggled to make his disobedient eyelids open. When he finally managed, he was greeted by a pair of green eyes and a mass of messy black hair framing a pale face.

"Bloody hell." Draco gasped, staring at his bed that, despite all logic, looked suspiciously like Harry Potter. A wet and naked Harry Potter. "You look . . ." Draco took in the sight of Potter, his bewildered gaze, gaping mouth, and generally daft appearance. "Authentic," he concluded.

Draco's gaze swept over Potter's hands that held Draco's biceps in a firm grip, over his arms that looked pleasingly strong and long, over Potter's bare chest that sported nipples that, Draco remembered, were rather scrumptious, and then Draco's wandering gaze settled on Potter's full lips that glistened wetly in the candlelight and begged to be kissed.

"I'm a fucking genius," Draco said, amazed. He experienced a moment of clarity and realised that it was, in fact, impossible for beds to speak and quiver and have nipples, unless they had been Transfigured and Charmed. That was the only sensible explanation. Even though Draco didn't remember Transfiguring his bed into Harry Potter; he didn't even remembered where he had left his wand — it certainly wasn't in his hand. In fact, he remembered precious few things about that evening. He knew he had been in a pub, trying out some interesting cocktails decorated with lemon slices and tiny pink umbrellas. They had looked quite harmless and Draco had drunk a few of them before deciding it was time to call it a night and head home. He remembered he had (very logically, thus proving he wasn't drunk) concluded it was impossible to walk from London to Wiltshire and, as a result, settled on Apparating home.

That was the last thing he remembered. Except there were other images dancing in front of his eyes. Potter was present in all of them, but that was not as unusual as Draco would have liked. Visions of Harry Potter (typically naked and often restrained) liked to sneak up on Draco in various inopportune moments. One particular image of Potter lying on Draco's bed with a come-hither look and a wide smile splitting his face stuck out in Draco's brain. That was definitely a recent image. It had rudely assaulted Draco's mind not that long ago; possibly mere minutes ago. Draco had been walking aimlessly through the empty streets, and he thought about home and his bed, and then Potter on his bed, and then himself on the bed with Potter and that must have somehow resulted in this. He must have Apparated directly onto his bed and then ingeniously and wandlessly (which was technically impossible, but that merely proved Draco's brilliance) Transfigured his bed into a spitting image of Harry Potter.

He wished he could remember the incantation he had used. He could patent it and sell it, and make a fortune. However, that could wait. He already had a fortune, but he'd never had Potter.

Draco struggled to make his hands move, which they did after a few tries (they seemed to have been stuck somewhere warm and wet, but Draco had not energy to worry about it). Fascinated, Draco splayed his palms over Potter's chest, his warm, firm chest that was too bloody fit to be real. It must have been a part of the Transfiguration; naked Potter was perfect because Draco wished him to be. After all, Draco had no idea how Potter's naked body looked. A passing glance at Potter's retreating figure was all he managed to achieve at work. Potter and he worked in different departments and weren't exactly on the best of terms. Or any sort of terms. But that was all irrelevant, because now that Draco had magically created a flawless Potter, he didn't need the stuck up — and dressed! — version of him.

Potter's skin felt like silk underneath Draco's touch, and Draco trailed his fingertips over muscles and nipples, then upward toward Potter's face, where he dragged his thumb over Potter's parted lips.

"Perfection," Draco breathed, deeply impressed by his creation.

"Er," Potter said and Draco laughed giddily. He had heard Potter say er countless times. Amazing. He even managed to provide the Transfigured Potter with the real Potter's dictionary. That must have worked only because Potter's vocabulary was woefully limited.

Pressing his lips to Potter's would have been Draco's next move, but his arms were still restrained by Potter's grip and Draco couldn't reach that far. He struggled to free himself, but Potter was a little too genuine, apparently, because, like the real Potter, he just had to be difficult and contrary, denying Draco what he wanted.

Deciding that diversionary tactics were the way to go, Draco slipped his hands lower and pinched Potter's nipples between his forefingers and thumbs. With a surprised squeaky sound (that would have to be dealt with if Draco were to sell his invention) Potter's grip loosened and Draco lowered himself effortlessly onto Potter's body.

The odd splashing sound distracted him again. Why the fuck was everything so wet?

"Malfoy, what are you . . . Jesus!" Potter gasped as Draco's crotch brushed against something hard and warm and — Draco wriggled a little — oh, long. Brilliant. Not only was Potter well-equipped, he was already hard for him. Fortune and fame were smiling at Draco. However, Potter was not.

"Malfoy!" Potter said again, in that reproachful tone only Potter could manage, and that never failed to send sparks of arousal directly to Draco's cock. "You're —"

"Going to kiss you," Draco finished for him, leaning down. Potter's eyes widened comically and his hands gripped Draco's biceps again, but Draco was quicker. With a moan, he pressed his lips to Potter's, tasting them with his tongue before he pulled Potter's full bottom lip into his mouth. Vague sounds of disbelief and protest didn't bother him in the slightest as he nibbled and licked the succulent flesh. Potter's surprised gasp only helped; Draco took advantage of the moment and slipped his tongue past Potter's lips.

"Mmmm," Potter mumbled and Draco had no idea if that was a sound of pleasure of distaste, but he didn't care. Potter was ultimately just an enchanted object; Draco couldn't care less if it didn't like to be kissed, all he knew was that he liked to kiss it. Potter's mouth tasted even better than Potter's nipples, and Draco could not stop exploring the sweetness with his tongue.

"Mmmph!" Potter cried and managed to push Draco away.

"Damn it!" Draco growled. "What is your problem?" he asked and then continued quickly because Potter looked like he planned to say something stupid. "I made you, Potter, and now I will shag you." Draco pointed a threatening finger at Potter's shocked face. "Don't move."

Surprisingly, it worked, and Potter stilled, staring up at Draco with a characteristically dumb expression.

