Order of Merlin (Part Four)

[dysonrules]

Can't think of any snappy commentary this morning. *yawns*

Draco staggered and nearly went down, catching himself on the edge of his sofa at the last moment. He should not have Apparated while pissed. The room swayed for a moment before steadying itself and Draco checked carefully to ascertain that all parts were accounted for.

He verified one part in particular and frowned to note that it had not diminished in the slightest, still rock-hard and ready for Potter’s touch.

His fingers dug into the sofa and he groaned. Potter. Despite everything, it was all Draco could do not to send himself straight back there. Only the certainty that it would be a colossal mistake made him loosen his grip in the couch and stalk toward his bedroom, stripping his clothing along the way.

By the time he hit his bed he was fully nude and stroking his cock, imagining Potter’s hot mouth tasting, lapping, and teasing it the way he had Draco’s tongue. He shivered, so close to orgasm he did not even require lube. Five strokes and he came all over his stomach, toes curling almost painfully, with Potter’s name on his lips.

He lay gasping in the aftermath and stared miserably at the ceiling, wondering if it would have been smarter to take what Potter had to offer. Only his foolish pride demanded something more. Was he stupid enough to want more?

Yes! an inner voice screamed. Potter was broken; a wounded soldier with no battles left to fight. For such a man, Draco would be nothing more than a diversion. And god help him, he wanted more. As usual, he wanted what he could never have.

The next day Draco awakened to a knock on the door. He crawled out of bed and hurried to open the portal, foolishly hoping to see Potter’s guileless face staring at him, but it turned out to be a nondescript teenager holding a huge bouquet of flowers.

“Draco Malfoy?” the boy asked and scratched at his forehead while he shifted from foot to foot.

“Yes.”

The flowers were shoved at him and the boy said, “Have a nice day” an instant before he Disapparated. Draco carried the flowers inside and kicked the door shut with his foot. He placed them on his small dining room table and looked at them critically. They were magical, of course. No collection of flowers in nature was possessed of that many shades of green.

He finally located a card tucked into the centre of the foliage and read it with a grimace. It read only, I’m sorry. H.

If Draco expected additional contact from the man, he was disappointed. Five days passed without a word. He lay awake at night, waiting for the call that would roust him from bed to retrieve the drunken hero, but it never came.

Draco barely resisted the urge to storm into Shacklebolt’s office and demand to know what Potter was up to. The note nagged at him. Sorry for what? Sorry for kissing him? Sorry for taking him home? Sorry for ever meeting him?

Draco was mindlessly doodling on the edges of a reference book and rereading the same paragraph for the sixth time when Shacklebolt’s Patronus made him sit up with something that felt like relief.

The nebulous creature ordered him to fetch Potter from a wizarding nightclub in Camden Town. Draco took the time to change his shirt, rationalizing that he had spilled a drop of tea on the one he wore. After pausing only once to check his appearance in the mirror and shooting one last glance at the everlasting green flowers, he centred himself enough to visualize his destination and departed.

Despite its location in a solidly wizarding neighbourhood, the club was surprisingly difficult to find. The exterior of the place matched the dull brick of the surrounding buildings, and Draco walked past the address twice before spotting a foursome that hovered on a small stoop, smoking.

“You looking for McCloud’s, mate?” one of the girls called.

At Draco’s affirmative response, she beckoned to him. “In here. Not easy to spot unless you’ve been here before.”

“And Harry Potter is here!” the other girl cried with a giggle.

One of the blokes nudged her with an elbow. “Why don’t you take out an ad in the Prophet, then, Doris?”

“Well, he is!” she said petulantly and jabbed the fellow with a sharp-looking fingernail.

“I know. Thank you,” Draco said as he eased past them, ignoring the curious glances, and went inside. The place seemed more like a fraternity house hosting a party than a nightclub, but the noise level soon directed Draco down a set of stairs to a magically enlarged basement. There, all was flashing magical lights, gyrating bodies, and loud music.

A raised dais stood in the middle of the round dance floor, spinning slowly like an oversized lazy Susan. Potter, of course, danced atop the centre of that, surrounded by half-dressed bodies. Draco admired him from the safety of the staircase for a moment, glad of his anonymity.

Potter danced more slowly this time, seeming more subdued than usual. He wore black trousers and a pale button-down shirt with a hint of shimmer to it. Once again the Order of Merlin gleamed on his breast. A busty girl danced up to him and he smiled at her. Draco nearly left the stairs to fight his way through the crowd, but the girl turned enough for him to recognize her with a jolt. It was Hermione Granger.

She looked different. Draco ran into her at the Ministry now and again, but she was always bundled up in official robes. Tonight she wore a short skirt and a rather revealing top that made Draco blink at her in surprise. She leaned close to Potter, who shook his head sharply and frowned at her. Draco nearly smiled; she was obviously still nagging him, despite the outfit.

Draco pushed away from the stairs and headed for the bar. Potter was obviously not causing any problems, especially with his bushy-haired guardian watching out for him. Draco wondered why Shacklebolt had even sent him out; probably nothing more than sheer paranoia.

