Paradigm Chapter Four
Feb. 5th, 2009 07:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesWOOT! My lovely beta was forced to ignore me all night last night in order to finish this chapter. *cries*
Rentboy Draco returns! Link to the beginning for anyone interested: Chapter One
Harry awoke in the morning to find himself alone. Malfoy was gone. He had anticipated it, but nevertheless he found a sense of disappointment gnawing at his insides. He scoffed at his foolish reaction as he sat up and put his feet on the floor. What had he expected? Did he expect Malfoy to declare his undying love and stay forever? Did Harry even want that? He forced his mind away from the question and made his way to the bathroom.
He splashed water on his face and braced himself against the sink as he watched the water swirl down the drain, unwilling to meet his own gaze in the mirror. What the hell had he done? Well, obviously he had done that, but his hope of flushing the desire for Malfoy out of his blood had backfired. Harry had awakened once in the dark hours of morning, hard with want, and woke the sleeping blond to push into Malfoy’s tight heat once more. It had been absolutely brilliant.
Harry grimaced in annoyance—his cock was quickening simply from the memory. Fuck, now what was he supposed to do? Find some other man to sate his lust? He frowned and flipped through a mental catalogue of the men he knew, rejecting them one by one. He had never been attracted to men before. Why did it have to be Malfoy he desired? He swore as he turned on the shower and stepped beneath the spray. It was epically unjust.
His libido cared nothing for justice, apparently, and he was hard and ready for the wank that had become a necessity. The memory of pale skin, paler hair, and molten heat brought him quick release. He came with a strangled cry after only a few urgent strokes and leaned his forehead against the cool wall of the shower. For a moment he thought about taking the day off, but he had a grim suspicion that he would spend the day in bed wanking himself raw. He scrubbed himself clean, dressed, and Flooed to the Ministry where he tried to throw himself into work and think of nothing else. It nearly worked.
When darkness fell, Harry found himself back beneath the invisibility cloak, lurking in Malfoy’s alley. He waited several hours with no sign of the blond. Harry quelled his concern, alternating between worry that he might have frightened Malfoy away and anger that the Slytherin had fled or found another portion of the city to haunt.
Shortly after midnight, Harry decided that he was wasting his time and even convinced himself to go home instead of storming into Malfoy’s flat. He was tired enough that he fell asleep after staring into the darkness for only a short time.
~~ x ~~
Waking up in Potter’s bed was disturbing. Waking up in Potter’s arms was even more disturbing. Draco would not have expected the Auror to be clingy and possessive even in slumber, but he had a devil’s time extracting himself carefully without waking the man. Not helping matters was the fact that it felt sort of… nice… to be cuddled. Potter’s face nestled in Draco’s hair and one arm clamped almost too tightly around his waist. Draco’s arse fit snugly into the curve of Potter’s pelvis and his radiant heat warmed Draco admirably, even given that the blankets had disappeared somewhere during the night.
The memory of how the covers had gotten tangled and lost brought heat flooding into Draco’s cheeks and nearly propelled him from the bed in a panic. Only years of Slytherin control kept him in place and forced him to gradually lift the muscular arm and ease himself away from the Auror.
Once extracted, Draco paused and stared down at the sleeping man. He had never had the opportunity to stare unabashed at a naked body before and Potter’s was a marvel. Draco’s eyes travelled over the mussed black hair and smooth forehead. Potter’s brows and lashes looked almost painted on, jet black against skin that seemed too pale in the faint light of dawn. Potter’s face was quite beautiful, especially relaxed in slumber with lips slightly parted and somewhat pink from their night’s activities.
Draco’s eyes skimmed Potter’s neck and shoulders, following the graceful lines down over arms and torso. He flushed again when his eyes met the flaccid flesh between Potter’s legs and his gaze flashed back to the Auror’s face nervously. Potter made no movement other than the steady rise and fall of his chest, so Draco boldly looked again. It wasn’t nearly so frightening in the light of morning and looked remarkably like Draco’s, other than the mass of black curls nestling it. He admitted wryly to himself that Potter had a very fine cock and—with startling honestly that would only exist in a conversation with himself—he also admitted that it had felt astonishingly good sliding in and out of him in erotic repetition.
Draco drew in a shaking breath and got to his feet, although his eyes still trailed over Potter’s form. His legs were long and lithe, ending in surprisingly delicate feet. Draco felt like trailing his fingers over them and scowled at himself as he dragged on his boxers. Potter’s body had a surprising number of scars—a small moon-shaped gouge on one shoulder, a curious indentation on one forearm, and several odd scratches over his ribs. One long, silvery line looked almost like a snake as it curled from his hipbone across one thigh to disappear from view.
Draco dragged his attention to his folded clothes. Amazingly, they had not fallen from the edge of the bed during their activities—more a testament to the size of the bed than the vigour of its occupants. Thinking of that vigour made Draco’s mouth suddenly dry and he quickly dressed before padding barefoot into the kitchen. He thought about making tea for only a moment before Potter’s words came back to him.
Until morning. You’re mine until morning.
Draco sighed and opened the front door to step out onto the walk. “Well, it’s morning. Goodbye, Potter.” With that, he Disapparated.
Once home, he decided to take a couple of days off. In his mind, he had more than earned it, and then there was the fact of Potter’s ludicrous payment sitting in his account poised to pay those pesky bills. A holiday sounded lovely.
He crawled back into bed after his arrival home and slept until early afternoon. When he awoke, he smirked to himself at the thought of how tired Potter would be, dragging himself to work like a good Auror. Draco stretched and took himself into the bathroom. He Transfigured the shower into a soaking tub and sank into neck deep hot water with a blissful sigh.
Potter. Damn it all, why was he thinking of Potter at all? After last night Draco should be free of the Auror forever. Surely it was only curiosity or the need for revenge that had driven him to seek out Draco. Now that Potter was satisfied he would go away.
Draco frowned and shut his eyes, but his mind turned unbidden to the previous night. Despite his intention to forget it all, the image of Potter on his knees would not be quickly forgotten, nor would the memory of their activities. Salazar, Draco was sore. Remembering how he got that way brought a flush to his cheeks. Potter had been… surprising. Draco’s cock woke up at the thought, hardening more quickly than he would have thought possible. He should have been sated after three extraordinary Potter-induced orgasms.
Draco gave in and reached down to grasp his cock, basking in the memory of Potter’s hands and lips and—oh Merlin even the feel of him driving deep… A few harsh strokes were all it took before Draco shuddered and spilled his seed into the water. Shit, he had come thinking about Potter. Merely thinking about Potter! He groaned and spelled away the murky water to replace it with clean. He soaked until his fingers were prune-like, but the warm glow he felt had nothing to do with the heat of the liquid.
Two days later he had largely dispelled the image of the Auror, or at least managed to push it to the back of his mind to be recalled on demand—or whenever he had the opportunity to daydream. Or so he convinced himself.
Thanks to Potter’s largesse, he did not really need to go back to the streets for a while, but he decided that staying home any longer would only lead to sloth and make it more difficult for him to return when necessity demanded. Therefore, he prepared himself and headed back to the street.