"Much better," Draco praised, pleased. "I like the gaping-like-a-fool look you have there. Very convincing. It brings the auth-auth-ent-icity aspect to the front." Draco cleared his throat. Great, now he was stuttering. He waggled his finger at Potter's steadily blurring face. "Still," he ordered, closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Potter's again. "Mmm. Good bed," he moaned, peppering tiny kisses over Potter's mouth and jaw — all of it wet, wet, wet. Why the fuck were they wet? — before sliding his lips lower and concentrating on licking off the numerous droplets of water that clung to the delicious skin of Potter's neck.

"You made me?" Potter asked, his Adam's apple bobbing and his voice rumbling in his throat; the throat that Draco was licking and kissing with absolute dedication.

"This is a wrong moment to have an existential crisis," Draco mumbled against Potter's skin. "But yes, you were my bed and I turned you into Harry Potter. Now act like a bed and stop talking."

There was a long pause.

"I'm a bed?"

"Indeed. A bed with very nice earlobes," Draco added when he reached Potter's ears and pulled one fleshy earlobe into his mouth.

"And, um, why did you turn your bed into me?"

Draco sighed, lazily sucking on the earlobe in his mouth. Merlin, but this bed of his was a talker. "Because I'm a genius."

"Right. Obviously."

"You're wet," Draco accused. Even Potter's hair was wet, but it also smelled nice; clean and sweet, inviting Draco to bury his nose in it and breathe in the mouth-watering scent.

"Was that not part of your spell?"

"It was unplanned, that's all." Draco sighed again, burying his nose even deeper into Potter's sweet-smelling hair. "I think I'm a bit tipsy," he confessed, very quietly.

"No, surely not." Potter sounded appropriately scandalised. Really, as his bed he ought to have known that Draco was rarely drunk. Good old bed. Draco pressed an affectionate kiss to Potter's temple.

"Are you smelling my hair?" Potter asked, sounding fearful again.

"It smells nice. You smell nice. I bet you smell better than Potter." If the real Potter smelled that nice, that would have been unfair. Potter couldn't possibly look so good and smell so lovely, and not be Draco's. Oh Merlin, and taste so good, Draco groaned as he pressed sloppy wet kisses to Potter's temple and cheek, moving toward his lips. He was just about to snog Potter senseless when a hand touched the side of his face and stopped him.

Frowning, Draco focused on Potter's unnaturally green eyes. "You're supposed to be still," he chastised.

"I'm afraid I'm having an existential crisis and I have some more questions."

Draco groaned, possibly even whined a little. Honestly, the whole selling the incantation thing wouldn't work out. Who'd buy such a nagging product?

"I promise I'll be very still afterward." Potter looked at him earnestly.

Urgh. It was actually negotiating. Too damn authentic, this fucking bed.

"Fine. What?" Draco asked and stuck out his bottom lip. To make himself feel better he leaned into Potter's touch, letting Potter's hand cup his cheek.

Potter's gaze flickered toward his hand and then slowly refocused on Draco. "I was just wondering why you — so ingeniously, of course — turned me into Potter? Why not use that unbelievable power to make something or someone else? Why Potter?"

Draco huffed. "You're just a bed. You wouldn't understand."

"But I'm a bed that . . ." Potter gave a little disbelieving laugh and then cleared his throat. "A bed that plans to be really still and really compliant if you answer my questions."

Draco weighed his options. The bed was annoyingly tedious, but its promise sounded, well, promising, so surely there was no harm in telling the bed the truth. It was his bed and it was unlikely to walk around and tell someone Draco's secrets.

"All right." Draco nodded and then lowered his head; his face was so close to Potter's that their noses touched. Potter blinked at him, his eyes widening, but he remained still. "See, Potter is a complete bastard," Draco whispered.

"He is?"

"Yes!" Draco confirmed vehemently. "He doesn't like me at all. In fact, I think he hates me." Draco lowered his voice completely, barely opening his mouth. "Because of all that Death Eater business. Which is just rude of him, because that was years ago. He's supposedly a great hero and everyone goes on and on and on about how kind and noble he is, but between you and me? He's a petty, unforgiving bastard."

The bed stared at him.

"I see. Um, and you turned your bed into Potter because . . .?"

"Well, to shag him, obviously." Merlin, it was hard to have a sensible conversation with a bed. Draco shook his head exasperatedly, rubbing his nose against Potter in the process. Potter made a strained sort of sound.

"Er, why would you want to shag a petty, unforgiving bastard?" he asked, a bit breathlessly.

"Honestly, you're not very bright, are you?"

"I'm a bed, remember?"

"I swear, first thing tomorrow, I'll buy a new one," Draco huffed but explained himself, nonetheless. "I don't want to shag the Potter who is a petty, unforgiving bastard, I want to shag a Potter who is a kind and forgiving, er, non bastard, and since he clearly doesn't exist, I had to make him."

"Ah, of course. That makes perfect sense." Potter cleared his throat. "And that's all you want — to shag him?"

"Yes!" Draco frowned. "Well, no. I want to shag him many many many times. In many different ways."

"Hmm." Potter cocked his head; it made him look oddly cute and Draco smiled at him stupidly, futilely trying to stop himself from acting so silly. "It sounds to me like you have a thing for Potter," the bed concluded.

"Oh, you bet your squeaky little mattress, I have a thing for him." Draco leered and pressed his crotch to Potter's, rolling his hips suggestively.

Potter gasped and then blushed furiously.

"You're adorable when you're blushing," Draco cooed and then blinked, vehemently shaking his head, horrified by his behaviour. Perhaps he was tipsier than he had thought.

"By thing," Potter said breathlessly, "I meant a crush. You're crushing on him. God, that's . . ." Potter squirmed underneath Draco, undeniably trying to escape the pressure against his cock. Or maybe intensify it. Draco didn't care either way; he had a horrid accusation to refute.

"I'm not crushing on him!" he gasped, scandalised. "It's not some stupid crush. I'm fucking in love with him!" Draco exclaimed passionately and then, with a horrified gasp, pressed both of his hands against Potter's wide-open mouth. "But we can't say that out loud," he whispered. "We can't risk anyone overhearing." Draco stared at Potter's shocked eyes. "It's a secret. Shhhhhh!"

