It was the third time that month that Draco had spotted Harry at The Felix, his favorite haunt in Wizarding London. The music was always too loud, the room too full, the air too hot. Draco relished in it. It was easy to disappear in the massive crowd.
"Two shots of firewhisky," Draco shouted to the bartender over the roaring beats. He shuffled to the tight table that Blaise had secured, and passed him a glass.
"Cheers to getting over one week," Draco started.
"And to getting under another," Blaise laughed, lifting his glass to Draco's before slinging the drink back in one go. Slamming his glass on the hard wooden table, Blaise began to scan the crowded bar, searching for his next victim.
"That one," Blaise called, pointing his thick finger towards a fit blond wizard in the corner. Draco smirked.
"Bet you'll have him begging for it before you even leave the bar," Draco chuckled. He gave his friend a rough pat on the back. "Owl me when you get home?"
"Yes, Mum," Blaise snipped jokingly. "It might not be 'til tomorrow though," he added with a wink.
Draco watched him saunter towards the smiling wizard, who was clearly oblivious to the trouble headed his way. Blaise had a tendency to chew men up and spit them back out, ruined and desperate for more. Draco had fallen for it more than once.
He sipped his whisky, rolling his head to relieve some of the weeks' tension. A raid in Seville had caused Draco to ramp up his potions production, and he had spent both Monday and Tuesday grinding flobberworms into paste to meet the demand. He could barely function when the Aurors turned up Wednesday morning to pick up the vials.
Two days later, and Draco still hadn't caught up on sleep. Suddenly aching for the comfort of his own bed, Draco scanned the crowd again for Blaise and his mystery blond. He caught the bright glint of Blaise's silver shirt near the entrance door. Catching his eye, Draco raised his near-empty drink. Blaise gave him a wink and a nod, before pulling the bloke's tie securely in his hand and walking confidently out the door.
Just as Potter walked in.
Potter, with his muggle jeans and his too-large jumper, and his worn shoes. Potter, who was a bloody Auror for Merlin's sake, and could afford to dress with a little more finesse, surely.
Potter, who looked nothing like Potter at all.
Draco rolled his eyes, annoyed by the disguise Potter had chosen for the evening. Brown hair, much lighter and longer than his normal shade and actually tame for once. He had whomever's hair swept up into what was clearly meant to be a tight bun despite the few pieces falling out, all of which he tucked carelessly behind pointed ears.
The bloke had a rounder face, maybe a little taller, but Draco couldn't really tell. Lack of glasses; lack of scar.
Draco didn't blame Potter for using Polyjuice Potion when he came to The Felix. For one, his face was still showing up nearly every other day in the Daily Prophet, with headlines like Boy Who Lived Saves Again, and Chosen One Searches for His Chosen One.
That last one included a detailed history of Potter's love life, circling all the way back to Cho Chang and Ginny Weasley. He had glanced at the article, noticing that nary a wizard was mentioned in the long stream of witches that Potter had apparently bedded over the past years.
Draco put little stock in what the Prophet published anymore.
As it was, however, no one knew. Potter decked himself out as a different person, probably muggle, every time he entered the building. Draco brewed Polyjuice on almost a weekly basis for the Aurors, especially ones that were undercover, or whose faces were common enough to be recognized by their potential culprits. He had noticed a few vials missing weeks ago, shrugging them off as a miscount.
It didn't matter whether Draco knew about the Polyjuice or not; nor did it matter what face he deigned to hide behind in the club. Draco could spot Potter a mile away.
Polyjuice could change his face. It could change the way his hair sat along his scalp, and the color of his eyes, and the shape of his lips. It could change his height and the way his muscles rippled beneath his shirt. It could change the swell of his arse, the length of his cock.
Not that he was thinking of his cock.
No potion could change the pieces that make them them, the pieces that make him Harry Potter. Draco spotted it so distinctly that night. The way he stumbled in, tucking his hands deep into his pockets. The way his mouth clenched as if he was constantly trying to convince himself to stay instead of flee. The way his eyes (tonight dark brown instead of his trademark green) darted around the club.
It would help him pull, though, if he would let everyone know who he was. Vanquisher of the Dark Lord, the wizard who knew his way around a wand. Imagine how good he'd be in bed.
Not that Draco thought about Harry in bed. Stripped bare and laid out on white sheets, gripping the headboard as he moaned and writhed.
Harry never pulled, though. It wasn't that he couldn't; Draco noticed every bloke that he had potioned into was fit, young, toned.
The last one had been blond, his hair in a buzz cut above blue eyes that gazed below thick eyebrows. A dust of stubble covered his jawline. Draco bit his lip, wondering what the beard would feel like, scratching against his thighs as Potter nibbled softly towards his—
Not that he thought about that.
