4. Malfoys are Always in Control
"You can, you know, if you want."
Draco almost couldn't believe that the words had left his own mouth. As his voice seemed to echo all around the quiet bedroom, he looked up into Potter's bright green eyes, which were currently wide open in surprise.
"Yeah?" Potter asked in barely more than a whisper, sounding more uncertain than Draco.
Draco nodded slowly and lay back into the black satin pillows and sheets on his bed; sheets and pillows that Potter had taken to mocking him about relentlessly.
He would have stared into those green eyes for a few moments longer, but he was somewhat distracted by the fact that Potter was completely naked, with only a few stray strands of hair partially covering his face, and a few trickles of sweat running slowly down his body.
Potter stayed still, his lips a few inches away from Draco's, clearly aroused by apparently reluctant to make the next move.
"Get on with it, Potter," Draco sighed, although his sigh sounded suspiciously like a moan.
Potter still looked slightly doubtful, and Draco wasn't really surprised by his hesitation.
After all, Draco's willingness to let Potter grab hold of him and kiss him passionately and back him towards the bed earlier in the evening, when he had been caught up in the enthusiasm of seeing Potter again after being apart from him for a few days, and the desire to let go and let somebody else take charge for once after an immensely stressful week, along with his sudden willingness to let Potter be on top this time, was in stark contrast to Draco's behaviour over the past few months, ever since their first kiss in Hogsmeade.
Since that night, Draco had kept to his story of being more experienced than Potter when it came to men and experiments, and he had tried his best to set himself very strict rules, ensuring that he was always the one to initiate the kisses, the one to decide when things were going to go further than passionate kisses outside the pubs in Hogsmeade, the one to invite Potter back to his flat after they went for drinks together, the one to back Potter slowly towards his bed, the one to gently push him down and get Potter out of his robes as quickly as possible. The one who always had to be in control.
Now, it was Potter who was on the bed above him, Potter who was muttering protection and lubrication charms, Potter who was lifting Draco's hips, aligning their bodies, Potter who was setting the pace, Potter who was holding Draco's hand tightly in his as though to steady himself, Potter who was kissing Draco with increased urgency as they both picked up the pace and Draco tried his best to pretend that he wasn't enjoying himself so much.
Still, Draco reasoned with himself as Potter bit down gently on a particularly sensitive spot on his neck, it wasn't as though he had lost control; it wasn't as though he was breaking yet another rule.
It didn't matter that Potter was on top, it wouldn't matter if this was how it was next time, or the time after that, and it definitely didn't matter that Potter was starting to arrange their meetings in Hogmeade and starting to show up at Draco's flat late at night because he 'just wanted to see him', or that their drinks in Hogsmeade and their deep and meaningful conversations were becoming ever more frequent, because he could still tell Potter what to do, he could still roll his eyes and snap at him to go faster, he could still grab hold of Potter's hips or wrap his legs even tighter around Potter's in encouragement and to guide him, and he could still throw in the occasional sarcastic comment or insult. He could also reassure himself that this was still all some kind of extended experiment, and that he was merely benefiting from Potter's wish to experiment with men by getting his own pleasure out the situation. He could still tell himself that it would be easier in the long run to give all of this up, if he made sure that he stayed in firm control of the situation and kept all of his thoughts a secret from Potter. Draco could still ask Potter to leave his flat, as soon as this was over. He still cared a lot less about all of this than Potter. He could still end this whenever he wanted.
With one final thrust, Potter had Draco crying out in pleasure. He stayed there on top of Draco, staring into his eyes, for what seemed to Draco like an unnaturally lengthy amount of time, before he eventually rolled off him and lay by his side, still keeping the usual distance between the two of them on the bed, as though they had both reached an unspoken agreement to do so. Draco already knew that Potter wouldn't stay there for long.
He noticed that Potter was looking at him with an expression of obvious concern, like he was silently asking him if he was okay. Unwilling to pander to such Hufflepuff-like behaviour, Draco refused to turn his head to the side to look at Potter. Instead, he stared up at the ceiling, trying to slow his breathing and secretly wishing that he hadn't cried out so loudly or gripped Potter's hand so tightly, and hoping more than believing that he hadn't shouted out Potter's first name a few too many times when he had been on the brink of orgasm.
As he lay there deep in thought, lulled into a sense of relaxation by the sound of Potter's heavy breathing next to him, Draco started to suspect that his obsession with staying in control of their 'experiment' had a lot less to do with keeping it a secret than it did with trying to soften the blow if Potter suddenly decided to end it all. Draco didn't like that thought at all, so he distracted himself by focusing his energy on planning for next time. Maybe next time they could involve some sort of bondage, so that there would be less touching and hand-holding…
Draco's thoughts were interrupted when Potter abruptly sat up and reached for his robes and his glasses, which he had thrown on the floor a while ago, somewhere near the bed. This was another unspoken agreement between the two of them, that Potter would always leave at the end, or that Draco would make excuses about needing to sleep or having to get up early for work, and it never took Potter very long to get up and put his robes back on.
All of a sudden, Draco felt an irrational fear that Potter would leave the flat and go out there into the night and find somebody else to share drinks and conversations and arguments with. Then came the twist of jealousy, and the rush of panic, and the overwhelming urge to keep him here, somewhere close by, so that he could relax again as he listened to the sound of Potter's breathing, so that Potter wouldn't leave, so that Potter wouldn't decide to end whatever it was that they had.
Before he could think about what he was doing, Draco reached up and grabbed hold of Potter's arm. "You might as well stay," he drawled, trying to sound as casual as possible and trying to ignore Potter's raised eyebrows and confused expression. "After all, I might want to make use of you again before the morning." Somehow, the last part of his comment hadn't quite sounded as casual or as insulting or as sarcastic as he had intended.
Potter rolled his eyes. "You're impossible sometimes, Malfoy," he sighed, but to Draco's surprise, he took off his glasses, threw his robes back on to the floor and lay back down, his eyes already half-closed in apparent exhaustion.
Draco closed his eyes, trying and failing to fight off a smirk as he felt a flickering sense of triumph at having succeeded in keeping Potter all to himself for a while longer, or for a little bit longer, at least.
It didn't take long, however, before he stopped smirking and he felt his eyes widen in shock and panic.
And that was the moment Draco realised that he had really lost control.
