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Harry was in the Auror changing rooms when he saw it.

They'd just pulled off a massively successful raid and Harry and his partner—being the junior Aurors on the case—had the glorious privilege of staying late to complete the majority of the paperwork. By the time they finished, the showers were empty. Harry didn't waste a moment before tearing off his robes and turning on the water as hot as he could get it to wash off all the grime.

He had just finished drying off and putting on some fresh clothes, when he happened to glance over at the showers. Malfoy was still standing under a stream of steaming water, running a soapy flannel across his skin. His back was smooth and firm, and Harry's eyes instinctively trailed down to his perfect arse. When he realised what he was doing, he hastily looked away. But then Malfoy twisted, reaching over to grab some shampoo, and Harry caught a flash of black. At first he thought it was the Dark Mark, before he remembered that Malfoy never actually received the Dark Mark. He glanced over again, and there it was, a flash of something that looked like shadowy wings, shifting below Malfoy's right pec. Not a Dark Mark, a soulmark.

Harry stared for long moments after Malfoy turned back around, his blood pounding in his ears. He finished dressing in a daze, calling out a distracted goodbye to Malfoy as he left. Harry drifted through the Ministry towards the Floos, shouting out for home instinctively as his mind whirled. He felt dizzy, shaken, and it didn't make any sense. Harry had only gotten a brief glimpse, but he could have sworn he saw something, something other than the standard ink splotch that anybody who wasn't Malfoy's soulmate would have seen.

But that would mean that Harry was Malfoy's soulmate, which was just...crazy. Soulmarks were supposed to look the same to everybody but a person's soulmate—that is, they looked like a splotch of spilled ink, rich and dark as the pigment swirled around into different shapes. Hermione always said it looked a lot like a Muggle Rorschach test, whatever that was. Draco’s mark had probably looked more defined to Harry, because he had only caught a glimpse as the ink swirled. There was no way he'd seen what Malfoy's mark truly looked like. That was why soulmates had to touch the mark anyways, to be sure—seeing wasn't enough. They said that touching your mate's mark for the first time was the best feeling in the entire world.

Which was nothing at all like the feeling churning in his gut. Terror and desire and confusion and curiosity all battling it out inside Harry's stomach. It was only because Harry had never seen Malfoy's mark before, even though they'd been partnered up for over a year now. He'd known Malfoy had to have one—everybody did—but even though they worked well enough together and managed to be civil, soulmark talk was still a little too personal.

Before today, Harry had never given much thought to it. Sure, maybe he'd thought—once or twice—about how fit Malfoy was now, and how well he filled out his Auror uniform. And yes, maybe, on occasion, the fact that Malfoy seemed like a pretty decent bloke nowadays had crossed Harry's mind. And Harry supposed he couldn't ignore the electric tingle that had shot up his spine last week when Malfoy had absentmindedly brushed his fingers against Harry's when passing him a cup of perfectly made tea. But just because Harry had considered what it might be like to date Malfoy, didn't mean they could be soulmates. Hell, Harry didn't even know what Malfoy thought of the whole soulmark thing—many pure-bloods thought the idea of holding out for one's soulmate was an overly romantic notion with no tangible value.

Harry was working himself up. He'd been lonely, he could admit it. It had been months since his last disastrous date, and he hadn't been with somebody he really cared about since...well, since, Ginny. The thought of her still sent a pang of sadness through him. They'd been so confident, so sure that they were soulmates. When Ginny's mark had finally appeared on her seventeenth birthday, they'd both been devastated when they'd revealed their marks and all they saw was a mess of ink. Both of them had claimed it shouldn't matter, and they'd tried their best to work things out—plenty of happy couples weren't soulmates, and plenty of soulmates were miserable together, it was all about the work you put into the relationship. Knowing that their soulmates were out there though, waiting, had taken its toll on their relationship.

He didn't regret their break-up, but sometimes he still mourned the life he'd pictured with her. She was happy now, living in soulmate bliss with Dean, and Harry didn't begrudge her that. He just wished he could find his soulmate, too—could find them without wading through the thousands of fans and stalkers that were constantly trying to find his mark and prove that they were the one. It had only gotten worse since Harry had realised that he liked men just as much as women. It meant that there were twice as many people out there that could be his mate. Some days the thought of actually finding them seemed like an impossible task.

Harry's fingers unconsciously skimmed over his own soulmark, a dark black phoenix gracing his right thigh, and couldn't help but wonder what Malfoy would see if he saw it. He shook off the thought. It was Harry's desire for his perfect match that had him so worked up over seeing Malfoy's mark. Nothing more.

