Unexpected (H/D Oneshot)
Jun. 26th, 2009 10:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesThis fic is dedicated to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bryoneybrynn for melting my brain and inspiring an immediate plot bunny. I planned to attach the pic, but LJ is being a "post too large" bitch again, so I'll just post the damn fic. *kicks it* And a billionty of thanks to alaana_fair for the rapid-fire beta! *SMOOCHES*
Draco stared into the dark alley and drew a sharp breath, unable to process the vision in front of him. He blinked a few times to dispel it, almost certain that it was a vision, or an illusion of some sort.
“Potter?” he asked softly when the image did not dissipate.
As though prodded by the question, the man took another step forward, moving more fully beneath the soft glow of a flickering lamp that illuminated a tiny portion of the dark alley.
Draco felt the moisture in his throat depart for other regions, probably travelling straight to his groin like all the other fluids in his body. He swallowed hard, searching for words, but he could scarcely think, much less speak.
If it wasn’t Potter, someone had done a damn good job of replicating him, right down to the perfection that was Potter’s cock. Draco tried not to fix his gaze on it and failed. It was hardly his fault, however. Potter—if it was Potter—wore only a red hooded sweatshirt and a pair of black gloves. The hoodie was open, exposing a gorgeous expanse of muscular chest and rippled abdomen. And a nipple ring, Draco noted absently. A gleaming, golden nipple ring.
Polyjuice Potion, Draco decided suddenly, still fixated on Potter’s bare cock. It had to be Polyjuice. The man did not even have shoes on, for Merlin’s sake.
The knife clinched it. A large, ugly-looking butcher knife gleamed in the right hand of the fake Potter, dangling, seemingly forgotten. Thankfully, it did not gleam red.
“Are you all right?” Draco asked softly and took a cautious step forward.
The man lifted the knife in a threatening manner, but slowly, as if considering the best way to carve Draco into a hundred pieces. Draco was suddenly thankful that the man’s wand was nowhere in sight.
Draco raised his wand and cast a Stunner. The man stiffened and toppled backward. The knife rang against the pavement and skidded away.
Draco walked forward carefully and knelt to examine the fallen man. Bloody hell, to take him to St. Mungo’s might cause a stir. Even taking him into custody could cause problems, just in case it really was Potter.
He glanced around carefully to see if there were any witnesses. Someone had called the Auror Department to report a disturbance in Knockturn Alley—screaming, which was not exactly an unusual occurrence for the area. Draco had expected the usual—some prostitute getting harassed by a drunken john, or possibly some hapless idiot being mugged.
A nearly naked Harry Potter lookalike with a deadly knife was not even in the same realm as his expectations. As usual for Knockturn Alley, all potential witnesses had evaporated. He sighed and decided that discretion would be the best option, at least until the Polyjuice Potion wore off.
He packaged the knife for evidence, gripped the man’s arm tightly, and Apparated them both to his flat.
ooOoo
The man lay on Draco’s sofa, sprawled in an ungainly pose with one leg and one arm dangling off the couch. Draco had Levitated him there and then seated himself on a nearby chair to ponder the oddity, after lighting several lamps to brighten the midnight gloom.
In truth, he pondered the wonder that was Harry Potter’s cock far more than the strange situation. It was mouth-watering. Although impressive enough in its limp state; Draco could only imagine the glory it held when erect.
The nipple ring was no longer exposed. One of the man’s arms covered it in his current pose, draped across his chest. The other nipple was visible, but it was barren of adornment. Draco could not help but wonder if the ring belonged to Potter or to the man who had taken his form. He could not remember if jewellery transformed during a Polyjuice transfer or not.
At any rate, the metal was there, beneath the concealing arm, gleaming on Potter’s perfect body, begging to be toyed with. Draco swallowed and realized he was half-hard from ogling Harry Potter’s likeness. He sighed and decided he had better cover the man for modesty’s sake. And for his own sanity.
He fetched a blanket, wondering about the gloves as he performed the task. And then there was the knife, of course. That was odd. But why such a bizarre outfit? Where had the rest of his clothing gone? Had it been a party gone wrong? Had the fool taken the wrong potion and drugged himself into utter stupidity?
Draco returned and draped the blanket carelessly over the man’s lower half before making a Floo-call to Kingsley. He outlined the potential “Potter problem” and spent twelve minutes justifying his decision not to take the man in before Shacklebolt finally agreed with him. Most of the time Draco wanted to Crucio the Minister and the feeling was definitely mutual.
“Call me the minute he wakes up,” Shacklebolt growled.
Or not, Draco thought in annoyance, but he nodded curtly and ended the call. He rubbed his temples and considered pouring himself a drink, wondering for the dozenth time what had possessed him to become an Auror.
Probably some latent need to compete with the image of the man that lay on his sofa, he admitted wryly to himself. Everyone had expected Potter to become an Auror, shine at his job, and make a bid to become the next Minister for Magic.
Potter had fooled them all. He had practically dropped off the face of the earth, leaving England entirely to travel Merlin-knew-where. He had been gone for more than three years. Although his return had been hailed in the papers, Potter had spent only a short time in the limelight before disappearing again. Rumour had it he had moved to Cornwall and become a recluse, much to the annoyance of the Daily Prophet and the relief of Shacklebolt, who did not want the competition.
Draco frowned, thinking it even more unlikely that the Man Who Lived and Lived and Kept on Living would appear half-nude in Knockturn Alley in the middle of the night. Draco went to the kitchen and made a cup of tea, after which he sat down across from the unconscious man and waited for the Polyjuice to wear off.
But the Polyjuice did not. Draco checked his clock several times as the hour came and went, and yet there was no change in the man on the sofa. It couldn’t be. He got to his feet and walked to the couch, wondering if someone had determined a way to extend the effects of Polyjuice Potion.
He dropped to one knee to look at Potter more closely before pulling out his wand with determination. “Ennervate!”
Draco’s Stunner was one of the strongest, he had to admit. The famous scarred brow wrinkled and the man groaned softly. His eyes fluttered once, then again. They opened slowly and Draco frowned when they slowly fixed on him. To his amazement, Potter’s lips curved into a smile. He languidly raised a hand and curled it around the back of Draco’s neck.
“Good dream,” Potter murmured and pulled Draco down into a kiss.
Draco was too shocked to react. Potter’s lips played gently over his, toying with him, coaxing them open just enough to glide his tongue over the sensitive inner portion of Draco’s lips. To his horror, he felt his body respond with the suddenness of a winter storm.
Potter broke the kiss and Draco pulled back enough to stare down at him in stunned amazement. Potter frowned. “You are a dream, are you not?”
Draco struggled to recover his aplomb. He forced his lips into a sardonic smirk; his lips that were, incredibly, wet with Harry Potter’s saliva. “Afraid not, Potter.”
The green eyes widened even more. “Bollocks,” he murmured. His eyes slid away from Draco’s and he took in his surroundings as his hand dropped away from Draco’s neck. “Um… where am I?” A pink tint coloured his cheeks.
“You’re in my flat,” Draco replied and moved away slightly to give Potter some breathing room.
Potter sat up, clutched at the back of the sofa for a moment—no doubt from Stunner vertigo—and then gasped as the blanket slipped nearly off of his lap. Draco watched with interest as Potter snatched at the fabric before it completely exposed him. He wrenched it back into his lap and glared at Draco.
“Where are my clothes?”
Draco smiled widely. “I assumed you could tell me. That’s what you were wearing when I found you.” Draco got to his feet and walked away from the disturbing half-nude man.
“Found me? What do you mean? Found me where?”
Draco glanced over his shoulder to find that Potter had bundled the blanket around himself, covering that glorious tanned flesh all the way to his neck. Damned Gryffindor modesty. Draco was suddenly glad that he had looked his fill when he’d had the chance.
Potter looked suddenly green. “Oh, Merlin. Do you have a Hangover Potion? I think I’m going to be sick.”
