Chapter 1 The Betrothal
"Excuse me," huffed Draco's dinner date, the third woman he'd been out with this week. "Can you please pass the salt? For Christs' sake, no one who looks like me should have to ask three times before the gentleman responds."
Draco gave her a withering glare because it wasn't like he actually wanted to be on this miserable outing, nor was he intentionally annoying her. It just so happened that the chicken marsala he'd ordered thirty minutes previously, the only saving grace about this evening, was currently commanding all of his attention.
If he was going to be forced to wine and dine a different woman every night, the least he could do was actually enjoy the food he was consuming.
Without speaking, he wandlessly Levitated the salt over and watched as her face puckered into an expression suggesting she'd smelled something quite nasty. But her feelings were of no concern to him.
There was nothing worse than giving said dinner date the wrong impression about his intentions. Draco had empathized with the woman who'd accompanied him on his very first matchmaker dinner date a month ago, assuming she also had a parent forcing her to attend. That was very much not the case. He'd given her a hug goodnight and she'd molested him, crushing their mouths together and groping his crotch before he returned to his senses and shoved her away.
Since then, Draco had adopted a persona of careful nonchalance not so different than his usual demeanor at Hogwarts. However, where the idea back then had been to coolly attract as much attention as possible, with his dates he strove for the opposite. It was always an especially good feeling when, after being ignored all evening, the insulted woman stormed out of the restaurant before dessert. Draco would order the most delectable chocolate cake on the menu and eat it delicately, thinking about how much time he'd need to spend running the next day to burn off the calories but not letting the thought deter him.
Residing with parents, there was only so much actual living one could possibly do, and Draco intended to soak up every moment of pleasure he could.
He pretended not to hear his date when she asked if he wanted to share a low-cal vanilla ice cream for dessert, dabbing gently at his mouth with his cloth napkin while simultaneously composing a short piano melody in his head.
After asking twice, she shook her head as if asking why degrade herself in this way. Eventually, she rose from the table and drained her wine glass, leaving Draco with the bill.
Good thing his father was financing Draco's so-called "debut" to society. He'd be taking all of the potential wives to Muggle fast food joints if it was on his dollar.
Draco only allowed himself one vice a day, so he skipped dessert after paying the bill and skulked out to the park just across the corner from the restaurant, pulling a beat-up container of cigarettes out of his inner jacket pocket. He didn't smoke often, but when he did, the day was sure to have been a doozy.
The nicotine felt like heaven served up on a silver platter. For that brief cigarette, he permitted himself to think about the gentleman two tables away that'd been having the time of his life with his date, an adorable American bloke who laughed loudly and gesticulated wildly.
Draco would have given all the gold in his Gringotts account to trade places with that man.
He delicately drew breath from the cigarette, trying to make it last longer. It never did, but he somehow still couldn't convince himself to stop trying.
The thought of Apparating home made him uncomfortable, as usual. No matter what spell he used, Draco could never manage to disguise his smoking from Father. It wasn't fair or right, but he'd long given up on any semblance of control over his own life, even five years after graduating from Hogwarts. My house, my rules had long been Father's motto, and Draco couldn't get a job in the Wizarding World. He no longer thought of the Mark burned into his skin as defining him, except when it did.
In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. Draco slid another cigarette from the carton, breathing the toxic air indulgently. He'd read extensively about the dangers of smoking yet still chose to partake anyway. Truth be told, he wished that death by smoking would find him sooner rather than later. What was a life spend locked away in his parents' mansion – a life without friends, a life without purpose – worth to him or anyone else?
Sure enough, when he arrived home, Father took one sniff before glaring daggers at Draco.
"Have we not had conversations about how revoltingly common smoking is?" he sneered, perfectly composed in his elegant robes.
"We've had many conversations, Father," said Draco evenly.
"And yet you still never listen to a word I say," Father said with malice. He subtly took a deep breath as if to prepare himself for something unpleasant. In this respect, Draco knew exactly how he felt.
Pulling no punches, Father asked, "Will you marry this one?"
He didn't care about how Draco actually felt; he was only concerned with the end result: Draco's subsequent marriage to a Pureblooded woman from a reputable family, which would theoretically restore the Malfoys' former status and prestige.