But despite all of Harry's best internal arguments that Malfoy could not be his mate, he still spent a restless night dreaming of grey eyes and blond hair and strong fingers tracing reverently over his mark as waves of bliss crashed over him.


Harry had lost his mind.

It had been a week since that fateful day in the showers, and he had not stopped thinking about Malfoy's mark since. It was as if that brief glimpse had put Harry under some kind of enchantment. Every waking moment (and quite a few non-waking ones) had been spent fixating on the mark that Harry now knew lay resting on Malfoy's side beneath his crisp, white shirts. What if they were mates? What if Draco Malfoy was Harry's soulmate, and Harry did nothing about it? He hadn't even really made much of an effort to get to know this new Malfoy since they'd been partnered. A week ago he couldn't have cared less, but now he felt a kernel of worry gnawing at his gut at the fact that he didn't know what flavour biscuit was Draco’s favourite.

Harry knew it was ridiculous, ludicrous, absurd to think that they might be soulmates, but that didn't mean he couldn't at least start making an effort, right?

He decided to start off slow by bringing Malfoy tea in the morning—made just the way he liked it—and subtly asking Malfoy questions about his life. Unfortunately, Malfoy looked at the cup with a heavy dose of suspicion (Harry was pretty sure he'd emptied the tea into the potted plant onto his desk when Harry bent down to pick up his pencil), and Harry’s every attempt to start conversation was met with a baffled and somewhat hostile stare.

"Merlin, I'm just trying to ask you about bloody Quidditch, you don't have to act like I'm trying to convince you to commit high treason."

"Yes, but why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you asking me about Quidditch? In fact, why have you been asking after my mother's health, and about my weekends, and about what the weather was like this morning? Did Shacklebolt ask you to spy on me?"

Harry's eyes widened. "No, of course not! I just thought—we're stuck together every bloody day, on a stakeout or in the office doing an ungodly amount of seemed like maybe it was time we actually got to know each other."

"You haven't cared about getting to know me for the past year of our partnership."

Harry winced. "I was...acclimating. But I'd like to get to know you now."

Despite the extremely skeptical look Malfoy gave him, he—hesitantly—seemed to take Harry's words at face value.

"Alright then, we'll...get to know one another."

Over the next few weeks, Malfoy was true to his word. When Harry asked him a question, he gave more than a one-syllable response. When Harry invited him to the pub after work with the rest of the Junior Aurors, he didn't always make up an excuse not to join. When Harry started up a conversation over their mountains of paperwork, Malfoy was clever and responsive and open in a way that Harry had never seen before. And when Harry called him Malfoy...he told Harry to start calling him Draco.

Unfortunately, Draco came with a whole new set of problems. Or, rather, he came with the same set of problems, only now they were dressed in an unbearably likable package. Instead of spending every moment thinking of all the reasons why there was no way he and Draco could be soulmates, Harry spent his nights thinking about all the ways they fit together. He thought about how Draco bit the corner of his thumb when he was thinking, about the way his grey eyes flashed silver every time Higgins snagged the last chocolate biscuit—Draco's favourite, Harry had learned—in the break room, about the soft curve of his smile when he turned to Harry with an inside joke.

It didn't help matters that it seemed like every single one of the cases they'd been working lately had something to do with soulmarks. The latest one had involved a pure-blood witch and her soulmate lover murdering her husband and making off with his family jewels so they could run away together.

"I just don't get why she married the bloke in the first place, if she had already found her soulmate and was in love with him," Harry said, for the millionth time. It was one thing to fall in love outside of the soulmark, but it was another to find your soulmate, and then marry somebody else.

"It's not uncommon for pure-bloods to ignore the soulmark in favour of arranged marriages. The soulmark isn't a guarantee of love and happiness after all, and you can certainly find both outside of the mark. Financial, social, and political stability are much more dependable than a soulmark."

"Is that what you're going to do?" Harry's whole body felt tense.

Draco sighed. "It's what my parents would like me to do. They've been itching to find me a perfect pure-blood bride ever since I came of age. They've only become more insistent since learning my soulmate wouldn't be a woman."

Harry sucked in a breath. He'd heard rumours of Malfoy's sexuality, but he hadn't been sure. Knowing that there really was a chance they could be mates and hearing that Draco might marry a woman anyways to keep with pure-blood expectations had his stomach churning. "And is that what you want, to be married off? Is that why you never mention the mark, why you always keep it hidden?"

