Title: You Cannot Save People (You Can Only Love Them)
Author: DIGTHEWRITER
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Warnings: Muggle film references. Mention of rape and non-con (NOT GRAPHIC at all). Prostitution. Rentboy. Living like a Muggle. Angst.
D's mobile hadn't stopped beeping since the moment he stepped out of the shower. He wrapped his robe around him and almost tripped over the rug as he went to grab it. The old Persian rug was rather faded and getting old; perhaps it was time to get a new one but D just couldn't seem to part from it. It was a gift from his very first favourite client. It wasn't his first client—no one actually really liked their first client—but Charles was the first one that treated D like a human being and at the end of their agreement had bought D the rug.
"It's as classy as you are," Charles had said. D liked having classy things.
He checked the message on his mobile alerting him that his next client was on his way up. "Great, he's early," D mumbled to himself and dashed towards his wardrobe for his silk robe.
D was a man of rules. He had a rule or a policy about everything, and he had one about new clients. A fresh new silk robe for the fresh new wad of cash that was going to walk in through the front door. It wasn't the kinds of robe that D had grown up knowing about. Not the standard long black garments with long sleeves and some sort of artwork etched on them—those were the kinds of robes from D's previous life. Those robes indicated structure, form, and traditionalism.
A life when he wasn't just "D," when he was something else—someone else.
He wore the dark green silk robe that barely reached his mid-thigh and had the traditional Chinese dragon that travelled from one arm to the other. He looked in the mirror and shrugged. Things weren't that different; dark green and if the dragon was a snake. He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair, slicking it back; he wouldn't have time to gel it and wait for it to dry. Who knew, maybe the new client liked the freshly showered look.
He pulled up the sleeve and looked at the shape on his forearm. Still there, he thought, as if one day it was just going to disappear. It was not going to disappear, even if he had.
There was a knock on the door and D yanked himself out of his thoughts. Not sure why that day of all the days, his mind had started to travel back to the past again. It must have been the damned robe. He should have stuck with the traditional red silk robe that was usually his default. Serves me right to try to change things up a bit.
D took a seat at the sofa that was directly across from the door. He sat, crossing his legs, nothing in between his body and the leather except for the robe. Not even pants. He didn't need them. He flattened his palms against the armrest of the sofa, took a deep breath in and out and donned his face with his classic smirk.
"Come in," he said, and the door slowly creaked open. "Welcome—" D was about to gush out his usual lustful greeting when he was stunned silent by the man who had just walked in through the front door.
Dark messy hair, green eyes, and the fitted jeans and t-shirt combo that screamed I roll out of bed and look this good had left D almost breathless. Almost.
"Interesting," D said, not allowing himself to look winded. Bloody hell; blast from the past.
"Oh?" the man said.
"I was told that this transaction was a gift," D said, uncrossing his legs and crossing them again. He watched as the man's eyes went down to exactly where D wanted them to go. Thank Sharon Stone for that.
"It was," the man said, hesitantly.
"I was expecting someone, old, bald, short, and...fat." D was honest, because that's who he was. His clients kept coming back to him because he was honest. He had spent too much of his life, his previous life, adhering to other people's rules and he didn't do that now. Not there. Not ever.
"Sorry to disappoint you?" the man said, confused, quizzical, and his eyes shifted from left to right as if he didn't know where to look. He still stood by the door as he'd closed it behind him.
"Would you like to sit?" D asked, calmly.
"No, I'm fine," the man said. He looked so unsure of himself and D concentrated on not allowing his mind to travel to the past. He was not going to concentrate on the fumbling fool that always looked so must like a lost puppy and how everyone just ate that up.
"What's your name?"
"What's yours?" the man spat.
"D."
"Oh," the man said, looking confused again. Honestly, people didn't just take this lost puppy home and fuck him senseless? "James," the man said after two minutes of complete silence.
"Brilliant," D answered.
"What does D stand for?"
"None of your damn business."
"You're willing to fuck me, but you won't tell me your name?"
"Well, James," D drawled, "you told me your name, why don't you just fuck me instead?"
James cleared his throat. "I'm—I'm not really sure why I came. I mean I've never—"
"We don't have to do anything you don't want to do," D whispered. He was immediately reminded about how this James wasn't anyone else but a client. A client, D repeated in his head. He stood up swiftly from his leather sofa and took a step towards James.
He offered his hand. "Why don't you just come and sit?" he said softly. "We can just talk or I can give you a massage? Just relax..."
"No!" James was clearly freaking out. "I mean, thank you, but I should just go. I don't know why I took them up on the offer. I shouldn't have. This isn't my—"
"Hey..." D touched James's arm in effort to soothe him. The fact that he wanted to touch the man had nothing to do with it. Of course it didn't. "What's the matter, James?" D all but mouthed the words. He needed to remain calm; it wasn't the first time a client was having a fit, and he knew how to handle it.
"I have to go."
"Are you sure?" D asked, raising an eyebrow. That most certainly earned him a look of recognition D was hoping he'd never see.
"Thank you for your time." James backed off and all but thudded against the door before he fumbled with the knob and opened it to make a run for it. And run for it, he did.
After his client had left, D locked the door, removed his silk robe and threw it on his bed. "Quickest two-hundred pounds I ever made," he said to himself and walked towards the bathroom.
The bathroom had a full length mirror and D looked at himself. He did that nearly every day, trying to scrutinize the parts of his body he still needed to work on at the gym, and the parts that were starting to mature. He'd been in the business for over half a dozen years, and it had taken a toll on him.
His mind flashed to touching James's skin and he was hard. D couldn't believe it. One gentle stroke on the arm and he was bloody aching for those arms around his waist, fingers around his cock or pushing into him.