Potter usually just sat, uncomfortably perched on a barstool as he nursed his drink of the night. Sat as the men that surrounded him danced, and kissed, and groped. His eyes—whatever eyes he was wearing that night—would remain focused on the liquid in his glass, on the notches in the birchwood of the bar counter.
When a wizard approached, as they inevitably did, Potter would simply wave them off, a dark blush on his cheeks as he focused back on his drink, ignoring the crowded room, ignoring the pulsing music, ignoring the blur of men.
Draco watched curiously over his now empty tumbler, his eyes no longer heavy with sleep, as Harry ordered a Butterbeer and grabbed it with his wand hand, an old habit hard to break after being raised muggle.
He hadn't expected to see the short glass of brown liquid delivered with Harry's beer. He hadn't expected to see the man slide off of his usual secure chair and venture cautiously to the little table where Draco stood. His mind went blank as Potter, the Potter he knew, placed the tumbler down and watched the liquid tremble, then still, in the glass.
Draco's brows furrowed tightly. Of course, Potter knew it was him; Draco had been out since the war, shedding like a snake's skin the notion of marrying a witch and producing an heir. He wasn't ashamed of his sexuality. He was ashamed of other things, yes, but his propensity to shove his cock into another man's arse, no.
He was used to the obscenities, the spats, the sneers that followed him around for the first couple of years after the war. Death Eater, Traitor, Murderer. It had made him and Blaise develop their system: always check in, always owl. Draco knew he could defend himself and that Blaise could handle his wand as well, but it was nice to know someone had your back. Even if it had been years since their names and pictures were splashed on the cover of the Daily Prophet.
"Can I, erm, offer you a drink?" Potter asked, his voice barely audible over the thump thump thump of the bass. "I got you a whisky."
"Yes, I can see that." He bit his bottom lip, stifling the 'Potter' that threatened to slip out. He shook his head slightly. He knew how nerve-wracking it was, walking up to a bloke at a bar. Especially with it being the first time, or at least the first time Draco had seen. He added in a hasty, "Thank you," for good measure.
"I'm James," Harry nodded, introducing himself. Draco laughed inwardly. Hell, Potter, couldn't get more creative than that?
"Luc," he replied. Two can play at that game.
Besides, he'd used the fake name before. Sometimes it was easier. Knowing he had a Dark Mark made others feel uncomfortable. It made Draco uncomfortable too, his biggest regret center stage on his forearm. He tugged his sleeve down unconsciously.
Harry nodded, a brief wash of surprise rolling over his borrowed features as he took a nervous sip of his beer.
"Come here often?" Potter asked, his eyes trained on the coated top of the table they now shared.
Draco couldn't help it. He released a chuckle, raising his eyebrows at the clear pick-up line.
"What are you going to ask me next, James," he questioned, emphasizing the provided name, increasing the hilarity of the situation for himself. "What my astrological sign is?"
The stranger's plump lips widened as he laughed, another of Potter's tell-tale signs. No one could smile as widely, laugh as carefree, as the Boy Who Lived to apparently see another cock. Maybe even open his mouth to one. Maybe even his arse.
Merlin, he was thinking about that.
He was also thinking about that smile, about the last time he had seen it on his face, his real face.
Ron had been hexed with a Unigrow, causing him to sprout a horn right through the center of his ginger hair. His skin had glowed purple, little sparkles glimmering like freckles all over his chest.
When Harry brought Ron to Draco's lab for the antidote, he had laughed like that. Deep, loud, uninhibited.
It had taken Draco five minutes to brew the counter-potion, but a solid fifteen to stop laughing at the Weasel. Thinking back, it may have been the roar of Potter's own giggles that had prevented Draco from composing himself.
Maybe this is a joke, just another one of Harry and Ron's gaffs.
The men settled into a silence, surrounded by the deafening noise of the club. Draco sipped his drink, allowing the cool dark liquid to slip down his throat, as he studied the brunet. He watched the way his hands thumped awkwardly against the glass before pushing up on the bridge of his nose. Draco smirked; Potter's Polyjuice persona apparently had perfect vision, but the habit of adjusting his signature glasses was still there. Draco allowed his mind to wander, to picture what Potter's thick black specs would look like on that round face, framing those brown eyes. What Potter's scar would look like, exposed on the high forehead, not hidden as usual behind his unruly dark hair.
He realized he was staring, scrutinizing the Potter/not-Potter that stood in front of him, now slightly canting his hips to the beat, rocking slowly from side to side.
He saw lips move, but couldn't hear what they said over the screeching sounds of the Weird Sisters.
"What?" Draco asked, leaning his head forward.
Harry shifted for a moment, before he stepped closer to Draco, his mouth now hovering on the rim of Draco's ear. He could feel hot breath on his skin as the man whispered.
"Want to dance?"
The voice, so close to his ear, sounded lower, rougher than the voice he knew from school.