For an instant Draco debated watching Potter flail his way to the bathroom, hopefully dropping the blanket on the way, but he doubted the famed reflexes would fail the man. He regretfully Summoned the requested potion from his supply and tossed it to Potter.
“Why don’t you tell me the last thing you remember?” Draco suggested as he seated himself in the chair again. Potter gulped down the potion and shuddered at the effects, but the greenish tint faded from his features.
Draco glanced toward the fireplace, knowing Shacklebolt would call the instant his patience reached its limit, but he wanted to hear the story from Potter first.
Potter looked confused as he set the vial on the tea table. “I was… I was cooking dinner for Seamus.”
Draco felt a flare of annoyance. Finnegan? Honestly, had Potter shacked up with Finnegan? If the kiss hadn’t been a fluke, at any rate, with Potter mistaking him for some girl of his dreams.
“Is this a common occurrence?” Draco asked, unable to help himself.
Potter blinked at him. “Is what a common occurrence?”
“Making dinner for Finnegan. If he is the ‘Seamus’ in question.”
“Oh. Yes.” Potter shook his head. “I mean, yes, it is Seamus Finnegan, and no, it is not a common occurrence. He just dropped in.”
“And?” Draco prodded.
“We might have had too much to drink,” Potter admitted.
“So. The Chosen One got shit-faced, took off half his clothing, and Apparated to Knockturn Alley in order to disturb the peace. The Prophet should have fun with that.”
Potter’s brow wrinkled. “Knockturn Alley?”
“Yes, Potter. That is where I found you.”
Recognition seemed to flare in the green eyes, which looked so much brighter without the spectacles. Draco wondered how well he could see without them. “You hit me with a Stunner! That hurt!”
“You were brandishing a knife!”
“I was not brandishing it!”
“Then why didn’t you say something?”
“Erm… I couldn’t.” Potter buried his face in the blanket that covered hands. “Oh, Merlin. I’m starting to remember. It was Lee Jordan’s fault.”
“Lee Jordan?” Draco frowned, barely recalling the Gryffindor boy from Hogwarts.
Potter nodded. “Lee tracked Seamus to my cottage. I invited him in, of course. He was celebrating something… I’ve quite forgotten what. A Quidditch game or some ruddy bet he’d won...”
Draco’s look of boredom must have convinced Potter to move the story along.
“Anyway. Lee brought a case of Muggle ale. Newcastle Brown. I recommend staying away from it, if you can. The effects can be disturbing.”
Draco rolled his eyes at the very thought of consuming any sort of Muggle concoction. Potter snorted.
“Right. Too good to drink anything Muggle. I forgot. I do remember drinking. A lot. At one point, Lee Apparated out and bought more. I can’t believe he didn’t Splinch himself, but Seamus says Lee is the best drunken Apparater in Britain.”
Potter rubbed at one temple. “And then the drinking games started. We played Fuzzy Duck until Seamus started quacking uncontrollably and he and Lee got into a scuffle. And then we moved on to King’s Cup. And finally Truth or Dare.”
“Truth or Dare,” Draco repeated.
Potter flushed. “Aye. Things get a bit unclear from here on out. I remember Lee daring Seamus to take off his shirt and write ‘Lee Jordan is a sex god’ on his chest in permanent marker.”
“Let me guess. Someone dared you to pop into Knockturn Alley in the altogether?”
Potter coughed. “Not exactly. Look, can I possibly borrow some clothes? I feel a bit…”
“Exposed?” Draco said with a smirk.
Surprisingly, Potter smiled. For a moment, Draco’s heart did a strange floppy thing, because the prat looked simply edible with his brilliant eyes and his just-out-of-bed hair and that gorgeous smile… On top of that sterling body with the… nipple ring. Dear Merlin. What the fuck was Harry Potter doing with a nipple ring?
The very thought of it made Draco cross his legs discretely.
“Yeah. I could always pop back home…?”
Draco shook his head. “Oh, no you don’t. Not until I get the rest of this story. I have to file an official report, you know. Auror, and all that.”
Potter sighed. “Very well.”
Draco got to his feet and walked quickly to the fireplace. “Speaking of which, I suppose I had better check in before the dear boss has an apoplectic attack.” Draco did feel a moment of satisfaction at keeping Shacklebolt up half the night. It was nearing 2:15 a.m. and he had already awakened him to report the problem.
“Potter is here. Seems it was all a bit of a misunderstanding. I’ll get the full report and have it on your desk in the morning. Goodnight.”
Draco cut off the connection before Shacklebolt could do more than bluster. He waited to see if the bastard would call back, but apparently the Minister did not feel like arguing, for once. Draco turned back to Potter.
“Stay right there. I’ll get you something to wear.” He knew Potter would not be going anywhere. He was wandless, after all. Draco could hardly wait to get to that part of the story.
Draco returned and tossed a pair of black silk pyjama bottoms to Potter, who held them up dubiously.
“I don’t think my trousers will fit you,” Draco commented. It was true. Draco was still slenderer than the prat and he was not sure his libido could handle seeing Potter’s delectable arse encased in skin-tight trousers. The pyjamas were larger and fitted with a drawstring.
Potter looked at him pointedly and Draco laughed. “Modesty? Now? Apparently you have no problem parading around Knockturn Alley in the altogether, and I am the one that brought you here. Trust me; I have seen your merchandise.”
Potter flushed and glared at him, but rose to the challenge. He pushed the blanket aside and stood up before yanking the pyjamas on one leg at a time, allowing Draco one last view of his exquisite cock before it departed Draco’s sight forever. He nearly sighed aloud at the loss.
“Thank you,” Potter said grudgingly when his bits were covered. He sat back on the couch and Draco decided the blanket had been a better idea, because Potter seemed comfortable enough now to cross one ankle over his knee and lean back with one arm draped across the back of the sofa. The movement caused the hoodie to gape open, exposing his chest once more. His abdomen was entirely lickable, with a dark line of hair that beckoned the eye from his navel to the waistband of the pyjamas.
Draco forced his gaze upward—a mistake, because his eyes fixed on the nipple ring once more. It glittered tantalisingly. Fuck, when had Harry Potter turned into a bloody package of pure sex appeal?
He coughed lightly and hoped Potter had wretched vision without his glasses. “Very well, you were playing Truth or Dare.”
Potter nodded. “We were all pretty pissed by the time we got to that. Things degenerated rather quickly. After the ‘sex god’ incident, Seamus dared Lee to strip completely and sing the Wimbourne Wasps fight song in falsetto.” Potter laughed and the sound of it rolled over Draco like a caress. He decided he liked the sound of it very much and quickly bludgeoned the thought to death.
“I was laughing so hard that Lee decided to get revenge, so on my next dare he forced me to bare my all and then put on this hoodie and gloves in order to do an imitation of Oliver Wood before a game back at Hogwarts. I have to admit they fell about the place laughing their arses off.” Potter chuckled.
“Their bare arses,” Draco added.
“Aye. Well, Seamus still had trousers on, at that point. At least until I dared him strip down and let Lee write ‘Harry Potter is a sex god” across his arse.” Potter laughed again and Draco cracked a smile, although more at Potter’s mirth than amusement at the tale.
“Does it ever occur to any of you Gryffindors to choose ‘truth’?” he asked dryly.
Potter shut up and looked perplexed for a moment. “I’m not close enough to Seamus and Lee to disclose any truths that might come back to haunt me.”
Draco snorted. “But close enough to prance around naked?”
Potter rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen them before. Quidditch lockers, and all. Besides, it was damn funny.” Potter’s grin disappeared. “Until Lee went too far, the bastard. Bloody hell, I remember now. When I get my hands on him...”
He paused and cocked a brow at Draco. “Do you happen to have any tea? Hangover Potions taste like shite and I’m getting a bit tired. I don’t suppose you’ll let me go home and finish this story tomorrow?”
“Not on your life, Potter. Nice stalling technique, but I plan to keep you here until I hear every wicked detail. I will make you some tea, however, since mine has gone cold.”