"Fuck," D whispered and leaned against the wall. His one hand rested next to the mirror and the other started to stroke his erection. He'd barely done this, wank for his own pleasure. Usually, his clients would take it all out of him and he would have little to no desire or self-love left, but this was different.
This near miss of an opportunity left him truly disappointed. D wanted to fuck this man, and he wanted this man to scream D's name as he came. His strokes became harsher, faster, and he watched himself as his cock fucked his hand, imagining it belonging to James; that it was James that was getting him off, that it was James that stood behind him as D's breath fogged up the mirror.
Then D was coming, hot, and rigid as he rested his head against the mirror and panted, "Potter..."
The next morning, D was still in his bed when his mobile rang. He groaned and fumbled on his silk sheets before grabbing the damned thing to see who was calling so early in the morning.
D didn't recognise the number but had a sneaky suspicion as to who it was.
"Hello?"
"D?"
"Yes."
"This is—erm—James. I'd stopped by to see you yesterday."
"Right."
"Listen, I was wondering, do you think— can I come by and see you again?"
"Why? Rejecting me once wasn't enough?" D retorted, and immediately regretted it. He should have known better than to answer the phone before having his cup of coffee.
"I'll pay you. I know that the session yesterday was a gift but I really wanted to see you and... apologise...and..."
D sighed into the phone. "When did you have in mind?"
"I'm at the café around the corner from your flat. I can wait here if you'd like, I could buy you a cup of coffee."
"It's seven-thirty in the bloody morning!"
"I know, I couldn't sleep," James said, sounding embarrassed. "I've been waiting here trying to figure out the right time to call, and I didn't know if you had any other appointments, and if—"
Before James could continue to fumble over his words, even if his voice was unfortunately sexy, D cut him off. "A large mocha with two shots of espresso. A chocolate croissant and ask them for the fat free butter. I know they'll grumble and claim they've run out, you tell them it's for D."
"Okay. Okay, great!" James spoke hurriedly and sounded as though he was jumping up off his chair and scrambling for a pen. "Brilliant. I'll be there in less than ten minutes."
"Wonderful," D said sarcastically. "I might not answer the door right away as I might be in the shower." He was just about to end the call when James cleared his throat like he was going to say something.
"Are you— are you going to wear that robe again?" James whispered into the phone.
"Do you want me to?" D asked, raising an eyebrow as if James could see his expression.
"Dunno. It was nice."
D sighed heavily. "I'll see you when you get here, James."
D waited for James to knock about five times before he opened the door. He'd taken a quick shower and was ready before James had even arrived but didn't want to look like he was rushing. Bloody new client had rejected him, and D wasn't going to take that lying down.
D thought about not wearing the robe from the day before and opting for just a white towel around his waist. He changed his mind when he realised that the robe hid something that the towel would not.
Right. He knew why James had come. There really was one reason and one reason only and of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, the man had walked into D's. Seeing the mark on D's arm would be a confirmation.
"Hello," D said, opening the door, and saw the twinkle in James's eyes when he saw that D was wearing the same robe from the day before.
"Your coffee and your croissant," James said, and walked into D's flat. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me again."
"Would you like to sit?" D gestured toward the loveseat next to the bed.
James shook his head, stared at his feet for a brief moment, and then decided to head over to the sofa where D had sat the day before and seated himself.
"Your name, D..." James said slowly.
"Yeah?" D said, sipping his mocha and sat himself across from James on the loveseat.
"No one knows what it stands for. The site where you offer your therapeutic services also doesn't indicate the full name and the people at the café—"
"Your point being?" D snapped without raising his voice.
"Draco. Draco Malfoy." The man looked at D as if he was expecting him to be shocked. "You're Draco Lucius Malfoy."
"And you're Harry James Potter." Draco raised an eyebrow when he'd managed to make Potter speechless instead. "I'm surprised you went by James. I thought you'd tell me your name was Sirius, or Albus or..." Draco said as he rolled his eyes.
"You knew who I was yesterday?"
"That scar is sort of hard to forget," Draco replied. "When it's all you've been famous for."
"I'm famous for more than having a scar," Potter answered, sounding like a petulant child. Draco snorted. "We all have scars," he added as an afterthought.
"I'm aware," Draco answered. He finished the last of his coffee and untied his robes. He let the silk robe fall on the floor as he sat on the loveseat on his haunches; laying himself bare for Potter—in all his scar glory. The ones on his chest, his Dark Mark, the ones on his thighs from—
Potter sat up with surprise and immediately looked away from Draco, his ears turning red.
"You paid for this," Draco reminded him.
"I just wanted to talk," Potter said, his gaze turning towards Draco's and his eyes locked at Draco's. He concentrated his stare to stay on Draco's face and not linger anywhere else.
"Talk was yesterday's offer."
"What's today's?" Potter asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Fucking."
Potter's mouth dropped open for a moment and he looked like he was struggling for words. Then he closed it and looked away. "I didn't come here to fuck you, Malfoy. I haven't seen you in nearly—"
"Ten years."
"Yeah, and you've been presumed dead for about eight of them."
"I'd like to keep it that way," Draco said, and stood up off the loveseat. He watched Potter as he watched Draco walk around the coffee table and settle himself on the bed. "A massage then, if not a quick fuck?"
"Why do you want to stay dead?"
"What are you? A bloody Auror, Potter?"
"Actually, yeah. I am."
Draco rolled his eyes. "So an Auror with a sexual need? What? Can't satisfy the wife at home so you venture onto the Muggle world to get a quick fix?"
