Warnings: Mildly dubious consent, maybe?
Notes: Thank you, Dicta, for the prompt, and for being such a thorough, thoughtful beta :) This little thing is that much better for it.
At first, Sunday teatime with the Malfoys had seemed like a terribly bad idea—one Harry had only agreed to after much, much insistence and no small number of threats from his boyfriend. Over time, however, it had become almost bearable: Lucius and Harry had settled into a polite sort of truce—essentially, each pretended the other wasn't in the room—and Narcissa, in an effort to lessen the remaining awkwardness, provided idle chit-chat for them all. As for Draco …
Draco was the sole reason these gatherings were only almost bearable.
A game of bridge over tea and crumpets could have become entirely endurable. Even if it had to be with the Malfoys, even if bridge bored Harry to tears—and why couldn't they just play Exploding Snap, anyway?—it could have. But for that to happen, it would require Harry's boyfriend to stop treating each of these afternoons as a chance to indulge in some elaborate and creative form of torture.
"Harry?" Draco smiled sweetly. "We're all waiting for you, you realise."
Harry eyed Draco's socked foot where it rested innocently on Harry's chair. Between his legs. Innocently.
That did not bode well. That did not bode wellat all.
"Sorry," he said, trying to concentrate on his cards instead. Merlin, how come he was never dealt a good hand? He'd have to have a word with Draco about that. The deck was probably cursed or something; Harry wouldn't put it past the Malfoys to rig their own games, even when there wasn't anything other than pride at stake.
"You ought to be looking at my hand, Harry, not yours." Draco's foot brushed up the inside of Harry's thigh. "It's my turn. You're supposed to select a card for me to play, remember?"
"Right. Of course." Harry swallowed as Draco's foot travelled farther up his inseam. "The Eight of … of—" He had to abruptly clamp his mouth shut to stop himself from swearing. Draco's toes were barely, just barely, grazing Harry's cock through the fabric.
"I beg your pardon? I didn't quite catch the suit." As if to emphasise his point, whatever that was, Draco pressed the ball of his foot more firmly against Harry's—by then, quickly growing—erection.
"Clubs!" Harry squeaked.
"Ah, the Eight of Clubs." Draco nodded thoughtfully, and how he managed to keep a straight face while fondling Harry's groin with his foot, Harry had no idea. "Very well," he added, sliding the card closer to the centre of the table.
"Oh dear, we seem to have run out of tea," Narcissa said, beckoning for one of the house-elves to bring more. Blinky, Harry thought, or perhaps Winky; he tried to remember their names, but to be honest, they all looked pretty much the same and, in any case, his mind wasn't exactly functioning at full capacity.
Narcissa's turned back presented Harry with the opportunity to glare at Draco from across the table. "I'm going to kill you," Harry mouthed at him, but Draco simply raised an eyebrow, and bit his lower lip in that way that made Harry think about late-night blow jobs and all the amazing things Draco could do with his tongue.
He was so, so fucked.
"More tea, Mr Potter?" asked Narcissa.
"Er …" Harry blinked quickly. Draco's foot wouldn't stop moving, and Harry's cock was beginning to ache where it was trapped between his leg and the rough fabric of his trousers.
"I think Harry has had more than enough tea, Mother."
"Draco, darling—" Narcissa smiled tightly, "—I'm sure Mr Potter is perfectly capable of speaking for himself."
Draco rolled his eyes. "But of course, please do answer, Mr Potter."
"Er …" Harry tugged nervously at his collar. Suddenly, the room was not just warm, it was uncomfortably hot. Harry's neck felt damp and flushed, and his shirt was sticking to him like a second skin. He really was going to murder his absolute bastard of a boyfriend as soon as they got home. Possibly. Harry just hoped they'd be leaving shortly, before he embarrassed himself any further. "No, he's right. No more tea for me," he managed at last, then added, "Thank you, Mrs Malfoy," when Narcissa wrinkled her nose disapprovingly.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Draco lick his lips and wink—actually wink—at him. Meanwhile, Lucius stared fixedly at the wall, and Narcissa took a small sip from her teacup. Somehow, no one else ever seemed to notice what Draco was up to.
Harry took a deep breath, and vaguely wondered why these things always happened to him.