Draco returned to the kitchen and brewed two strong cups of tea. His mind wandered a bit, sliding into places it had no business sliding. Just because Harry Potter was fit, and wearing nothing but Draco’s pyjamas, an open hoodie, and a pair of fingerless gloves, did not give Draco the right to have untoward thoughts about the man. Untoward and lustful, he admitted. Very lustful.
“Idiot,” he muttered to himself and sloshed milk into both cups before adding sugar. “It’s still Harry bloody Potter. Straight arrow. Saviour, and all that. Stop fanaticising.”
He tossed the spoon aside and returned to the living room where he handed Potter a mug and then sat next to him, bending one leg beneath himself and sitting on it to face Potter more directly. The green eyes shot sidelong to him, but Potter said nothing as he sipped his tea.
“Lee Jordan?” Draco prompted when it seemed Potter planned to down his drink without speaking another word.
The Saviour sighed. “Lee. He actually dared me to Apparate to Knockturn Alley and proposition the first person I saw. Like a common rentboy! Can you imagine? The bloody Prophet would have a field day. I would never be free of them.”
Draco refrained from commenting that it appeared Potter had done precisely that.
Potter continued, “I told Lee it was out of the question and that the game was over. By then, the roast had finished cooking and was ready for slicing. I was starved.” Potter frowned. “Still am, now that I think about it. I never got a bloody chance to eat. Lee wouldn’t let it go. He’s a right bastard when he hits a certain level of drunkenness, apparently, and I was none too steady, myself. I went into the kitchen to slice the roast... hence the knife.”
Draco grinned, suddenly sensing where the tale was going. Potter nodded.
“Exactly. The prat grabbed me and Apparated us straight to Knockturn Alley. We landed nearly on top of an old woman rooting through the rubbish bins. She screamed bloody murder at the sight of us and I started shouting at Lee for bringing us there. The old woman kept screaming even as she fled. Lee was doubled over in laughter, but he kept trying to hush me, as if the damned woman had not attracted enough attention. I swear, I would have snapped his wand, or his neck, if I’d gotten close enough.”
Potter set his cup on the tea table and glared at Draco. “I didn’t get a chance. He hit me with a Silencing Spell and then Disapparated. When I turned around, you were standing there. I couldn’t even call to you, and then you hit me with a Stunner.”
“I thought you were someone using Polyjuice,” Draco admitted. “And the knife was disturbing.”
“You seem disappointed. Sorry you can’t haul me in for going round the twist and turning into a savage killer or a demented rentboy?”
Draco met the green eyes steadily. “I am a bit disappointed you aren’t a rentboy. What’s the story behind this?” Hardly able to believe his own temerity, Draco reached out and flicked the nipple ring lightly with one finger. Potter gasped.
“I’m… not sure I’m ready to divulge that story, at the moment. What about you? An Auror? I confess to being surprised when I heard.”
Draco reined in a sneer and shrugged, instead. “Still competing with you, on some level, I suppose. And then you dropped out and disappeared.”
“But you didn’t.”
Draco smiled. “I didn’t.”
Potter mimicked his pose, turning to face him and bracing his elbow on the back of the sofa in order to rest his head on his open palm. “And how is it?”
Draco nearly pinched himself, almost unable to accept that he was talking to Harry Potter as though they were old chums. Perhaps Potter was still addled from drink. “It’s different than I expected. More paperwork and less stamping out evil.”
Potter laughed again and it was even better this time, because it was directed at Draco and not turned inward. “I’m glad I left before that nonsense began.” His eyes shifted to indicate Draco’s flat. “You never married, then?”
“I never found the right man,” Draco admitted quietly and waited for the shutters to fall. It would be a tragic loss, really, because he suddenly realized that being Harry Potter’s friend might still be something worth attaining.
“Oh!” Potter said and his eyes widened slightly. Instead of drawing away, his gaze seemed to slide over Draco speculatively. Draco waited, perplexed and almost breathless. And then Potter leaned forward slightly and whispered, “Do you want to hear a secret?”
Draco nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
Potter raised a hand slowly and said, “I’ve always wanted to touch your hair.” His fingers slid into Draco’s hair at the nape of his neck and caressed for only a moment before exerting gentle pressure, guiding Draco forward to meet the softness of Potter’s lips.
The kiss was far sweeter than it should have been. It seemed almost inevitable, as though the ridiculous paths their lives had taken had been destined to lead them to this moment. Potter kissed brilliantly, exerting exactly the right amount of pressure, neither demanding nor submitting. There was no tongue, only lips on lips, until Potter pulled away, panting slightly. His cheeks were flushed and his green eyes seemed to shine as he quirked a shy smile.
“An ex-boyfriend talked me into the nipple ring,” he admitted.
Fuck. Draco reached out and dragged Potter back into the kiss, gripping the edges of the hoodie and holding on for dear life. Gentleness dissipated, replaced with urgency. Draco’s erection had never fully deflated and it was suddenly rock hard, especially when Potter’s gloved hand left his hair in order to drag the back of his shirt from the waistband of his trousers. His fingers moved over Draco’s back, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. It had been a long time since Draco had allowed anyone to touch him.
Potter was surprisingly tactile. He seemed determined to touch every bit of Draco’s skin, as if he were blind and needed to imprint Draco’s shape on his senses. Draco barely noticed, because Potter also seemed determined to devour Draco from the inside out, starting with his tongue.
Draco finally broke away, needing to breathe—needing to think.
“Hell, Potter,” he said, gasping. “This is—”
“This is amazing, is what this is,” Potter growled. “I’ve wanted a piece of your succulent arse since bloody sixth year.”
“Since sixth—? Did you just say succulent arse?”
Potter buried his face in Draco’s neck and snickered. It felt almost too good, with Potter’s hot breath and Potter’s tangled hair, and just… Potter. “Delicious?”
“Well, you’ll never know until you try it,” Draco said coyly.
Potter stilled. “Is that an offer?”
Draco nearly shivered, and not just because Potter’s hands had been caressing him from waistband to neck and back again in a ceaseless pattern. “Maybe it is,” he said. “But first I would like my pyjama bottoms back.”
Potter pulled away before Draco could take a breath. He stood and shimmied out of Draco’s pyjamas, once again clad only in hoodie and gloves. This time, however, his impressive cock stood at attention. Potter’s Gryffindor modesty seemed to have vanished, which was more than fine with Draco.
Before Potter could regain his seat, Draco reached out and curved his fingers around Potter’s hipbone to drag him closer. Potter’s cock was suddenly right there, begging to be tasted. Draco lifted his eyes to find Potter watching him with something akin to awe in his stare. Draco smirked once and then flattened his tongue over the head before wrapping his lips around it.
“Merlin!” Potter said on a gasp. “I was going to kill Lee when I saw him next, but now I think I’ll have to send him a gift.”
Potter’s hands went to either side of Draco’s head as he took the length deeper. He was glad to note that Potter made no effort to guide Draco’s movements, his hands were simply there.
Draco had not given many blow jobs. After all, Malfoys did not get on their knees for anyone. He had, however, received quite a large number and knew precisely what techniques worked to reduce one to a gibbering mess, which is what Harry Potter rapidly became.
“Draco,” Potter murmured, making him pause for the barest moment, because he had never heard Potter use his first name before. He liked the sound of it. He doubled his efforts in appreciation, until Potter was mewling like a kitten and sliding his gloved hands down to Draco’s shoulders in order to grip more tightly.
“Draco, I—!”
It was all the warning he received before Potter’s hot fluid poured down the back of his throat. Draco swallowed every bit, feeling a curious vindication at being allowed the privilege.
“Merlin,” Potter said and cupped Draco’s face with both hands as Draco detached from his wet cock. Potter tugged gently, urging Draco to his feet and into another kiss. Potter’s hand moved down over his shoulders and back to slip beneath his shirt once more. “You have far too many clothes on.”