Draco was really getting tired of this shit, and now it was starting to look like he'd have to shift, move away, in order to save himself the trouble of having the wizarding world coming and knocking on his bloody door. Or worse, his father coming and knocking on his damn door.
"I'm surprised that I haven't seen you in the business before, Potter. Finally decided to come out and let out some frustration? Leave mini-Potters at home with the Weasley?" Draco continued. Merlin, he couldn't believe that he was sucked back into that bloody world, the damn tyranny where he didn't matter and it was all about fucking Potter.
Fucking Potter, and not in the way he would have liked!
"Stop it, Malfoy! Stop!" Potter raged and stood up off the sofa and charged towards Draco.
"Yeah, I'm really scared!" Draco sneered and before he knew it, Potter was on top of him.
The man had knocked his shoes off and his entire-still-clothed body pressed Draco down. Draco tried to free himself from Potter's tight hold and he shifted his shoulders to no avail and when he tried to jerk his hips free, Potter only pressed down.
Draco was hard; he was pushing up at Potter's groin who was pressing him down with it. His cock chafed against Potter's jeans and he wished that the bloody wanker would just take them off!
"Potter!" Draco roared. "You either get off me or you—"
"Or what?" Potter snapped.
"Or you get inside me!" Draco commanded. He couldn't believe that he'd just said that but that was also his bloody rule. Always be honest, no matter the cause or the cost.
Potter released Draco's shoulders and he shifted back. Draco was slightly disappointed by Potter's choice of action but he sat up and curtly nodded towards him.
Potter's lips curled up just a bit and Draco watched as he removed his glasses and placed them on the bedside table. Then he removed his jumper and started to unbutton his jeans.
"What are you doing?" Draco asked.
"You said to get inside you," Potter said in the simple tone. "Can't do that if I'm still dressed."
Draco released an exasperated sigh and pushed Potter back with his foot on Potter's chest. "Get off me, you fool," he said and turned towards the bedside table to grab lube.
"Where are you going?" Potter asked, grabbing Draco's ankle and fell on top of Draco's body. He tried to push his trousers off him as he writhed on top of Draco and before Draco even realised what was going on, Potter's mouth was on Draco.
Potter pushed his erection on top of Draco's and started to grind into him again. Draco wasn't that weak, ever since he'd started to live in the Muggle world, he joined the gym to stay in shape. He was strong but still he didn't push Potter away.
Potter's hands clasped Draco's wrist above his head again and Draco was so aroused, he was sure that his cock would start leaking at any moment. He couldn't do that. He couldn't lose control with a client, even if the client was Potter.
"You grew up to be so fucking hot, Malfoy," Potter mumbled against Draco's skin and his tongue licked a spot under Draco's left ear. "Merlin, I want to be inside you so—" Draco arched his back and Potter spread Draco's legs wide and his right hand started to trace the scar on Draco's thigh before his finger found its way to Draco's entrance.
Draco gulped and he shot his head back as his body arched up again to allow Potter to push a finger inside him. Before too long, Potter had two fingers inside Draco's hole, massaging him and Draco's eyes kept on darting towards the nightstand and the drawer that he wanted to reach to.
"Not sure if I should be glad or jealous that you don't need a lot of preparation, Malfoy." Potter leaned down to lick on Draco's nipple before slightly biting it.
"Lube," Draco huffed out as he panted and his chest rose and fell. "And condoms," he added.
"Condoms?" Potter stopped and raised his head to look at Draco.
"I fuck Muggles, Potter. We need protection," he said.
"What about a protection spell?" Potter asked, his tone making it sound like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"I can't exactly use magic with Mugg—"
"With me. Use a protection spell with me, Malfoy."
Draco took a deep breath. "I don't use magic."
"What—" Potter looked shocked, and then shook his head. "I'll do it." He reached down to the floor and fumbled with his jeans and brought out his wand. A non-verbal spell later, he was on top of Draco again.
"Do you have a spell for lube, too or can I at least have the freedom to grab that?" Draco's tone was sarcasm in its full glory.
Potter rolled his eyes and raised his hands in surrender. Draco kicked him away with his foot again, and Potter laughed.
By the time Draco's hand returned from the drawer with the lube, Potter yanked it from him and his hands grabbed Draco's waist and turned him so his stomach pressed on the bed. Potter didn't wait for permission as he slicked his cock and Draco's entrance freely with the lube.
Draco grappled the headboard of the bed tightly and he didn't know how things escalated so quickly but in a matter of minutes, Potter was pumping in and out of him. It was hard and it was fast and there were no apologies made.
Draco couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Potter in the last ten years and why he needed to be sent to someone for sexual services when there was obviously nothing wrong with him (or his technique). Potter had clearly fucked a man before; if anything, he felt like he was quite at ease with the idea of it.
Draco forced his mind shut; it wasn't the time to contemplate on Potter's past. Potter was on top of him, plunging into him and sounding like it was exactly the kind of release he needed. Draco needed it too. He pushed back when Potter shifted his weight around and they both moaned in near unison at the pleasure of it.
"Wait," Potter said and pulled out of Draco.
"What?" Draco almost snapped, and then reminded himself that he had to let the client set the pace.
"I want to see you," Potter answered, almost apologetic to Draco's roar. "Turn...turn around," he added, sounding desperate.
Draco followed suit. He turned to face Potter who looked flushed, his hair a fine mess with sweat and his chest gleamed with it. Potter took Draco's legs and wrapped them around his waist. His thumb brushed the head of Draco's cock and then it travelled up Draco's chest, touching, studying his scars. Potter leaned in to kiss Draco as he lined himself against Draco's entrance and pushed in again.
