Order of Merlin (Part Three)

[dysonrules]

Harry, Harry, Harry. That's all I have to say about this bit. *grin*

The next day was Draco’s day off. He wondered who would be sent out to retrieve Potter in the event the idiot went out and eliminated walls or split countertops. He firmly decided that he did not envy them the job.

Much of his day was spent tidying his flat. He had never appreciated house-elves the entirety of his life—until he moved out and discovered he had to pick up his own soiled clothing and wash his own dishes and cast Cleaning Charms to expunge the collected dust from desktops and mantels.

He had finished the more mundane chores and was debating whether or not to dress and brave the anti-Malfoy atmosphere of a local restaurant or cook for himself when a knock came at the door.

He drew his wand and flung the door open, standing slightly to the side in order to surprise any would-be attacker. Instead, he surprised Harry Potter, who stood on the landing with his hand in midair, preparing to knock again.

Draco straightened from his defensive stance. “Potter?”

The man used his upraised hand to tug at his hair while smiling sheepishly. “Hullo, Malfoy.”

“What are you doing here? How did you find my address?” The last was asked with a bit of heat, because Draco prided himself on being well-hidden. His flat was Unplottable.

Potter coughed. “Former Auror, remember?”

Draco rolled his eyes. With his luck, Potter had just wished for his address and appeared on the doorstep easy as casting a Lumos.

“Can I come in?” Potter asked politely and Draco reluctantly stepped aside to allow him ingress.

Potter’s eyes scanned Draco’s flat, making him very glad he had spent the day cleaning, until the green gaze scanned him and he realized he was a perfect fright. He had not even showered. His hair was likely a lank, dusty mess, and he wore only dirt-marred Muggle jeans (Merlin, Potter would catch him wearing Muggle jeans) and a black vest he had picked up from the end of his bed that morning and dragged over his head.

“Nice place,” Potter said politely.

Draco glared. “Thank you. I would give you a tour, but I have no idea what you’re doing here.”

He thought it was quite unfair that Potter was similarly dressed, but looked positively edible. His dark blue Muggle jeans hugged every inch of his delectable legs, slung low about his hips, as Potter seemed to prefer. A pale green t-shirt accented his shoulders and chest with the word SEEKER emblazoned on it in silver. A Slytherin shirt, Draco noted absently and wondered with a flash of annoyance who Potter had stolen it from. Some random shag?

A plain brown leather belt threaded the loops of his jeans, held together with a two-tone buckle in the shape of a Golden Snitch.

“I came to ask you to accompany me to the club,” Potter said.

Draco tried not to gape at him, but his expression must have been sceptical enough that Potter laughed.

“I’m off duty,” Draco said finally.

“I know. I want to go out, but I didn’t want them sending out some puffed-up Auror wannabe to apprehend me.”

“You want me to chaperone you?” It sounded perfectly ludicrous, especially aloud.

“If you insist,” Potter said, as if the idiocy was Draco’s idea. “I’ll wait.”

Draco thought of a dozen reasons why that would it would be a very bad idea to accompany Potter, but staring into the patient green eyes seemed to make them all meaningless. The plain fact was, Draco wanted to go.

“I need to shower and change.”

Potter’s radiant smile could have melted glass. “I will just snoop through your personal belongings until you get back.”

With that, he sauntered toward Draco’s desk, which was, thankfully, devoid of embarrassing personal papers, including letters from his mother. Those were all safely locked away in a trunk in his bedroom.

“Well, then, I won’t be long.”

Potter waved him away and Draco reluctantly went to shower and change for what would probably be the strangest night of his life.

He showered in record time and agonized over his clothing only briefly, thinking of the man who was obviously still in his living room, based on the crash that came to his ears. He cringed, wondering what expensive artefact Potter had murdered.

In the end, Draco settled on simple black trousers and a silk button-down shirt of emerald green, deciding that if Potter wanted to surround himself with Slytherin colours, then Draco would oblige.

He adjusted his hair and went out to meet Potter, who sat meekly on the couch holding a book about Advanced Potions – Theory and Application.

“What broke?” Draco asked.

Potter grinned and waved a hand toward a porcelain dragon figurine on Draco’s mantle. “It fell. I fixed it.”

Draco eyed the statuette carefully. It wasn’t his favourite, thankfully, and Potter seemed to have put it back together properly. He supposed he should get the man out of here before he destroyed something truly valuable. Like Draco’s sanity.

“Come on, then,” he said and Potter placed the book back on the tea table and got to his feet. He rounded the couch and reached out to touch Draco’s arm. His hand was warm through the thin material of Draco’s shirt.

“Lower the wards?” Potter asked.