Draco always said that if Father wanted status and prestige, he could always be the one to remarry. Unfortunately, that suggestion never went over very well. He always felt mildly guilty for saying it, especially if Mother was in the room, but it wasn't enough to a deterrent to curb his sass.
"Potentially, Father," Draco said, humoring him. "I think we had a real connection."
Without pause, Father stepped forward and neatly backhanded Draco across the cheek.
"When are you going to learn not to lie to me, son?" snarled Father. "You have no interest in the wellbeing of this family."
Draco wasn't going to argue with him, though the words stung as much as the mark on his face.
"I simply cannot tell you," said Father coldly, "How disappointed I am to have you for a son. What I wouldn't have given for a task as mindless as marriage when I was young!"
"Is that all, Father?" asked Draco pointedly. Every evening he'd had this week had been taken up by Father's demands and Draco was exhausted by the futility of his life.
Father met Draco's eyes with malice. No longer willing to wait for permission, Draco turned on his heel and purposefully strode from the room, doing his best not to storm.
Personal chambers in the Malfoy Manor could be permanently locked the inhabitant's will thanks to the ancient ancestor who'd valued privacy. Draco refused to be bothered for the rest of the night, even though he hadn't greeted Mother since returning home. He initiated the locking system, breathing a sigh of relief at being finally alone and in his own space for the first time that day. When not out on dates, Draco was expected to prepare for his evenings out by reviewing the familial history of each selected woman.
He collapsed on his bed, not caring that his fancy dress robes were rumpled or that the pristine bed sheets were now wrinkled underneath him. There was no substitute for comfort, after all, even though it went against what Draco had been led to believe for the past twenty-two years.
Sleep did not come naturally. It never did, anymore. Between vivid nightmares of Potter daringly rescuing him from the fire in the Room of Requirement or being forced to torture others while in the employ of Lord Voldemort, Draco could not feel completely at ease.
Another urge was soundly overcoming his desire to sleep: his need for sexual gratification. Draco groaned; irrevocably, whenever he thought of Potter, his cock stiffened. It wasn't right, getting all hot over speccy, knobbly-kneed gits, but Draco couldn't safely say anything made much sense as of late.
Trying not to think about Potter only made him think of Potter more. Draco sighed, giving in. He'd been largely suppressing his needs in order to make it through the never-ending set of dates unscathed. Making eyes at the American from across the restaurant was incredibly stupid on his part, especially because, at any time, one of the women could report back to Father how Draco seemed to be dissatisfied with his designated date. She might make insinuations about how he wanted to take it up the arse instead.
And oh, how right she would be. Draco felt his muscles clenching at the thought of the American giving it to him. He was sure the man loved like he conversed – wild, passionate, and caring. After sliding out of his trousers and pants, Draco Conjured a towel to cover the bed with before lying back down. He ran his fingers gently over his cock, enjoying the sensation of being touched. Hardness came naturally as his mind continued to provide him with fantasy dates. The lube was almost uncomfortably slick and made Draco feel uncomfortable if it was on his body too long, but he couldn't deny that it facilitated marvelous pleasure to certain areas of his body.
After a few hard strokes, Draco's desire started to lead his mind astray from the fantasies he was trying to play in his brain like a Muggle film strip. Instead, where he'd been imagining the American's smiling face had been leaning over him, Potter was there instead; pushing Draco into the bed with his sturdy frame, fucking him through the mattress and into the floor. Heady with the tingling feeling of another body against his own, Draco breathed deeply as he closed his eyes and grasped his cock a little tighter.
The highest quality of stimulation to his cock couldn't have been enough for Draco in that moment. Instead, he longed to feel full, to be filled. It was the most intimate thing in the world, Draco thought, letting someone else into the most private part he possessed; a part that he could certainly stimulate on his own but that a partner could reach so much better. No matter which way he laid or how he maneuvered his arms, there never seemed to be a comfortable way to finger his arse. So as usual, Draco resorted to Transfiguring a toothbrush – specifically kept for such a purpose – into a small sized dildo.
Draco lubed up before hoisting up his legs and softly pushing the toy into the rolling pucker of his arse, taking deep, measured breaths to avoid accidentally clenching a sphincter and causing unnecessary pain. There was a time and place for everything, but pain play was going to have to wait for another day.