He had barely staked out his usual place and arranged himself with sultry artifice when a familiar shape rose up before him. Only Potter’s head and chest were visible beneath the invisibility cloak he wore, making him look like a figment of Draco’s vivid imagination.
Before Draco could speak, he was enveloped by the Auror and felt soft lips touch his neck.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Potter said thickly. “One more night. Bloody hell, just one more night.”
Draco felt a surge of heat that had little to do with the warmth of Potter’s body pressing against him. Fuck, what had the Auror done to make Draco want him so badly? The scent of him alone seemed to fill Draco’s senses and short out his faculties. His inability to think was made worse by Potter nibbling on his neck, pressing biting kisses there that flooded Draco’s veins and shot desire straight to his cock.
“It’s… late, Potter,” he managed and wondered what the fuck that statement had to do with anything.
“I don’t care. I’ll pay your price. Again. You’ll just have to stay longer in the morning.”
“You’re insane,” Draco whispered.
“I know,” Potter replied, but he held Draco more tightly and Apparated them away.
~~ x ~~
Harry knew he should not have sought out Draco Malfoy. He should never have gone to the alley to find him. He should not have allowed his ridiculous libido to take over and force him to latch his mouth onto the delectable, pale neck. He should not have clutched the rentboy like a lifeline and he should definitely not have Apparated them straight into his bedroom.
All of his should nots silenced themselves when he stepped back to view his prize. Malfoy was already mussed from Harry’s hands—his shirt was askew and his hair was slightly rumpled on one side. Malfoy would probably be perturbed if he knew that, but Harry was not about to tell him, not when the silver eyes were half-lidded and he looked nearly as dazed as Harry felt.
Why in the name of Merlin did it have to be Draco Malfoy that fired Harry’s blood, fanning desire into a torrent of need? Harry had not released his hold on Malfoy’s short, decorative cape and now he used it to drag the blond forward, intending to kiss those incredible lips.
Malfoy turned his head at the last moment and Harry’s mouth grazed his smooth cheek instead. He remembered the no kissing rule and growled with frustration.
“Besides kissing, what would you like tonight, Auror Potter?” Malfoy asked in a tone that strove for cool, but Harry thought he detected a hint of nervousness. The knowledge dampened his frustration slightly, but only just.
“For starters I would like you to call me Harry,” he said tightly.
He thought he heard Malfoy’s teeth grind, but the blond merely said, “As you wish, Harry.”
Bad idea, Harry thought as he closed his eyes. Very bad idea to have him say your name. Fuck, he would never have expected it to sound so incredibly erotic. With a sigh that bordered on a moan, Harry raised his hands and began to unclothe his purchase. He wished he could stop them shaking, but Malfoy made no snide comments as Harry unbuckled the short cape and let it drop to the floor. The silk shirt followed, and then the dark trousers that—thankfully—concealed a bulge that seemed as hard as Harry’s. He let his fingers trail over it lightly and gave a satisfied grunt when Malfoy whimpered slightly and pressed forward into his hand. Fucking hell, that was hot beyond belief. For a moment Harry wondered if the action was artifice or if Malfoy truly sought his touch. He decided it didn’t matter.
Harry put his hands into the waistband of Malfoy’s skin-tight pants and pushed them away. The blond stepped out of them and stood before Harry, fully nude. Harry took a step back, hoping to regain some control, but the sight of Malfoy in all his glory had the opposite effect. It was nearly criminal how perfect the blond looked. He would have been an incredible male model in the Muggle world, selling designer jeans with the fly unbuttoned to show a hint of the glorious curls Harry longed to touch. Those curls surrounded the most beautiful cock Harry had ever seen—not that he had seen many in the flesh—but the memory of Malfoy’s had haunted him for the past two days.
“Like what you see, Potter?” Malfoy finally asked and Harry was delighted to see a flush tinting the cheeks of the normally cool Slytherin.
“Very much,” Harry admitted huskily and began to tear at his own clothing. He did not remember his shirt having quite so many buttons when he put it on that morning. In his impatience, he tore at the material, finding it nearly impossible to thread the bits back through their tiny holes as quickly as he needed.
“Stop,” Malfoy said, stepping forward and touching Harry’s hands with his own. “Let me.”
Harry quit fumbling and allowed his hands to drop as Malfoy reached for the offending fasteners. His long fingers made quick work of the buttons and soon Harry’s shirt joined Malfoy’s clothing on the floor. Malfoy then reached for Harry’s trousers. The faint brush of his knuckles against Harry’s abdomen nearly brought his heart into his throat. Harry tried to rein his libido in with annoyance. He would come like a randy third year if he didn’t regain control!
Loss of control became more likely when Malfoy dropped to his knees before Harry. He looked up at him with an enigmatic expression that made Harry want to take a photograph. Five thousand Galleons suddenly seemed like a pittance, especially when the blond murmured, “Shall I try this again?”
Harry nodded, despite the fact that he fully expected to orgasm the instant Malfoy’s lips touched his cock. He shut his eyes, unable to take the sight of Draco Malfoy preparing to suck him off. He felt his trousers and pants slide down over his thighs and knees, exposing himself to his former nemesis. His cock twitched in anticipation.
Malfoy’s hands moved back up Harry’s legs after helping him step free of the cloth, slowly travelling over the sensitive flesh behind Harry’s knees and sliding up to cup his buttocks. Harry dared to open his eyes and saw Malfoy watching his face intently. Time seemed to freeze for a moment when their eyes locked and Harry could scarcely breathe at the intensity of Malfoy’s expression. There had always been strong emotion between them and it seemed to have altered from animosity and anger to pure hunger and, in Harry’s case, insatiable need.
Harry’s hand lifted and brushed over the side of Malfoy’s cheek before he tucked his fingers into Malfoy’s soft blond hair. He knew it was a caress of unwarranted tenderness, but he didn’t care. Let Malfoy make of it what he would.
The grey eyes dropped and Malfoy leaned forward, not to take Harry’s cock into his mouth, but to rest his cheek against Harry’s flank. A rush of unexpected warmth tightened Harry’s throat and he suddenly knew that one more night would not be enough. He wondered if a thousand nights would be enough. His thumb idly caressed Malfoy’s cheekbone and he struggled to find words to break the tension. Nothing came to mind but ridiculous emotional babbling that would guarantee the return of the sarcastic, arrogant man he wanted to hate.
Luckily, he remained silent and the moment passed. Malfoy seemed to recover himself and turned to the task at hand. His lips brushed over Harry’s flank and slid through the dark curls to the base of his cock. Malfoy placed a gentle kiss there, shaking Harry’s precarious mental state even more, and then slowly moved his lips up to the tip. When he finally opened his mouth and wrapped wet heat around the head of Harry’s cock, it took every bit of Harry’s considerable willpower not to come.
Instead of taking him deep, Malfoy teased the tip with his tongue, lapping and swirling at it until Harry heard a keening whimper issue from his own throat.
“I can’t hold it!” he cried suddenly.