Draco needed no further urging. He stepped back and fairly tore his shirt off, not caring how eager it made him seem. He was eager, damn it. He wanted his bare flesh against Potter’s and he wanted it now.
“Bedroom,” he growled.
Potter jerked his head as though startled and fixed his gaze on the doorway. For a terrifying moment, Draco thought he might refuse, but then Potter moved away, snagging Draco’s hand as he went.
Bemused, Draco allowed himself to be led down the hallway. Potter passed the guest bedroom with barely a glance inside and continued on to the master bedroom. He walked straight to the bed and dropped Draco’s hand in order to raise it to the open edge of the hoodie, obviously intending to remove it.
“No,” Draco said quickly. “Leave it on.”
Potter gave him a speculative look, but said nothing as he dropped onto the bed and levered himself back against the pillows. Draco could only watch him for a moment, taking in the astounding vision of Harry Potter in his bed. He was suddenly glad of his pale gold coverlet, because it highlighted the glory of Potter’s tanned form clad in the red fabric, with the black gloves nearly touching his ears on either side of his head.
Potter raised a hand and beckoned to him invitingly. Draco slowly removed his remaining clothing, taking his time when Potter’s gaze turned heated. When Draco finally exposed his almost-painful erection, Potter’s eyes fixed on it. He did not smile, but instead wet his lower lip with his tongue in a languid caress.
Draco swallowed hard and crawled onto the bed, not stopping until he knelt over Potter, who had willingly opened his legs and allowed him to park between his thighs. Draco had, admittedly, envisioned having sex with Potter more than once—especially during the past hour—but he had not expected Potter to be eager to bottom.
“Do you want me to…?” Draco asked just to be certain.
“Yes,” Potter said. “I want you to fuck me. Unless you’d rather—?“
Draco shook his head with a smile. “Oh, I’m flexible, Potter.”
“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”
For that, Draco leaned down and took the golden nipple ring into his mouth. He played with it with his tongue for a few moments and then tugged it gently with his teeth. Potter squirmed and gasped in a way that caused Draco’s cock to lose a bit of control and drip onto the coverlet. He raised his head and cocked a brow at Potter. “Did your ex-boyfriend enjoy your adornment as much as I do?” he asked.
Potter’s grin widened. “I broke up with him before it healed. You’re the first one allowed to play with it.”
Draco knew he should not have felt an almost violent level of satisfaction at the words, but there it was. He did not neglect the other nipple, working it into a hard peak with his tongue while his fingers toyed with the ring on the other.
“Draco!” Potter gasped. “Please.”
Draco stopped worshipping Potter’s chest and noticed with surprise that the man was hard already. “Excellent stamina,” he commented and wrapped one hand around Potter’s cock and the other around his testicles.
Potter moaned. “Th… Thanks.”
“You’re going to need it.”
Draco took his time preparing Potter, even though each gasp and quiver was torture to his overly hard cock. He was afraid he might come the instant he entered the tight heat that currently clenched around his fingers. In order to test the theory, he removed his hand and pushed the head of his cock against Potter’s prepared hole. There was no concern on the Gryffindor’s face, just a heady anticipation.
Draco pushed in slowly, wanting to remember every single nuance, in case the opportunity never presented itself again. The notion that it might was too much to hope for. And it was brilliant. Draco had buried himself in a fair number of tight arses, so perhaps it was the mere fact that this was Potter that made it so extraordinary.
Of course, it didn’t hurt that Potter seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. He wrapped his fists around the iron slats of Draco’s headboard and met Draco’s every thrust with an equal push, sending him deeper and urging him onward. To Draco’s relief, he did not come within a few meagre strokes, because it was far too incredible to end so quickly. He determined to maintain his efforts until Potter came again.
He fisted Potter roughly to speed the process along, because, fuck it all, he needed to come now.
“Draco, Draco, Draco,” Potter mumbled, almost incoherently stressing the last syllable due to the force of Draco’s pounding.
“Fuck, Harry,” Draco said and the name seemed to trigger it for Potter. His cock pulsed in Draco’s hand and with a cry of relief he let his own orgasm rush through him. He felt it from his toes to his hair and when he collapsed atop Potter he thought he might never be able to move again.
Potter seemed to feel the same. Draco nestled his face into Potter’s damp neck and breathed in the far-from-unpleasant scent. He needed to rest for a moment. As soon as he could function, he would pull out of Potter and clean them up. Perhaps get them some food. Soon…
Draco woke feeling strangely content. It baffled him for a moment when coherency began to return, and then he remembered the night’s events with a rush. His eyes snapped open and he half sat up.
Potter was gone.
Draco sagged into the pillows and wondered vaguely if it had been a dream. A very vivid dream. An incredible, unbelievable dream.
No. Potter’s scent still lingered in the air, tantalising and unmistakable. Draco frowned, wishing he had awakened in time to stop Potter from leaving. He wondered if he would ever see the Gryffindor again, and felt a flare of disappointment.
It would be foolish to look him up in Cornwall. Beyond foolish. It might even put his job in jeopardy, since Potter could accuse him of Ministry harassment, or worse. After all, he had practically seduced Potter when he was supposed to be getting a statement. Potter could be at the Ministry right now, filing a complaint.
Draco sighed and then started when he heard footsteps in the hall. He looked at the door to see Potter holding a cardboard box in one hand and a paper cup in the other.
“I… um…” he said eloquently. “I thought you might be hungry.”
The Gryffindor was completely dressed in jeans, a white t-shirt, dark grey cloak, and black gloves—with fingers this time. A green scarf had been tossed around his neck and Draco recognized it as one of his.
Potter walked forward as Draco sat up in surprise, hardly able to believe the man was not some sort of spirit, again—or perhaps he was still dreaming. The bed compressed as Potter sat on it, which alleviated Draco’s worry that he was a vision. The delicious odour coming from the box was definitely not mythical.
“I was starved when I woke up,” Potter explained as he handed the hot cup to Draco and opened the box. “I used your wand to Apparate home. I hope you don’t mind.” Potter fished it from pocket and set it next to Draco. “I found Lee and Seamus bloody well passed out on my couch. Only my haste to get back here kept me from taking incriminating photos, damn them both. At least my wand was still with my clothes.”
Potter fished a large golden pastry from the box.
“I only stayed home long enough to dress, and then I went to fetch us something to eat. I’ve become rather addicted to these living in Cornwall. Gertrude makes the best Cornish pasties in Britain. This one is traditional steak, but I have pork and apple, cheese and vegetable, and fig. I wasn’t sure which you would prefer.”
He gestured to the cup with the pasty in his hand. “And I brought you a sickeningly sweet vanilla mocha, just because it made me think of you.”
“Potter,” Draco began, finally locating his voice amidst the immensity of surprise.
The Gryffindor flushed and dropped the food into the box. “If you want me to leave…”
Draco began to laugh. Potter frowned and seemed about to move away, but Draco snared his wrist in one hand, caressing the fine bones just above the edge of the glove. He raised Potter’s hand to his mouth and gently began to pull the glove off, using his teeth to tug at one finger at a time. He slid the thing completely away from Potter’s hand and then pressed small kisses onto each fingertip.
“I prefer the fig. But only if you feed it to me,” he admitted.
Potter’s eyes were wide, fathomless pools beneath the spectacles he had also retrieved. His voice sounded a bit breathless when he replied, “All right.”
“And you don’t want to get any crumbs on your clothing, so you should probably take them off,” Draco suggested.
Potter’s smile was almost blinding. “I should probably do that, shouldn’t I?”
“And after we eat, I’ll want to take a shower.”
“Would you like me to wash your back?” Potter suggested coyly, moving closer to Draco and shoving the box aside.
“I’m counting on it,” Draco purred and dragged Potter into a kiss.
As it turned out, he never tasted the vanilla mocha, the pasties were very nearly destroyed when the box was crushed and then knocked to the floor, but the shower was very nice, indeed.
Link to the NWS pic, anyway...
