The Birthday Gift

Harry pushed a hand through his unruly hair and sighed. He was looking, as instructed by his wife, at a guest list for the party she was organising for his 35th birthday. Really, Harry thought, he wished she'd just forget about the whole thing, just have the usual family dinner. It was so convenient that his two best friends were also part of his family now that he had become rather lazy about socialising with other people. But no, Ginny insisted she wanted to make a big deal of it. There *was* going to be a big party, there had been hints about Quidditch-related presents...and a threat that Arthur was going to make a piece of art for him out of his precious plug collection. Obviously, there would be knitwear from his mother-in-law, jokes from George and books from Hermione. But Harry knew he wasn't going to get what he really wanted for his birthday.

What he really wanted, he thought, flinching a little as the image came into his mind, was hardly the sort of gift Ginny was ever going to give him. That would need to be one hell of an open relationship. Because what Harry wanted more than anything in the world was Draco Malfoy. Preferably naked and displayed nicely on a huge bed with silk sheets. Naturally Malfoy would have silk sheets on his bed. Harry just knew. And had thought about it often, the soft caress of cool silk over hot, pale skin. Sharp, gut-wrenching pangs of desire shot through him and he shuddered. What *was* this? He was married; he loved Ginny. Oh he did, he still did, but...but the thought of Malfoy naked persisted in his thoughts. He dreamt of taking a hard, silken-smooth cock into his mouth, of a firm, pert arse spread invitingly for him to touch, taste, penetrate. He stopped short of imagining post-coital cuddling because sex was one thing, but affection a whole new level of betrayal.

He took a sharp breath and tried to calm down. Quidditch stuff, book, a tasteless but lovingly knitted jumper, chocolates...that was what he could expect for his birthday, not Draco (the name felt so good in his mouth as he breathed it softly, imagining crying it in passion).

He and Malfoy had worked together a few times over the past couple of years and he would describe the relationship as civil at best, undercut by awkward memories of their childhood enmity, Harry's knowledge of the path Draco had walked during the war, but tempered with the knowledge that Draco had not acted against him when he might have done, that Narcissa Malfoy had saved his life. Still, nothing really explained why he, happily married father of three, should feel his pulse start to race if he caught a glimpse of Malfoy in the corridor, why the sound of that cut-glass accent sent shivers down his spine (and round a bit straight to his groin), why his cock had sprung to urgent, excited life at this train of thought.

Reluctantly, he turned his attention back to the list and scanned it quickly, friends from Hogwarts, connections of the Weasleys, colleagues from work, exactly as he expected, until at the bottom were two names scrawled in a different ink and a hasty note from Ginny beside them.

"So sorry, sweetheart, I was waiting in Madame Malkin's with Astoria a couple of days ago and we got chatting. She said they didn't really have much of a social life; the old sort of people the Malfoys knew are either in Azkaban, dead or won't see them and people who *weren't* Death Eaters won;t see them either. And I felt sorry for her and I invited them. Try not to mind too much!" And there were the names: Astoria and Draco Malfoy.

Draco fucking Malfoy was coming to his birthday party.

Harry felt himself flush all over and a tingling heat raced through him. Draco was going to be there. Not naked, true, nor draped in silk sheets, but there. Bloody hell!

On his birthday morning he was woken by Ginny's mouth on his cock. He mumbled soft sounds of pleasure and smiled at his wife, but his eyes remained shut and in his mind, the face lowered to his groin was pale and pointed, the hair entwined in his fingers was not long and red but silvery-blonde, fine and soft as silk. Warmth enclosed him and he bit his lip hard to ensure the name that burst from his lips as his pleasure mounted was not "Draco". Fuck, fuck, fuck...the mental image of Malfoy on his knees got him so hard he thought he would burst! In no time he was coming in a violent spasm so intense he felt dizzy.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Ginny whispered, kissing him.

All day, through the celebratory breakfast with champagne and smoked salmon, through the gift-giving which looked exactly as he had predicted, he was edgy and nervous. In the end, Ginny and Hermione sent him and Ron out on their brooms like little kids, but it did nothing to calm the fire of anticipation burning in Harry's gut. Draco Malfoy was coming to his house. Forever afterwards there would be bits of floor he had stood on, chairs his arse had touched. Oh, his beautiful, taut, biteable arse. Harry squirmed uncomfortably as yet again, his cock stiffened and strained against the fabric of his pants. God, he thought, if I don't have him soon, I'm going to go utterly nuts! Furiously, he dived so steeply that Ron gasped behind him, then pulled up in a perfectly executed Wronski Feint! His heart was racing and the hurrying beat repeated over and over, want him, want him, want him.

Harry was behaving himself, he was sure. A genial, pleasant host, he greeted his friends, thanked them for coming and for the gifts they had brought. He offered them drinks and showed them to where a vast buffet of food was displayed. He was almost relaxed enough to forget why he had been so tense all day. A couple of glasses of wine to the good, he was deep in conversation with Neville when that refined voice said in his ear, "Happy birthday, Potter."