Draco breathed in quickly, inhaling the crisp scent of soap and spice. Was this Potter's smell, or the bloke whose likeness he'd borrowed? He wasn't sure it mattered anymore.
He had seen Potter dance, if that's what he wanted to call it, at the Yule ball in fourth-year. That was formal, with formal robes and formal partners and formal duties.
The club, however, on a Friday night, bodies sliding and grinding against each other—was not so formal. His skin itched to see Potter dance in a club like this.
He withdrew, locking brown eyes (they should be green) with grey. Draco observed how Harry's pupils were dilated, his eyebrows arched, his breath quickening. Draco nodded, once, a brisk bob of his head.
Maybe he's serious.
He followed Harry out to the dance floor, maneuvering through couples rubbing against each other until they reached a gap, the tiniest space to stand.
And stand they did. The confidence that Harry must have mustered quickly slipped away now that they were pressed close, shoved closer by the surrounding dancers. His eyes darted frantically, and Draco could practically see his heart beating rapidly in his chest.
Draco had felt like that before. The first time he had come to the club, the first time he had pressed up against another man on the dance floor. Another man that wasn't Blaise, that is.
Draco smiled, a soft smile that was so very different from his usual condescending smirk. Placing his hands on Potter's shoulders, he turned him around and pulled Harry's back to fit tightly against his chest. Draco leaned in, placing his mouth against definitely not Potter's soft neck.
"Close your eyes," he murmured. "Just listen to the beat."
With perfect timing, the DJ dropped a new track, faster, stronger than the one before. Draco put one hand on Harry's hip and another on his shoulder. He led Potter into a steady sway as they began to move together. Harry began to relax, slowly bending and weaving to the music as Draco guided them into a dance.
Draco steadily rolled his hips, thrusting against Potter's (not Potter's) arse as their pace quickened with the bass that surrounded them. He could feel Harry against him, delighted when he felt him push back, reciprocating the rapid pace, grinding into Draco as they thrummed with the beat.
He tilted his head back, releasing a groan into the hot, loud air as he felt his cock begin to swell, encouraged by the friction of jeans rubbing against his own, of hot arse rubbing against him as they continued to pulse against each other. He wondered if Harry could feel it, could feel his hardened length pushing against that arse, could feel how much Draco was enjoying this.
Draco shifted away, taking a moment to watch Harry's arse (not his arse, though), jut back only to find open air. He grinned before he grabbed shoulders and whipped Potter around, pulling the taut chest against his own.
From this new angle, he could see Potter was flushed. He could practically feel the heat rising from his cheeks, his pupils blown, his eyes hooded as he stared at Draco. Harry licked his top lip, the crown of his forehead sweaty.
Even before Draco slipped his knee roughly between the other man's thighs, before he felt the sure-as-hell heavy and thick sign pressed against his chest, he knew.
Potter wanted this.
He wanted a man to press, to grind, to frot against him. Harry wanted rough hands to run over his sides, brush against his chest, grip his hips.
Was it any man that Potter wanted, or his past nemesis, now occasional friend that still bore the Dark Mark? Draco wasn't sure, convincing himself it didn't matter either way.
If Potter needed to hide behind a mask, needed his first club experience to be with someone that at least felt familiar, who was Draco to judge that? It's not as if Draco's first experiences hadn't been with Blaise, his best friend after the war, jostling awkwardly in dark closets, anxious to learn what the hell they were doing before trying it out in the real world.
Besides, he wanted to know. Draco wanted to see what it looked like when Potter came undone, whatever body he was using that night. He wanted to know what Harry responded to, his breath panting, his back arched, goosebumps covering his skin as Draco plunged deep into him.
Polyjuice wouldn't disguise someone's pleasure. Someone's need.
They continued to dance, thrusting their hips against each other. They were searching for friction that kept eluding them, that wouldn't be sated until they were naked, grinding against a wall, a table, a bed. Draco licked his lips. He wanted to drive into Potter against all of them, and he wanted to start now.
"Come back to mine," Draco murmured into Potter's ear, no longer caring whose body it was. No longer caring if it was a joke.
Draco watched brown eyes widen before Harry nodded.
Draco grasped Harry's hand, leading him out the front door. Holding onto his elbow, Draco twisted them on the spot and Apparated them back to his flat.
Usually, when Draco pulled, the second they Apparated it was a go. He was used to pushing the bloke roughly against the wall, grasping wildly at clothing, desperate to open them up and plunge into their heat.
This time, well this time was different. This time was with Potter.
He watched silently as Harry scanned his surroundings, taking in the modern room. Draco had lived in this flat for over three years now, and enjoyed the sleek lines of his furniture, so different from the ornate pieces he grew up with.
Potter seemed to like the design as well, running his fingertips along the supple white leather of Draco's couch, pressing a palm against the Slytherin green throw folded over one of the armrests. He sat tentatively on the cushion, nervously biting plush lips as he scanned the slate floor.