Hopefully the uber-schmoop makes up for the recent wave of angstishness. LOL!
bryoneybrynn for melting my brain and inspiring an immediate plot bunny. I planned to attach the pic, but LJ is being a "post too large" bitch again, so I'll just post the damn fic. *kicks it* And a billionty of thanks to alaana_fair for the rapid-fire beta! *SMOOCHES*Draco stared into the dark alley and drew a sharp breath, unable to process the vision in front of him. He blinked a few times to dispel it, almost certain that it was a vision, or an illusion of some sort.
“Potter?” he asked softly when the image did not dissipate.
As though prodded by the question, the man took another step forward, moving more fully beneath the soft glow of a flickering lamp that illuminated a tiny portion of the dark alley.
Draco felt the moisture in his throat depart for other regions, probably travelling straight to his groin like all the other fluids in his body. He swallowed hard, searching for words, but he could scarcely think, much less speak.
If it wasn’t Potter, someone had done a damn good job of replicating him, right down to the perfection that was Potter’s cock. Draco tried not to fix his gaze on it and failed. It was hardly his fault, however. Potter—if it was Potter—wore only a red hooded sweatshirt and a pair of black gloves. The hoodie was open, exposing a gorgeous expanse of muscular chest and rippled abdomen. And a nipple ring, Draco noted absently. A gleaming, golden nipple ring.
Polyjuice Potion, Draco decided suddenly, still fixated on Potter’s bare cock. It had to be Polyjuice. The man did not even have shoes on, for Merlin’s sake.
The knife clinched it. A large, ugly-looking butcher knife gleamed in the right hand of the fake Potter, dangling, seemingly forgotten. Thankfully, it did not gleam red.
“Are you all right?” Draco asked softly and took a cautious step forward.
The man lifted the knife in a threatening manner, but slowly, as if considering the best way to carve Draco into a hundred pieces. Draco was suddenly thankful that the man’s wand was nowhere in sight.
Draco raised his wand and cast a Stunner. The man stiffened and toppled backward. The knife rang against the pavement and skidded away.
Draco walked forward carefully and knelt to examine the fallen man. Bloody hell, to take him to St. Mungo’s might cause a stir. Even taking him into custody could cause problems, just in case it really was Potter.
He glanced around carefully to see if there were any witnesses. Someone had called the Auror Department to report a disturbance in Knockturn Alley—screaming, which was not exactly an unusual occurrence for the area. Draco had expected the usual—some prostitute getting harassed by a drunken john, or possibly some hapless idiot being mugged.
A nearly naked Harry Potter lookalike with a deadly knife was not even in the same realm as his expectations. As usual for Knockturn Alley, all potential witnesses had evaporated. He sighed and decided that discretion would be the best option, at least until the Polyjuice Potion wore off.
He packaged the knife for evidence, gripped the man’s arm tightly, and Apparated them both to his flat.
ooOoo
The man lay on Draco’s sofa, sprawled in an ungainly pose with one leg and one arm dangling off the couch. Draco had Levitated him there and then seated himself on a nearby chair to ponder the oddity, after lighting several lamps to brighten the midnight gloom.
In truth, he pondered the wonder that was Harry Potter’s cock far more than the strange situation. It was mouth-watering. Although impressive enough in its limp state; Draco could only imagine the glory it held when erect.
The nipple ring was no longer exposed. One of the man’s arms covered it in his current pose, draped across his chest. The other nipple was visible, but it was barren of adornment. Draco could not help but wonder if the ring belonged to Potter or to the man who had taken his form. He could not remember if jewellery transformed during a Polyjuice transfer or not.
At any rate, the metal was there, beneath the concealing arm, gleaming on Potter’s perfect body, begging to be toyed with. Draco swallowed and realized he was half-hard from ogling Harry Potter’s likeness. He sighed and decided he had better cover the man for modesty’s sake. And for his own sanity.
He fetched a blanket, wondering about the gloves as he performed the task. And then there was the knife, of course. That was odd. But why such a bizarre outfit? Where had the rest of his clothing gone? Had it been a party gone wrong? Had the fool taken the wrong potion and drugged himself into utter stupidity?
Draco returned and draped the blanket carelessly over the man’s lower half before making a Floo-call to Kingsley. He outlined the potential “Potter problem” and spent twelve minutes justifying his decision not to take the man in before Shacklebolt finally agreed with him. Most of the time Draco wanted to Crucio the Minister and the feeling was definitely mutual.
“Call me the minute he wakes up,” Shacklebolt growled.
Or not, Draco thought in annoyance, but he nodded curtly and ended the call. He rubbed his temples and considered pouring himself a drink, wondering for the dozenth time what had possessed him to become an Auror.
Probably some latent need to compete with the image of the man that lay on his sofa, he admitted wryly to himself. Everyone had expected Potter to become an Auror, shine at his job, and make a bid to become the next Minister for Magic.
Potter had fooled them all. He had practically dropped off the face of the earth, leaving England entirely to travel Merlin-knew-where. He had been gone for more than three years. Although his return had been hailed in the papers, Potter had spent only a short time in the limelight before disappearing again. Rumour had it he had moved to Cornwall and become a recluse, much to the annoyance of the Daily Prophet and the relief of Shacklebolt, who did not want the competition.
Draco frowned, thinking it even more unlikely that the Man Who Lived and Lived and Kept on Living would appear half-nude in Knockturn Alley in the middle of the night. Draco went to the kitchen and made a cup of tea, after which he sat down across from the unconscious man and waited for the Polyjuice to wear off.
But the Polyjuice did not. Draco checked his clock several times as the hour came and went, and yet there was no change in the man on the sofa. It couldn’t be. He got to his feet and walked to the couch, wondering if someone had determined a way to extend the effects of Polyjuice Potion.
He dropped to one knee to look at Potter more closely before pulling out his wand with determination. “Ennervate!”
Draco’s Stunner was one of the strongest, he had to admit. The famous scarred brow wrinkled and the man groaned softly. His eyes fluttered once, then again. They opened slowly and Draco frowned when they slowly fixed on him. To his amazement, Potter’s lips curved into a smile. He languidly raised a hand and curled it around the back of Draco’s neck.
“Good dream,” Potter murmured and pulled Draco down into a kiss.
Draco was too shocked to react. Potter’s lips played gently over his, toying with him, coaxing them open just enough to glide his tongue over the sensitive inner portion of Draco’s lips. To his horror, he felt his body respond with the suddenness of a winter storm.
Potter broke the kiss and Draco pulled back enough to stare down at him in stunned amazement. Potter frowned. “You are a dream, are you not?”
Draco struggled to recover his aplomb. He forced his lips into a sardonic smirk; his lips that were, incredibly, wet with Harry Potter’s saliva. “Afraid not, Potter.”
The green eyes widened even more. “Bollocks,” he murmured. His eyes slid away from Draco’s and he took in his surroundings as his hand dropped away from Draco’s neck. “Um… where am I?” A pink tint coloured his cheeks.
“You’re in my flat,” Draco replied and moved away slightly to give Potter some breathing room.
Potter sat up, clutched at the back of the sofa for a moment—no doubt from Stunner vertigo—and then gasped as the blanket slipped nearly off of his lap. Draco watched with interest as Potter snatched at the fabric before it completely exposed him. He wrenched it back into his lap and glared at Draco.
“Where are my clothes?”
Draco smiled widely. “I assumed you could tell me. That’s what you were wearing when I found you.” Draco got to his feet and walked away from the disturbing half-nude man.
“Found me? What do you mean? Found me where?”
Draco glanced over his shoulder to find that Potter had bundled the blanket around himself, covering that glorious tanned flesh all the way to his neck. Damned Gryffindor modesty. Draco was suddenly glad that he had looked his fill when he’d had the chance.
Potter looked suddenly green. “Oh, Merlin. Do you have a Hangover Potion? I think I’m going to be sick.”