Potter was so still Draco feared he had inadvertently suffocated him. After all, he had pressed his hands over Potter's mouth and his nose was squished against Potter's, so it wasn't such a crazy thought. Draco quickly lifted his head and hands, and peered carefully into Potter's face.

"Are you alive?" he asked, concerned. "Beds can't die, can they?"

Potter slowly shook his head.

"Good." Draco smiled, relieved. "Will you be still and let me shag you in peace now?"

Potter blinked and then nodded. "Of course. Just a . . . minute." Potter reached sideways and Draco frowned, wondering what a bed could possibly be looking for.

In the next moment, Potter pointed a wand at Draco's forehead.

Fuck. "You're an evil bed," Draco accused, disappointment washing over him. "You're a petty, unforgivable bastard, just like the real Potter."

"Apparently," Potter said before the tingle of his spell spread through Draco's body, from his forehead to his stomach.

Draco shut his eyes tightly. If his bed had turned him into a toad, he did not wish to see it.

Potter's hand was on his cheek again and Draco leaned into the warmth, even though the Potter-bed was clearly a wicked being.

"Hey, open your eyes," Potter said quietly. "It's all right; it was just a Sobriety Charm."

A Sobriety Charm, Draco's mind echoed uncomprehendingly. He carefully opened his eyes and squinted at Potter. Oddly, Potter looked brighter, more in focus somehow. And not just Potter, everything around Draco looked quite clear. The fog in his mind, which he wasn't even aware of before, was slowly lifting and Draco took in his surroundings, confusion replacing the feeling of nausea.

He was in a bathroom. And not in his bathroom, but a completely unfamiliar one. Worse even, he was in a bloody bathtub. A bathtub that was full of water and foam and naked Potter. Worse even, he was fully dressed and soaking wet and straddling Potter's lap.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked and then realised Potter's face was much too close for comfort. He tried to scramble backward, and he managed, but unfortunately Potter rose up with him and settled in a comfortable sitting position with Draco in his lap.

"I live here." Potter looked amused as he wrapped his arms around Draco's back.

Draco should have struggled and shook him off, but his disobedient limbs refused to move; they must have been in shock.

"You live in a bathroom?" Draco asked, stalling for time.

"I bathe in my bathroom; I live in my flat. The question is, what are you doing here?"

"That much is obvious." Draco straightened his back and levelled a glare at Potter. "You have drugged and kidnapped me. And now you're molesting me. In case you were wondering, I will file a lawsuit," Draco said, relatively sure of his theory, but disturbingly failing to panic at the thought of being kidnapped and molested by Harry Potter.

"And how exactly did I manage to do that from my bath?" Potter, the bastard, still looked amused. Draco opened his mouth to argue further, but Potter intercepted. "You appeared here, on top of me, out of nowhere with a pop. Does this description sound familiar?"

Draco's throat dried as he processed Potter's words and the evening's events.

Oh, fuck. He remembered trying to Apparate and concentrating hard on Malfoy Manor, thinking how wonderful it would be to snuggle in his bed, then thinking how amazing it would be to snuggle with Potter in his bed, and then he concentrated on Potter and . . . Apparated. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He had Apparated directly into Potter's bath.

"Merlin! What's wrong with you?" Draco cried as panic finally assaulted him with dizzying suddenness. "Is your flat not protected? Have you never heard of Anti-Apparition Charms? Are you insane?"

"Yes, I'm the odd one here," Potter said dryly. "I thought the flat was protected. For what it's worth, Apparating in spite of that was quite a feat. The wards let you in without any resistance." Potter's lips twitched. "Perhaps I should follow their lead."

Draco blinked. Potter stared at him, his eyes half-lidded and lips parted, and as Draco squirmed uncomfortably he felt a distinct hardness poking at his belly. Bloody hell, what was Potter playing at? Surely he didn't actually want . . . Memories assaulted Draco's mind. He remembered lying on top of Potter, kissing him, licking him, touching him; Potter's taste was still heavy on his lips, he could still smell his sweet-scented hair. Merlin, what had he done? Potter's shocked green gaze swam in front of his eyes. He had been asking questions and Draco had babbled and babbled, thinking Potter was his bed. He remembered staring at Potter and explaining, saying stupid things like . . .

It's not some stupid crush. I'm fucking in love with him!

Oh, fuck. Cold shivers shot through Draco's body; his wet clothes chilled him and weighed heavily on his limbs. All he could do was stare at Potter in disbelief.

"Malfoy?" Potter prompted, edging closer, as though — Merlin — as though he planned to kiss him.

"Get away from me!" Draco gasped as embarrassment washed over him. He had fucking told Potter how he felt about him. He had vehemently professed the feelings he had tried so hard to deny. And now Potter was mocking him. Ridiculing him by pretending he wanted Draco, too. Or maybe he thought he could just exploit Draco's confession and get a quick shag out of it. Oh, who the fuck knew what Potter had in mind? Who the fuck cared? Draco had to get out of here.

"I thought you wanted to shag me?"

Potter, Draco learned, had no shame. The unbelievable nerve of him. Acting as though Draco would jump at the chance like an idiot.

"You thought wrong. I was drunk. In fact, I have no idea what you're talking about." Fuck. He should have denied his memories immediately; Potter wouldn't believe him now.

"I can remind you," Potter claimed, undeterred. Before Draco could snap back, Potter crushed their mouths together. For a few glorious seconds, Draco forgot everything and mindlessly answered Potter's kiss with a moan. Potter's tongue slipped into his mouth and Draco tilted his head, giving him better access. After Potter's hand closed firmly around Draco's hip, moving downward to stroke his arse, anxiety made Draco snap to his senses.

Horrified, he pushed Potter away and broke the kiss, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand to show Potter just how much he loathed it.

"Urgh. That was horrible," he spat.

A flicker of uncertainty appeared in Potter's eyes but it vanished quickly. "Was it? Perhaps we should try again." Potter leaned in and Draco hesitated for a breathless moment but managed to pull away.

Potter still held him in a firm embrace; it was highly distracting.