Malfoy took him completely then, sheathing him in heat and gripping his arse tightly with both hands. Harry came explosively, feeling as though he hadn’t wanked himself raw in the past two days. Malfoy released him and coughed slightly. Harry blinked at him and watched as the blond wiped at his mouth with the back of one hand.
“Sorry,” Harry said and dimly wondered how often Malfoy sucked off clients. He jealously hoped it wasn’t often. His hand tightened reflexively in Malfoy’s hair, but he let go when the blond winced. “Sorry,” he repeated and untangled his fingers. He moved his hands to Malfoy’s shoulders and pulled gently, urging him to his feet. Harry wanted to kiss him so badly he was nearly shaking with the effort of restraint, but he placed soft, biting kisses on Malfoy’s pale neck instead while guiding him toward the bed.
Malfoy sprawled backward and shifted until he lay in the centre; Harry admired the picture he made for a moment. He practically dove on the blond then, and attacked Malfoy with his mouth. If he was to be denied access to that gorgeous mouth, then he would kiss everything else. Every inch. Harry kissed, licked, and nipped blazing paths across Malfoy’s skin, feeling the need to mark him, to possess him.
Malfoy arched and gasped. “Don’t—mar the merchandise, Potter.”
Mine, Harry wanted to snarl savagely. He felt the urge to bite down, to put his brand on Malfoy for the world to see, but the Slytherin flexed his arm and Harry caught sight of the remnant of Malfoy’s Dark Mark. He had been marked enough. The thought gentled him instantly and his kisses softened into teasing flicks with just enough pressure to be felt and just enough tongue to tantalize.
“Fuck, Potter,” Malfoy said and moaned. His cock leaked prodigiously—Harry had fondled, licked, and sucked everything but that.
“Harry,” he ordered thickly.
“Fuck, Harry,” Malfoy replied. It was enough to bring Harry’s latent erection back to full strength. He should not have been fully aroused so soon, but Malfoy—bloody hell, how could he not be when the blond writhed so beautifully and his panting gasps warmed Harry’s blood with every exhale? Malfoy’s next words nearly undid him completely. “Fuck me, Harry.”
“I will,” he promised reassuringly. “I will.”
~~ x ~~
But Harry didn’t. Draco knew about fucking. Not from experience, of course, but because he had been inside the minds and fantasies and whims of dozens of his clients. The people Draco invited in wanted to fuck, or to be sucked off, or to pound themselves into a willing body or be pounded into. They did not want to kiss every inch of their rentboy’s body. They did not wish to bring their hired slut to the brink of orgasm and they did not look at him with gazes that bordered on adoration.
Leave it to Harry fucking Potter to be different.
“Want you so much, Draco,” he muttered, the bastard, and Draco gasped when Potter’s cheek grazed the head of his cock—most likely by accident, because he had taken care not to touch the part of Draco that was most screaming for attention.
Potter’s fingers stroked at Draco’s testicles, pulling the taut flesh there gently. Draco’s knuckles nearly cracked with the effort of holding back his orgasm.
“I want you to come all over me,” Potter said huskily. Draco crazily wondered how many others had heard that particular voice, because it was the most erotic bloody thing he had ever heard. He nearly did as Harry suggested merely from the sound of it. Draco heard a familiar spell and then Potter’s fingers moved downward. Draco opened his legs expectantly, almost surprising himself with the wanton movement, but needing the Auror inside of him even at the cost of his pride.
Potter sucked in a breath and Draco felt coolness circle his hole, which was already relaxed and ready—oh so ready—for whatever Potter felt like inserting. The Gryffindor was thankfully gentle. Even though Draco had shoved his own fingers up there several times in the past two days, trying vainly to recreate the sensation Potter had discovered, it simply wasn’t the same. Draco wondered if watching the expressions flit across Potter’s handsome face made the difference.
Potter’s fingers slid in and out, slick with lubricant, first one and then several. Draco tried not to arch his back and push against Potter’s hand eagerly—and failed miserably.
“More,” he demanded finally, nearly to the point of begging with need.
The fingers disappeared, to be quickly replaced by the burning, stretching pain of Potter’s cock. Draco made a noise of protest and Potter murmured soothing sounds against Draco’s heated flesh. “Better soon,” Potter said. Draco knew it was true, but the burning grew almost unbearable before the Auror pulled nearly out.
“Wait,” Draco said, but Potter plunged forward in typical Gryffindor fashion, striking that magical place on the first try. Draco cried out and his hands found purchase on Potter’s hot skin.
“Are you okay?” Potter asked worriedly.
“Yes,” Draco hissed and arched in anticipation of the next brilliant stroke.
Potter complied and it was even better than their first night. Perhaps Draco was more relaxed or Potter was more confident. Whatever the case, Draco writhed and twisted mindlessly, meeting Potter’s thrusts and babbling ridiculous words that would likely come back to haunt him later, except that Potter was brilliant and gorgeous and… oh Merlin, he was coming all over Potter, as requested.
“You’re incredible,” Potter whispered and his voice verged on inaudible, except that his lips were close to Draco’s ear because Draco’s arms were wrapped around his neck, holding tightly as the Auror’s shudders merged with his, filling him with Potter’s release.
Potter collapsed on Draco’s chest and stayed that way for far longer than Draco would have expected, until they were both sweat-cooled, except that the Auror’s ridiculous body heat kept Draco warm as their breathing slowly returned to normal. When Potter finally rolled away, it was only to cast a quick Cleaning Charm and then gather Draco close, spooning his heroic body around Draco’s like a child protecting a treasured toy. Draco could not find the energy to protest. When he felt lips press into the curve between his shoulder and neck, he said nothing, but unexpected warmth filled him and he relaxed into Potter’s grip.
Stupid Potter, he thought affectionately.
When Draco awoke it was still dark. He opened his eyes and suppressed a sharp intake of breath. Harry Potter’s eyes were open, watching him. He was a mere hand span away. Their breath mingled, which should have been unpleasant, but somehow wasn’t.
“What are you doing?” Draco asked.
“Watching you sleep,” Potter replied.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” Potter reached up and touched the side of Draco’s face. His thumb brushed lightly over Draco’s lower lip.
“What time is it?” Draco asked, trying not to wonder what Potter’s strange actions meant. It was stupid to be here. He should never have allowed Potter to touch him. He made as if to pull away, but Potter’s grip tightened, slipping around to the back of his head. Potter moved forward and for a moment Draco thought the Auror meant to kiss him, which he did, but his lips veered away from his mouth to press against his forehead instead.
“Don’t go,” Potter said.
Draco grimaced, fighting the stupid urge to reply that he would stay as long as Harry wanted, but he knew that path led to madness. “Loo,” he replied.
Potter sighed, but released him. “Hurry back.”
Draco fled to the bathroom and cast a Tempus Charm. It was only 3 a.m. Plenty of time to Apparate home and get some sleep. He relieved the pressure on his bladder and then ran water in the sink until it turned hot. He splashed his face and patted it dry with a soft towel. Potter’s bathroom was surprisingly clean and organized. Draco had expected wet towels on the floor and toothpaste on the edges of the sink.