Potter hurried his thrusts, moaning into Draco's mouth, and then he was desperate, needy and back to his non-apologetic self again.
"This is so good. Merlin, you're so fucking good," Potter rasped as both of his hands tugged on Draco's hair and Draco's fingers dug into Potter's skin.
Draco didn't dare respond. He didn't know what he would say, or if he could actually say something. There was nothing better than a client who made it good for him.
Then Potter was coming inside him and Draco felt Potter as he remembered how they weren't using a condom. It had been forever since Draco had felt another's man seed inside him. It felt weird, hot, and Draco immediately cursed himself for thinking how it felt so right.
He couldn't believe it. Years away from the damn wizarding world and here he was getting fucked by their damn Saviour and thinking how it felt right. Fuck. Draco needed to disappear again. As soon as he'd come, Potter would leave, and Draco needed to get the fuck out of there.
Potter's hand released Draco's hair and lingered down his stomach as he wrapped his fingers around Draco's erection. He began tugging without hesitation and had Draco coming shortly after. Potter moved above him, pulling out of Draco, so he could feel Draco come on his chest. It was as if he wanted to feel Draco come on him like he'd come inside Draco.
What was Potter's deal?
"Wow, we made quite the mess," Potter mumbled as he crashed on the bed next to Draco, panting. His hand was around Draco's chest, his fingers rubbing up and down, feeling Draco's skin.
"I'll get a wash cloth," Draco said and started to get up off the bed.
"No," Potter protested, not releasing his hold on Draco. He waved his hand on Draco's skin and mumbled Scourgify. Draco's hole had stopped leaking Potter's spunk and his chest and stomach, along with Potter's chest were clean.
"Wandless magic?"
"You don't really need a wand to place a common cleaning charm," Potter said, almost dismissively.
Draco was almost jealous. The only thing he'd ever managed to manufacture wandlessly was the Summoning Spell and that was only if and when he concentrated diligently. He grunted in acknowledgement and turned to the side of the bed for the light switch to dim the lights.
Potter reached towards the edge of the bed and grabbed the blanket to cover them under. Funny how Draco didn't say anything to him about staying. Didn't he have to go to work and fight some dark magic or do whatever Scarheads did these days?
"You're not actually married with mini-Potters running around, are you?" Draco asked. It wasn't like he had never had a client before that was married and had children. Draco never asked about them unless they talked about it first but for some reason, he really didn't that to be the case with Potter.
Potter laughed, his face was tucked into the hollow of Draco's neck and Draco felt his entire body vibrate. "No. There aren't any mini-Potters around...or a Mrs Potter or anything..."
Draco hummed. This didn't really make him feel any better. The only thing he now feared was getting attached to the client. That'd never happened to him before and he needed to make sure that sure as hell wouldn't happen this time. Even if it was Potter, someone from his past, Draco had sworn to never return to that past. He'd moved away, moved on, and this time he'd make sure again that no one else from the wizarding world would find him.
"How did you end up here?" Draco asked, making sure that Potter didn't just fall asleep on his bed. He needed to get the information and have Potter leave as soon as possible.
"What do you mean?"
"What do I mean?" Draco scorned. "How'd you find yourself in the flat of a prostitute in the Muggle world, is what I mean, Potter."
"Oh," Potter said. Draco couldn't place his tone. Was he surprised by the question? Embarrassed?
"I lost a child," Potted added and Draco turned to look at him. "No, not my child. On a case...kidnapping. It happened a while ago, my partner and I were on a lead in a murder-kidnapping case. The parents were killed with dark magic and we couldn't really figure out how they'd died, it wasn't just the traditional method, and their five year old daughter was missing. Turned out it was an act of revenge, the man wanted to be with the woman and threatened to kill the father, and the child. She got in the way first—he killed her, and then he killed the father. He panicked and didn't know what to do so he kidnapped the little girl.
"Eventually, with the help of the grandparents we determined who the suspect was. He was a mental patient at St Mungo's and the woman that he killed, she was one of the Healers. By the time we found him, he was too far gone, ready to aim his wand at everyone. He held someone up at Knockturn Alley, managed to severely injure my partner, and the little girl—" Potter shuddered.
"What happened?" Draco whispered, wrapping his arm around Potter.
"We found her. She was buried alive behind some dingy pub and no one had reported anything until there was a foul smell—"
"That's awful!" Draco tightened his hold.
Potter was crying into his arms. His tears trickled down from his eyes to Draco's skin. Draco leaned down and rubbed his thumb over on Potter's cheek, shushing and cradling him. "It wasn't your fault..."
"For the first time in—a very long time—I felt like I wasn't smart enough or fast enough and what if—"
"What if, what?" Draco breathed.
"What if it was Rose, Hugo, or Lily..."
Draco had no idea who these people were, and he assumed that they were children's names. Whose children?
"Rose and Hugo are Hermione and Ron's kids," Potter said, probably realising that Draco would have no clue. "Lily is my goddaughter, she's Ginny and Neville's. She turned two last month."
Draco nodded. Granger and Weasley, that was predictable, and Weasley and Longbottom? That was sort of a surprise. But Draco had been so out of the loop he wouldn't know left to right; for all intents and purposes, Pansy could have shacked up with a Weasley and it wouldn't matter. It didn't matter. Because he was dead. Draco Malfoy was dead. Now, he was just D.
"What happened to your partner? Did he live? Did he go back to work?"