"Drink, James?" Draco asked, still leaning in the doorway as he watched Potter settle into his space.
"Got one," Harry mumbled, reaching into his robes for a flask. Draco noted the grimace, the disgusting clench of his face as he swallowed what he could only assume was Polyjuice in the black bottle.
"Right," Draco grunted, balling his hands into fists before releasing them. Guess we're going to keep this facade up for the entire evening.
Draco Accioed a bottle and a tumbler from his kitchen before settling on the opposite side of the couch. He poured out the brown liquid, swirling once before downing the entire glass in one gulp.
The cup clanged abruptly as he dropped it on his coffee table, causing Harry to raise his head. His hands were trembling as he watched Draco scoot closer, shift closer until his thigh pressed against Potter's jeans.
Draco could feel Harry's heart racing as he slid a hand up his chest, running his knuckles against his shirt's soft fabric, sensing the hard muscles shudder in their wake. Draco cupped the round jaw, directing thick lips towards his own as he leaned in.
As Draco pushed his lips against Potter's, he couldn't help but wonder if Harry's real lips would feel this chapped against his own. He pushed that thought aside, feeling a hand on the back of his neck, another combing quickly through his silky blond hair as Harry reciprocated, softening under Draco's touch.
He pressed harder, his tongue seeking and receiving entrance into Harry's mouth. Hands continued to rake through his scalp, pulling roughly on his hair. He felt a groan escape Potter's throat as Draco began to nibble along swollen lips, before dragging his own against the brunet's hot cheeks and warm flesh, working his way downward.
He nuzzled against Harry's jaw, biting gently before swiping his tongue against the marks, inhaling the smell of apple shampoo and musk. Harry tilted his head back, allowing Draco better access to his throat, his hands having left Draco's flaxen hair to move frantically against Draco's back.
Draco searched frantically for the hem of Potter's shirt, wanting desperately to rip it off and feel bare skin against his palms. His hands dipped lower than intended, grazing the top of Harry's jeans. Draco could feel the hot want of the man, pulsing briefly below his knuckles as Potter jerked his hips upward at the touch.
"Yes, Draco," Harry moaned.
And everything stopped.
"Yes, Draco."
It hit him like a bludger to the chest, hearing Potter moan his name, feeling his throat vibrate against Draco's lips as the words escaped into the static air.
Potter wanted this. Potter wanted him.
But the rough hands withdrew and the body below him stiffened as if a Petrificus Totalus had been cast.
Yes Draco, Draco, Draco, Harry's word echoed. Not Luc.
Draco withdrew his mouth from the slick skin of Potter's throat. He leaned back, repositioning himself into the stiff, upright sitting position he was used to using at formal dinners at the Manor.
And he waited.
He waited for whatever excuse Harry was about to give. Waited for Harry to run.
"I, erm, thought I recognized you from the paper," Harry struggled out.
It was weak at best. Draco knew he'd been all over the rags right after the war, but it'd been years. Not that he didn't get recognized, but still.
"Did you now," Draco responded blandly, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.
He watched Harry out of the corner of his eye. His shoulders slumped, his eyes closed, his nails digging roughly into the denim of his jeans,
He just sat there, mouth opening and closing as if he were trying to say something, anything, to take back the feral moan that had escaped just moments before.
Draco hated him in that moment. Hated that stupid brown hair, and that stupid round jaw and that stupid forehead without any trace of scar. Hated him for stopping what could have been an amazing fuck.
An amazing fuck with the body of a stranger.
Draco poured himself another tumbler of whisky. He could, in this moment, just pretend that he was fine, that it was fine that Harry wanted to fuck him using someone else's skin. That he wanted to hide from a world he was obviously terrified in. Use a disguise, use Draco, and use the fucking Floo to escape when it was over.
That was the thing, though, wasn't it? Draco didn't want to fuck someone else's skin. He wanted to fuck Potter. He wanted to hear what Potter actually sounded like moaning his name. He wanted to run his fingers through Potter's hair, kiss Potter's lips, bite Potter's jaw. He wanted to suck on Potter's hard cock, shove his fingers into Potter's tight arse, watch Potter's pupils blow wide as Draco thrust deeper and deeper into him.
He didn't want to see dull, brown, unfamiliar eyes staring back at him. Not when he could be seeing vibrant, yearning, beautiful green.
It wasn't his choice, though. It was Potter's mask, and Potter alone needed to be the one to take it off.
Draco was cunning. He knew how to manipulate, knew how to spin a story to get others to respond. He knew how to get others to do his bidding.
He also knew his tricks never worked on Harry. No matter how smart, or slick, or clever he tried to be, his tactics couldn't penetrate the surface.
Harry only responded to honesty. To vulnerability. To sacrifice. Fuck.