Draco nodded, knowing the man could probably Disapparate right through the wards without half trying, but he approved of the consideration not to do so. He said nothing as he dropped the wards and allowed Potter to take them away.

They appeared in a rain-soaked alley. Potter released him to cast a careless Impervious Charm and then headed toward the street. Draco followed and they emerged on a boulevard he did not recognize. A neon sign flashed above their heads. JAY’S it said in bright green letters. Muggle, then, Draco assumed.

Potter beckoned him inside and Draco steeled himself, expecting another raucous club like the last two from which he had extricated Potter. Instead, a quiet pub met his gaze, barely occupied. Granted, the hour was early. A small wooden dance floor stood empty, even though music blared from somewhere, not quite loud enough to be annoying, thankfully.

Potter walked straight to the bar and ordered a drink from the man behind the counter. He smirked and ordered one for Draco, as well. The bartender turned around to prepare the beverages while Draco slid onto the round stool next to Potter.

A large-ish group suddenly pushed through the door and gathered round two small tables, talking animatedly. Draco glanced at them and then did a double-take when he noticed they were all male, and that one pair was already snogging.

“This is a gay bar!” Draco said to Potter in a hiss, leaning close.

An amused smirk decorated Potter’s face. “Homophobic?”

Draco flushed and moved back. “Of course not,” he snapped. Far from it, although he doubted Potter knew that. “But, why here?”

Potter shrugged. “It’s quiet. And no one knows me, so I can just be myself.”

The bartender set two glasses down and Draco looked dubiously at the pint glass before him, brimming with dark liquid. It almost looked like ale, except the foamy layer at the top was barely there. “What is it?” he asked.

Potter’s grin was dazzling. “Snakebite. I thought it fitting. Slytherin, and all.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but obediently picked up the glass and took a tentative drink. It was quite good, apparently a mixture of ale and cider, with a hint of… currant?

Potter sipped at his own drink, which looked far less lethal than Draco’s. His eyes were fixed on Draco’s upper lip, widening slightly when Draco’s tongue flicked out to catch the stray foam. Draco glanced back at the men around the tables, feeling a strange tingle of heat that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

He and Potter made small talk for the next hour and even managed to get into a friendly argument about the upcoming Quidditch World Cup, causing the bartender to look at them curiously, but he said nothing. Draco finished his snakebite and started another. Potter was on his third Scotch and seemed none the worse for wear. The place had filled up and several couples occupied the dance floor.

Draco wondered if Potter planned to dance on the bar top. As if he had caught the wayward thought, Potter looked at Draco and asked, “Want to dance?”

Luckily, Draco did not have his drink near his lips, or he might have choked. “What?”

Potter smirked. “Come on. It’s a fast song. I promise not to touch you. I just want to dance.”

The fact that Draco did not immediately refuse could only have been a direct result of his level of inebriation. He glanced at the dance floor where a haphazard group gyrated to a song with a thumping beat.

“One song; no touching,” Potter urged.

Draco shrugged, trying to look bored. “All right, if it will keep you from begging.”

He followed Potter to the wooden square and was pleased when he felt almost perfectly normal and hardly tipsy at all, except for one moment when he bumped into a chair on the way, but he righted it before Potter noticed.

Potter was all sinuous grace on the dance floor, moving his hips in a way that should have been illegal. Draco mimicked his movements, wondering how long it had been since he had danced with abandon. Surely not the Yule Ball at Hogwarts? He frowned and Potter caught the gesture.

“Not having fun, yet?” Potter teased and put his arms over his head. Draco rolled his eyes and kept his hands close to his sides, unwilling—and possibly unable—to let loose the way Potter did.

Potter spun in place, turning so that he faced away from Draco, whose eyes went straight to Potter’s excellent arse, which moved deliciously beneath the Muggle jeans. When Draco dragged his eyes away, he noticed that Potter had caught the attention of someone else. A young man danced before Potter and his eyes appraised the Chosen One with interest. The lad was dressed scandalously in electric-blue hotpants and matching knee-high boots. A white waistcoat served as a shirt, trimmed in satin. He looked like a walking advertisement for cheap sex.

He danced closer to Potter with a come-hither smile. Without stopping to think, Draco reached out and curled his hands possessively over Potter’s hipbones. Potter froze for a moment and the newcomer shot a startled look at Draco, only to meet a glare that would have done Lucius proud.

Potter started moving again, rocking beneath Draco’s hands. He began to turn back, but Draco was unwilling to relinquish his hold, so he merely loosened his grip and Potter’s waistband slid across his palms until he faced Draco once more. The green eyes seemed to burn with an inner fire and Draco was relieved to find no hint of amusement on Potter’s face.