"We both were on desk duty for a while. He eventually moved up the ranks and is now a field supervisor. He's going to retire in a month or so anyway. The Ministry gave him a badge of valour. I am technically on administrative leave because no one wants to work with me and well—" He paused and took in a deep breath. "I don't really want to work with anyone. I was looking into employment in the Muggle Liaison Office at the Ministry and that's where I met Jones—"
"Jones? Is that your boyfriend?"
Potter laughed. "No. Just a friend. He's straight. He knew that I was having...performance issues since that case...I couldn't keep a relationship going. I couldn't—" He sighed. "So he recommended therapy or other types of therapeutic routes. When I continued to refuse, he bought me...well he bought me..."
"He bought me," Draco said. "Rather, he found my website and purchased you a session."
"Yeah," Potter said, chuckling. "I can't believe you have a website!"
"Why is that so amusing?"
"Because you're a wizard! You're Malfoy."
"I haven't been a wizard for more than eight years, Potter."
"Why is that? Why did you fake your own death? They found a suicide note and everything..."
Draco didn't even have to consider his next move. It was almost a knee-jerk reaction. "I think it's time for you to leave, Potter." He stood up from the bed and walked towards the sofa and collected his robe. After covering himself, he gathered Potter's belongings and placed them on the bed. "Now, Potter," he added when Potter hadn't move and looked at him in sheer disbelief.
"Why are you kicking me out?"
"You're a client. Our session is over, and from what I can evaluate of your performance, you seem to be fixed. This isn't a heart to heart of two long lost friends meeting; it's time for you to leave." Draco turned to exit the room and all but locked himself in the bathroom. He waited for five minutes and he heard the front door open and close. He slowly walked back. Potter had left.
There were two hundred pounds—Muggle money—on his bed.
Three days later, Potter was back.
Draco rolled his eyes and opened the door all the way to allow Potter to enter. He'd made the appointment under a fake name. If he hadn't already paid for the session in advance on his credit card, Draco would have kicked him out. Sadly, Draco had standards and his own set rules wouldn't allow him to gyp a customer.
Potter walked into his flat and turned to look at Draco. He didn't take his coat off and he just stared.
"What?" Draco snapped.
"I just— still have a hard time believing it's you. I thought I'd dreamt it all and had to prove it to myself that I hadn't."
"Did you tell anyone that you met me?" Draco asked, almost panicking and struggled to keep his tone even.
"No. Not yet," Potter answered.
Draco sighed. "Please don't. I'd rather you didn't," he insisted. He really did not want anyone to know and if he had to steal Potter's wand to Obliviate him, Draco wasn't above that.
"I won't. I promise," Potter said, and somehow Draco doubted that. "Can I ask a few questions, though?"
"Tea?" Draco asked, walking past Potter and heading towards his kitchen.
"Erm...sure."
Potter followed Draco and sat at the stool across from the kitchen island when Draco gestured towards it. He placed the kettle on the stove and turned to look at Potter, bracing himself for whatever question the man was going to throw his way.
"You don't want me to tell anyone because you don't want anyone to know what you do or you don't want to come back to the wizarding world?"
"Both," Draco answered and turned towards the cupboard to grab two mugs.
"Why did you leave?"
Draco hung his head, his back towards Potter, and groaned. "That is a very loaded question," he said.
"I mean, your suicide...the show...it was thorough," Potter said, sounding impressed, or shocked. Maybe a little bit of both. "The acid, the remnants of the dead body, no one could identify your signature mark and there was no magic—"
"Yes. It was a plan I'd thought about for a year, and worked to get all the details just right. It truly would have been a shame if I wasn't successful or had got caught." Draco turned to face Potter again. He stared at the kettle, waiting for the water to boil. A watched pot never boils.
"Where did you get the dead body?" Potter asked. Draco looked up and found Potter's gaze fixated at a point on Draco's neck. Potter must have realised that he was staring because he shook his head and looked away embarrassed.
"I paid someone off at the morgue," Draco said, trying to remember the details. It had been so long and he so rarely visited the past—that he had trouble even remembering the name of the person he'd given the small bag of gold to. "Found me an unclaimed body. They wait three days for someone to claim a dead body and when they don't, they cremate it. When the man I'd paid found someone for the right height and weight, he'd owled me and I—" Draco shrugged. He didn't need to finish the thought for Potter to get the whole picture.
Potter opened his mouth to say something but the kettle whistled and he was startled. Draco pretended he hadn't seen Potter's hesitation to comment and continued with the task of preparing the tea. He placed both mugs on a tray and carried it back to his bedroom. His flat was small. Just one room that worked as a bedroom and sitting room, and he only decided to rent this flat because of how big the kitchen was.
After his escape from the wizarding world, Draco had ventured in various types of hobbies, and cooking seemed to work out best for him. He knew that he couldn't make any money just cooking so he'd opted for his other talents but still loved to cook and had spent most of his money buying expensive and appropriate appliances to cater to his avocation. Now he earned enough to splurge on anything and everything, yet still save for a rainy day.
Potter sat on the longer sofa and waited for Draco to serve him the tea. His hand moved to his lap as he waited for Draco to sit, staring up at him with hopeful eyes. Draco took a seat next to him.
"Why did you decide to..." Potter paused for a second, "...kill yourself without magic?" He took a sip of his tea before speaking again. "I mean the potion that you used, it had traces of acid. Hermione said it would have taken you weeks to brew it."
"Should I really be telling you all this?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "Even if you are on leave, aren't you still an Auror? What if you turn me in?"
"What am I going to do? Arrest you for faking your own death? You didn't have any warrants against you, it's not like you actually committed a crime. The worst of it all would be if you had actually killed someone else, and if what you said is true, that you used an already dead body, then there really wasn't a crime. More like a minor wrongdoing. I don't think they'll send you to Azkaban for that."