Then again, nearly everything about Potter surprised him these days. He fingered his wand and debated Apparating straight home, but his clothes were still in the bedroom with Potter, who planned to pay another 5,000 Galleons for Draco’s company. The Auror would likely be upset if he did not feel he had received his money’s worth.
Draco blinked at himself in the mirror, glad that he had not cast a Lumos. He would rather not see the truth in his own reflection—that perhaps he wanted to return to Potter’s bed.
The door opened and Draco turned to see Potter looking slightly panicked. He sagged against the frame. “I was afraid you had gone,” he said.
“And be forced to give you a discount? Perish the thought,” Draco said lightly.
Potter pushed himself away from the door and took Draco into his arms. His nude body felt deliciously warm against Draco’s. He had gained a chill standing on the cold tile unclothed. “Your skin is like ice,” Potter murmured. “Come back to bed.”
He led Draco back to the heat of his bed and then warmed him once more with hot kisses, caresses, and another session of mind-melting sex. When Draco fell asleep the second time, he did not awaken until long past dawn.
~~ x ~~
Harry leaned against the bedpost while he indulged in his newest hobby—watching Draco Malfoy sleep. He couldn’t seem to help himself. Draco’s face was so beautiful when he slept. No more or less beautiful than when he was awake, of course, but so… unguarded. Long lashes fluttered against his pale cheeks like whispers of gold. His lips curved every so often, as if sleep brought him a happiness that seemed to elude him in daylight’s reality. Silver-blond hair lay haphazardly across Draco’s face and clung to Harry’s pillow. He looked like a mussed child, except for the sensuality of his features. There was nothing childlike in his beauty.
Harry swallowed hard, remembering the night. Draco was… incredible. Harry had stupidly thought to drive the blond from his mind, only to find him entrenched even more firmly. Draco was like a barbed hook, driving ever deeper once beneath the skin, unable to be torn free without pain.
Draco sighed in his sleep and shifted. His lips parted to expose a hint of even white teeth. One hand trailed out over the sheet, as if seeking a warm body. Harry frowned, wondering if Draco sought a particular warm body, or if anyone would do. He pushed away a random flash of pain at the thought and cursed himself for idiocy. Draco was a rentboy. He did not belong to Harry. He belonged to everyone… and no one. Harry wondered if anyone would ever penetrate that icy façade. Harry thought he had a few times, last night, but maybe Draco was just a very good actor, giving Harry his money’s worth.
Fuck. What the hell did he want, anyway? He wanted sex, he paid for it, Draco provided it. That’s all there was to it. Wanting more would be the ultimate stupidity.
Draco’s fingers curled, finding nothing, and his lashes moved in a slow blink. Harry sat on the bed and leaned forward, awaiting the moment when the grey orbs came into view, hoping for a single unguarded moment before the shutters fell.
He got more than he bargained for. Draco’s eyes fixed on him and focused and a slow smile curved his perfect lips into a Cupid’s bow that sent arrows winging straight to Harry’s unprotected heart. He felt something wrench and realized with a shock that he was well and truly fucked. It must have shone in his eyes, because Draco’s smile faded and the shutters dropped, masking emotion as quickly as the platinum eyes shifted away.
Come back! Harry wanted to scream, and could not stop himself from reaching out to touch the hand that was already withdrawing, curling back into the invisible shell that surrounded Draco, protecting him from Harry and everyone like him. Draco froze and Harry seized his advantage, sliding his fingers around to hold Draco’s wrist, absently noting the pulse that beat there. He lifted Draco’s hand as he leaned down. He pressed a kiss to the back of Draco’s hand and felt the delicate bones beneath his lips. His skin was so soft that Harry let his lips slide down to the knuckles and back up again, wanting to keep going, to map the smooth bits and the rough bits, and all the bits of Draco’s body.
Draco snatched his hand away and Harry smiled ruefully. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said.
Draco shut his eyes and absently rubbed at the back of his hand where Harry had kissed it. A faint blush tinted his cheeks, making him look even more irresistible.
“I should have expected you to be sappy in the morning, Potter.”
“Harry,” he corrected.
Draco frowned. “How long do you expect me to be on the clock?” He glanced toward the window as he said it, probably judging the time and hoping for the termination of Harry’s company.
“You can escape after breakfast. I cooked it for you, so I hope you’re hungry.”
“You cook?”
Harry laughed. “On occasion. Mostly when I want to eat. No house-elves, you know.”
“Oh. Me, either.”
Harry frowned, but the words had not sounded bitter. They shook him, nonetheless, with the knowledge of everything Draco had lost. Shit. On top of everything else, he did not want to feel pity for the blond. He tore the blankets away from Draco’s body playfully and grinned when the action earned a yelp.
“You’re a right bastard, Potter,” Draco said as he drew his knees up to partially cover himself. It made no difference. Harry’s gaze slid over Draco’s nude form and he began to crawl across the bed in a predatory fashion. Draco drew in a sharp breath and pushed himself backward, even though the movement caused him to expose himself to Harry, whose eyes feasted on Draco’s flaccid cock. He was even more gorgeous in the daylight.
“Breakfast, Potter!” Draco said and lifted a finger as though to halt him.
“Breakfast can wait,” Harry said thickly. He dove on the blond and curled his arms around him, enfolding him in a warm embrace.
“But I’m hungry,” Draco protested, although he gasped when Harry’s mouth fastened on one pink nipple.
“Merlin, me, too,” Harry replied and sucked. Draco arched beneath him and breakfast was forgotten.
Later, Harry sat across from him, nursing a hot cup of tea. By all rights he should have been sated. The sight of Draco Malfoy eating should have been a pretty display, but definitely not erotic. The blond was not even trying to be attractive. He slumped wearily with one elbow propped on the table and one cheek resting on his palm while he daintily placed a forkful of eggs into his mouth. He did not look at Harry, instead fixing his gaze on his plate as though it held the secrets of the universe.
Harry had picked at his food and then sat back to watch Draco, fascinated with every movement he made. Draco’s tongue flicked out and touched his lip for an instant. He chewed methodically. As if sensing Harry’s gaze, he raised his eyes. A flush tinted his cheeks and Harry gulped his tea then winced as it burned his throat. Draco straightened and pushed his plate away. He had eaten nearly all of his food and finished two cups of tea.
“Acceptable breakfast, Potter. Thank you.”
“Harry,” he reminded quietly.
Draco stood so quickly the chair legs scraped on the floor. “Harry,” Draco conceded, but it sounded like an epithet. “May I leave now?” The words rang with bitterness and Harry felt chagrin. Of course Draco did not want to stay. He had fulfilled his part of their business transaction.
Harry almost nodded, but instead got to his feet and walked around the table. Grey eyes watched him warily, but Harry said nothing as he enfolded Draco in a rough embrace. Harry buried his face in Draco’s neck and felt the soft platinum hair fall over his face as he breathed in the unique scent of the Slytherin. Draco’s arms remained fixed at his sides and he was stiff as a broom in Harry’s embrace.
With one last inhalation, Harry admitted defeat and stepped back.
“Goodbye, Draco,” he said with finality.
“Goodbye, Harry,” Draco replied quietly. He walked to the door and went out. Harry heard the faint crack of Apparition before he sank into the nearest chair.