Draco raised his brows. "Asking about my soulmark, Potter?" Harry blushed and spluttered, and Draco smiled. "I can hardly go around flashing my ribs at random passersby. It wouldn't be fair to all of the less attractive men in the area." Draco smirked, and Harry swallowed. "And you're hardly one to talk. Rumour has it that you keep a glamour cast on your mark. Hardly the makings of happily ever after."

Harry grimaced. "I was sick of people always trying to get a peek inside my robes, attempting to figure out where the mark was so they could grope me and claim they felt the earth move, or some rubbish. Like you said, the mark's just about compatibility, about potential. It takes a lot more than that to make something last."

"Yes. Yes it does." Draco looked away.

"I don't want an arranged marriage," Draco said softly, several minutes later, breaking the somewhat awkward silence. "It's...I know it's silly of me, fanciful, but I've always liked the idea of finding my soulmate. I know it won't necessarily be love at first sight or that I'll automatically get my happily ever after, but...the idea that there is somebody out there for me, somebody whose strengths and weaknesses compliment my own, a perfect match, if only I'm willing to look, to work for it...I don't want to give that up. Not yet."

Harry's throat felt dry, his chest oddly tight as he listened to Draco's words, words that so perfectly echoed his own sentiments. "I know what you mean," Harry replied, voice thick with emotion. Draco started and turned, his face a violent red.

"Yes, well, it's all a moot point anyway, isn't it? With the hours they've been having us work, I haven't had the time to find a date, let alone a soulmate. I think we're doing at least four Aurors-worth of paperwork right now."

Harry heard to subtle brush off, the plea to bring the subject back around to safer waters. Part of him wanted to push, to find out more of Draco's inner thoughts, but he knew better. Pushing Draco now would only make him feel exposed and vulnerable, which would lead to him lashing out. So Harry gamely followed Draco's lead for the rest of their shift, discussing the banalities of work, and the upcoming Falcon's match, and staying firmly away from anything that could lead back to relationships or soulmates.

But the thought was never far from Harry's mind, his gaze constantly flicking back to caress the spot on Draco's side, where he knew his soulmark lay.


They landed with a thunk in the middle of their office, and Draco swayed precariously on his feet.

"Fuck, Draco, are you alright?"

Draco gave a high, strained laugh. "I've been better."

Harry looked him over, jolting as his gaze took in the gash running across Draco's shirt and the dark red blood soaking his normally pristine white undershirt. Harry's stomach dropped.

"Merlin, Draco, why didn't you say something."

They'd just come from a particularly violent arrest and spells had been flying left and right. Harry had stuck to Draco's side like a permanent sticking charm, but somehow he'd missed the curse that had cut Draco open. He looked shaky and pale now, as Harry led him to the edge of his desk. Harry bit his lip as his mind flickered through all the healing spells they learned in training.

"It's no big deal, just a scratch."

Harry glared at him. "Don't be daft. You're fucking bleeding all over the place. Now take off your shirt while I try and remember the right spell to patch you up."

Draco rolled his eyes but obeyed, raising trembling hands to fumble with the buttons of his shirt. A frisson of excitement went through Harry at the thought of seeing Draco's bare chest, but the feeling died at the sight of the ugly red wound bisecting his chest. Harry couldn't help but flash back to the last time he'd seen Draco's chest cut open like this. Sick, hot guilt twisted in his belly as he remembered the way Draco had looked, pale and bleeding on that bathroom floor. Snape may have ensured that Draco's chest carried no physical scars, but Harry wouldn't forget so easily. A pained gasp escaped Draco's throat and Harry focused back on the task at hand. This wasn't the time to get lost in past regrets. He stared at the wound, heart racing as he tried to get a hold of the spell, panic clawing at his throat at the thought that he wouldn't be able to heal Draco.

"Harry," Draco's voice was cool and calming. "It's not as bad as it looks, alright? You know the spell, you can do this."

Harry nodded, his confidence returning. He braced a palm on Draco's shoulder, and with a steady hand, cast the healing spell. Even after all this time, Harry still couldn't help his delight at watching magic work. Draco's skin pulled itself together at his command, melding until not even the faintest trace of a scar could be seen on Draco's smooth skin. Absently, he cast a cleaning charm, clearing them both of Draco's blood, and revealing every defined inch of Draco's torso in its unimpeded glory. Without the gash to distract him, Harry found his mouth going dry as his gaze trailed greedily over Draco's throat, his nipple, his firm belly, over to his—

Harry froze.

