The baby bargain

One can only have hope that I own harry potter, But alas ... I do not , not even the plot is mine

The palms of his hands were cold and clammy and he bit his lip, his head spinning with thought he could no longer ignore. Because this was how it all ended ... the end of a relationship. With the slow, slow drip of inconsideration ... rather than the passion of a blazing row.

His lips curved into a painful smile as he recognized that calling it an relationship gave it more importance than it deserved. 'When two people lived in opposite worlds and merely snatched at secret moments together... did that really count?'

Perhaps affair would be more accurate. An affair which should never have started and which he had tried hard to resist, but in the end he had been weak of course he had. For wasn't that Draco Malfoy's special ability : To make other's weak around him. It doesn't matter to him the gender...men and women were just things to be acquired the disposed of like an unwanted toy. It truly was amazing that he lasted out as long a he had. Maybe this was what happened when you finally began to fall in love with a man like Draco Malfoy ... or Drake to his friends, Dragon to his lovers .

Stepping into the very large and very beautiful office his hand was once more smoothing his slacks of their imaginary wrinkles. He wanted to make sure that he looked professional for this meeting . Well, he was going to have to assert himself. He was not going to stumble or stutter with words, he had been practicing this speech every day for the last two weeks.

"Mr. Potter" the assistant said politely, as if he'd never met him before. As if he hadn't witnessed Draco kissing him so passionately on the backseat of the car. Or hadn't been forced to sit in a car outside his tiny house, waiting for his Slytherin boss to reappear over an hour later minus his tie, his hair disheveled, his sensual mouth curved with pleasure.

Harry's cheeks burned with shame at the memory of that particular time. "Where's Draco?" He questioned, and then his eye's widened as a thousand terrible possibilities flooded into his mind. "He's okay? I mean-- northing's happened to him ?"

But the assistant's face might have been made of wood. Hard disapproving wood – as if he was used to dealing with a hundred of lovers like Harry. "Mr. Draco Malfoy asked me to convey his apologies, but he is dealing with a conference by floo. He asks that you wait here until he has a moment free"

Harry swallowed.'A moment free.' Like he was a insignificant client and ultimately disposable. Yes, that was him disposable 'The-boy-who-lived-to be-thrown-away.' What was the normal response when your lover sent his assistant to blow you off and you suspected that it was because your novelty value was wearing off and he might be tiring of you? Did you smile politely and thank the assistant and

make an appointment calm and confidently? Or would you be more respected-- and desired-- if you politely told the assistant that he could go back to his boss with the information that you had changed your mind about dinner, and you were going home? That if he was busy, then surely the best solution was to leave him in peace to get on with his work.

But the lure of the Dragon was too strong, and so was his fear that a dramatic display of pique might bring about the end sooner that he anticipated. Sooner than he could cope with.

"I'll wait," he said.

Harry stood in the mirror of the washroom he took the opportunity to drag a brush through his unruly locks and artfully restyle them, also to compose himself into the right kind of expression.

How did he look the first time Draco had seen him in 5 years-- When Draco hunted him down like a hungry predator? Surely he could recreate a similar kind of expression now. The kind of air which implied that he had a full a fulfilling life in the Muggle world, and he wasn't particularly fussed about anyone from the wizarding world--not even if Draco was world famous in both.

The trouble was that things changed. People changed, once a man like Dragon possessed them.

Did he have the power to turn his lovers into willing slaves—so that he could ultimately despise them for wanting him so badly? Even him the so called hero of the wizarding world, or was that the challenge?

Did his Dragon despise him now that he had no pride left when it came to Draco Malfoy?

Draco's assistant came to him after he had been waiting for over Two hours, "Mr. Potter... Mr. Malfoy can see you now. Follow me please."

The lift doors slid open silently and he could make out the sound of his voice coming from the direction of his office sitting room. A unique voice, in Harry's experience --low, soft, dangerous, sexy. He was speaking in French and then suddenly he switched to English, as he began to walk towards its silky resonance, the heels of his shoes quiet on the thick carpet.

Draco was sitting at the vast desk which overlooked London's Hyde Park, Wearing a black silk shirt which contrasted against his fair porcelain skin. His short blond hair mussed a bit and it sparkled with the light from drops of water—as if someone had scattered fine diamonds over his head, though he was clearly just out of the shower.