He stayed there for a very long time.
Chapter Five
Rentboy Draco returns! Link to the beginning for anyone interested: Chapter One
Harry awoke in the morning to find himself alone. Malfoy was gone. He had anticipated it, but nevertheless he found a sense of disappointment gnawing at his insides. He scoffed at his foolish reaction as he sat up and put his feet on the floor. What had he expected? Did he expect Malfoy to declare his undying love and stay forever? Did Harry even want that? He forced his mind away from the question and made his way to the bathroom.
He splashed water on his face and braced himself against the sink as he watched the water swirl down the drain, unwilling to meet his own gaze in the mirror. What the hell had he done? Well, obviously he had done that, but his hope of flushing the desire for Malfoy out of his blood had backfired. Harry had awakened once in the dark hours of morning, hard with want, and woke the sleeping blond to push into Malfoy’s tight heat once more. It had been absolutely brilliant.
Harry grimaced in annoyance—his cock was quickening simply from the memory. Fuck, now what was he supposed to do? Find some other man to sate his lust? He frowned and flipped through a mental catalogue of the men he knew, rejecting them one by one. He had never been attracted to men before. Why did it have to be Malfoy he desired? He swore as he turned on the shower and stepped beneath the spray. It was epically unjust.
His libido cared nothing for justice, apparently, and he was hard and ready for the wank that had become a necessity. The memory of pale skin, paler hair, and molten heat brought him quick release. He came with a strangled cry after only a few urgent strokes and leaned his forehead against the cool wall of the shower. For a moment he thought about taking the day off, but he had a grim suspicion that he would spend the day in bed wanking himself raw. He scrubbed himself clean, dressed, and Flooed to the Ministry where he tried to throw himself into work and think of nothing else. It nearly worked.
When darkness fell, Harry found himself back beneath the invisibility cloak, lurking in Malfoy’s alley. He waited several hours with no sign of the blond. Harry quelled his concern, alternating between worry that he might have frightened Malfoy away and anger that the Slytherin had fled or found another portion of the city to haunt.
Shortly after midnight, Harry decided that he was wasting his time and even convinced himself to go home instead of storming into Malfoy’s flat. He was tired enough that he fell asleep after staring into the darkness for only a short time.
~~ x ~~
Waking up in Potter’s bed was disturbing. Waking up in Potter’s arms was even more disturbing. Draco would not have expected the Auror to be clingy and possessive even in slumber, but he had a devil’s time extracting himself carefully without waking the man. Not helping matters was the fact that it felt sort of… nice… to be cuddled. Potter’s face nestled in Draco’s hair and one arm clamped almost too tightly around his waist. Draco’s arse fit snugly into the curve of Potter’s pelvis and his radiant heat warmed Draco admirably, even given that the blankets had disappeared somewhere during the night.
The memory of how the covers had gotten tangled and lost brought heat flooding into Draco’s cheeks and nearly propelled him from the bed in a panic. Only years of Slytherin control kept him in place and forced him to gradually lift the muscular arm and ease himself away from the Auror.
Once extracted, Draco paused and stared down at the sleeping man. He had never had the opportunity to stare unabashed at a naked body before and Potter’s was a marvel. Draco’s eyes travelled over the mussed black hair and smooth forehead. Potter’s brows and lashes looked almost painted on, jet black against skin that seemed too pale in the faint light of dawn. Potter’s face was quite beautiful, especially relaxed in slumber with lips slightly parted and somewhat pink from their night’s activities.
Draco’s eyes skimmed Potter’s neck and shoulders, following the graceful lines down over arms and torso. He flushed again when his eyes met the flaccid flesh between Potter’s legs and his gaze flashed back to the Auror’s face nervously. Potter made no movement other than the steady rise and fall of his chest, so Draco boldly looked again. It wasn’t nearly so frightening in the light of morning and looked remarkably like Draco’s, other than the mass of black curls nestling it. He admitted wryly to himself that Potter had a very fine cock and—with startling honestly that would only exist in a conversation with himself—he also admitted that it had felt astonishingly good sliding in and out of him in erotic repetition.
Draco drew in a shaking breath and got to his feet, although his eyes still trailed over Potter’s form. His legs were long and lithe, ending in surprisingly delicate feet. Draco felt like trailing his fingers over them and scowled at himself as he dragged on his boxers. Potter’s body had a surprising number of scars—a small moon-shaped gouge on one shoulder, a curious indentation on one forearm, and several odd scratches over his ribs. One long, silvery line looked almost like a snake as it curled from his hipbone across one thigh to disappear from view.
Draco dragged his attention to his folded clothes. Amazingly, they had not fallen from the edge of the bed during their activities—more a testament to the size of the bed than the vigour of its occupants. Thinking of that vigour made Draco’s mouth suddenly dry and he quickly dressed before padding barefoot into the kitchen. He thought about making tea for only a moment before Potter’s words came back to him.
Until morning. You’re mine until morning.
Draco sighed and opened the front door to step out onto the walk. “Well, it’s morning. Goodbye, Potter.” With that, he Disapparated.
Once home, he decided to take a couple of days off. In his mind, he had more than earned it, and then there was the fact of Potter’s ludicrous payment sitting in his account poised to pay those pesky bills. A holiday sounded lovely.
He crawled back into bed after his arrival home and slept until early afternoon. When he awoke, he smirked to himself at the thought of how tired Potter would be, dragging himself to work like a good Auror. Draco stretched and took himself into the bathroom. He Transfigured the shower into a soaking tub and sank into neck deep hot water with a blissful sigh.
Potter. Damn it all, why was he thinking of Potter at all? After last night Draco should be free of the Auror forever. Surely it was only curiosity or the need for revenge that had driven him to seek out Draco. Now that Potter was satisfied he would go away.
Draco frowned and shut his eyes, but his mind turned unbidden to the previous night. Despite his intention to forget it all, the image of Potter on his knees would not be quickly forgotten, nor would the memory of their activities. Salazar, Draco was sore. Remembering how he got that way brought a flush to his cheeks. Potter had been… surprising. Draco’s cock woke up at the thought, hardening more quickly than he would have thought possible. He should have been sated after three extraordinary Potter-induced orgasms.
Draco gave in and reached down to grasp his cock, basking in the memory of Potter’s hands and lips and—oh Merlin even the feel of him driving deep… A few harsh strokes were all it took before Draco shuddered and spilled his seed into the water. Shit, he had come thinking about Potter. Merely thinking about Potter! He groaned and spelled away the murky water to replace it with clean. He soaked until his fingers were prune-like, but the warm glow he felt had nothing to do with the heat of the liquid.
Two days later he had largely dispelled the image of the Auror, or at least managed to push it to the back of his mind to be recalled on demand—or whenever he had the opportunity to daydream. Or so he convinced himself.
Thanks to Potter’s largesse, he did not really need to go back to the streets for a while, but he decided that staying home any longer would only lead to sloth and make it more difficult for him to return when necessity demanded. Therefore, he prepared himself and headed back to the street.