"I used a fake name," Draco admitted unnecessarily. It was bloody obvious at that point, but it was an easy enough place to start.
"Why?" Potter asked.
He knocked back the sweet liquid in his glass before he sat the tumbler back on the table.
"This," he muttered, pulling up the edge of his sleeve until the fabric rested in the crook of his arm.
He watched Potter carefully as he took in the mark. Draco tried to stay still, even as Harry began to trace one finger on the thick black lines, circling the mouth of the snake as it curled right against his pulsepoint. Harry inhaled as he felt Draco shudder beneath his touch.
"You didn't want this," Harry stated, devoid of any questioning uptick in his voice.
"No," Draco answered flatly. Another unnecessary admittance. After all, Harry had stood for him at his trials.
Still, the admittance seemed to help. Harry was holding him now, holding Draco's hand as the pad of his thumb ran circles over the base of the mark.
"I'm—," he started, before stalling again.
Shit.
It still wasn't enough to make Potter comfortable with him. Draco wasn't sure if Harry would ever be comfortable. Unless...
"What if we played a little game, hmm?"
"What do you mean?" Harry breathed, adjusting himself so that his knees were tilted towards Draco on the couch.
"Two truths and a lie," Draco smirked, remembering the game they used to play in the Slytherin common room.
Harry looked intrigued. Confused, but intrigued nonetheless.
This could work.
"You tell the other person three things. Two are the truth, and one is a lie. Then you guess which one's the lie. I'll go first."
Draco adjusted his posture, mirroring Harry's knees with his own. Harry was still holding Draco's hand, while his other hand gripped the dark fabric of his jeans.
"One, I went to Hogwarts. Two, I was the best seeker in my year. Three, I own a pair of fuzzy purple house slippers."
Draco watched as a deep smile crossed over the brunet's face.
"Definitely the house slippers," Harry answered confidently.
"Wrong. Those slippers are bloody comfortable."
He registered Harry's surprise before admitting his lie.
"I went to school with Harry Potter. He was the best seeker by far, the best seeker I've seen in ages."
Potter inhaled sharply at the mention of his name, accentuating the blush that quickly spread across his cheeks.
It's working.
"Now your turn."
Harry straightened, his hand tensing around Draco's wrist before he responded.
"Right. One, I also went to Hogwarts. Two, I love pigeons. Three, I almost sorted into Slytherin but asked the Hat to put me in Gryffindor."
Draco scoffed. This game was going to be so easy.
"Pigeons, really?" Draco snorted.
"They're absolutely disgusting," Harry chuckled.
Draco's eyes darkened with the realization that those stupid birds were Potter's lie. Which meant the Hat had been a truth.
He barely had time to compartmentalize that statement before Potter was staring at him, waiting for Draco to take his turn.
"Ok, here goes. One, I first noticed I liked men when I was fourteen. Two, I've had a handful of serious relationships since then, the longest one lasting a year. Three, I have a crup named Daisy."
"I can't picture you with a crup," Harry smiled. "Especially one named Daisy."
"I don't know whether that's an insult or a compliment," Draco replied, "but either way, that was my lie."
Harry nodded his head in acknowledgment at the won round. He shifted closer to Draco, adjusting their hands so they rested easily on Draco's leg.
"My turn again? One, I've been in a total of three real relationships, two with women, one with a man." Harry paused briefly to study Draco's reaction. He must have found what he saw satisfactory as he quickly continued.
"Two, I have a godson who I spoil rotten, and three, I, erm, hate treacle tart."
"Not as easy as you thought, coming up with a lie, is it?" Draco winked. "Nobody hates treacle tart."
Harry grinned. Draco noticed how relaxed Harry's hands were, both the one that rested against Draco's palm and the one that still sat cautiously in his own lap.
"I love the smell of rain, I hate the smell of cabbage, I once won a competition for Best Hair."
"I hate cabbage, too. And while you do have great hair, I don't think there's any such competition."
Draco felt the back of his neck heat at the compliment, shifting closer until his leg pressed securely against Potter's thigh.
"I love the feeling of flying, I hate when my friends are hurting, I have a tattoo of a Hippogriff on my chest."
The snort escaped Draco's lips before he even realized it was coming. "While I'd love to see that, I doubt you have a tattoo of some stupid bird."
It was Harry's turn to laugh, that side-splitting one that Draco could listen to every day.
"Hippogriffs are very loyal, Draco, if you treat them with respect."
There was his name again, rolling off of Harry's tongue as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Draco took a moment, wondering if the Hippogriff tattoo wasn't a lie. It's not like he'd find out; unless Harry trusted Draco enough to see his real chest, his real skin.
He swallowed deeply, imagining the dark wings spread wide against Harry's muscles, Draco's nails digging into the sharp talons of the blasted creature.
However, the other two were definitely truths. Maybe one day, though.
One day? Just get through one night.