"Unhand me immediately. I wish to leave," he said with as much determination as he could muster.

Pursing his lips, Potter loosened his grip. He sounded serious when he spoke. "Actually, I think we should talk, Malfoy, because I —"

The word talk made Draco see red. He had done enough talking for the night. He ignored Potter's prattle and eyed the wand that Potter still held in his hand. If Draco could snatch it, he might be able to Disapparate. Potter's Anti-Apparition protection was clearly substandard. Draco had broken through it once today, he could do it again.

Draco's hand shot out and he snatched Potter's wand from his grip with lighting speed. The clear image of his bedroom appeared before his eyes and the world turned dark as Draco concentrated on pushing himself forward. He could hear Potter's surprised shout and he felt strong fingers wrapping around his forearm. A rush of colours assaulted Draco's vision and he savagely twisted out of Potter's grip. He freed his arm, but the wand disappeared from his hand. He had a second to panic before pain shot through his head, and then, surprisingly, through his backside.

Draco gasped and opened his eyes.

The sight of Malfoy Manor's front door lifted his spirits, despite the fact he had apparently lost his balance and fallen on his arse. All things considered, it had gone rather well. If nothing else, his aim, though not perfect, was much better than the last time.

Cold wind chilled his bones and Draco sprang to his feet, all too aware he was drenched in bathwater and was quite wandless. He wished he knew where his wand was; it would have worried him less if he had managed to steal Potter's. Cursing and muttering to himself, he rushed to the Manor, relieved when the wards recognised him and let him pass. He pushed the heavy front doors open and let them snap shut behind him. He was shivering from head to toe, not just from the wetness and cold; he was acutely aware that he had fucked up things badly. He had no idea how to fix his situation. His confession to Potter was no small matter. It meant he could never leave the Manor. He would have to stay indoors forever. He couldn’t risk facing Potter ever again, not now that Potter knew such a deeply embarrassing fact about him.

What had possessed him to Apparate while drunk?

Miserable and cold, Draco rushed up the stairs, shedding his clothing as he went. He needed a shower; a very hot shower to warm up his shivering body. Or a very cold shower to get rid of his blasted hardness that refused to go away on its own. Fucking Potter, did he have to be naked and wet and so bloody perfect?

Candles flickered to life as Draco stormed into his bedroom. He took off his sodden pants, leaving himself naked, and threw them angrily across the room, narrowly missing his large four-poster bed. Draco gave the bed a nasty, reproachful look, and headed for the bathroom, planning a scorchingly hot shower and possible drowning.


Draco froze at the unmistakable sound of Apparition. Of course, the universe hated him and refused to allow him to plan his death in peace.

Wishing he wasn't naked and unarmed, he turned around slowly, determined to glare at the intruder, but his jaw loosened and dropped at the sight of Potter, standing a few feet ahead, naked except for a small white towel wrapped around his hips. Merlin, but he was a beautiful vision. Embarrassingly, Draco's cock twitched as though in greeting, and Potter fixed his gaze firmly on Draco's crotch.

Fighting the urge to cover himself with his hands, which wouldn't have worked anyway, in his condition, Draco managed to close his gaping mouth.

It took awhile before Potter stared his fill and then dragged his gaze upward and smiled at Draco. He tutted reproachfully. "Shoddy, shoddy spellwork, Malfoy. Penetrating your fortification was embarrassingly easy."

Stupid fucker and his stupid fucking innuendo. Draco crossed his arms on his chest, trying to retain a semblance of dignity and look as though he wasn't impressed by Potter's incursion. Malfoy Manor's wards should have been impenetrable. "Get the fuck out of my house, Potter."

"No," Potter said simply. "The only way you can avoid me is to Disapparate again. And . . ." Potter's gaze swept over Draco's nude body, pausing at Draco's cock. "Well, that's quite hard . . . to achieve wandless."

Draco growled in frustration. "What the fuck do you want from me?" He held up his hands as Potter opened his mouth to answer. "No, let me guess. You've suddenly realised you reciprocate my feelings and you'd like nothing better than to shag me. Save your breath, Potter, I'm not buying, so piss off."

Potter bit his lip. "Actually, I'm here to return your wand." Potter raised his hand, twitched his wrist and swished Draco's wand. A few sparks flew out of the tip, briefly illuminating the room with reddish glow.

"Oh." Draco frowned. That was why the wards had let Potter inside; he had Apparated with Draco's wand. Git.

"You dropped it in my bathroom," Potter clarified needlessly.

"Right." Jaw clenched, Draco took a few steps forward and reached for his wand, determined not to thank Potter. The wand was nearly in Draco's grasp when Potter snatched it away and hid it behind his back.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Draco snapped, furious. "I don't have the time or the will for stupid games."

"I just think I should get something in return." Potter was smiling at Draco cheerfully.

"Fuck you. That's my wand. You have to give it back."

"Finders keepers."

Cheeky bastard. "Not this again." Draco groaned. "Whatever, Potter. I'll buy a new one like I did last time."

Potter cocked his head and Draco cursed his stupid mind that thought Potter looked positively adorable.

"Are you sure you don't want to hear my request first?" Potter asked. "I imagine you're fond of your wand. You've had it for awhile now."

Draco closed his eyes briefly, miserable because Potter was right. Draco loved his new wand; it had been custom made, just for him, because Ollivander had refused to sell wands to the Malfoy family.

Eyeing his wand sadly, Draco swallowed his pride and relented. "Fine. But if you say you want to talk, I'll throw you out with my own two hands."

Potter gave him a look full of mock-delight. "Hmm. Tempting. But that's not what I want."

Not trusting himself to speak, Draco jerked his head, indicated Potter should continue.

Potter smiled beatifically. "I want to buy you dinner."

Treacherous hope clawed at Draco's chest like a vicious beast. Draco stopped breathing, hoping to suffocate it.

"You may order something from the Three Broomsticks and send it to me. Not a problem." Draco held out his hand. "Now give me back my wand."

Potter gave him a withering look. "I wish to take you out to dinner."

"I did not agree to two requests. You get only one."

