***

See disclaimer in Chapter 1. They're JKR's characters, not mine.

***

Aug. 7

Harry sat on the sandy shore, absently flicking his wand at the water and watching his bright Patronus burst to life and bolt toward the horizon, only to fizzle a few hundred meters out. He'd tried everything he could think of over the last few days to get a message to someone – anyone – who might be able to contact the agency Ginny had booked their honeymoon through. Surely someone there could bring the wards down.

He'd even tried an idea he'd gotten from one of the Muggle books in the cottage's library, stuffing a note into an empty bottle of Butterbeer and floating it off with the tide. That hadn't worked, either.

Harry jumped when an unfamiliar Patronus joined his, nudging the stag playfully as they darted above the waves.

"A raccoon, Malfoy?" Harry asked, not bothering to turn around to see who had joined him. After all, there were only two of them on the godforsaken island. Who else could it be?

Not that they'd spent much time together. Harry spent almost every waking moment outside, his skin turning a burnished brown from long hours in the sun. The boathouse was stocked with just about everything they could possibly want – jet skis, surf boards, kayaks, snorkeling gear, even a pontoon boat designed to propel itself around the reef while its occupants basked in the sun on its generous deck. A large shed behind the cottage was similarly outfitted with things to entertain them on land. He'd spent most of their second day in captivity exploring the small island on an ATV, though he much preferred the broomsticks that had also been provided.

Draco, on the other hand, had sequestered himself inside, rarely venturing out past the screened-in verandah. He'd never particularly enjoyed hot weather, and the island climate was definitely steamy. Cooling Charms and fans kept the cottage bearable, but he had no inclination to throw himself into physical pursuits like Harry. He preferred to do his exploring in the small library, which had a surprisingly eclectic mix of books, both Muggle and magical.

Harry turned to look for Draco when the other man didn't answer, shielding his eyes from the sun so he could see him better. The blond fairly glowed in the afternoon sunlight; the bright glare wreathed his fair hair and pale skin in a halo of shimmery color. The effect was rather angelic, which made Harry snort with laughter. Draco Malfoy was many things, but angelic definitely wasn't among them.

"It's a perfectly respectable Patronus," Draco sniffed with mock offense, collapsing onto the sand with an elegant grace that Harry envied.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him, almost letting the comment pass. Besides, he was right. It was a respectable enough Patronus; he'd just been surprised that Malfoy had a Patronus. It wasn't a spell that most witches or wizards ever mastered, and since the Dementors had all been eradicated after the war there was little reason to try.

"Of course," Harry said, bowing in Draco's direction. "The noble and esteemed raccoon, king of scavengers."

Draco grinned, and Harry's chest tightened at the carefree expression. He'd been studiously avoiding thoughts about Malfoy for the past few days, but every once in awhile – more often than that if Harry was honest with himself – he slipped and found himself daydreaming about how Malfoy's lips had felt pressed against his or how fit his arse looked.

"Raccoons are very intelligent animals, I'll have you know," Draco said.

Harry swallowed thickly when he realized the blond was rolling his shirtsleeves up, exposing his muscular forearms as a concession to the heat. Something about the act was almost unbearably intimate, though Harry knew it was ridiculous to think so. His own arms were bare, and he'd seen Malfoy in short-sleeved shirts over the last few days. The slow reveal of the pale flesh was almost teasing, though, and Harry's pulse jumped at the thought of watching Malfoy peel his entire shirt off in a similar manner instead of just rolling up the sleeves. Shaking himself out of his wholly inappropriate reverie, Harry pointedly looked away, scooting a bit further from the blond.

Draco noticed Harry's sudden discomfort, assuming Potter had looked away lest he see something he didn't want to. He held his arms out, turning them so the insides of his wrists were visible.

"Look, Potter," he said, the easy playfulness from moments ago gone from his voice. "No Dark Mark. That's what you were afraid of, right? Proof that I really supported that fanatical arsehole?"

Harry's head whipped back around, a look of shock on his face. He'd known the other man didn't have the mark – it was one of the reasons the younger Malfoy's punishment after the war had been so much more lenient than his parents'. The elder Malfoys had been sentenced to 20 years in Azkaban, but their terms had been commuted into house-arrest because of over-crowding and a lack of guards at the wizard prison. In contrast, Draco had been given just one year of house-arrest and another two years of parole.

"Malfoy, I didn't –"

Draco shook his head angrily, shoving his arms in Harry's line of sight. The dark-haired man had no choice but to examine the perfect, unblemished flesh.

"No Dark Mark," he said again, his grey eyes hard. "Don't you want to cast revealing spells? Make sure I didn't manage to hide it all this time?"

Harry looked appalled. He swallowed hard, backing up as much as he could in the sand, but Draco followed him, jabbing his wrists at him.