He had barely staked out his usual place and arranged himself with sultry artifice when a familiar shape rose up before him. Only Potter’s head and chest were visible beneath the invisibility cloak he wore, making him look like a figment of Draco’s vivid imagination.
Before Draco could speak, he was enveloped by the Auror and felt soft lips touch his neck.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Potter said thickly. “One more night. Bloody hell, just one more night.”
Draco felt a surge of heat that had little to do with the warmth of Potter’s body pressing against him. Fuck, what had the Auror done to make Draco want him so badly? The scent of him alone seemed to fill Draco’s senses and short out his faculties. His inability to think was made worse by Potter nibbling on his neck, pressing biting kisses there that flooded Draco’s veins and shot desire straight to his cock.
“It’s… late, Potter,” he managed and wondered what the fuck that statement had to do with anything.
“I don’t care. I’ll pay your price. Again. You’ll just have to stay longer in the morning.”
“You’re insane,” Draco whispered.
“I know,” Potter replied, but he held Draco more tightly and Apparated them away.
~~ x ~~
Harry knew he should not have sought out Draco Malfoy. He should never have gone to the alley to find him. He should not have allowed his ridiculous libido to take over and force him to latch his mouth onto the delectable, pale neck. He should not have clutched the rentboy like a lifeline and he should definitely not have Apparated them straight into his bedroom.
All of his should nots silenced themselves when he stepped back to view his prize. Malfoy was already mussed from Harry’s hands—his shirt was askew and his hair was slightly rumpled on one side. Malfoy would probably be perturbed if he knew that, but Harry was not about to tell him, not when the silver eyes were half-lidded and he looked nearly as dazed as Harry felt.
Why in the name of Merlin did it have to be Draco Malfoy that fired Harry’s blood, fanning desire into a torrent of need? Harry had not released his hold on Malfoy’s short, decorative cape and now he used it to drag the blond forward, intending to kiss those incredible lips.
Malfoy turned his head at the last moment and Harry’s mouth grazed his smooth cheek instead. He remembered the no kissing rule and growled with frustration.
“Besides kissing, what would you like tonight, Auror Potter?” Malfoy asked in a tone that strove for cool, but Harry thought he detected a hint of nervousness. The knowledge dampened his frustration slightly, but only just.
“For starters I would like you to call me Harry,” he said tightly.
He thought he heard Malfoy’s teeth grind, but the blond merely said, “As you wish, Harry.”
Bad idea, Harry thought as he closed his eyes. Very bad idea to have him say your name. Fuck, he would never have expected it to sound so incredibly erotic. With a sigh that bordered on a moan, Harry raised his hands and began to unclothe his purchase. He wished he could stop them shaking, but Malfoy made no snide comments as Harry unbuckled the short cape and let it drop to the floor. The silk shirt followed, and then the dark trousers that—thankfully—concealed a bulge that seemed as hard as Harry’s. He let his fingers trail over it lightly and gave a satisfied grunt when Malfoy whimpered slightly and pressed forward into his hand. Fucking hell, that was hot beyond belief. For a moment Harry wondered if the action was artifice or if Malfoy truly sought his touch. He decided it didn’t matter.
Harry put his hands into the waistband of Malfoy’s skin-tight pants and pushed them away. The blond stepped out of them and stood before Harry, fully nude. Harry took a step back, hoping to regain some control, but the sight of Malfoy in all his glory had the opposite effect. It was nearly criminal how perfect the blond looked. He would have been an incredible male model in the Muggle world, selling designer jeans with the fly unbuttoned to show a hint of the glorious curls Harry longed to touch. Those curls surrounded the most beautiful cock Harry had ever seen—not that he had seen many in the flesh—but the memory of Malfoy’s had haunted him for the past two days.
“Like what you see, Potter?” Malfoy finally asked and Harry was delighted to see a flush tinting the cheeks of the normally cool Slytherin.
“Very much,” Harry admitted huskily and began to tear at his own clothing. He did not remember his shirt having quite so many buttons when he put it on that morning. In his impatience, he tore at the material, finding it nearly impossible to thread the bits back through their tiny holes as quickly as he needed.
“Stop,” Malfoy said, stepping forward and touching Harry’s hands with his own. “Let me.”
Harry quit fumbling and allowed his hands to drop as Malfoy reached for the offending fasteners. His long fingers made quick work of the buttons and soon Harry’s shirt joined Malfoy’s clothing on the floor. Malfoy then reached for Harry’s trousers. The faint brush of his knuckles against Harry’s abdomen nearly brought his heart into his throat. Harry tried to rein his libido in with annoyance. He would come like a randy third year if he didn’t regain control!
Loss of control became more likely when Malfoy dropped to his knees before Harry. He looked up at him with an enigmatic expression that made Harry want to take a photograph. Five thousand Galleons suddenly seemed like a pittance, especially when the blond murmured, “Shall I try this again?”
Harry nodded, despite the fact that he fully expected to orgasm the instant Malfoy’s lips touched his cock. He shut his eyes, unable to take the sight of Draco Malfoy preparing to suck him off. He felt his trousers and pants slide down over his thighs and knees, exposing himself to his former nemesis. His cock twitched in anticipation.
Malfoy’s hands moved back up Harry’s legs after helping him step free of the cloth, slowly travelling over the sensitive flesh behind Harry’s knees and sliding up to cup his buttocks. Harry dared to open his eyes and saw Malfoy watching his face intently. Time seemed to freeze for a moment when their eyes locked and Harry could scarcely breathe at the intensity of Malfoy’s expression. There had always been strong emotion between them and it seemed to have altered from animosity and anger to pure hunger and, in Harry’s case, insatiable need.
Harry’s hand lifted and brushed over the side of Malfoy’s cheek before he tucked his fingers into Malfoy’s soft blond hair. He knew it was a caress of unwarranted tenderness, but he didn’t care. Let Malfoy make of it what he would.
The grey eyes dropped and Malfoy leaned forward, not to take Harry’s cock into his mouth, but to rest his cheek against Harry’s flank. A rush of unexpected warmth tightened Harry’s throat and he suddenly knew that one more night would not be enough. He wondered if a thousand nights would be enough. His thumb idly caressed Malfoy’s cheekbone and he struggled to find words to break the tension. Nothing came to mind but ridiculous emotional babbling that would guarantee the return of the sarcastic, arrogant man he wanted to hate.
Luckily, he remained silent and the moment passed. Malfoy seemed to recover himself and turned to the task at hand. His lips brushed over Harry’s flank and slid through the dark curls to the base of his cock. Malfoy placed a gentle kiss there, shaking Harry’s precarious mental state even more, and then slowly moved his lips up to the tip. When he finally opened his mouth and wrapped wet heat around the head of Harry’s cock, it took every bit of Harry’s considerable willpower not to come.
Instead of taking him deep, Malfoy teased the tip with his tongue, lapping and swirling at it until Harry heard a keening whimper issue from his own throat.
“I can’t hold it!” he cried suddenly.
Malfoy took him completely then, sheathing him in heat and gripping his arse tightly with both hands. Harry came explosively, feeling as though he hadn’t wanked himself raw in the past two days. Malfoy released him and coughed slightly. Harry blinked at him and watched as the blond wiped at his mouth with the back of one hand.
