It's clear in his posture that he is questioning why he came here. It's a solstice celebration-but not the kind for a casual observer. Not the kind for the faint-hearted.
He weaves in between tables and cages and around stages set up in the large room, eyes downcast and fingers tugging self-consciously at the tight black tee he wears. His trousers are tight, too-dark denim revealing everything that he still tries to hide. Whether or not his trousers were tight, Draco would have been able to see he'd been wearing a plug up his tight little arse for too long. It's funny; they haven't spoken in years, have barely seen one another in that time, but Draco knows him well enough to see all of his tells written across his face.
Draco waits patiently for Potter to come close enough to where Draco sits with half an eye on the shibari display on the nearest stage. A woman has her hands tied behind her back and kneels before her Master as he fucks her mouth.
Potter stops dead in just out of the spotlight on the stage, watching the helpless slave moan in her Master's capable hands. Potter is near enough to Draco's table to be within earshot, so Draco calls out to him softly.
"Do you like what you see?"
Potter startles and turns, revealing a bulge in his jeans that had only been half-hard moments before. He's shaky, too. He's pained with want. "W-what? Malfoy?" Potter asks raspily.
"Up there, Potter," Draco supplies. "Do you like seeing her tied up like that?"
Potter watches Draco warily.
"Do you imagine yourself in her place?"
He looks back for a moment before shaking his head. He mutters, "I'm not one for crowds..."
Unsurprised by Potter's response, Draco stands, walking up to him and encroaching just enough on his space that Potter is both uncomfortable and drawn to him. "Then why are you here?"
Potter does not look at Draco directly. "It's the shortest day of the year. I want to make the most of it."
Draco steps closer. "And how would you like to do that?" He leans in and touches Potter's ribs delicately, sending a shiver through the shorter man's body. He's so responsive.
"I want someone else to be in control," Potter finally admits.
Draco slips his hand to Harry's back and down to the cleft of his arse, pressing against the flat of the plug he finds through the rough texture of Potter's trousers when the man gasps. Potter's knees buckle, and he grabs Draco's jacket to keep from falling. His erection presses insistently against Draco's thigh.
"Come, Potter. We'll find something for you here."
"Are you asking me to come with you?"
"I am not asking."
Potter shivers again, making a little sound in his throat when Draco takes his fingers off of the plug.
They find a room-a simple one with a double four-poster bed in the middle of it. There are mirrors on the ceiling and a St. Andrew's cross that Draco covers immediately with several charms. Best to start small.
"Take off your clothes and get on the bed," Draco instructs.
"Are you... are you going to dominate me?"
"No. I am a dominant personality, though. I am direct and will push you anyway."
Potter swiftly strips and considers pulling the plug out before deciding against it and climbing gingerly across the soft duvet.
Draco watches appreciatively, murmuring, "Good boy," when Potter arranges himself on his back, legs splayed for comfort and breathing deeply to relax. His stomach tightens at Draco's words, but otherwise he is silent.
"Are we going to talk about...?" Potter begins, but falls silent when Draco shakes his head.
Draco removes his jacket, button down, and dragonhide boots before climbing on the bed after Potter. He helps Potter slide into a position that puts him diagonal to the bed, and watches in silence as Potter's breath quickens as Draco lifts his hands above his head.
"What?" he asks when Draco conjures black tape from his wand, wrapping it neatly around Harry's wrists and then around the bedpost.
"Bondage tape. An actually clever Muggle invention."
Potter tugs on the tape on instinct, twisting to look up at the shiny bands that stick only to themselves. Draco presses a hand to Potter's chest.
"Now, let's see about that plug, shall we?"
Potter swallows down a moan when Draco pulls on the plug, not removing it but teasing, ignoring Harry's already leaking cock. Harry's thighs are slick with lubricant and his cock shiny with precome.
"How long have you been walking around with this?"
"I put it in before coming here," Potter whispered.
"Have you fucked yourself with it?"
"Once before."
Draco pulls it all the way out, pressing it in swiftly to prevent Potter from holding back another moan. His arms jerked in the restraints as if to stop Draco, or to cover his mouth.
Draco hums. "I want to hear you." And he does. He hears every hitch of breath and even more moans, watching Potter come apart—watching him become Harry, vulnerable and hurting with the bliss of letting go.
This time Draco lets him come quickly, untouched. Harry closes his eyes, cock still twitching with his orgasm and thighs shaking as they rest over Draco's.
When Harry opens his eyes, face flushed, Draco takes his lube-slick fingers and pushes Harry toward the headboard to let his arms rest.
"How are you feeling?" he asks quietly, hovering over Harry's pliant body.
"Mnh," Harry mumbles, and without thinking stretches up to press a sleepy kiss to Draco's mouth.
If Draco reacts in any way, no one knows it except his trousers.