Draco was getting antsy. He didn't know how much longer he could hold out, could play this game without revealing too much, not enough.
Time to get a little deeper.
"My father was my hero growing up. I thought I wanted to be just like him. He was so strong, so confident." Draco shrugged. "Turned out he was a bloody monster."
Draco closed his eyes. He hadn't said that out loud, not even to Blaise. It wasn't something one just throws around, that they hate their father, the man that gave them life, the man whose purpose it was to protect their partners, their children.
Harry squeezed his hand, just once, but it was enough. Draco thinned his lips before he continued
"I was a bully, in school. I used to say horrible things, things I have regretted for a long time."
Harry shifted, moving his other hand to rest gently against Draco's thigh. He glanced at it, wishing it was Potter's fingers that comforted him, rubbing circles on his leg, instead of this imposter's hand.
Maybe this is pointless.
Draco shook his head. He knew they were getting somewhere, to something deeper than they had expected when they Aparated back to his flat.
"And my favorite color is blue."
Harry smiled softly in response. Just one look around the room could let anyone know his favorite color was green.
"My parents were killed when I was young. I don't remember them, but I've seen memories. They really loved each other, you know?" Harry's eyes were glazed, a slight tremor in his voice.
"My aunt and uncle, they really didn't like me, didn't like magic much. They used to keep me in a cupboard, wouldn't feed me for days on end."
Draco winced.
Please let this be the lie.
"And my favorite color is yellow."
Shit.
He watched silently as the man next to him trembled. Draco replayed that truth over and over.
Locked in a cupboard. Not fed for days.
Of course, Draco knew how destructive a damn cabinet could be.
Draco wrapped his arm securely around Harry, pulling him into a tight embrace. He held onto the broad shoulders as they quaked, tears rolling down thick cheeks. He wanted desperately to kiss Harry, the real Harry.
Moments passed, as Harry calmed, relaxing into Draco's firm hold.
"Another round?" Draco asked hesitantly.
He felt the man in his arms nod.
"Ok then." He took a deep breath.
This was it.
"I still have nightmares from the war. The voices, the screams, and cries for help. They haunt me in my sleep. Sometimes I can't escape what I've done."
His head hung low, tightening his grip on the man in his lap. It was the one thing that tormented Draco every night, that followed him every day. How could anyone want to be with, want to love a man who had done such horrible things? Could Harry? Would Harry?
"Dumbledore said it matters not what someone is born as, but what they grow to be. Are you proud of who you are now?" Harry asked, his voice slightly muffled by the fabric of Draco's shirt.
Draco sighed deeply, pushing out the strains of his confession in one blow.
"Yes. I've been able to help. My friends, my job. I feel like I'm contributing to something good."
"You are," Harry agreed before a deep flush crossed his face. Draco waited for his rebuttal, his acknowledgment that he didn't really know, that he was assuming that what Draco was doing with his life was good, but it didn't come.
It gave Draco the confidence he needed to say his next truth.
"I once tried to Crucio someone. I worked so hard to make him pay attention, make him want me like I wanted him."
Want you.
Potter froze in his arms, his spine rigid where Draco's palm rested against it. He had to keep going, though. He had to let Harry know.
"Blaise called it a crush, but it was more than that. It was all-encompassing. I couldn't think of anything else, just the stupid git with his broomstick and his scar. I was so angry. Angry with my father, and the bloody mark that's on my arm. Angry at the thought that the boy I loved would never love me back."
Harry's shoulders tensed as he inhaled, and Draco could feel Potter's heartbeat quicken against his chest. He continued.
"And I hate treacle tart."
Draco held his breath as the air around them stilled. His face felt hot, his arms shaking as he continued to hold Potter in his arms.
Merlin, it better work.
"Did you ever tell him?" Harry asked softly, the sound of his voice sending waves of relief over Draco's body.
He exhaled in a huff. "No. I never did."
"Then you don't know," Potter mumbled, his voice barely a whisper against the fabric of Draco's shirt.
"Know what?"
Harry unraveled himself from the tight embrace, his face close, so close with Draco's own.
"I don't think you're going to like this, Draco."
Bloody hell, there was his name again.
"One, I once cast a curse at someone. I didn't know what it meant at the time, but I still cast it. I could have killed him."
Draco sat unmoving as he felt the short, quick gasps of Harry choking back tears, choking back fear. He wanted to scream, but you didn't, you didn't kill me, I destroyed my soul long before that, but he didn't. He hoped his silence would be rewarded.
Harry closed his brown eyes before continuining.
"Two, I don't think you would have said any of that if you knew."
Draco arched his eyebrows, holding his breath.
"My name isn't James. It's Harry."
Draco waited a beat before he allowed the smile to creep up the sides of his face.
"I don't need to see your precious scar to know it's you, Potter."
Harry's eyes snapped open, a tint of green starting to pool into the murky brown as he stared incredulously at Draco.