Draco’s fingers tightened again and he found a rhythm with Potter that was almost breathtaking. Potter kept his hands in the air, fingers curled into loose fists and wrists facing outward. His feet lifted and fell as his hips shifted and moved, keeping time with Draco’s motion.

The song trailed away and Draco made to release Potter and step away, but another song began to play beneath the dying beats of the first and Potter’s arms fell over Draco’s shoulders as he stepped even closer.

“I only promised not to touch for one song,” Potter said huskily. His torso pushed against Draco’s and then soft lips were brushing against Draco’s neck, not quite kissing, but most definitely there. Potter’s soft hair tickled Draco’s cheekbone and the heady scent of him filled Draco’s senses.

Draco could not seem to move, until the lights went dim and purple and fog began to swirl around them, produced by a hidden Muggle fog machine and coloured by the flickering lights. Potter swayed, pulling Draco with him, and he gradually relaxed into the slow-moving dance, which was more of a gentle rocking than anything resembling the dances Draco had been taught.

Potter seemed to melt against him with a sigh and one hand curled into his hair while the other splayed over Draco’s shoulder, holding him in a tight embrace. Draco tightened his grip on Potter’s hips and admitted he might be a little bit drunk, especially when Potter’s lips nuzzled the edge of his throat and jaw.

When Potter’s mouth reached Draco’s, he turned his head slightly, trying not to think as Potter’s lips grazed over his, a tentative brush at first. Draco held his breath and stopped moving as Potter deepened the kiss, nibbling teasingly at Draco’s lips and then painting them lightly with his tongue until Draco opened his mouth and allowed him inside.

The kiss was incredible, and not only because Draco had not been kissed in a long, long time. Potter kissed like the fucking hero he was, giving as well as taking, seeking gently enough that it did not feel like an intrusion, but rather an invitation. The hand in Draco’s hair gripped tightly enough to hold, but lightly enough to allow escape, if escape was needed.

Draco knew he should escape, but the feel of Potter in his arms and the taste of him on his tongue was too enticing. He hardly noticed when they stopped moving. A moment later, a billow of fog swirled around them and then Draco felt a lurch as Potter Apparated them away.

They appeared in a darkened hallway and Draco’s back hit something hard and wooden. Potter’s kiss became even more intense, sending licks of fire through Draco’s blood. Potter’s fingers fumbled with Draco’s shirt buttons, opening the material slowly and then sliding his hands over Draco’s skin. They were softer than expected, but still a man’s hands, solid and sure.

Fingers flicked over the nubs of Draco’s nipples and he felt a jolt go straight to his cock, something Potter must have sensed, because he did it again and then tweaked at them gently. Draco moaned around Potter’s searching tongue.

It seemed to break some sort of spell, because Potter’s stopped kissing him. He pulled back to stare at Draco, who blinked at him in dazed amazement. Potter looked unbelievably sexy. His hair was more dishevelled that usual, even though Draco didn’t remember burying his hands in it. His glasses were slightly askew and his lips looked raw and oh-so-kissable.

Draco leaned in for another snog and frowned when Potter;s lovely mouth drew out of reach, lowering until it was level with Draco’s waistband. In the same motion, Potter’s hands slid downward over Draco’s abdomen and then tugged at the fastenings of Draco’s trousers. Potter’s emerald eyes remained locked with his and a wicked smile curved his lips.

Potter opened Draco’s trousers, releasing the pressure on his aching cock. It strained against Draco’s pants, eager to be freed of its last confinement. As Draco watched, Potter’s eyes fluttered shut and he leaned forward until his mouth closed around Draco’s cock, just beneath the head. It was more than a kiss and less than a bite, and sent such a rush of desire through Draco he thought his knees might give out.

Potter’s fingers curled into the waistband of Draco’s pants, preparing to pull them away and expose Draco completely to his waiting mouth. The mere thought of it made Draco moan and Potter chuckled. Horribly, the sound penetrated Draco’s fog like a Lumos.

How many times had Potter done this? Was it nothing more than game, calculated to add Draco to his list of conquests? Potter had come to him, after all.

He inhaled sharply. One hand curled in Potter’s thick hair and tugged, not gently. “No,” he said.

Potter looked up in confusion, but obediently took his mouth away from Draco’s cock, leaving a wet circle on the silk beneath the growing dark spot made by Draco’s precome.

“No,” Draco repeated and was pleased to find his voice steadier.

Potter lifted his fingers from Draco’s clothing and held them in the air in an attitude of surrender. He looked puzzled and... hurt, but he was still Gryffindor to the core. He sat back on his heels and opened his mouth, but Draco was not waiting for pretty words to make him behave more stupidly than he already had.

He let go of Potter’s hair, tugged out his wand, and Apparated home.

(And possibly, Draco, Draco, Draco.  *sigh*)