Draco released a low groan. He should have just kicked Potter out of his flat. There was no reason he needed to pay any mind to the man, he wasn't Draco's Saviour; he didn't owe Potter anything. But, he decided to calmly answer the questions.
He placed his half empty cup of tea back on the tray and turned to look at Potter. Potter straightened up as if the story Draco was going to tell was just the most interesting thing he'd ever hear. It wouldn't be.
"I needed to make sure that there was no magic used when I did that. When I died. Because if I had used magic to destroy the body, there would be remnants of magic and magic is one of the few things where things you do—can be undone. Not all of it, but just enough of it. If I used potions, and destroyed evidence, the hard way, I wouldn't have been caught. It's the same as when the Dark Lord used the Killing Curse on you, it bounced off you. But if he'd just strangled you as a baby, you would have most likely died, and stayed dead!"
"Try not to sound so excited about that," Potter said dryly.
Draco couldn't help but laugh. "All I'm saying is that I knew what I was doing."
"That you were," Potter observed. He finished the last of his tea and Draco took the cup from him and placed it on the tray next to his. "But, why? Were things really that bad that you had to— kill yourself?"
Draco knew that he did not want to answer that question. He smiled warmly at Potter whose wide eyes were now wider. He ran his fingers through Potter's hair and carefully removed Potter's glasses. "You ask too many questions, Potter," Draco said leaning near Potter's ear and all but whispered the words.
"Stop being an Auror," Draco added and ran his fingers freely over the bulge that seemed to be trapped in Potter's trousers, "and focus on being a man."
Potter shivered and released a low moan that sounded like he'd been holding in for a while.
Without hesitation, Draco stood up and removed his shirt throwing it on the floor. Potter watched him with hungry eyes; they flickered back and forth from Draco's face, to his chest, to his torso then back at his shoulders. Draco grabbed Potter's hand and slowly led him towards the bed.
Potter kicked his shoes off and settled himself on top of the bed. He watched as Draco reached for his belt and undid his trousers. Draco stood completely naked in front of Potter and Potter's hand reached up, looking like he was aching to touch Draco.
"Need you," Potter whispered.
Draco didn't move. He waited for Potter to make all the moves. Potter seemed to understand that immediately, and balanced himself on his knees coming eye to eye with Draco. He removed his shirt and threw it on the floor. He grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him, hard. Draco's head almost smashed on Potter's and as their lips found each other's; Potter didn't hesitate to shove his tongue inside Draco's mouth.
Potter allowed Draco to win the pseudo brawl on his bed and he had Potter pinned under him in no time. He felt Potter's erection press up to him from his trousers as Draco's own need pressed itself on Potter's stomach.
They moved against each other like that for a while and Draco wondered how long he could go without the want of Potter's hand touching him, stroking him, getting him off.
"Fuck, I'll come like this if we continue..." Potter rasped; Draco knew exactly how he felt. "My trousers... I want to feel you!"
Potter all but threw Draco off him as he struggled with the buttons. Draco rested on his side and watched Potter scuffle. He laughed at the frustrated Potter who only glared back. Once Potter was finally free of his damned clothes, he pulled Draco back toward him.
"Do you want to use a condom?" he asked, biting, and licking Draco's neck.
"What?" Draco asked, surprised. They hadn't used one the time before as Potter insisted on using magic.
"If it makes you feel more comfortable. Without magic," Potter said.
Draco furrowed his brows with confusion. "You're the client. I'm fine with whatever mode you prefer for...protection."
"Do you get tested often?" Potter asked; he was tenderly caressing Draco's side with his hands and his fingers slightly dug into the skin of Draco's arse.
Potter was half-blood and it was never a secret that he grew up in the Muggle world, of course he'd be knowledgeable of things like sexually transmitted diseases and infections. Draco wondered if Potter ever fucked Muggle men; the thought made his stomach turn.
"Yeah," Draco said softly, leaning into Potter's touch. "I'm always using protection, and I get tested every four to six weeks." It wasn't the first time Draco had answered these questions, and if anything, he preferred having a client that was up front about these things.
Potter let go of his hold on Draco and turned to grab his trousers again. Draco took the opportunity to eye Potter's perfectly toned arse. Aurors. They were always good for something.
Potter returned with his wand at hand and smiled at Draco. "Do you mind?" he asked and Draco shook his head. If anything, feeling a bit of magic surround him felt rather agreeable. He'd missed it.
"How do you know about protective spells for prevention? It's not exactly something they teach very openly in the wizarding world." Draco reached over Potter to grab the lube from his nightstand. Potter gently patted his arse and then squeezed it tight.
"Hermione told me. She found it in her research many years ago when she was looking of ways to prevent pregnancy with her and Ron—"
"That's just about enough information for me, thanks," Draco said and Potter only laughed. He pushed Draco on his back and got on top of him. "No, Potter..." Draco protested. "I want to ride you."
Potter's smile widened and he released Draco's hand, his body almost going limp. It was as if he was giving all of his control to Draco and Draco was beginning to marvel in it.
"Lie back," Draco said and Potter obliged.
Potter relaxed on the bed and Draco started to slick his cock with the lube. Draco eased onto him slowly. Potter's cock stretched him and the burning sensation was just a bit too much since he hadn't really prepared himself very much. Potter's hands grabbed his waist and steadied him.
Draco bucked his hips slightly and Potter's back arched; he groaned loudly and thrust up. Every time he moved, Potter moved with him. At first he thought that it was a struggle for control, but soon realised that Potter wanted to move with him, not against him. He wanted to feel what Draco felt and he smiled every time Draco moaned with pleasure. His smile was satisfaction of the knowledge that he was pleasing Draco, just as Draco was pleasing him.