For an instant Draco debated watching Potter flail his way to the bathroom, hopefully dropping the blanket on the way, but he doubted the famed reflexes would fail the man. He regretfully Summoned the requested potion from his supply and tossed it to Potter.
“Why don’t you tell me the last thing you remember?” Draco suggested as he seated himself in the chair again. Potter gulped down the potion and shuddered at the effects, but the greenish tint faded from his features.
Draco glanced toward the fireplace, knowing Shacklebolt would call the instant his patience reached its limit, but he wanted to hear the story from Potter first.
Potter looked confused as he set the vial on the tea table. “I was… I was cooking dinner for Seamus.”
Draco felt a flare of annoyance. Finnegan? Honestly, had Potter shacked up with Finnegan? If the kiss hadn’t been a fluke, at any rate, with Potter mistaking him for some girl of his dreams.
“Is this a common occurrence?” Draco asked, unable to help himself.
Potter blinked at him. “Is what a common occurrence?”
“Making dinner for Finnegan. If he is the ‘Seamus’ in question.”
“Oh. Yes.” Potter shook his head. “I mean, yes, it is Seamus Finnegan, and no, it is not a common occurrence. He just dropped in.”
“And?” Draco prodded.
“We might have had too much to drink,” Potter admitted.
“So. The Chosen One got shit-faced, took off half his clothing, and Apparated to Knockturn Alley in order to disturb the peace. The Prophet should have fun with that.”
Potter’s brow wrinkled. “Knockturn Alley?”
“Yes, Potter. That is where I found you.”
Recognition seemed to flare in the green eyes, which looked so much brighter without the spectacles. Draco wondered how well he could see without them. “You hit me with a Stunner! That hurt!”
“You were brandishing a knife!”
“I was not brandishing it!”
“Then why didn’t you say something?”
“Erm… I couldn’t.” Potter buried his face in the blanket that covered hands. “Oh, Merlin. I’m starting to remember. It was Lee Jordan’s fault.”
“Lee Jordan?” Draco frowned, barely recalling the Gryffindor boy from Hogwarts.
Potter nodded. “Lee tracked Seamus to my cottage. I invited him in, of course. He was celebrating something… I’ve quite forgotten what. A Quidditch game or some ruddy bet he’d won...”
Draco’s look of boredom must have convinced Potter to move the story along.
“Anyway. Lee brought a case of Muggle ale. Newcastle Brown. I recommend staying away from it, if you can. The effects can be disturbing.”
Draco rolled his eyes at the very thought of consuming any sort of Muggle concoction. Potter snorted.
“Right. Too good to drink anything Muggle. I forgot. I do remember drinking. A lot. At one point, Lee Apparated out and bought more. I can’t believe he didn’t Splinch himself, but Seamus says Lee is the best drunken Apparater in Britain.”
Potter rubbed at one temple. “And then the drinking games started. We played Fuzzy Duck until Seamus started quacking uncontrollably and he and Lee got into a scuffle. And then we moved on to King’s Cup. And finally Truth or Dare.”
“Truth or Dare,” Draco repeated.
Potter flushed. “Aye. Things get a bit unclear from here on out. I remember Lee daring Seamus to take off his shirt and write ‘Lee Jordan is a sex god’ on his chest in permanent marker.”
“Let me guess. Someone dared you to pop into Knockturn Alley in the altogether?”
Potter coughed. “Not exactly. Look, can I possibly borrow some clothes? I feel a bit…”
“Exposed?” Draco said with a smirk.
Surprisingly, Potter smiled. For a moment, Draco’s heart did a strange floppy thing, because the prat looked simply edible with his brilliant eyes and his just-out-of-bed hair and that gorgeous smile… On top of that sterling body with the… nipple ring. Dear Merlin. What the fuck was Harry Potter doing with a nipple ring?
The very thought of it made Draco cross his legs discretely.
“Yeah. I could always pop back home…?”
Draco shook his head. “Oh, no you don’t. Not until I get the rest of this story. I have to file an official report, you know. Auror, and all that.”
Potter sighed. “Very well.”
Draco got to his feet and walked quickly to the fireplace. “Speaking of which, I suppose I had better check in before the dear boss has an apoplectic attack.” Draco did feel a moment of satisfaction at keeping Shacklebolt up half the night. It was nearing 2:15 a.m. and he had already awakened him to report the problem.
“Potter is here. Seems it was all a bit of a misunderstanding. I’ll get the full report and have it on your desk in the morning. Goodnight.”
Draco cut off the connection before Shacklebolt could do more than bluster. He waited to see if the bastard would call back, but apparently the Minister did not feel like arguing, for once. Draco turned back to Potter.
“Stay right there. I’ll get you something to wear.” He knew Potter would not be going anywhere. He was wandless, after all. Draco could hardly wait to get to that part of the story.
Draco returned and tossed a pair of black silk pyjama bottoms to Potter, who held them up dubiously.
“I don’t think my trousers will fit you,” Draco commented. It was true. Draco was still slenderer than the prat and he was not sure his libido could handle seeing Potter’s delectable arse encased in skin-tight trousers. The pyjamas were larger and fitted with a drawstring.
Potter looked at him pointedly and Draco laughed. “Modesty? Now? Apparently you have no problem parading around Knockturn Alley in the altogether, and I am the one that brought you here. Trust me; I have seen your merchandise.”
Potter flushed and glared at him, but rose to the challenge. He pushed the blanket aside and stood up before yanking the pyjamas on one leg at a time, allowing Draco one last view of his exquisite cock before it departed Draco’s sight forever. He nearly sighed aloud at the loss.
“Thank you,” Potter said grudgingly when his bits were covered. He sat back on the couch and Draco decided the blanket had been a better idea, because Potter seemed comfortable enough now to cross one ankle over his knee and lean back with one arm draped across the back of the sofa. The movement caused the hoodie to gape open, exposing his chest once more. His abdomen was entirely lickable, with a dark line of hair that beckoned the eye from his navel to the waistband of the pyjamas.
Draco forced his gaze upward—a mistake, because his eyes fixed on the nipple ring once more. It glittered tantalisingly. Fuck, when had Harry Potter turned into a bloody package of pure sex appeal?
He coughed lightly and hoped Potter had wretched vision without his glasses. “Very well, you were playing Truth or Dare.”
Potter nodded. “We were all pretty pissed by the time we got to that. Things degenerated rather quickly. After the ‘sex god’ incident, Seamus dared Lee to strip completely and sing the Wimbourne Wasps fight song in falsetto.” Potter laughed and the sound of it rolled over Draco like a caress. He decided he liked the sound of it very much and quickly bludgeoned the thought to death.
“I was laughing so hard that Lee decided to get revenge, so on my next dare he forced me to bare my all and then put on this hoodie and gloves in order to do an imitation of Oliver Wood before a game back at Hogwarts. I have to admit they fell about the place laughing their arses off.” Potter chuckled.
“Their bare arses,” Draco added.
“Aye. Well, Seamus still had trousers on, at that point. At least until I dared him strip down and let Lee write ‘Harry Potter is a sex god” across his arse.” Potter laughed again and Draco cracked a smile, although more at Potter’s mirth than amusement at the tale.
“Does it ever occur to any of you Gryffindors to choose ‘truth’?” he asked dryly.
Potter shut up and looked perplexed for a moment. “I’m not close enough to Seamus and Lee to disclose any truths that might come back to haunt me.”
Draco snorted. “But close enough to prance around naked?”
Potter rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen them before. Quidditch lockers, and all. Besides, it was damn funny.” Potter’s grin disappeared. “Until Lee went too far, the bastard. Bloody hell, I remember now. When I get my hands on him...”
He paused and cocked a brow at Draco. “Do you happen to have any tea? Hangover Potions taste like shite and I’m getting a bit tired. I don’t suppose you’ll let me go home and finish this story tomorrow?”
“Not on your life, Potter. Nice stalling technique, but I plan to keep you here until I hear every wicked detail. I will make you some tea, however, since mine has gone cold.”