The past five minutes had probably been the longest Harry had managed to not think about Draco's soulmark since he'd glimpsed it all those months ago. But now the thoughts all came rushing in. There it was. Draco's soulmark. Harry could see it perfectly, and by that, he meant he could see it perfectly. This wasn't the inky swoops and splotches that he'd been so accustomed to seeing on everybody else. The dark richness of the pigment had the same undeniable quality of a soulmark, but instead of a fathomless shape, Harry could clearly see the defined lines of a dragon, stretching its wings and arching its back. He wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him, if the stress of the day was making him see shapes that weren't really there. Harry's hands itched with the desire to touch, to know for sure. Was Draco his soulmate? Harry was beginning to think that he wanted him to be, and it terrified him.

Unconsciously, the hand braced on Draco's shoulder slid down, tracing the muscles of Draco's chest. His skin was hot and firm beneath his fingertips. Harry wanted more.

Draco cleared his throat and Harry jumped, his eyes flicking guiltily up to Draco's guarded gaze.

"What—" Draco's voice was hoarse. "What do you see?"

Harry looked into Draco's eyes. "A dragon. It's beautiful."

Draco's breath hitched, his eyes widening in shock.

"Draco. I want to—Fuck, can I—" his fingers inched towards Draco's mark.

Draco swallowed, the sound loud in the silent room. He stared down at Harry, his expression unreadable, before jerking his head in a brief nod.

Harry's hand trembled against Draco's chest. He hadn't really thought this far ahead, hadn't expected Draco to give him permission. Now that he was so close, inches away from knowing, from finding out one way or another whether or not Draco was his soulmate, he felt paralysed by indecision. What if he was? What if Draco Malfoy was the one person in the world who was most compatible with Harry? What if he was moments away from having his life, once again, irrevocably changed? The thought was nerve-wracking and exhilirating, tinged with the faintest trace of fear.

Of course, maybe he would touch the mark and nothing would happen. Maybe Draco wasn't Harry's soulmate. What if Harry had been building this connection between them up in his head? What if that dragon Harry saw dancing across Draco's ribs was some kind of hallucination. Harry liked Draco—rather a lot if he was frank—and the thought of this ruining things before they even began was almost beyond contemplating.

Worse than both those options, though, was the not-knowing. Draco and his mysterious mark had been driving Harry mad for months. He hadn't been able to work, to concentrate, to sleep, with wondering if maybe his true match had been Draco all along.

With firm resolve, Harry slid his hand down Draco's side, and the world exploded.

Harry's eyes locked on Draco's as shivery pleasure washed through his body in an unending wave. He felt glued to the spot, immobilised by the pure bliss radiating through his every nerve-ending and by the mirrored ecstasy in Draco's silver eyes. He was flying high, floating above the world on a cloud of pillowy euphoria with Draco. Always Draco.

Harry wasn't sure how much time had passed when the rapturous haze lifted from his mind, leaving him shaky with adrenaline and endorphins. His hand was still pressed firmly to Draco's mark, the dragon seeming to purr and preen, little pulses of delight moving through Harry's hand with each movement. Draco's eyes were wide, staring at Harry in surprise and something that looked like wonder. Harry's breath hitched at the openness there, Draco's feelings bared for him to see.

"Wow," he whispered, the words feeling strangely loud in the sudden quiet.

"Indeed," Draco murmured. He licked his lips, and Harry followed the motion hungrily. His gaze slipped lower, caressing the smooth skin of Draco's throat, lingering on his pounding pulse point, fluttering madly with the force of his rapidly beating heart.

"I—" Harry started helplessly. Words were beyond him, and he just wanted so damn much. He didn't even know where to start.

"Oh for heaven's sake," Draco sighed, before a strong hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of Harry's shirt, pulling him forcefully towards Draco's chest. And then Draco's mouth was on his and nothing else mattered. The world didn't burst into flame again, but it was a damn near thing. Draco's lips were cool, the slightly chapped skin dragging deliciously against Harry's mouth and shooting tingles down his spine.

They kissed until Harry felt dizzy from it, breaking away to pant wetly against Draco's cheek as Draco sucked a line of kisses across his jaw. "Fuck, Draco I—" Draco bit down on the lobe of his ear and Harry shuddered. "Fuck, I want you."

"Yeah? What do you want, Harry?"

"Everything. Want to see you naked. Want to kiss you everywhere."