He ordered a drink—not the lethal concoction he had imbibed during the last outing—and turned to watch Potter dance.

Granger hopped down and joined him. “Draco,” she said calmly.

“Granger.”

“Come to see him off, or just get in one last hex?”

“See who off?”

She rolled her eyes and ordered a glass of white wine before replying. “Harry, of course. I assume you’re here to gloat.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. Shacklebolt sent me here to extract the Chosen One if he gets out of hand. Or are you pretending to be unaware of his behaviour, of late?”

She frowned. “I’m aware. You’re only here in an official capacity, then?”

“Naturally. I do not spend my time playing nanny to him by choice.”

Granger picked up the glass that appeared in front of her and took a sip. “You’ll be glad he’s leaving, then.”

“Leaving where?” Draco wondered if Shacklebolt had finally had enough of Potter and planned to send him on extended assignment to Greenland.

She looked at him with a measuring stare. “I forget you are not at the Ministry very often. You haven’t heard the rumours?”

Draco waited impatiently.

“Harry is taking a job with the Aurors. The American Aurors. In Boston.”

Draco shot a surprised look at Potter, who had vacated his lofty post and was making his way through the crowd toward them. “He’s leaving?” Draco asked stupidly.

Before she could reply, Potter enveloped Draco in a warm embrace, nearly knocking him off the stool in what seemed to be drunken exuberance.

“Malfoy! Glad you could make it. Here to see me off, yeah?” Potter’s voice was breathy and hot against Draco’s ear.

Draco’s arms went around Potter automatically and he met Granger’s gaze around the mop of black hair. Potter clung to him tightly and he swallowed hard, trying to let go, but not quite managing it.

“See you off?” Draco repeated.

Potter nodded. “Soon I will be far far far far away, just like you want me.”

Draco felt a growing sense of panic. “I think it’s time for you to go home,” he commented when Potter’s hands carded through his hair above the nape of his neck and sent minute shivers coursing down his spine. He waited expectantly for Granger to offer to escort Chosen One out, but she only glared at them wordlessly.

“Home?” Potter mumbled into his neck.

Draco sighed and realized he had no idea where Potter lived. The single drunken Apparition to a darkened hallway in Potter’s home had left an indelible impression on him, but not enough to achieve the proper bearings for such a jump. Against his better judgement, he nodded farewell to Granger and took Potter to his flat.

Once safely in his living room, he tried to pry Potter’s arms from his neck without success.

“Dance with me,” Potter said.

“There is no music and, besides, dancing with you is very dangerous,” Draco replied.

“Why?”

Because it leads to touching and kissing and wanting more touching and kissing, Draco thought, but dared not admit such a thing aloud. Potter was leaving, after all.

“When are you going?” he asked. “To America?”

“Tomorrow. Ten o’clock International Portkey.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Draco asked quietly.

“Didn’t think you’d care.”

Draco’s hands tightened around Potter’s back and he buried his face in the soft, dark hair. “I care.”

“It was you, you know,” Potter said, still holding on to Draco like a lifeline.

“What was me?”

“You woke me up. Made me take a look at my life. I found I didn’t like what I saw. I’m wasting it, you know. Doing this stupid job, going to clubs, trying to hold onto the memory of a time when what I did made a difference.”

Draco’s hand caressed the length of Potter’s spine. He had never considered the notion that Potter might feel useless. He had destroyed the evil that threatened them all and now he felt like he was no longer needed. Draco spared a moment to curse the Ministry for allowing Potter to feel that way; he was better than all of them.

“So, thank you,” Potter said. “And, Draco?”

“Yes?” he asked, feeling a curious tightness in his throat.

“The rumours about me… Well, some of them are pretty farfetched. You were the first man I ever took to my flat. I’m sorry for… whatever I did that made you leave.”

Fuck. The immensity of Draco's mistake made him want to cringe.

He pulled away just enough to capture Potter’s lips with his own. Potter seemed to melt into his kiss and they snogged for long, breathless moments before Draco asked, “How… how drunk are you?”

“Barely at all. Why? Do you plan to take advantage of me?” Potter’s voice was teasing, husky, and altogether tantalizing.

“Absolutely,” Draco said and kissed him again.

This time there was no holding back. Draco could barely accept the fact that Potter was leaving. This would be his last, and only, chance to keep from making another mistake. Potter did not resist as Draco removed the shirt, sliding it off his shoulders to drop on the wooden floor with a clank.

"You're not very respectful of your Order of Merlin," Draco commented.

"Do you want it?" Potter bent down and picked up his shirt. Draco admired the lean stretch of muscle as he leaned sideways. Potter fished the medal off of the material and grinned as he carefully pinned the bauble to Draco's shirt. Amazingly, he did not gouge the hinge pin into Draco's flesh, which hopefully indicated he really wasn’t that drunk.

“There,” Potter said. “You deserve this as much as I do.”

“Hardly,” Draco replied dryly, strangely touched by the ridiculous gesture.

“Don’t sell yourself short. You did what you had to do, just like me.” With that, Potter raised his hands and cupped them around Draco’s face before leaning in to kiss him again. Draco knew he could spend a very long time kissing Potter without getting bored of it, but more urgent matters quickly took precedence.