Draco returned to the kitchen and brewed two strong cups of tea. His mind wandered a bit, sliding into places it had no business sliding. Just because Harry Potter was fit, and wearing nothing but Draco’s pyjamas, an open hoodie, and a pair of fingerless gloves, did not give Draco the right to have untoward thoughts about the man. Untoward and lustful, he admitted. Very lustful.
“Idiot,” he muttered to himself and sloshed milk into both cups before adding sugar. “It’s still Harry bloody Potter. Straight arrow. Saviour, and all that. Stop fanaticising.”
He tossed the spoon aside and returned to the living room where he handed Potter a mug and then sat next to him, bending one leg beneath himself and sitting on it to face Potter more directly. The green eyes shot sidelong to him, but Potter said nothing as he sipped his tea.
“Lee Jordan?” Draco prompted when it seemed Potter planned to down his drink without speaking another word.
The Saviour sighed. “Lee. He actually dared me to Apparate to Knockturn Alley and proposition the first person I saw. Like a common rentboy! Can you imagine? The bloody Prophet would have a field day. I would never be free of them.”
Draco refrained from commenting that it appeared Potter had done precisely that.
Potter continued, “I told Lee it was out of the question and that the game was over. By then, the roast had finished cooking and was ready for slicing. I was starved.” Potter frowned. “Still am, now that I think about it. I never got a bloody chance to eat. Lee wouldn’t let it go. He’s a right bastard when he hits a certain level of drunkenness, apparently, and I was none too steady, myself. I went into the kitchen to slice the roast... hence the knife.”
Draco grinned, suddenly sensing where the tale was going. Potter nodded.
“Exactly. The prat grabbed me and Apparated us straight to Knockturn Alley. We landed nearly on top of an old woman rooting through the rubbish bins. She screamed bloody murder at the sight of us and I started shouting at Lee for bringing us there. The old woman kept screaming even as she fled. Lee was doubled over in laughter, but he kept trying to hush me, as if the damned woman had not attracted enough attention. I swear, I would have snapped his wand, or his neck, if I’d gotten close enough.”
Potter set his cup on the tea table and glared at Draco. “I didn’t get a chance. He hit me with a Silencing Spell and then Disapparated. When I turned around, you were standing there. I couldn’t even call to you, and then you hit me with a Stunner.”
“I thought you were someone using Polyjuice,” Draco admitted. “And the knife was disturbing.”
“You seem disappointed. Sorry you can’t haul me in for going round the twist and turning into a savage killer or a demented rentboy?”
Draco met the green eyes steadily. “I am a bit disappointed you aren’t a rentboy. What’s the story behind this?” Hardly able to believe his own temerity, Draco reached out and flicked the nipple ring lightly with one finger. Potter gasped.
“I’m… not sure I’m ready to divulge that story, at the moment. What about you? An Auror? I confess to being surprised when I heard.”
Draco reined in a sneer and shrugged, instead. “Still competing with you, on some level, I suppose. And then you dropped out and disappeared.”
“But you didn’t.”
Draco smiled. “I didn’t.”
Potter mimicked his pose, turning to face him and bracing his elbow on the back of the sofa in order to rest his head on his open palm. “And how is it?”
Draco nearly pinched himself, almost unable to accept that he was talking to Harry Potter as though they were old chums. Perhaps Potter was still addled from drink. “It’s different than I expected. More paperwork and less stamping out evil.”
Potter laughed again and it was even better this time, because it was directed at Draco and not turned inward. “I’m glad I left before that nonsense began.” His eyes shifted to indicate Draco’s flat. “You never married, then?”
“I never found the right man,” Draco admitted quietly and waited for the shutters to fall. It would be a tragic loss, really, because he suddenly realized that being Harry Potter’s friend might still be something worth attaining.
“Oh!” Potter said and his eyes widened slightly. Instead of drawing away, his gaze seemed to slide over Draco speculatively. Draco waited, perplexed and almost breathless. And then Potter leaned forward slightly and whispered, “Do you want to hear a secret?”
Draco nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
Potter raised a hand slowly and said, “I’ve always wanted to touch your hair.” His fingers slid into Draco’s hair at the nape of his neck and caressed for only a moment before exerting gentle pressure, guiding Draco forward to meet the softness of Potter’s lips.
The kiss was far sweeter than it should have been. It seemed almost inevitable, as though the ridiculous paths their lives had taken had been destined to lead them to this moment. Potter kissed brilliantly, exerting exactly the right amount of pressure, neither demanding nor submitting. There was no tongue, only lips on lips, until Potter pulled away, panting slightly. His cheeks were flushed and his green eyes seemed to shine as he quirked a shy smile.
“An ex-boyfriend talked me into the nipple ring,” he admitted.
Fuck. Draco reached out and dragged Potter back into the kiss, gripping the edges of the hoodie and holding on for dear life. Gentleness dissipated, replaced with urgency. Draco’s erection had never fully deflated and it was suddenly rock hard, especially when Potter’s gloved hand left his hair in order to drag the back of his shirt from the waistband of his trousers. His fingers moved over Draco’s back, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. It had been a long time since Draco had allowed anyone to touch him.
Potter was surprisingly tactile. He seemed determined to touch every bit of Draco’s skin, as if he were blind and needed to imprint Draco’s shape on his senses. Draco barely noticed, because Potter also seemed determined to devour Draco from the inside out, starting with his tongue.
Draco finally broke away, needing to breathe—needing to think.
“Hell, Potter,” he said, gasping. “This is—”
“This is amazing, is what this is,” Potter growled. “I’ve wanted a piece of your succulent arse since bloody sixth year.”
“Since sixth—? Did you just say succulent arse?”
Potter buried his face in Draco’s neck and snickered. It felt almost too good, with Potter’s hot breath and Potter’s tangled hair, and just… Potter. “Delicious?”
“Well, you’ll never know until you try it,” Draco said coyly.
Potter stilled. “Is that an offer?”
Draco nearly shivered, and not just because Potter’s hands had been caressing him from waistband to neck and back again in a ceaseless pattern. “Maybe it is,” he said. “But first I would like my pyjama bottoms back.”
Potter pulled away before Draco could take a breath. He stood and shimmied out of Draco’s pyjamas, once again clad only in hoodie and gloves. This time, however, his impressive cock stood at attention. Potter’s Gryffindor modesty seemed to have vanished, which was more than fine with Draco.
Before Potter could regain his seat, Draco reached out and curved his fingers around Potter’s hipbone to drag him closer. Potter’s cock was suddenly right there, begging to be tasted. Draco lifted his eyes to find Potter watching him with something akin to awe in his stare. Draco smirked once and then flattened his tongue over the head before wrapping his lips around it.
“Merlin!” Potter said on a gasp. “I was going to kill Lee when I saw him next, but now I think I’ll have to send him a gift.”
Potter’s hands went to either side of Draco’s head as he took the length deeper. He was glad to note that Potter made no effort to guide Draco’s movements, his hands were simply there.
Draco had not given many blow jobs. After all, Malfoys did not get on their knees for anyone. He had, however, received quite a large number and knew precisely what techniques worked to reduce one to a gibbering mess, which is what Harry Potter rapidly became.
“Draco,” Potter murmured, making him pause for the barest moment, because he had never heard Potter use his first name before. He liked the sound of it. He doubled his efforts in appreciation, until Potter was mewling like a kitten and sliding his gloved hands down to Draco’s shoulders in order to grip more tightly.
“Draco, I—!”
It was all the warning he received before Potter’s hot fluid poured down the back of his throat. Draco swallowed every bit, feeling a curious vindication at being allowed the privilege.
“Merlin,” Potter said and cupped Draco’s face with both hands as Draco detached from his wet cock. Potter tugged gently, urging Draco to his feet and into another kiss. Potter’s hand moved down over his shoulders and back to slip beneath his shirt once more. “You have far too many clothes on.”
Draco needed no further urging. He stepped back and fairly tore his shirt off, not caring how eager it made him seem. He was eager, damn it. He wanted his bare flesh against Potter’s and he wanted it now.