This time, there was little to no dirty talk, and the only sounds that came from them were the low moans of pleasure or just the sound of skin against skin. It was still dirty, and hot, and Draco was loving it. He'd barely had a client where it didn't feel like work. With Potter, it seemed almost fascinating.
Was it because, for once, Draco was doing this with someone he'd already known? Not someone who'd just come to fuck Draco but to know him. Draco could tell that Potter just had so many more questions that he wanted to ask and he'd stopped at Draco's insistence. Could it be that the more Potter got to know Draco, the better the sex would be?
"Look at me," Potter said and pulled Draco towards him.
Draco almost collapsed on top of Potter but steadied himself with his hands resting on the bed trapping Potter in-between them, and then they settled on Potter's chest as Draco continued to jerk his hips.
"Don't...don't look away," Potter almost begged. "In my eyes."
Draco indulged Potter's request. He continued to stare into Potter's eyes as they fucked each other, barely blinking, and absolutely not-looking away. It was intense, to say the least, and when Potter came, spilling hot liquid inside Draco, Draco came with him—without even being touched.
He pushed up slightly so Potter could pull out and without any notice or hesitation, Potter flipped Draco on his back and nestled himself in-between Draco's legs. He moved their bodies together, Draco's come spearing in-between them as his hole leaked of Potter.
Fuck. It was the hottest thing Draco had experienced in a very long time. He had to remind himself that it didn't mean anything. It was work.
"Get off me, you fool. I'm all sticky!" Draco whined when Potter had stopped moving on top of him and settled to lick and bite Draco's lower lip.
"I can fix that," Potter said, and with a quick non-verbal spell, he'd cleaned himself and Draco up.
"Do you ever wonder where it all goes?" Draco asked; he shook his head at the disbelief of his own words.
"Where does what go where?"
"When you use magic to clean something, where does it go?" Draco said. "Muggles use water, and towels, and then wash everything, and it all goes down the drain. Where do things disappear to when you use magic— Sorry..." Draco shrugged. "I think about these things now since I don't really use magic a whole lot—"
Potter laughed and leaned into to press a kiss right under Draco's ear. "That's a good question. I don't know the answer, but I can ask Hermione if you'd like—"
"No, thanks," Draco said quickly. "I'd rather you didn't."
"I can keep your secret, Draco," Potter said, reassuringly. "I won't tell anyone if that's what you want. I promise."
Draco nodded but didn't say anything.
"Come out with me tonight," Potter said after a few minutes of silence.
"I—"
"Have you got other plans? Clients?" Potter didn't wait for Draco to answer. "Can you cancel them? I'll pay for your time!"
"Erm...okay," Draco answered, confused. "Where do you want to go?"
"Just out to dinner. There's a Thai restaurant I read about in the paper and I thought maybe we could go there. Like a date...or something..."
"You want to go on a date with me?"
"Yeah. I just want to see you more. I want to know what you've been up to for the past decade. It doesn't have to be Thai... I'll go wherever you want and pay whatever—"
"Potter—"
Potter stopped talking and looked at Draco expectant and nervous, as if Draco was going to take his favourite toy away. "I eat food like normal people. You don't have to pay for me to go to a restaurant with you."
"Oh, okay!" The grin on Potter's face was back and he pulled Draco in closer.
A few moments later, they'd both fallen asleep.
Draco woke up on his side with Potter's arm snaked around him. He looked at the clock and established that it was half six; hoping that it was in the evening and that he and Potter hadn't actually slept through dinner.
Potter had covered them both with a blanket and his body was warm as his limp cock was almost snuggled in-between Draco's arse cheeks. Draco had half a mind to push back, wake Potter up, and ride him again, but refrained. He bit his lower lip as his own cock started to swell up.
Draco started to slide off the bed very carefully to not wake Potter up and decided to take a shower. He'd let Potter sleep as much as he needed to and eventually wake him up to go out for dinner. Besides, he needed to figure out what was happening between him and Potter. What was happening to him.
Usually, Draco never ever accepted a dinner invitation that didn't require for him to charge by the hour, and secondly, he never allowed a client to sleep in the bed with him like that.
Sure there had been times when Draco had slept the night in with the client, but that, too, was by the hour. Draco was starting to do a lot of things with Potter that were against his rules and his pay-rate.
After grabbing the bathrobe from his cupboard, Draco headed to the bathroom. Out of habit, he didn't lock the door behind him, and realised that he should have because he wasn't five minutes in and under the hot water that a pair of hands snaked around him.
"Without me?" Potter said the words as his lips pressed on the skin on the back of Draco's neck.
"I didn't want to wake you," Draco answered and turned to face Potter.
Potter seized the soap from Draco's hand and pushed him against the wall. He spread Draco's legs open with his knees as his tongue began dashing in and out of Draco's mouth.
Draco moaned around Potter's tongue, thrusting toward Potter as soon as the man had wrapped his hand around Draco's hard shaft.
Potter allowed the hot water to wash over Draco's soapy body before he dropped on his knees and licked the head of Draco's cock. "Fuck," he whispered and enveloped his mouth around it, sucking and licking with desperate need.
Draco moaned, his hands grasping Potter's wet hair intensely and his head shot back against the tiled wall. "Ow," he said when he realised that he'd slammed his head a bit too hard.
"Are you okay?" Potter asked, immediately jumping up on his feet to check on Draco.
"Yeah, I just..." Draco smiled feeling foolish. "Your tongue is something else, Potter," he said.