Draco pulled back, lips shiny red and eyes blown out in lust. "Everywhere?"

"God, yes. Just—" Harry tugged at Draco's trousers. "Clothes?"

Draco nodded eagerly, hands slipping to the waistband of his trousers. Harry stared, momentarily transfixed, before Draco shot him a pointed glare and he hurried to rid himself of his own clothing. He kicked off his trousers and pants and stood, fully naked. Distantly, he registered that they were still in their office at work, that this really wasn't the place to be having sex, but he knew there was no way he'd last long enough to relocate. He grabbed his wand, casting a locking charm and an industrial strength silencing charm. If Harry had anything to say about it, they were going to need it.

His gaze caught on Draco, naked and beautiful, leaning casually against his desk as his appreciative gaze traveled leisurely up Harry's body. Draco's cock was hard, long and flushed dark, and Harry's mouth watered. He was in front of Draco in two steps, pulling him flush to his chest and kissing him with everything he had. Draco kissed back just as passionately, his hands tangling in Harry's hair and his hips rocking purposefully against Harry.

It was brilliant. Harry thought he could probably spend hours just kissing Draco, but that wasn't what he wanted now. He pressed one last lingering kiss on Draco's lips, before dropping to his knees. Draco gasped, and Harry looked up him through his lashes as he grabbed Draco's cock. Liquid pearled at the tip, and Harry licked it off slowly, savouring the taste of Draco on his tongue.

"You going to suck me, Harry? Going to take me into your mouth?" Draco's voice was rough.

"I haven't decided yet."

"Haven't decided yet?" Draco huffed. "Then what the hell are you doing down there?"

"I haven't decided what I want to taste more." Harry looked up into Draco's eyes. "Your cock, or your arse." Draco swallowed. "Hmm, maybe you should turn around. I can't very well decide if I haven't even seen your arse yet, can I?"

Draco smiled. "You make a good point, I'll just…" Draco turned to face the desk, widening his legs and bracing his hands against the edge. He arched his back, thrusting out his arse. Harry's mouth went dry. "Like this?" Draco asked, all faux innocence.

"Fuck yes, exactly like that." Harry wasn't sure where this was coming from, this easy confidence, this desire to do anything and everything with Draco. He wasn't exactly inexperienced—he'd been with both men and women, though they were few and far between. But even with the others, it had never been like this. He'd never felt so comfortable with them, never felt so daring and wild.

Harry's hands rose of their own free will to grip the perfect, firm globes in front of him. He'd always known that Draco had a great arse, but seeing it naked was enough to nearly short-circuit his brain. He dug his thumbs into the crease, parting his cheeks and revealing Draco's tight little hole. It was so tiny, and pink, and…

Harry dragged his tongue up Draco's crack, lingering on the furled entrance to Draco's body.

"Oh, oh fuck!" Draco shouted.

Harry smiled and did it again. He'd never done this before, and the one time a bloke had tried to do it to him, he'd shot right off the bed in his haste to get away. But Draco was different. God, he wanted to touch him everywhere, wanted to know what every inch of his skin felt like beneath Harry's tongue. Draco tasted like sweat and soap and musk and Harry couldn't get enough. Following his instincts, Harry licked at Draco's hole, alternating between broad, flat swipes of his tongue and quick, curling flicks against the wrinkled skin. Draco's thighs quivered, the muscles in his arse flexing beneath Harry's palms as he moved his hips back against Harry's face.

"Salazar you're—ah—good at that," Draco gasped out. His movements became a bit less fluid as he dropped a hand down to fist at his cock.

Harry hummed against the skin of Draco's crease, before pulling Draco wide open and circling him with his tongue. The room felt hot, heady with the scent of sex, of Draco. Harry could hear the slick sound of Draco's hand sliding over his cock, mixed with the wet sound of Harry's mouth on Draco's arse. His own cock throbbed against his thigh, aching for something to rub against. But Harry didn't have a hand to spare, not when they were both occupied with gripping Draco's perfect arse.

Draco's moans rose in pitch, and Harry could tell by the desperate movements of his arm that he was getting close. He pressed nearer, wanting Draco to come with Harry's tongue in his arse. Draco was so wet and loose from Harry working him over, that it was nothing at all for Harry to hold him open and wriggle the point of his tongue inside. It was all so filthy and dirty and Harry couldn't get enough.