“Sorry,” Harry said and dimly wondered how often Malfoy sucked off clients. He jealously hoped it wasn’t often. His hand tightened reflexively in Malfoy’s hair, but he let go when the blond winced. “Sorry,” he repeated and untangled his fingers. He moved his hands to Malfoy’s shoulders and pulled gently, urging him to his feet. Harry wanted to kiss him so badly he was nearly shaking with the effort of restraint, but he placed soft, biting kisses on Malfoy’s pale neck instead while guiding him toward the bed.
Malfoy sprawled backward and shifted until he lay in the centre; Harry admired the picture he made for a moment. He practically dove on the blond then, and attacked Malfoy with his mouth. If he was to be denied access to that gorgeous mouth, then he would kiss everything else. Every inch. Harry kissed, licked, and nipped blazing paths across Malfoy’s skin, feeling the need to mark him, to possess him.
Malfoy arched and gasped. “Don’t—mar the merchandise, Potter.”
Mine, Harry wanted to snarl savagely. He felt the urge to bite down, to put his brand on Malfoy for the world to see, but the Slytherin flexed his arm and Harry caught sight of the remnant of Malfoy’s Dark Mark. He had been marked enough. The thought gentled him instantly and his kisses softened into teasing flicks with just enough pressure to be felt and just enough tongue to tantalize.
“Fuck, Potter,” Malfoy said and moaned. His cock leaked prodigiously—Harry had fondled, licked, and sucked everything but that.
“Harry,” he ordered thickly.
“Fuck, Harry,” Malfoy replied. It was enough to bring Harry’s latent erection back to full strength. He should not have been fully aroused so soon, but Malfoy—bloody hell, how could he not be when the blond writhed so beautifully and his panting gasps warmed Harry’s blood with every exhale? Malfoy’s next words nearly undid him completely. “Fuck me, Harry.”
“I will,” he promised reassuringly. “I will.”
~~ x ~~
But Harry didn’t. Draco knew about fucking. Not from experience, of course, but because he had been inside the minds and fantasies and whims of dozens of his clients. The people Draco invited in wanted to fuck, or to be sucked off, or to pound themselves into a willing body or be pounded into. They did not want to kiss every inch of their rentboy’s body. They did not wish to bring their hired slut to the brink of orgasm and they did not look at him with gazes that bordered on adoration.
Leave it to Harry fucking Potter to be different.
“Want you so much, Draco,” he muttered, the bastard, and Draco gasped when Potter’s cheek grazed the head of his cock—most likely by accident, because he had taken care not to touch the part of Draco that was most screaming for attention.
Potter’s fingers stroked at Draco’s testicles, pulling the taut flesh there gently. Draco’s knuckles nearly cracked with the effort of holding back his orgasm.
“I want you to come all over me,” Potter said huskily. Draco crazily wondered how many others had heard that particular voice, because it was the most erotic bloody thing he had ever heard. He nearly did as Harry suggested merely from the sound of it. Draco heard a familiar spell and then Potter’s fingers moved downward. Draco opened his legs expectantly, almost surprising himself with the wanton movement, but needing the Auror inside of him even at the cost of his pride.
Potter sucked in a breath and Draco felt coolness circle his hole, which was already relaxed and ready—oh so ready—for whatever Potter felt like inserting. The Gryffindor was thankfully gentle. Even though Draco had shoved his own fingers up there several times in the past two days, trying vainly to recreate the sensation Potter had discovered, it simply wasn’t the same. Draco wondered if watching the expressions flit across Potter’s handsome face made the difference.
Potter’s fingers slid in and out, slick with lubricant, first one and then several. Draco tried not to arch his back and push against Potter’s hand eagerly—and failed miserably.
“More,” he demanded finally, nearly to the point of begging with need.
The fingers disappeared, to be quickly replaced by the burning, stretching pain of Potter’s cock. Draco made a noise of protest and Potter murmured soothing sounds against Draco’s heated flesh. “Better soon,” Potter said. Draco knew it was true, but the burning grew almost unbearable before the Auror pulled nearly out.
“Wait,” Draco said, but Potter plunged forward in typical Gryffindor fashion, striking that magical place on the first try. Draco cried out and his hands found purchase on Potter’s hot skin.
“Are you okay?” Potter asked worriedly.
“Yes,” Draco hissed and arched in anticipation of the next brilliant stroke.
Potter complied and it was even better than their first night. Perhaps Draco was more relaxed or Potter was more confident. Whatever the case, Draco writhed and twisted mindlessly, meeting Potter’s thrusts and babbling ridiculous words that would likely come back to haunt him later, except that Potter was brilliant and gorgeous and… oh Merlin, he was coming all over Potter, as requested.
“You’re incredible,” Potter whispered and his voice verged on inaudible, except that his lips were close to Draco’s ear because Draco’s arms were wrapped around his neck, holding tightly as the Auror’s shudders merged with his, filling him with Potter’s release.
Potter collapsed on Draco’s chest and stayed that way for far longer than Draco would have expected, until they were both sweat-cooled, except that the Auror’s ridiculous body heat kept Draco warm as their breathing slowly returned to normal. When Potter finally rolled away, it was only to cast a quick Cleaning Charm and then gather Draco close, spooning his heroic body around Draco’s like a child protecting a treasured toy. Draco could not find the energy to protest. When he felt lips press into the curve between his shoulder and neck, he said nothing, but unexpected warmth filled him and he relaxed into Potter’s grip.
Stupid Potter, he thought affectionately.
When Draco awoke it was still dark. He opened his eyes and suppressed a sharp intake of breath. Harry Potter’s eyes were open, watching him. He was a mere hand span away. Their breath mingled, which should have been unpleasant, but somehow wasn’t.
“What are you doing?” Draco asked.
“Watching you sleep,” Potter replied.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” Potter reached up and touched the side of Draco’s face. His thumb brushed lightly over Draco’s lower lip.
“What time is it?” Draco asked, trying not to wonder what Potter’s strange actions meant. It was stupid to be here. He should never have allowed Potter to touch him. He made as if to pull away, but Potter’s grip tightened, slipping around to the back of his head. Potter moved forward and for a moment Draco thought the Auror meant to kiss him, which he did, but his lips veered away from his mouth to press against his forehead instead.
“Don’t go,” Potter said.
Draco grimaced, fighting the stupid urge to reply that he would stay as long as Harry wanted, but he knew that path led to madness. “Loo,” he replied.
Potter sighed, but released him. “Hurry back.”
Draco fled to the bathroom and cast a Tempus Charm. It was only 3 a.m. Plenty of time to Apparate home and get some sleep. He relieved the pressure on his bladder and then ran water in the sink until it turned hot. He splashed his face and patted it dry with a soft towel. Potter’s bathroom was surprisingly clean and organized. Draco had expected wet towels on the floor and toothpaste on the edges of the sink.
Then again, nearly everything about Potter surprised him these days. He fingered his wand and debated Apparating straight home, but his clothes were still in the bedroom with Potter, who planned to pay another 5,000 Galleons for Draco’s company. The Auror would likely be upset if he did not feel he had received his money’s worth.