Harry jumped and turned clumsily, almost spilling his wine (do NOT think about spilling it on *him* and needing to help him out of some clothes, he told himself, pointlessly, as the image was there in his mind and his cock was behaving accordingly)

"Malfoy," he said, ignoring the slight croak in his voice. "Good of you to come. Welcome. Is this your wife?" He shook hands warmly as Malfoy introduced Astoria, whom he vaguely remembered from Hogwarts. Astoria's hand was small and cool and...had no doubt touched Draco's cock many times. Harry could feel his face flaming, but hoped his guests would put it down to the warmth of the crowded room or that he was already stupidly drunk. Much as he wanted to put on a good display of genteel behaviour in front of Draco, he'd rather the man thought him a pissed oaf than that he realised Harry was imagining gripping his cock and stroking, rubbing, squeezing...

God, he looked good. He was all in black, showing off his porcelain-fine skin and silvery hair to their best advantage. And his trousers, damn him, were perfectly cut to show off his pert little arse.

Harry made sure they had drinks and had been introduced to some other people before he found an excuse to get away. He stood in the hallway for a moment, breathing deeply. When he felt calm, he returned to the throng and positioned himself for that he could see Draco. He tried not to look more than every few seconds but the man was like a compulsion now. Since he had seen that name on the guest list he had allowed his imagination full reign and now could not look at Malfoy without picturing him naked, splayed out on a bed, possibly tied with silk scarves (he was sure Draco would own silk scarves; he was that sort of man), his tight hole teasing Harry with its inviting proximity.

Every time he looked, he noticed a slight flick of Draco's head as though he too had been looking. After a while, he saw that Astoria had been absorbed into a small group around Ginny, all witches with children of similar ages. Draco had been left alone and was standing by the mantelpiece, looking at one of the few Black family portraits Harry had not removed when he moved in properly. Harry had drunk enough by now to have shed a few inhibitions but not enough to have lost control, so he took a deep breath and wandered over.

"Have you ever seen the Black family tree tapestry thing?" he asked. "It's upstairs if you'd like to have a look. Your mum is on it." He stopped, aware he was burbling.

"That would be lovely, thank you" Draco replied and moved to follow Harry towards the stairs.

Harry felt tingles of nervousness running all through him and his heart was pounding. He was taking Draco Malfoy to an upstairs room. To see a tapestry, he reminded himself. He'll look at where his mum's name is embroidered, maybe comment about the burnt patch that was all that remained of Sirius and we'll come back down again. Draco moved past him as he stopped in front of the vast tapestry and his long slender fingers traced the shape of Narcissa's name. Harry moved in close behind him, unable to prevent himself. Draco smelt so good, citrus top notes with an undercurrent of musky...Draco. He was standing so close now he could almost touch...

"Potter, did you just touch my arse?"

"I, er, er, um...I mean.." Harry stuttered. His face flamed with embarrassment and his mind was utterly utterly empty of any coherent thought. He looked up and found Draco suddenly very close, his silver eyes glinting with amusement and one eyebrow quirked upwards in a way that was ridiculously sexy. Harry made a small sound, his breathing ragged and uncomfortable. Draco smiled.

"You obviously have excellent taste," he said and leaned in closer. "I have an amazing arse!" Harry thought his heart would stop as Draco's hand brushed his cheek. All the blood in his body rushed down to his cock which throbbed and strained against his trousers.

"Hmmm," said Draco, so close he must be able to feel Harry's hardness against him. And then they were kissing in an open-mouthed tangle of tongues and Draco's hands were in his hair and his, oh gods, his hands were gripping the firm curves of Draco's arse and pulling him into his own body, pressing against him so he could feel that Draco too was hard and wanting this. Dragging Draco with him, Harry backed to the door and pushed it shut, then returned enthusiastically to the feel of Draco's lips and tongue and the bruising feel of a firmly muscled body grinding against him.

He was moaning into Draco's mouth, his hands frantically grabbing at Draco's bum, then yelped as he felt Draco push aside his shirt and begin undoing his belt and the buttons on his trousers. His cock twitched in eager excitement and the first drops of wetness oozed onto his pants. Then, oh gods, gods, Draco's hand was on his cock. He was stroking the head with one long finger, spreading the wetness. His other hand pushed down Harry pants and fingers teased their way down from the base of his spine into the crack of his arse. Harry moaned and pushed himself forward, craving more contact. Draco gripped him hard and began to squeeze and pull at him while all the time the other hand was tantalising close to his arsehole, one feather light touch there left Harry almost crying with pleasure. It was building up inside him like a fucking tsunami, he was so close and then, oh the sharp, stinging sensation of just one finger pushing into him and he was done. His knees buckled and he came violently, spurting all over Draco's hand.

"Wow! That was fucking incredible! Just...wow!"

Draco smirked. "I am pretty good, yes."

Harry breathed deeply, muttered a quick cleaning spell and pulled up his trousers. "I had no idea that you.." he started.

"A lot you don't know about me, Potter. But yes. Always rather fancied you at school, to tell the truth, but that was hardly going to happen, was it?"

"But you're married," Harry said, feeling foolish even as the words left his mouth.

Draco laughed.

"Of course! I have a duty to the Malfoy line. Item one, marry a suitably pure-blooded woman from a good family, tick. Item two, produce heir to the Malfoy estates, one Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, tick. Fairly free to fuck whomever I chose now."

"I see," said Harry. "Are you..I mean..I had." He blushed and looked at Draco's crotch.

"We'd better go back down before anyone comes looking for the birthday boy." Draco grinned wickedly. "You can owe me."