"Fuck!" Draco yelled as Harry curled his tongue and began moving inside as best he could. Draco's arse tightened, the muscles contracting around the tip of Harry's tongue and Draco came against his desk. Harry continued licking him through his orgasm, mouthing and nipping at his rim until Draco turned around and tackled him to the ground.

Draco kissed him then, deep and messy. Harry wondered if he could taste himself on Harry's tongue. Part of Harry couldn't believe he'd just done that, but the bigger part of him felt nothing but satisfaction and contentment. It felt right, being with Draco. Harry's erection pressed up against Draco's softening cock, and he rocked up against him, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at the beautiful friction. When Draco pulled away, Harry thought he might actually cry, he wanted to come so badly.

But then Draco was shimmying down Harry's body and swallowing his cock down to the root, and Harry lost the capacity to think at all. His hands scrabbled uselessly against the floor at the warm, wet pressure sliding up and down his shaft in quick, practised movements. It was obvious that this was not the first time that Draco had done this, but Harry couldn't even manage to be jealous. Not when Draco's tongue flicked expertly at the crown of his cock, making Harry's toes curl. Besides, none of those others had been Draco's soulmate. Only Harry.

"Fuck, Draco, I'm going to…"

Draco didn't pull off, instead pushing himself farther down onto Harry's cock until the tip nudged the back of his throat. He looked up then, glancing at Harry through smudged lashes as he swallowed around Harry's prick. Harry shuddered, eyes locked on Draco's as he came down Draco's throat.

Harry's head hit against the floor with a thud as he gazed dazedly at the ceiling. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he came down from one of the most intense orgasms of his life. With Draco Malfoy. His soulmate. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. Had it really only been thirty minutes since he'd arrived in the office with a bleeding Draco? Only thirty minutes since his life had been turned completely upside down.

Fingers slid softly against his hip and he glanced down at Draco, who was kneeling between Harry's spread thighs. His eyes were riveted on the patch of inky black skin on Harry's outer thigh—his soulmark.

"Can you see him?"

"Your phoenix?"

Harry smiled fondly. "Yeah, Sparky."

Draco's eyebrows rose. "Sparky? Please tell me you're having me on. You cannot name your soulmark, and you certainly can't name it Sparky."

Harry laughed. "You can touch it, if you want."

Draco's expression went soft. "I do want. I wonder if the feeling will be as intense the first time I touch yours?"

"Let's find out."

Draco pressed his warm palm against the quivering splotch, and Harry gasped. The feeling wasn't as earth-stopping as when Harry had first touched Draco's, but Harry was still struck by a feeling of indescribable euphoria, and Draco's face was lit up with a similar emotion. It was different than when Harry had touched Draco's, a more bone-deep warmth radiating out from his core. He wondered if it was because it was the second touch, or because it was Draco touching Harry's mark this time. He guessed there would have to be a lot of experimental touching to find out.

"S'better than a Cheering Charm, that is," Harry slurred, pulling Draco down on top of him. He wriggled happily under the warm weight of his body, protecting Harry from the chill of the room.

"Much better." Draco kissed him slowly, indulgently. "Though I do wonder how soulmates ever manage to leave their rooms. I'm finding that I rather lack the motivation to do anything other than roll around with you naked on the floor."

"It'd probably be more comfortable on a bed."

"Undoubtedly." Draco rocked his hips against Harry's, his cock already miraculously hardening.

"But then we'd have to get dressed. And Apparate."

"That is the dilemma."

"And we really should be finishing that paperwork." Draco circled his hips, and Harry gasped, arousal pooling in his groin.

"I rather think we'll have to beg off this time. We'll send an owl, seeing as how we're currently...indisposed."

"That is—ah—an excellent suggestion."

Draco picked up his wand, summoning their clothes with a quick flick. He didn't bother dressing, just holding his clothes tight and shoving Harry's ball of clothing at him.

"Your place or mine? No wait, what am I thinking, my place of course. If we're having a sex marathon it's going to be on a bed with some decent thread count sheets."

Harry laughed. "If you're able to think about thread count while I'm fucking you, then I don't think I'm doing my job right."

"What makes you think you'll be fucking me?"

"You mean besides how much you were gagging for it when I had my tongue up your arse earlier?" Harry grinned. "The way I see it, it's not a proper sex marathon unless neither of us can walk straight by the end of it." He brushed his fingers against Draco's mark, both of their bodies shuddering at the pulse of pleasure that zinged through them.

"Well in that case," Draco murmured, voice rough as he grabbed Harry's arm in one hand and his wand in the other, "—hold tight."