"It's the same request. Merely simplified, so you’d understand it better."

"No, it's merely altered to improve your unfortunate phrasing. I'm sorry, Potter, your ingenious plan failed. I can't help you, however. Now hand over my wand and go home to cry." He smirked and added, "You'll have to walk home, though, because my Floo is out of commission," he lied.

Potter's eyes narrowed; his confident stance was slipping. "I have a phrase for you, Malfoy. It's called the upper hand. And I have it. No date, no wand. So stop playing games."

Draco had an incredible urge to stomp his feet. "So this is how the great Harry Potter obtains dates? By blackmail? How very disappointing."

Potter glared. "Actually, I only resort to this method when my potential date appears in my bathtub, molests me, tells me he's in love with me and then disappears, refusing to talk to me."

Draco winced. There was nothing he could say to that. The word love was difficult to hear.

"I was drunk," he said quietly.

Potter's gaze softened. "I know. I'm just asking for a chance to talk to you while you're sober and less angry. And maybe a chance to prove I'm not a petty, unforgiving bastard."

"So this is some sort of challenge for you? You want to prove me wrong? Did I insult you?" Draco sneered. "Or you feel sorry for the poor . . . infatuated fool?" Draco winced again. Bugger it all, they were discussing his feelings. Why the fuck didn't he stick with denial and "I was drunk" defence?

Potter snorted. "Malfoy, with your attitude, pity is the last thing you inspire in people."

Draco frowned, not sure whether to feel insulted or relieved. He settled on glaring and saying nothing.

"I'm simply . . . interested." Potter's gaze searched Draco's face for something. "Very interested," he added, his voice pleasantly lower. He looked down at Draco's crotch and said, "Very, very —"

"All right, I get it!" Draco said quickly. "For fuck's sake. There's no reason to behave like a maniac."

Draco took a calming breath, thinking. Potter wanted sex — that much was obvious — especially since Potter's towel was suspiciously tented. Potter didn't fake desire, but Draco didn't want a quick shag just to satisfy Potter's curiosity, he wanted more . . . Oh, Merlin's sagging bollocks, did he actually just think that? Potter had turned him into a fucking girl. Potter wanted to shag, Draco wanted to shag, what was his fucking problem? Even if they never saw each other again afterward, that was still more than Draco had ever dared to hope for. The thought should not have made him feel miserable. What an unfortunate moment to acquire standards.

"Malfoy?" Potter's voice was soft. "Do we have a deal?"

Draco gave Potter an appraising look. "No," he decided, furious plans swirling through his mind.

"Do we have to discuss the meaning of the phrase upper hand again? Because I still have your — mmph!"

Mercifully, Potter shut up after Draco leapt forward, grabbed his head and crashed their mouths together. Worrying unresponsiveness didn’t last very long, and Potter answered the kiss eagerly, moaning into Draco's mouth and wrapping his arms around Draco's waist. The towel around Potter's hips slipped down onto the floor after an impatient tug and Draco pressed his crotch against Potter's, making both of them gasp for air. Not wasting time, Draco pushed his leg between Potter's thighs and backed him slowly toward his bed.

"Malfoy!" Potter gasped, breathless. "What are you —?"

Draco grabbed Potter's shoulders and pushed him backward on the silken sheets. Potter landed on his back with an omph of surprise. Potter's thighs spread wide as he fell, treating Draco to a clear view of his cock, balls and arsehole — all of it perfect. The sight of Potter's naked body on shameless display across Draco's bed made desire uncoil in his belly. Draco would have liked nothing better than to pull that cock into his mouth and shove his fingers into Potter's arse, or perhaps simply slick his cock and push past the tantalisingly tight, furrowed skin. Judging by Potter's dark eyes, filled with lust, and his wet lips that parted with Potter's every breathless pant, Potter would have agreed to anything. But Draco had other plans.

He grabbed Potter's knees and forced him to straighten his legs so he could climb on top of Potter and straddle his thighs. Potter seemed too shocked to resist; he let himself be manoeuvred like a doll, staring at Draco uncomprehendingly.

"And this is more acceptable than dating because . . .?" Potter asked, shivering as Draco dragged his nails over the perfect chest that was so deliciously presented before him. Merlin, it really was perfect. Even more perfect now that Draco knew he hadn't Conjured it by wishing. Draco's gaze swept downward, so he could inspect Potter's body more thoroughly, carefully cataloguing everything he saw and touched in case he never had a chance to see it again.

Hand steady, his fingers hovered above Potter's cock, another piece of perfection that rose from the nest of springy dark curls, curving slightly toward Potter's stomach. A tiny gasp escaped Potter's lips as Draco dragged his knuckles over the underside of Potter's cock, before he took it firmly into his hand and brushed his thumb over the wet tip. Relishing in the warmth against his palm, Draco gave Potter's cock several firm strokes, his mouth watering at the thought of taking it into his mouth. Potter tried to say something, but Draco understood not a word of the breathless gibberish. He did understand — by the way Potter's hips twitched upward and the way his whole body shivered and convulsed — that Potter would lose it if Draco didn't stop touching him.

Reluctantly, he pulled away and leaned forward, then fixed his gaze on Potter's face and let their cocks brush against each other. The green of Potter's eyes darkened before Potter closed his eyes and bucked upward, nearly dislodging Draco from his thighs. Jaw clenched, Draco fought against the swirl of heat and pleasure that threatened to undo him and willed himself to focus on his goal. Intending to grin, but probably grimacing instead, he eyed his wand, held loosely in Potter's hand. Snatching it from Potter's quivering fingers was ridiculously easy. Potter didn't even notice Draco had retrieved his wand, not until Draco pulled away and stopped rolling his hips. The loss of friction made Potter open his eyes, his mouth parting and lips twisting disapprovingly, but the complaint he meant to articulate died on his lips as his gaze fell on the tip of Draco's wand, pointed directly at his face.

Potter's lust-dimmed eyes cleared with surprising speed and filled with a mixture of anger and disappointment.

"Right," he said, sounding resigned. "Nice one."