“Bedroom,” Draco said during a lull and Potter made a deep-throated sound like a growl that made Draco want to pick him up and sprint to the bed. He made do with merely grabbing his hand and dragging him there at a swift pace.

Potter nearly walked into him when Draco turned and began to tug at his clothing, determined to get them both naked as soon as possible. He could not seem to keep his hands or mouth away from Potter’s body, touching and kissing every inch as it was revealed.

Potter’s hands were quicker, or possibly more determined. Draco’s trousers were open and Potter’s hand wrapped around Draco’s cock, eliciting a gasp of pleasure. Potter’s other hand pushed Draco’s clothing away and then he looked at him with a serious expression.

“May I?” Potter asked politely. “This time? Please?”

Draco could not trust himself to speak. He had been mentally flagellating himself for days for escaping Potter moments before a blow job and now the man was asking permission to make a second attempt. He could only nod and then watch in awe as Potter sank to his knees, looking almost nervous and curling his free hand around Draco’s hipbone as if to stop him from fleeing.

“Potter,” Draco said softly and then changed his mind. “Harry.”

Green eyes fixed on him in surprise.

Draco cupped the side of his face with one hand and said, “I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”

Potter—Harry—swallowed and nodded. And then he turned his attention to Draco’s cock and Draco found even more reason to curse himself for leaving before, because, ungh, Harry was a cock-sucking god. Draco refused to think about where Harry might have acquired such skill, which was surprisingly easy considering his mind was completely blown with each flick of Harry’s tongue, every cheek-hollowing suck, and each gentle tug on his balls that left him gasping out nonsensical words in a very atypical manner.

Draco’s hand slid into Harry’s hair and stilled his movements. “Harry, stop, or I’m going to—”

“I want you to,” Harry said with a smirk as Draco’s glistening cock bobbed before his lips. His tongue licked over the head once more, which nearly did it for Draco.

“Not yet!” Draco said.

“All right, then. Bed?”

Draco nodded and gratefully took a couple of steps backward. He allowed his legs to give out and sprawled on his back as Harry straddled him. Draco had never seen anything quite as sexy as Harry Potter looking down at him with his too-long hair hanging in his eyes and an incredible expression on his face. His glasses were gone, discarded somewhere along the way, and he looked strange without them. More vulnerable, somehow.

“Do you want to…?” Harry asked.

Draco wasn’t sure what he meant for a moment and then he could not suppress a smile. He had assumed that Harry would top. It just seemed natural, but now that he was asking…

Harry’s smile faded and Draco swallowed hard at the realization that he could fuck Harry, who apparently trusted him not to run to the press with the story. Or was it that he simply didn’t care anymore, since he was leaving? Draco preferred not to think about that, not right now, at any rate.

“You can,” Draco said. “If you like.”

“I definitely like,” Harry replied and then cast several wandless spells that left Draco reeling. Two of them he didn’t even recognize, but they left him feeling loose, slick, and even more turned on than he had been before.

Draco needed no further preparation, but Harry did so anyway, using his fingers to bring Draco to the brink once more before giving in to his pleading gasps and finally—finally!—pressing his cock into Draco with exquisite slowness. Draco’s fingers held Harry’s arms tightly enough to leave bruises.

“You’re amazing,” Harry whispered, stealing Draco’s very words. He couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed someone the privilege of fucking him, but it had been years, at least. It had also been nothing like this. Potter took his time, moving with thorough deliberation, occasionally pausing to stroke Draco’s cock with a slickened hand. Draco held off an orgasm twice more through willpower alone, determined to last as long as Harry, if not longer.

Eventually, however, Harry sped his motions until both of them were frantically writhing, clinging to each other with sweat-damp hands and exchanging sloppy kisses that were half-gasp. Draco’s bed slammed into the wall with every motion and the sound made him want to laugh aloud. Let his rude neighbours complain about the noise. He didn’t care, because Harry’s was hitting his prostate with every thrust and he was—

Draco threw his head back with a loud cry and arched into Harry as he came harder than he could ever remember. He was only vaguely aware of Harry’s muffled shout, half-buried in his throat. Draco’s arms tightened around Harry’s back as he sagged atop him.

For one of the few times in his life, Draco could not think of a single thing to say. He settled for trailing his hands through the sweat on Harry’s back, wondering idly if he had ever wanted a lover to stay the night before. He didn’t think so.

Harry finally stirred and shifted sideways, sliding out of Draco and moving to lie next to him on the bed. Their eyes met and the silence between them grew until it became almost uncomfortable.

Harry looked away first. “Well, I guess I should—”

“Don’t leave,” Draco said quickly. He reached out and put a hand on Harry’s wrist. He felt a blush creep into his cheeks at the needy gesture.

The tension seemed to drain out of the black-haired man and he smiled. “All right.” He used his wand to clean them up and then he curled himself around Draco as if he belonged there. Draco relaxed into his arms and tried not to think about what losing this might mean.

If only he knew how to keep it.