"Feel it," Draco said, clamping a hand over Harry's and pulling him forward, forcing him to run his callused palm over the creamy flesh.

Harry clamped his jaws together as a jolt of desire shot through him at the contact. The blond's skin was velvety soft, but the muscles and sinews underneath were delightfully hard. He met the other man's gaze, his heart pounding from a combination of Malfoy's nearness and the way the air around him seemed to crackle with magic when he was angry. Harry could almost see it on Malfoy's skin, making him wonder if he were to lick the wrist he held if it would taste like magic.

Harry dropped Draco's hand like a hot coal before he could do something stupid, like act on his ridiculous notion to lick it. The dark-haired man felt his face heat with embarrassment; he didn't know what was wrong with him. Ever since the Ministry gala last year he'd been having inappropriate thoughts about the other man, and now he was stuck in close quarters with him for the foreseeable future. It was a disaster in the making.

"I know," he said quietly, forcing himself to continue to meet the blond's steady gaze. He needed to master this attraction he felt for Malfoy – the man doing something as innocuous as rolling up his sleeves shouldn't have caused him to seize up with discomfort. "My mind was elsewhere, I'm sorry."

Draco didn't look convinced, but he let his arms rest loosely at his sides, his posture no longer combative.

"Seriously, Malfoy," Harry said, desperate to put them on even footing again. True, they didn't spend much time together, but he had no wish to make the time they did spend in each other's company miserable.

Draco studied him for a moment, apparently judging him to be sincere. He nodded woodenly, letting his gaze wander out across the waves. He had overreacted, and badly, at that. Of course Potter would be distant and uncomfortable at times – he'd obviously jumped to conclusions. The poor man's entire life was falling apart, and all he could think about was proving he wasn't still the evil git he'd been years ago. Though practically assaulting Potter to prove he didn't have the Dark Mark was hardly the right way to go about it.

"I apologize," he said stiffly, avoiding eye contact. "It's a bit of a sore subject for me."

Harry blew out a breath, watching a gull dive toward the water in search of its dinner. It looked majestic, gliding just above the surf with its wings extended, dipping its head into the waves only to emerge seconds later with a small fish gripped triumphantly in its beak. He imagined the fish felt just like he had a moment ago – confused and ambushed.

"No need to apologize," Harry said, wanting nothing more than to drop the entire subject.

They were silent for long minutes, each lost in his own thoughts. Harry startled both Draco and himself when he finally did speak, his voice infused with a cheerfulness he definitely didn't feel.

"Fancy a ride on a jet ski? I'd never been on one before yesterday, but it's brilliant. Rather like a broom that skims the water."

Harry regretted the words as soon as they'd left his mouth. Malfoy had made a point of avoiding all outdoor activities since their arrival; his presence down on the beach itself was an anomaly. He usually spent the hottest part of the day holed up inside with a book, venturing out only after the sun had begun to set and the temperature dropped a bit.

Draco had been about to politely decline, but one look at Potter's face had him changing his mind. The other man was clearly expecting him to say no, which was a fabulous reason to say yes.

"Why not?" he said, smirking when the other man's eyes widened in surprise. "Do we go like this?"

He motioned toward his clothes, which had been appropriated from Harry's closet. They'd divided them up the second day, and Draco had applied the necessary charms to tailor them to fit himself, since he was a bit taller and less broad than Harry.

Harry bit his lip, barely holding back a resigned sigh. They'd gotten into this mess because he'd gotten a jolt out of watching Malfoy roll up his sleeves, and now he'd suggested an activity that would have him shedding considerably more clothing. Perfect.

"Can you Transfigure your boxers into swim trunks?" Harry asked, pulling his shirt up over his head and dropping it on the sand. He shucked his trousers as well, leaving him standing on the shore in nothing more than a pair of boxer-briefs that left little to the imagination.

Draco stood dumbly, watching Harry undress. He nearly missed the spell the other man used to Transfigure his pants into swim trunks, since he'd been so fixated on Harry's smooth expanse of tanned chest and beautifully sculpted abs. The Auror business was definitely a good one for keeping fit, he decided, willing the beginnings of an erection away as he focused on undressing himself and Transfiguring his own pair of boxer-briefs into suitable swimwear.

"Race you down to the boathouse!" Potter called out from several meters down the sand, already running toward the whitewashed structure.

"Cheater!" Draco yelled, making sure the tie on his swim trunks was secure before tearing off after him, laughing despite himself.

***

The house was quiet except for the whir of the ceiling fan above him. Draco crossed his hands behind his head, watching the blades rotate as he tried to will himself to sleep. He was exhausted from spending the afternoon swimming and running about with Potter, but it had been a surprising amount of fun. It had only taken him a few tries to get the hang of the jet ski, and as soon as he had the two of them had raced around the island, trying to knock each other off the machines and into the surf.