Anyway, this was only a small toy, designed to stretch his passage enough to where he could insert the larger one that really had Draco salivating. Reveling in naughty feeling of being penetrated, he pushed the toy a little farther in and used his wand to make the dildo increasingly penetrate him both harder and faster. Lying back and ignoring the cramp that had formed from contorting at such a ridiculous angle, Draco pulled his cock in time to the strokes, wishing Potter's calloused hand was touching him instead.
All too soon, the toy wasn't meeting his needs anymore. With more patience than he cared to muster, Draco Transfigured his hairbrush into a moderately sized dildo, the last preparation before it was time to use the one he really craved. After the slim toy was removed with no fuss, Draco again lubed his arse and fought to keep his anal muscles relaxed. It took a little longer to insert the bigger dildo, and he found his hand slipping on the base as he attempted to budge the toy past his inner sphincter.
When it was in, though, Draco's eyes rolled unconsciously into the back of his head. The pressure and stimulation to his prostate was a dream when combined with the sensations on his cock, but the ultimate pleasure was yet to come.
Unwilling to rush the process, Draco allowed his muscles to stretch to accommodate the larger size. He would have been fine just moving right into the large toy and enjoying the burn that came along with the sensations, but didn't fancy having a sore arse the next day. Father had an eagle eye for pain and weakness so the only option was to be in tip-top shape when in his presence.
Potter's face floated into his mind yet again as he settled back and magically directed the dildo to move inside of his body. Draco wasn't able to free himself from imagining Potter's luminous green eyes looking straight into his soul as they made love, Potter's cock filling him to the point where it drove everything else out of his head but Potter and warmth.
He knew he was close the moment he stopped caring that Potter was the star of his fantasies and only wanted more of Potter, everything he had to offer. Draco Banished the dildo with a wave of his wand, not bothering to remove it. Not it was time for the real moment of fun. After applying yet more of that awful lube, he eagerly reached for his large glass dildo and slid it inside with more resistance than he'd expected, but not as much as he desired. His muscles were pushed to the limit now, and Draco breathed a deep sigh of contentment. He almost wished he could feel this way at all times.
There was some sort of rustling coming from the doorway, but Draco couldn't be bothered. The pressure the plug put on his prostate made it hard to concentrate on anything other than the enhanced sensations flooding his cock. Thinking about Potter's weight on top of him, Potter's nails digging into the skin of his back, and the sting from Potter slapping his arse put Draco over the edge. With a soft moan he couldn't quite hold back, Draco came all over his hand, covering his abs with long stripes of liquid. A wave of sleepiness overcame him, and so, without removing the plug, he rotated to lay on his side, pretending that Potter was spooning him from behind.
The sound of a throat being cleared jolted Draco from his tiredness, anxiety flooding his stomach as he scrambled to cover his exposed parts.
"Decades of service to the Dark Lord did not prepare me for the disturbing moment where I was forced to see the insides of my son's anal passage," remarked Father cruelly.
Draco didn't say anything; couldn't say anything. The door was supposed to be impenetrable because of his status as Malfoy, so why had it admitted Father to Draco's private quarters?
It was as if Father was reading his thoughts. "The Master of the House can enter any blood relative's chambers at any time, should he have justifiable reason to do so."
There was no need to ask what the reason was; Draco was entirely sure it wasn't something he was going to appreciate.
"You've been offered a marriage proposition," Father revealed, watching Draco through narrowed eyes. "I've already accepted on your behalf. You're to be wed at the end of summer."
That was less than two months away. Draco could feel his heart sinking at the thought of being married off to any of the women he'd taken on dinner dates.
Father smiled in an mocking expression of victory. "Enjoy your perversions while you can, Draco. I'm sure your new wife won't have any tolerance for them." He walked out of the room, leaving the door open behind him.
This was undoubtedly worse than when Voldemort assigned Draco the task of killing Dumbledore. At least there was the hope that Potter would save him and the rest of the Wizarding World from destructive tyranny. But now, with the rest of his life robbed in one fell swoop, Draco felt hopelessness and despair sweep over him. His hands were shaking, and it was only after a few more moments of discomfort before he realized his arse muscles were tightening too hard around the plug.
With a foreboding sense of shame, Draco reached around and yanked it out, paying no attention to pain as the widest part of the bulb passed through him.
How his empty hole gaped and clenched at nothingness seemed a poignant metaphor for his life.