Draco blinked at himself in the mirror, glad that he had not cast a Lumos. He would rather not see the truth in his own reflection—that perhaps he wanted to return to Potter’s bed.
The door opened and Draco turned to see Potter looking slightly panicked. He sagged against the frame. “I was afraid you had gone,” he said.
“And be forced to give you a discount? Perish the thought,” Draco said lightly.
Potter pushed himself away from the door and took Draco into his arms. His nude body felt deliciously warm against Draco’s. He had gained a chill standing on the cold tile unclothed. “Your skin is like ice,” Potter murmured. “Come back to bed.”
He led Draco back to the heat of his bed and then warmed him once more with hot kisses, caresses, and another session of mind-melting sex. When Draco fell asleep the second time, he did not awaken until long past dawn.
~~ x ~~
Harry leaned against the bedpost while he indulged in his newest hobby—watching Draco Malfoy sleep. He couldn’t seem to help himself. Draco’s face was so beautiful when he slept. No more or less beautiful than when he was awake, of course, but so… unguarded. Long lashes fluttered against his pale cheeks like whispers of gold. His lips curved every so often, as if sleep brought him a happiness that seemed to elude him in daylight’s reality. Silver-blond hair lay haphazardly across Draco’s face and clung to Harry’s pillow. He looked like a mussed child, except for the sensuality of his features. There was nothing childlike in his beauty.
Harry swallowed hard, remembering the night. Draco was… incredible. Harry had stupidly thought to drive the blond from his mind, only to find him entrenched even more firmly. Draco was like a barbed hook, driving ever deeper once beneath the skin, unable to be torn free without pain.
Draco sighed in his sleep and shifted. His lips parted to expose a hint of even white teeth. One hand trailed out over the sheet, as if seeking a warm body. Harry frowned, wondering if Draco sought a particular warm body, or if anyone would do. He pushed away a random flash of pain at the thought and cursed himself for idiocy. Draco was a rentboy. He did not belong to Harry. He belonged to everyone… and no one. Harry wondered if anyone would ever penetrate that icy façade. Harry thought he had a few times, last night, but maybe Draco was just a very good actor, giving Harry his money’s worth.
Fuck. What the hell did he want, anyway? He wanted sex, he paid for it, Draco provided it. That’s all there was to it. Wanting more would be the ultimate stupidity.
Draco’s fingers curled, finding nothing, and his lashes moved in a slow blink. Harry sat on the bed and leaned forward, awaiting the moment when the grey orbs came into view, hoping for a single unguarded moment before the shutters fell.
He got more than he bargained for. Draco’s eyes fixed on him and focused and a slow smile curved his perfect lips into a Cupid’s bow that sent arrows winging straight to Harry’s unprotected heart. He felt something wrench and realized with a shock that he was well and truly fucked. It must have shone in his eyes, because Draco’s smile faded and the shutters dropped, masking emotion as quickly as the platinum eyes shifted away.
Come back! Harry wanted to scream, and could not stop himself from reaching out to touch the hand that was already withdrawing, curling back into the invisible shell that surrounded Draco, protecting him from Harry and everyone like him. Draco froze and Harry seized his advantage, sliding his fingers around to hold Draco’s wrist, absently noting the pulse that beat there. He lifted Draco’s hand as he leaned down. He pressed a kiss to the back of Draco’s hand and felt the delicate bones beneath his lips. His skin was so soft that Harry let his lips slide down to the knuckles and back up again, wanting to keep going, to map the smooth bits and the rough bits, and all the bits of Draco’s body.
Draco snatched his hand away and Harry smiled ruefully. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said.
Draco shut his eyes and absently rubbed at the back of his hand where Harry had kissed it. A faint blush tinted his cheeks, making him look even more irresistible.
“I should have expected you to be sappy in the morning, Potter.”
“Harry,” he corrected.
Draco frowned. “How long do you expect me to be on the clock?” He glanced toward the window as he said it, probably judging the time and hoping for the termination of Harry’s company.
“You can escape after breakfast. I cooked it for you, so I hope you’re hungry.”
“You cook?”
Harry laughed. “On occasion. Mostly when I want to eat. No house-elves, you know.”
“Oh. Me, either.”
Harry frowned, but the words had not sounded bitter. They shook him, nonetheless, with the knowledge of everything Draco had lost. Shit. On top of everything else, he did not want to feel pity for the blond. He tore the blankets away from Draco’s body playfully and grinned when the action earned a yelp.
“You’re a right bastard, Potter,” Draco said as he drew his knees up to partially cover himself. It made no difference. Harry’s gaze slid over Draco’s nude form and he began to crawl across the bed in a predatory fashion. Draco drew in a sharp breath and pushed himself backward, even though the movement caused him to expose himself to Harry, whose eyes feasted on Draco’s flaccid cock. He was even more gorgeous in the daylight.
“Breakfast, Potter!” Draco said and lifted a finger as though to halt him.
“Breakfast can wait,” Harry said thickly. He dove on the blond and curled his arms around him, enfolding him in a warm embrace.
“But I’m hungry,” Draco protested, although he gasped when Harry’s mouth fastened on one pink nipple.
“Merlin, me, too,” Harry replied and sucked. Draco arched beneath him and breakfast was forgotten.
Later, Harry sat across from him, nursing a hot cup of tea. By all rights he should have been sated. The sight of Draco Malfoy eating should have been a pretty display, but definitely not erotic. The blond was not even trying to be attractive. He slumped wearily with one elbow propped on the table and one cheek resting on his palm while he daintily placed a forkful of eggs into his mouth. He did not look at Harry, instead fixing his gaze on his plate as though it held the secrets of the universe.
Harry had picked at his food and then sat back to watch Draco, fascinated with every movement he made. Draco’s tongue flicked out and touched his lip for an instant. He chewed methodically. As if sensing Harry’s gaze, he raised his eyes. A flush tinted his cheeks and Harry gulped his tea then winced as it burned his throat. Draco straightened and pushed his plate away. He had eaten nearly all of his food and finished two cups of tea.
“Acceptable breakfast, Potter. Thank you.”
“Harry,” he reminded quietly.
Draco stood so quickly the chair legs scraped on the floor. “Harry,” Draco conceded, but it sounded like an epithet. “May I leave now?” The words rang with bitterness and Harry felt chagrin. Of course Draco did not want to stay. He had fulfilled his part of their business transaction.
Harry almost nodded, but instead got to his feet and walked around the table. Grey eyes watched him warily, but Harry said nothing as he enfolded Draco in a rough embrace. Harry buried his face in Draco’s neck and felt the soft platinum hair fall over his face as he breathed in the unique scent of the Slytherin. Draco’s arms remained fixed at his sides and he was stiff as a broom in Harry’s embrace.
With one last inhalation, Harry admitted defeat and stepped back.
“Goodbye, Draco,” he said with finality.
“Goodbye, Harry,” Draco replied quietly. He walked to the door and went out. Harry heard the faint crack of Apparition before he sank into the nearest chair.
He stayed there for a very long time.
Chapter Five