Potter grinned in return and his fingers found their way around Draco's cock, past his balls, to his soapy entrance. He pushed two fingers in and Draco whimpered.
"What do you do to me, Malfoy?" Potter purred. "I can't fucking get enough of you."
"Are you sure..." Draco shifted his weight and allowed better access for Potter's fingers to push further inside him. "That you really had a performance problem, Potter? You're a fucking...a fucking..." he panted. "Fuck, Potter!"
Draco was riding Potter's fingers hard and his cock was hitting Potter's arm like meat on a slab. Potter quickly pulled his fingers out and decided to brush their erections together instead.
Mouth on mouth, cock on cock, and the hot water pouring over them, Draco came with Potter nearly sobbing with satisfaction and exhaustion. There was no way in hell he would be able to go out to dinner. He'd be too worried that Potter would want to shag him in the restaurant loo. And worse, Draco probably would let him.
When they arrived back to the bedroom, Potter leading Draco back this time, Draco pulled on Potter to turn and face him. "Maybe we should just get something delivered," Draco suggested, hoping that he didn't sound too weird to Potter.
"That's a good idea," Potter answered, grinning. "I wouldn't mind a bit of dessert in bed," he teased.
The next few times that Potter came to visit Draco, he still made the appointment via the website under his fake name, and brought presents. Sometimes it was a simple piece of jewellery such as a bracelet or a locket or he'd just bring flowers.
"What is this?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. The gesture was thoughtful and dare Draco think it, romantic. He wasn't ready for that. Not from Potter.
Potter was so hopeless, though. He brought Draco presents like he was wooing some girl. As if he was Julia Roberts and this was a scene from Pretty Woman. He wondered if that was really what Potter was doing, if Potter was enacting a scene from the film. Either way, Draco knew something was going on and he also knew that eventually Potter would tell him.
"Just saw them on my way here and I dunno..." He shrugged.
By the time Draco managed to get the vase and settle the flowers in them, Potter had him pinned against the kitchen island as he ground into Draco. "I've wanted to touch your skin all day," Potter whispered in Draco's ear and his hands travelled under Draco's trousers. "Can't wait..."
"Bed," Draco grated the words through his teeth.
A second later, Potter had Apparated them to Draco's bed. Draco laughed. He had forgotten about the queasy sensation and his bed was all but fifteen feet away from the kitchen.
"Don't want to waste any time," Potter explained and shifted down to take Draco's cock in his mouth.
"Fuck!"
Everything after that was a blur for Draco, things were going too fast, yet not fast enough. He came in Potter's mouth and didn't even know how he got to be on all fours and Potter was pounding into him. The sex moved from hot and fast to slow to fast to even hotter by the second and Draco felt like his insides were going to explode.
He had evidently awakened something inside Potter, and Potter had most definitely given life to something dead inside Draco. It was too much. Too much, yet not enough. Draco only wanted more and he hoped that Potter was on the same page as him.
"Can we please leave your flat tonight for dinner?" Potter asked, rubbing circles on Draco's chest with his rough fingers.
"Hmm?" Draco muttered. He was way too satiated for coherent words.
"Dinner, Draco," Potter said.
"Yeah. Sounds good." Draco smiled and turned to face Potter. He ignored the fact that Potter didn't say Malfoy again. "Thai?"
"Sure," Potter answered. He paused for a moment, looking rather tense. He opened his mouth then closed it, like he was trying to find the right words.
"What is it, Potter?"
"I saw your father today," Potter blurted out. He'd said it so fast that Draco wasn't sure if he'd heard what he'd heard.
"You...what?"
"Lucius Malfoy," Potter said, slowly this time, "saw him at the Wizengamot."
"What was he—" Draco shook his head. "I don't want to know."
"It was his hearing," Potter said and Draco scowled at him. He didn't stop Potter though and Potter took that as a sign to keep talking. "He'd been assigned to Azkaban for ten years and was due for a re-evaluation. I'd forgotten the date—I was there for Dana LaBelle's case—" Draco looked at him confused. "The little girl I told you about." Draco nodded.
"Yeah, so I saw him. I couldn't stop thinking about you. How he doesn't know, and I know, and..."
"I don't want him to know," Draco said, firmly.
"You should have seen him, Draco. Eight years ago, when you'd gone missing. The way he was. So broken up—"
Draco snorted. "Yeah, right."
Potter stayed quiet for a while.
"So what was the re-evaluation result?" Draco couldn't help but ask. He internally rolled his eyes on himself. He couldn't believe he was asking about the man he'd spent eight years trying to forget.
"He likes being a prison guard so I think they're going to allow—"
Draco snorted again. "Yeah, I bet he does."
"What's the matter, Draco? You never really told me—"
"It's none of your fucking business, Potter. I told you. I'm just here for you to fuck, and leave. I don't want to talk to you about— about anything!"
"Draco—"
"Stop calling me that!" Draco roared. "D. Call me Malfoy like you usually do. Or call me D. That's it!"
"Okay, Malfoy," Potter said, sounding calm but his eyes were blood-shot red. "Can you just tell me what is going on? Why are you so cross with me? I didn't mean to see him, nor did I tell him anything—"
"This is a mistake," Draco said. "You have to leave."
"Dra—Malfoy."
"Leave, Potter. I know you can Apparate. So just leave!"
Potter sighed and looked like he was considering something. Draco was livid. Why wouldn't the man just go? Draco didn't want him there. He got up off the bed and crossed his arms. He stared down at Potter's naked self, he grabbed his clothes off the floor and all but threw them at Potter. A few seconds later, Potter was gone.
Draco lost the feeling in his legs and collapsed on the bed. He cried for what seemed like hours.
TBC