Draco grinned and allowed himself a moment of gloating. "I have a phrase for you, Potter. Keeping the upper-hand. Do you wish to discuss it?"

"Fine, Malfoy. You win. Whatever," Potter said grumpily and attempted to rise.

Draco clicked his tongue and twitched his wrist, making the wand in his hand send a few sparks flying at Potter's chest.

Potter's hands curled into fists as he settled back on his elbows.

"May I point out that you have no reason to hex me? You're the one who broke into my flat to molest me." Potter's bottom lip looked suspiciously full and Draco was torn between amusement at Potter's pouty glare and a strong urge to pull that bottom lip between his teeth and nibble on it.

"You may not," Draco informed him.

Potter sighed. "Malfoy, honestly, you won't hex me, so can we just —"

"I won't?" Draco asked, his eyebrows rising in mock-surprise. "Whatever makes you think that?"

A dangerous glint appeared in Potter's eyes, and Draco couldn't help shivering — not unpleasantly — as Potter spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. "Because that wand will be snatched out of your hands before you even think of an incantation."

Conceited prat. Draco pursed his lips, eyeing Potter's rigid stance and the way the muscles in his arms clenched; he looked poised to strike at any second. It seemed likely that Potter wasn't overconfident, but merely spoke the truth. After all, Potter was an Auror, and Draco's wand wasn't out of his reach.

"I beg to differ," Draco argued with confidence he did not feel.

Potter's eyes narrowed as Draco slowly turned his wand and pressed the tip to his palm, waiting for Potter to act and snatch the wand away. Potter didn't move, however, undoubtedly confused by Draco's intentions. Smirking, Draco cast a non-verbal spell, covering his palm with slick, translucent liquid.

The line between Potter's eyebrows deepened. "That's not a hex," he said.

"How astute of you to notice." Draco snorted and tossed his wand haphazardly onto the floor.

Potter's gaze flickered in its direction but he seemed unable to look away from Draco's palm for long. One tiny push at his chest was all it took for Potter to lie back down obediently, even though he looked utterly confused. Holding Potter's gaze, Draco reached down and gripped Potter's persistent erection in his slick hand.

"You're completely unbalanced," Potter gasped, his eyes wide.

"Something to take note of if you really plan to date me," Draco said grimly and stroked Potter's cock with practiced, steady movements. Potter's breathing slowed and deepened, the muscles in his abdomen quivering as he wisely tried to prevent himself from thrusting into Draco's hand.

"Then you want to date me?" Potter asked.

"That's beside the point. The question is, do you wish to date me?"

Potter was clearly having trouble formulating thoughts and words; his entire body shook with every upward stroke of Draco's hand.

"I said that I do, why —?"

"Another thing you should know about me," Draco talked over Potter. "I'm not very fond of my partner prattling ceaseless nonsense during sex."

Potter gave a small moan of distress, either because he wanted to talk more or because Draco had released his cock and rose up on his knees, no longer touching any part of Potter's body.

"Oh God!" Potter cried, his eyes filling with desire as Draco edged forward and gripped Potter's waist with his thighs, his hand sliding behind him to take hold of Potter's cock again. "Malfoy." Potter gave another shuddering moan, his hands flying to settle on Draco's hips as Draco grabbed Potter's bicep for balance and pressed the tip of Potter's cock to his entrance. "Do you have something against foreplay?" Potter asked, looking torn, as though he didn't know whether to push Draco away or push inside him.

Draco trailed the tip of Potter's cock along the crease of his arse, teasing them both. His hair had fallen over his eyes and he had to shake his head to see Potter clearly. He couldn't help grinning at Potter's bewildered expression; Potter fought to keep his eyes open but his eyelashes fluttered every time the tip of his cock touched the furrowed skin of Draco's entrance.

"Do you want me to stop?" Draco asked, his throat dry and voice scratchy.

Potter shuddered and shook his head. "It's just . . . I could . . ." Potter's hands released Draco's hips and slid lower to caress his arse. Draco closed his eyes and moaned his approval. "I don't want to hurt you," Potter murmured and Draco's eyes snapped open.

"Another thing you should know about me," Draco said and took Potter's cock in a firmer grip; Potter's hands squeezed his arse in response. "I like a little pain with my pleasure."

Potter frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but in that moment Draco pushed downward, eyes shut in concentration. Potter's gasps were silenced by the ringing in Draco's ears as he struggled to accept the intrusion. It had been awhile since he had last bottomed and he couldn't help clenching around Potter's cock, making the burn more prominent than he would have liked. Fighting for better control of his body, Draco rose up a little and pressed both palms to Potter's chest, then slowly lowered himself onto Potter's cock, determined to take it all in and worry about consequences later.

Potter's chest twitched beneath his palms as Draco sank down fully; Potter's hands were on Draco's hips again, gripping them tightly.

I'm having sex with Potter, Draco realised suddenly, the shock of it making the burn of Potter's penetration lessen. Draco's eyes snapped open and he looked down in wonder at Potter's flushed face and unfocused dark eyes. He looked frozen beneath Draco; tiny shivers that raked through him were the only indication that he was still alive.

"You're so tight," Potter gasped, almost whimpered, his hips twitching slightly; it must have been difficult for him to stay so still.

"I thought I told you to shut up," Draco gritted out.

Potter looked at him, clearly surprised, as though he only just realised Draco was there. A line appeared between his eyes and his fingertips stroked the skin of Draco's hips.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his frown deepening.

Bloody Potter and his simpering concern; Draco had to order himself not to revel in it. Potter was concerned about everything and everyone; it meant nothing special.

"You tell me." Draco grinned devilishly and rolled his hips.

"Oh," Potter gasped and grabbed Draco's hips harder, his gaze never leaving Draco's face.

Pleased with his power, Draco did it again, this time rising upward a little and sinking back down slowly. It ached but Draco knew that the ache would become pleasurable soon, so he did it again and again while Potter shivered and gasped beneath him, still not daring to move.

"Malfoy," Potter said breathlessly, his nails digging into Draco's skin.