“Bedroom,” he growled.
Potter jerked his head as though startled and fixed his gaze on the doorway. For a terrifying moment, Draco thought he might refuse, but then Potter moved away, snagging Draco’s hand as he went.
Bemused, Draco allowed himself to be led down the hallway. Potter passed the guest bedroom with barely a glance inside and continued on to the master bedroom. He walked straight to the bed and dropped Draco’s hand in order to raise it to the open edge of the hoodie, obviously intending to remove it.
“No,” Draco said quickly. “Leave it on.”
Potter gave him a speculative look, but said nothing as he dropped onto the bed and levered himself back against the pillows. Draco could only watch him for a moment, taking in the astounding vision of Harry Potter in his bed. He was suddenly glad of his pale gold coverlet, because it highlighted the glory of Potter’s tanned form clad in the red fabric, with the black gloves nearly touching his ears on either side of his head.
Potter raised a hand and beckoned to him invitingly. Draco slowly removed his remaining clothing, taking his time when Potter’s gaze turned heated. When Draco finally exposed his almost-painful erection, Potter’s eyes fixed on it. He did not smile, but instead wet his lower lip with his tongue in a languid caress.
Draco swallowed hard and crawled onto the bed, not stopping until he knelt over Potter, who had willingly opened his legs and allowed him to park between his thighs. Draco had, admittedly, envisioned having sex with Potter more than once—especially during the past hour—but he had not expected Potter to be eager to bottom.
“Do you want me to…?” Draco asked just to be certain.
“Yes,” Potter said. “I want you to fuck me. Unless you’d rather—?“
Draco shook his head with a smile. “Oh, I’m flexible, Potter.”
“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”
For that, Draco leaned down and took the golden nipple ring into his mouth. He played with it with his tongue for a few moments and then tugged it gently with his teeth. Potter squirmed and gasped in a way that caused Draco’s cock to lose a bit of control and drip onto the coverlet. He raised his head and cocked a brow at Potter. “Did your ex-boyfriend enjoy your adornment as much as I do?” he asked.
Potter’s grin widened. “I broke up with him before it healed. You’re the first one allowed to play with it.”
Draco knew he should not have felt an almost violent level of satisfaction at the words, but there it was. He did not neglect the other nipple, working it into a hard peak with his tongue while his fingers toyed with the ring on the other.
“Draco!” Potter gasped. “Please.”
Draco stopped worshipping Potter’s chest and noticed with surprise that the man was hard already. “Excellent stamina,” he commented and wrapped one hand around Potter’s cock and the other around his testicles.
Potter moaned. “Th… Thanks.”
“You’re going to need it.”
Draco took his time preparing Potter, even though each gasp and quiver was torture to his overly hard cock. He was afraid he might come the instant he entered the tight heat that currently clenched around his fingers. In order to test the theory, he removed his hand and pushed the head of his cock against Potter’s prepared hole. There was no concern on the Gryffindor’s face, just a heady anticipation.
Draco pushed in slowly, wanting to remember every single nuance, in case the opportunity never presented itself again. The notion that it might was too much to hope for. And it was brilliant. Draco had buried himself in a fair number of tight arses, so perhaps it was the mere fact that this was Potter that made it so extraordinary.
Of course, it didn’t hurt that Potter seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. He wrapped his fists around the iron slats of Draco’s headboard and met Draco’s every thrust with an equal push, sending him deeper and urging him onward. To Draco’s relief, he did not come within a few meagre strokes, because it was far too incredible to end so quickly. He determined to maintain his efforts until Potter came again.
He fisted Potter roughly to speed the process along, because, fuck it all, he needed to come now.
“Draco, Draco, Draco,” Potter mumbled, almost incoherently stressing the last syllable due to the force of Draco’s pounding.
“Fuck, Harry,” Draco said and the name seemed to trigger it for Potter. His cock pulsed in Draco’s hand and with a cry of relief he let his own orgasm rush through him. He felt it from his toes to his hair and when he collapsed atop Potter he thought he might never be able to move again.
Potter seemed to feel the same. Draco nestled his face into Potter’s damp neck and breathed in the far-from-unpleasant scent. He needed to rest for a moment. As soon as he could function, he would pull out of Potter and clean them up. Perhaps get them some food. Soon…
Draco woke feeling strangely content. It baffled him for a moment when coherency began to return, and then he remembered the night’s events with a rush. His eyes snapped open and he half sat up.
Potter was gone.
Draco sagged into the pillows and wondered vaguely if it had been a dream. A very vivid dream. An incredible, unbelievable dream.
No. Potter’s scent still lingered in the air, tantalising and unmistakable. Draco frowned, wishing he had awakened in time to stop Potter from leaving. He wondered if he would ever see the Gryffindor again, and felt a flare of disappointment.
It would be foolish to look him up in Cornwall. Beyond foolish. It might even put his job in jeopardy, since Potter could accuse him of Ministry harassment, or worse. After all, he had practically seduced Potter when he was supposed to be getting a statement. Potter could be at the Ministry right now, filing a complaint.
Draco sighed and then started when he heard footsteps in the hall. He looked at the door to see Potter holding a cardboard box in one hand and a paper cup in the other.
“I… um…” he said eloquently. “I thought you might be hungry.”
The Gryffindor was completely dressed in jeans, a white t-shirt, dark grey cloak, and black gloves—with fingers this time. A green scarf had been tossed around his neck and Draco recognized it as one of his.
Potter walked forward as Draco sat up in surprise, hardly able to believe the man was not some sort of spirit, again—or perhaps he was still dreaming. The bed compressed as Potter sat on it, which alleviated Draco’s worry that he was a vision. The delicious odour coming from the box was definitely not mythical.
“I was starved when I woke up,” Potter explained as he handed the hot cup to Draco and opened the box. “I used your wand to Apparate home. I hope you don’t mind.” Potter fished it from pocket and set it next to Draco. “I found Lee and Seamus bloody well passed out on my couch. Only my haste to get back here kept me from taking incriminating photos, damn them both. At least my wand was still with my clothes.”
Potter fished a large golden pastry from the box.
“I only stayed home long enough to dress, and then I went to fetch us something to eat. I’ve become rather addicted to these living in Cornwall. Gertrude makes the best Cornish pasties in Britain. This one is traditional steak, but I have pork and apple, cheese and vegetable, and fig. I wasn’t sure which you would prefer.”
He gestured to the cup with the pasty in his hand. “And I brought you a sickeningly sweet vanilla mocha, just because it made me think of you.”
“Potter,” Draco began, finally locating his voice amidst the immensity of surprise.
The Gryffindor flushed and dropped the food into the box. “If you want me to leave…”
Draco began to laugh. Potter frowned and seemed about to move away, but Draco snared his wrist in one hand, caressing the fine bones just above the edge of the glove. He raised Potter’s hand to his mouth and gently began to pull the glove off, using his teeth to tug at one finger at a time. He slid the thing completely away from Potter’s hand and then pressed small kisses onto each fingertip.
“I prefer the fig. But only if you feed it to me,” he admitted.
Potter’s eyes were wide, fathomless pools beneath the spectacles he had also retrieved. His voice sounded a bit breathless when he replied, “All right.”
“And you don’t want to get any crumbs on your clothing, so you should probably take them off,” Draco suggested.
Potter’s smile was almost blinding. “I should probably do that, shouldn’t I?”
“And after we eat, I’ll want to take a shower.”
“Would you like me to wash your back?” Potter suggested coyly, moving closer to Draco and shoving the box aside.
“I’m counting on it,” Draco purred and dragged Potter into a kiss.
As it turned out, he never tasted the vanilla mocha, the pasties were very nearly destroyed when the box was crushed and then knocked to the floor, but the shower was very nice, indeed.
Link to the NWS pic, anyway...
Hopefully the uber-schmoop makes up for the recent wave of angstishness. LOL!