He sighed, stretching restlessly. He'd been so caught up in playing around with Potter that he'd forgotten to renew his Sunblock Charm, and his back and shoulders had gotten a bit burnt as a result. He'd been too uncomfortable to bother with pajamas, so he'd settled for sliding into bed in just his boxers.

Christ, his boxers. Draco tried to steer his thoughts away from the soft boxer-briefs he was wearing, but his mind was uncooperative. Seeing Potter similarly attired on the beach that afternoon had tested his willpower, though he was grateful he hadn't embarrassed himself by getting an unwanted erection at the sight. But merciful Merlin, Potter had looked good nearly naked. The boxer-briefs had clung to every bit of him, and Draco felt his own cock stir at the memory of seeing the outline of Potter's.

His hand trembled slightly as his fingers swept over the form-fitting material of his own pants, the unfamiliar feel of them a reminder that nothing he had here on the island was truly his. He'd never worn boxer-briefs before, and they were certainly different than the loose silk boxers he preferred. He was suddenly hyper-aware of the hug of the snug cotton against his balls, the knowledge that these were Potter's pants sending a rush of blood to his cock. It was utterly ridiculous, of course, but once the thought had taken root he couldn't banish it from his mind.

Draco cast a wary glance down the corridor. He'd won the battle to sleep on the sofa, though that wasn't something he ever thought he'd be proud of saying. Still, this was Potter's holiday – he deserved to have a place to relax and be by himself in, and the only logical place was the cottage's only bedroom. Draco was kicking himself for his insistence now, though, as his throbbing cock demanded attention. Bloody Potter had his own room and could wank whenever he wanted –

Draco hissed out a breath, his eyes closing at the thought of Potter behind the door at the end of the corridor, heavy cock in hand as he stroked himself. He'd glimpsed Potter in the Quidditch showers when they were teenagers, of course. He knew the man had nothing to be ashamed of, at least not from the quick glances he'd gotten of him. It had been just one more thing to be jealous of when they'd been in school – though Draco's own cock was more than respectable. Still, he'd seen Potter's endowment as another illustration of how Perfect Potter had everything handed to him.

He bit his lip, giving in to temptation and letting his fingers ghost over his cotton-clad erection. Perfect Potter. He laughed softly, wondering how he'd ever been so stupid. He'd idolized his father and swallowed everything the man told him without question. Draco clenched his teeth, driving thoughts of his adolescent mistakes out of his mind. He'd likely spend the rest of his life atoning for what he'd done, but he was determined to do it.

His maudlin thoughts hadn't affected his erection, which was still begging for attention. Draco sighed, easing up onto his elbows to get a proper look down the corridor. The sofa he'd Transfigured into a bed was smack in the middle of the sitting room, which opened onto the kitchen and the corridor to Potter's room. The door was firmly closed, though, and he couldn't see so much as a sliver of light underneath it. He considered casting a Silencing Charm around the bed, but then he wouldn't be able to hear if Potter got up and wandered down the corridor – he'd just have to be quiet.

He clenched his jaw, rolling his eyes at his own idiocy. He hadn't had to worry about anyone overhearing him wank in years, not since his days in the Slytherin dorms. He started to peel the boxer-briefs down, hesitating before they slipped past the head of his cock. There was no point in pretending he wasn't going to think about Potter as he wanked, so why not go all out? In for a Knut, in for a Galleon, he figured. Instead of taking them off, he ran his hands over the fabric, rubbing himself through the soft cotton. Wearing a pair of Potter's pants as he wanked was as close to getting off with Potter as he was likely to get, so he might as well take advantage of it.

Draco bit back a moan, wrapping his fingers around his boxer-clad cock as he stroked. The material slid up and down his shaft, pulling tight against his balls as it moved. He could hear his harsh breathing, noticeable even over the whir of the fan. His eyes blinked open, staring into the darkness as though he expected Potter to burst into the room at any time. The added thrill of the very real possibility of getting caught by the man he was fantasizing about was enough to send him over the edge, and Draco bit his lip hard, holding back his groans as he came for what felt like an eternity.

He fell back onto the pillows, trying hard to regulate his panting breaths into something quieter. The boxer-briefs were sticky with cooling come, and Draco grimaced as he rolled over to reach for his wand. He spelled them clean, wondering if it had been a bad idea to indulge himself. After all, he had more than three more weeks here on the island with Potter. He fervently hoped he'd be able to put what he'd just done out of his mind, lest he spend those three weeks walking around with a perpetual hard-on because of the pants he was wearing. Perhaps he'd just have to start going without.