"Tell them no," he was saying. "Tell them them..." And then he must have become aware of his presence for his gaze flicked up from the document he was reading. He studied him for one long, unhurried moment and then the dusky gray eyes glittered with flecks of silver, and he gave a slow smile, running the tip of his tongue over his lips—like someone starving who had just seen their meal arrive.

"Tell them that they will have to wait" he said softly, and then put the phone down without any kind of conventional goodbye. "Harry," he murmured. "love."

Usually, that deep sensuous endearment made him tremble, but not tonight. "Hello Draco," he said evenly.

His gray eyes narrowed. Leaning back into his chair, he continued to study harry. "Forgive me the wait–but some business came in which I had to deal with."

Harry eyed the ripple of muscles that peaked through the few shirt buttons which had been left open and he felt the habitual rush of desire which overrode everything else, even sanity. But if he ignored this lapse in plain courtesy, then wasn't he just giving this man in front of him permission to treat him any way he saw fit.? If this were anyone else would he have said something? Of course he would. 'But with any other man you wouldn't care!'

"You could have phoned telling me of the delay."

There was a split second of pause . "I could indeed," he agreed steadily and felt the flicker of a pulse at his temple. ' be careful , love,' Draco thought to himself, 'be very careful.'

"And you're still not ready."

Draco eyes narrowed. 'Was that criticism? Of me?'

Did Harry not realize that he would not tolerate being judged. Especially by the boy who bloody ran away.

And was he not aware that he was in danger of treading the path of the predictable—the path that so many that tread before him had taken—and that if he did there could only be one outcome?

Leaning back in his chair just a little, he crossed one long leg over the other, watching the way that Harry's eyes followed the movement as he tried to disguise the hunger in his eyes. Should he take him now? Could he really be bothered to endure a restaurant dinner of small talk in a muggle restaurant no less, when all he wanted to do was lose himself in the sweetness of his body? "Indeed I am not," he agreed softly, following Harry's gaze to his bare feet and remembering that amazing time when Harry had... "But that is easily remedied," he said thickly.. "I shall go into the bedroom and finish getting dressed right now."

"Okay," he said uncertainly, something telling him that Draco was playing a game with him.

"Or..." His mouth flickered in the mockery of a smile. "Or you could always come over here and say hello to me properly."

Was that a subtle dig that she hadn't already done so? Harry was aware of some unknown emotion hovering in the air about them—something unspoken and dangerous. Instinct told him that he was playing with fire if he continued to moan about Draco's lateness. And an even stronger instinct made him want to badly kiss his Dragon.

Harry crossed the room over to him, bending his face to brush a light kiss on his lips. A kiss could wipe

everything away, he thought longingly, his hands reaching up to his shoulders. 'Oh Dragon.'

"Nice," he murmured "Do it some more."

Harry kissed him again. And then again—only deeper this time and more intently—until he growled and reached for harry so that he let him pull him down onto his lap. "Dragon!" he gasped.

"Touch me," Draco urged. His mouth against Harry's ear, his nostrils inhaling Harry's scent.

"Wh-where?"

"Where ever you want, love."

Oh the choice was dazzling. Where did he begin ?

With his face—and all its contours, its contrasting lines and curves? He let his fingers caress his cheeks, running them along the luminous skin as if he where measuring the high angles of the cheekbones until he encountered the rasp of the new growth around his jaw.

Taking Harry's hand, He guided it down to between his legs and Harry felt the rush of blood to his cheeks as he felt the unbelievable hardness of him stretching the fabric of his elegant trousers.

"No," he groaned. "Touch me there... right there."

"Like that?" Harry whispered, cupping him in the palm of his hand.

"Yes. More. Do that some more."

Harry's drifted his fingers teasingly over the rocky shaft of him, and his soft moan became an impatient imprecation. His silver eyes were sparking pure passion and fire and his voice unsteady as he stroked the silken skin of Harry's throat. "I haven't seen this shirt before."

"Do you like it?"

"No, I want to tear it from you body"

"Don t do that, Dragon—its new."

"Then why don't you take it off for me—everything?"