"How?"
His voice had returned to its normal tone, and Draco watched earnestly as the potion wore off and the remainder of Potter appeared. His eyes were soon pinned to the lush, emerald green he had been hoping to see the whole evening.
"Please. I've known you since we were eleven. After everything we've been through, are you really saying if I didn't have my blond hair, you wouldn't recognize me?"
Harry licked his (very own, kissable) lips as he thought about the question. His eyes flickered up to Draco's hair as he swallowed
"I suppose not."
Draco had been waiting so long to see the face in front of him. Not just tonight, or the past two Fridays, but throughout the past decade. Potter had never looked at him like that before. Like a friend, but more. Like a lover.
He ran his fingers softly against Potter's jaw, pulse quickening as Harry leaned into the caress.
"Three," Harry started, his voice slightly shaky as it filled the room. "I really don't want to kiss you right now."
So Draco did.
He kissed Harry gently, savoring the feel of the soft lips against his own, relishing the fact that they were really Potter's lips. It was really Potter's tongue that pressed incessantly against his as their kiss deepened, as Draco's hands began to card through Potter's real, unruly raven black hair. Harry moaned against his lips as Draco gave the strands a quick tug.
"Like that, Potter?"
"Mmh, yes," he grunted. "Harry."
He yanked at Harry's hair again.
"I thought we established this. I'm Draco."
Harry allowed his head to be pulled back as Draco began to nibble and kiss his way down his neck.
"Call me Harry, oh," he gasped as long, pale fingers began their descent towards Harry's cock.
"Ok, Harry, whatever you want." Draco moaned into his neck as his hands loosened the belt, pulling the leather roughly out of its loops. The name sounded heady on his tongue, unfamiliar, almost dirty. It reminded Draco of late-night wanks after Quidditch practice, of early morning showers, washing away the unrequited need.
Saying that name burned a fire in Draco's chest. A fire he never wanted to put out.
Draco stood, lifting Harry off the comfort of the leather couch. He pulled off the thin jumper, as his hands began to grope at Potter's taut muscles.
"No Hippogriff," Draco chuckled before twisting Harry so his back was pressed against Draco's still-covered chest. His fingers traced the outlines of Harry's hip bones as Harry dipped his head back to kiss Draco.
"What do you want, Harry?" He asked, the taste of his name so sweet on his tongue.
"Take your clothes off and fuck me."
With pleasure.
"In my bed," Draco whispered, his breath hot against Potter's earlobe. He felt Harry shudder as he rolled his hips against Potter's arse.
Taking his hand, Draco led Harry down the hallway, pausing briefly to remove his own shirt and trousers, before both men finally made it to the door. Draco hastily pushed Potter onto his bed, undoing the buttons on his jeans before tearing them off of Harry's built frame.
He could feel Harry's heart beating rapidly as Draco mounted the mattress, positioning himself so they were chest to chest on the soft woven sheets. Draco breathed in the sweet smell of spice and warmth, savoring the notes that had become synonymous with Harry.
The air around them crackled with the humming energy of lust and magic as Draco rolled his hips into Harry's naked flesh.
"Yes, Draco, yes," Harry moaned, bucking his groin forward in search of friction.
"I won't be able to last, if you keep doing that," Draco murmured as he placed tantalizing kisses against Harry's jaw. The sweet burn of impending climax was already starting to fuel his desire, and the sound of his name pouring from Harry's throat was like gasoline on the flames.
Working his way down his chest, Draco ran his tongue against Potter's muscles, his fingers dancing along Harry's hardened length. Draco nipped quickly along his hips until his mouth hovered over Harry's delicious cock, already dripping with apparent need.
Maybe just one more time.
"What do you want, Harry?"
"Merlin, Draco." Harry panted, as he jerked his hips towards Malfoy's waiting mouth.
Yes.
Draco slid Harry's cock into his mouth, taking his time to work his tongue against the tip before wrapping his lips around the entire shaft. His eyes flitted upwards to watch Harry's head fall back in pleasure.
Grabbing his wand, Draco conjured some lubricant and traced one finger down, gently pushing against Harry's hole. The man below him bucked at the sensation, pushing his cock deeper into Draco's throat. He choked slightly, but was quickly soothed by the rough hands carding through his blond locks.
"Sorry, Draco, just so good," Harry moaned as Draco's throat relaxed. He accepted the apology by gently guiding one slick finger into Harry's arse.
Draco relished in the feeling of opening Potter up, feeling the tight walls push against him before they relinquished, allowing him access into Harry's core. It was only a matter of moments before he was able to insert a second finger, his mouth still working against Harry's cock as fingers continued to ravage through his hair.
Draco brushed over Harry's prostate, once, then twice, motivated by the deep guttural moans that broke panting breaths. He palmed his own cock, rubbing lubricant against the tender flesh as he continued to thrust his fingers into Potter.