"Less talk, Potter. Move," Draco said and then gasped in surprise when Potter obeyed him immediately. Draco's palms pressed against Potter's chest as Potter grabbed his buttocks and then circled his hips, experimenting with angles and thrusting shallowly until Draco cried out much too loudly for his liking and a long "Yes" escaped his lips.

Draco shut his eyes and pressed his lips tightly together, fighting against the urge to scream his approval. Potter felt enormous inside him, filling Draco again and again with steady upwards thrusts; the burn was long forgotten, leaving nothing but pleasure in its wake. Supporting himself with his hands, Draco slammed down, giving as good as he got, not willing to let Potter control the pace, but that was becoming increasingly difficult. Potter was good, better than Draco had dared to hope; he found Draco's prostate with every thrust, hitting against it continuously, making waves of pleasure blend together, threatening to become too much.

Draco lost his bearings and his left hand slipped. He grabbed Potter's forearm and let himself bounce with the power of Potter's thrusts, leaning heavily on his right arm, still pressed firmly against Potter's chest. The heat was becoming unbearable, seeping inside Draco and pooling in his crotch; the wet slapping sounds their joined bodies made were drowned by breathless moans slipping out of Potter's mouth.

Unable to take it anymore, Draco opened his eyes and looked down at Potter. It was a shock to find Potter staring up at him, his eyes wide and pupils dilated, and his wet hair sticking to his damp forehand. Potter's lips parted with every thrust as he struggled to say something but never quite managing it.

"You're —" Potter said and Draco grimaced, then clamped down on Potter's cock.

Potter screamed and threw his head back, the veins in his neck stretching and bulging as his skin flushed a deeper shade of red. He jerked his hips upwards, slamming into Draco once, twice, before his whole body convulsed and his cock throbbed hotly inside Draco. Fascinated by the display, Draco released Potter's arm and gripped his own cock in his hand, moaning as he stroked himself.

Potter was still twitching beneath him, but his thrusts lost their power, letting Draco rock on Potter's cock slowly. Draco rolled his hips and clenched around the intrusion inside him, moving his hand faster and faster until his strokes became frantic, the need to come overwhelming him. Throwing his head back and biting his bottom lip, Draco stroked himself to completion. His body tensed and for several long, blissful moments refused to relax. Still swaying, he slid his wet palm along his cock a few more times, squeezing, and smearing his come, enjoying in the pleasant shudders that passed through him.

It took him awhile to catch his breath and steady his hand. He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling before he straightened his neck and looked down at Potter, once again finding him staring back at him.

"Beautiful," Potter said reverently, and Draco wondered whether Potter was finishing the thought he had tried to articulate before he came.

A new wave of heat warmed Draco's cheeks as he fought to ignore the compliment, but Potter looked so earnest, it was hard not to believe he meant what he said. The urge to fall forward onto Potter and rest on his chest was devastating, but Draco found enough determination within himself to remain sitting upward. He squirmed, letting Potter's softening cock slip out of him; it left him feeling oddly empty.

Draco tried to regulate his breathing, trembling as goose bumps spread over his skin. Potter stroked Draco's thighs leisurely, never taking his eyes away from him.

It took him a few tries, but Draco finally managed to ask the question that burned on his lips.

"Do you still want to date me?"

"God, yes!" Potter gasped immediately and that awful feeling of hope started to claw at Draco's chest again. Potter's brain began working, apparently, because he frowned in thought and added, "Was this supposed to convince me otherwise?"

"No, this was supposed to give you all you wanted."

Potter blinked and then rose up with a sudden burst of energy. Draco would have fallen if Potter's arms hadn't wrapped themselves around his waist, holding him captive and pressing him much too close to Potter's body. Draco sighed inwardly; it seemed he was destined to forever sit on Potter's lap.

"You say that as though you didn't want this." Potter's expression filled with concern again; it was hard to look at him.

"I did!" Draco said quickly. "I just . . ." Draco cleared his throat and looked at Potter's ear. "Well, I thought, in case your sudden urge to date me was some sort of attempt to grace me with a pity fuck before you can move on with a clear conscience, we should just get that out of the way and skip the dating farce."

Utter silence greeted Draco's words and after several long moments of staring at Potter's ear, Draco lost his patience and looked Potter in the eye.

Potter looked gobsmacked. "Are you still drunk?" he asked after quite some time.

Draco glared. "You're the one who preformed the Sobriety Charm; you should know how well it worked."

"Let me get this straight," Potter said. "You were upset because you thought I just want a shag, so you decided to give me that shag to get rid of me, instead of just telling me to get out?"

"No," Draco scoffed. "I wanted to know whether you would change your mind after we had sex. And, well, I'm not a very patient man and I wanted to know now. Honestly, what did you expect? You were leering at me and told me you're interested. What the fuck does that mean? For all I know, after a potential free fuck fell into your lap and then escaped, you just wanted to see things through and decided to burst into my home and find a way to convince me to have sex with — mmph!"

Draco gasped into Potter's mouth that was suddenly pressed firmly to his. He had no intention of answering the kiss and he grabbed Potter's shoulders to push him away, but Potter's tongue brushed again his bottom lip, and Draco gasped a little, his lips parting and his hands pulling Potter closer. The initially rough kiss slowed into something more sensual and Draco sighed and tilted his head, sure he'd never get tired of Potter's firm, full lips moving against his and Potter's skilful tongue exploring his mouth.

Potter gently captured Draco's upper lip, suckled on it slightly and pulled away.

"What was that?" Draco asked promptly.

"It's called a kiss."

Draco took a deep breath and prayed for patience; Potter looked far too amused. And kissable, which was distracting because Draco had things to say. Not that he remembered what he wanted to say, but he had definitely been interrupted. "I don’t understand you," he said finally.

Potter's stare was incredulous, but after shaking his head bemusedly his gaze softened. "You're right. My decision to follow you here and ask you out was rash and motivated by . . ." Potter's eyes swept over Draco's body. "Well, never mind that now. Because now I have other, more sensible, reasons to ask, again: Will you let me take you out to dinner?"