"Draco, more, please," Harry moaned. "I'm ready, I want you."
Draco thought he could come just from that—just hearing that voice say his name over and over again.
He released Potter's cock with a satisfying pop before positioning himself on his knees. Draco took a moment to admire the man on his bed, so beautiful and vulnerable laid out on his sheets, waiting, wanting. Yearning to be touched by Draco. Part of it didn't seem real, as if he had drunk too much whisky at the bar and was having some kind of amazing alcohol-fueled dream. It only took a glance from Harry and those piercing green eyes blown out with desire, to snap Draco back into the moment, into the task at hand.
He smirked and grasped Harry's hip with one hand, aligning himself with the other as he pushed against Harry's hole. He felt the first bite of resistance before he was able to nudge past the opening and finally entered the warm heat.
"Merlin, you're so tight, Harry," Draco groaned as he continued to thrust inward. "It's so good."
"Mhng," Harry groaned, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to relax.
Draco lifted one of Harry's legs, rubbing his palm against Potter's calf in soothing motions. The adjusted position allowed him to drive all the way in, until his entire cock was wrapped in Harry's blazing core.
He stilled, allowing Harry to adjust to the feel of Draco inside of him. Harry opened his eyes, pupils dilated, swallowing almost all of the green. He nodded quickly, confirming that Draco could begin to move.
He slid out gently before jutting his hips forward in one swift motion. He waited again.
"Harder, Draco. Fuck me."
"Whatever you want," Draco responded. He began to thrust faster, adjusting his cock so it rutted against Harry's prostate every few thrusts. The rapid motion caused Potter to cry out, his hands clawing at the sheets.
Draco didn't know how much longer he could last, especially as he saw Harry's face scrunch, his hand reaching for his unattended cock. Draco's thin fingers were there first, wrapping each ligament around the hard shaft as he pulled. He ran his thumb over the tip, pushing in at the slit as he watched Harry keen, hands now gripping at the headboard, searching for something to ground him from the increasing pleasure.
"Yes, Draco, yes, I'm going to, please—."
"Come for me, Harry," Draco grunted.
The words had their desired effect. Harry shuddered as his orgasm ripped through him. Draco could feel the walls of Harry's arse contract around him as Harry cried out in pleasure, his cock painting white ropes of cum across his chest.
The feeling of finally seeing the real Harry, coming undone at his touch, sent Draco over the precipice. His back arched as wave after wave of his orgasm washed over him.
Draco brought his lips to Harry's, kissing him deeply before he pulled out. He grabbed his wand and muttered various cleansing charms, appreciating the familiar tickle of magic against his skin. He then pulled Harry into his arms, spooning him against the cool sheets as his heartbeat settled into its usual rhythm.
"Ok, final turn," Harry murmured as he wrapped Draco's arm securely around his waist.
"Then sleep," Draco yawned as he nestled his head into the crook of Harry's shoulder.
"Ok," Harry agreed, a smile on his lips as Draco settled around him.
"One," Draco started his turn, "I was a pretty good Seeker myself, you know. If you weren't so damn attractive, I could have beaten your arse. You kept distracting me."
"Mmm, you were pretty fit back then as well," Harry chuckled.
"Back then?" Draco sneered incredulously.
"And now! You're fit now, don't hex me!"
"Damn right." Draco bit into Harry's shoulder, grinning as he felt the man shudder in his arms.
"Two, I used to wank in the showers after our matches, thinking of the way you handled your broom."
"Holy shit, Draco," Harry gasped as he wriggled his arse against Draco's hips. Draco's cock was responding, readying itself for another round.
"Three, the sex was alright," Draco said as he pressed his now half-hard length into Harry's back.
"Just alright?"
"We might have to do it again. There's always room for improvement."
Harry chuckled as he placed a soft kiss on Draco's knuckles.
"My turn?" Harry asked.
"By all means."
"Ok. One, I've wanted to do that for a long time. Seeing you at work, in your element. You're just so bloody hot when you're in charge." Harry's voice trailed off as Draco began to suck tenderly at his neck.
"Mmm," Harry moaned softly before continuing. "Two, I wouldn't mind if you wanted to try and beat my arse."
"You want to play Quidditch sometime?"
"No. I mean, yes, sure, but also…"
Draco tightened his grip around Harry as he pictured Potter bent over, arse cherry red and warm as he ran his hands over the tender cheeks.
"That can be arranged," Draco swallowed.
"Three, I want to do that again."
"Wait, which one was a lie?" Draco blurted.
"Oh, bollocks. I meant, I never want to do that again," Harry squirmed as Draco playfully slapped Harry's arse.
"Damn right you don't," Draco laughed as he pulled Harry tighter to his chest.
"Especially not now," Harry added.
Or in the morning. Or tomorrow night. Or for the rest of their lives.