"And would that sensible reason be a fabulous shag?" Fuck. Draco meant to say that with a leer and in a sultry tone, fully intending to flirt, but it sounded almost angry. A fabulous shag was a very sensible reason to date someone; Potter's Sobriety Charm must not have worked all that well or Draco wouldn't have these inane qualms.

"I said reasons. Plural," Potter said gently, his eyes so warm Draco couldn't help feeling a bit better. "But yes, that's one of them."

Draco waited as long as he could but Potter offered no further clarification. "And the others reasons are?" he snapped. More than anything he wanted to shake Potter silly and yank out every single thought the git had in his head.

"Impatient and greedy," Potter chastised as though he read Draco's mind.

"I was expecting compliments, not insults."

Focusing on the green of Potter's eyes, Draco attempted to perform wandless Legilimency. Unfortunately, it didn't work.

The green darkened as Potter's pupils dilated and he leaned in, his breath hot against Draco's lips. "You . . . fascinate me," Potter said, sounding as breathless as Draco felt.

That sounded like a sensible reason, Draco thought, not quite convinced. "In what way?" he pressed.

Potter smiled. "In every possible way." His lips brushed against Draco's making him shiver. "Say yes. To dinner."

Even though a part of his mind scrambled for some excuse to refuse, Draco's head nodded and his lips mouthed a quiet yes. Another slow-burning kiss was his reward and Draco shoved his fears aside, melting against Potter's lips.

Pulling away gently, Draco bit his tingling bottom lip. "Let's make it breakfast, instead. I can order the house-elves to cook a feast for us tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning?" Potter echoed and then frowned a little as though in deep thought. "I might as well stay the night, then."

"If you insist," Draco said neutrally, privately congratulating himself for making it seem like Potter suggested staying the night. Although, judging by Potter's annoyingly knowing smile, he might have suspected Draco wished him to stay. Despite himself, Draco couldn't help smiling back.

One sloppy, open-mouthed kiss later, Potter's eyes widened and he adopted a guilty expression. "Oh, but we are so rude!" he said and gasped, his eyes dancing. Draco tensed, anticipating a joke on his account. He wasn't wrong. Potter looked down at Draco's silken sheets and patted Draco's bed fondly. "We just had sex here and you haven't even introduced us properly." Potter's expression grew serious. "I know how much this bed means to you."

The vein in Draco's temple twitched as he gritted his teeth and glared. Potter stared at him innocently, the picture of politeness.

"You're right of course." Draco smiled brilliantly and this time Potter was the one who tensed. Draco was vaguely impressed by Potter's ability to sense danger. "Not only should you two be properly introduced, but . . ." Draco freed himself from Potter's grip and — a bit regretfully — abandoned the warmth of Potter's lap. Potter looked like he wished to stop him, but he must have been too curious to find out what Draco had in mind. Extreme curiosity had always been one of Potter's weaknesses. Draco stood up and walked toward his wand, which lay on the floor, not far from the bed. "I think you two should bond," Draco declared and managed to Summon the wand to his hand. The muscles in Potter's arms twitched, his expression uncertain, but he hadn't reacted and Draco seized the moment to swish his wand and cast a spell.

Ropes sprouted from the headboard and sneaked up on Potter from behind. Potter had a second to yelp in surprise as the ropes wrapped themselves around his wrists and pulled him backward sharply. Twirling his wand, Draco approached the bed and smirked, admiring his handiwork. Potter was forced to lie on his back and raise his hands in surrender as his wrists were tied firmly to the headboard. His surprise turned to appreciation frighteningly fast. He eyed the ropes and tested their effectiveness by yanking them sharply and flexing his muscles. The fact he couldn’t free himself seemed to please rather than worry him and he turned toward Draco with a huge grin on his face.

"Oh, I definitely want to date you," Potter said, excitement obvious in his tone.

Draco shook his head, amused, and climbed onto the bed and then onto Potter, occupying the now-familiar position on his lap. Potter squirmed beneath him, his skin flushing and his eyes filling with anticipation.

"Honestly, you're the easiest man I've ever met," Draco accused, inwardly going through the long list of things he could do to Potter now. It was difficult to decide; each new item seemed more exciting than the previous.

"I prefer easy over petty and unforgiving."

Draco swallowed heavily, cheeks heating up at the unpleasant reminder of his drunken babbling.

"As do I," he said quietly and then trailed his wand over Potter's chest, to give himself an excuse to look away.

Potter took a deep breath, his chest expanding, and Draco's felt his arousal build, his spent cock twitching bravely. He pressed the tip of his wand to Potter's nipple and whispered a simple incantation, making the wand vibrate.

Potter yelped, his spine curved and his hips rose, his body all but flying upwards, nearly knocking Draco off his lap.

"Hmm," Draco commented, amazed by Potter's reaction. He lifted his wand after a few more moments of enjoying the delicious view of Potter writhing helplessly beneath him.

Potter settled down with obvious difficulty, his forehead sweaty and body quivering. He stared at the vibrating wand in Draco's hand in awe.

"You're not familiar with Vibration Charms, I take it?" Draco asked, grinning. "It seems I have a lot to teach you, then."

Potter couldn’t tear his gaze way from Draco's wand. "That was . . ."


Potter's eyes snapped to Draco's. "I was going to say mind-blowing. But, yes . . ." Potter's lips twitched, the warmth of his gaze intensifying. "Fascinating."

Light-headed, Draco let the wonderful feeling of hope consume him and turn into something more confident. He liked being fascinating.

Pressing the tip of his wand to Potter's chest again, he circled Potter's erect nipples, teasing them gently. Potter shuddered, his eyelashes fluttering closed.

A surge of affection passed through Draco unexpectedly, and he allowed himself a moment to absorb the vision of Potter lying bound beneath him; a vision not unlike the one Draco had imagined when he had mistakenly Apparated into Harry Potter's bathtub. If Draco didn't know better; he'd fancy himself a Seer.

Draco touched the tip of his wand to Potter's nipple again, marvelling at Potter's passionate reactions that were more compelling than Draco could have ever imagined. Draco smiled and sighed happily. Who said that drinking and Apparating was a bad idea?