Hello all, I am very sorry for the huge delay in updating. I am supposed to be writing a thesis right now, have severe writer's block with it and am totally stressed out. There are probably 2 more chapters after this one but honestly I haven't started them yet - sorry, must try harder! I would love reviews - they will give me a proactive boost, which I definitely need!
PART SEVEN
The afternoon was gradually progressing into dusk. The weak, sleepy November sun had been playing hide and seek with the clouds over the pitch all day, and the light was gradually fading, phasing in the floodlights that had flickered into life almost an hour ago. Draco leant against the pale wooden frame of his office window, a cup of green tea lukewarm between his hands. As he watched, the two men on the pitch brought their brooms into near-identical dives, saving themselves the pain of impact at the crucial last moment, spiralling away from the frozen ground with twin whoops of adrenaline. A tiny furrow appeared between the blonde's eyebrows. This was the third time that week he had stood watching Harry and Rhys practice together. It was a very recent development, and one that had his stomach knotted.
He caught a sight of his own barely visible reflection in the windowpane. It was difficult not to notice certain similarities between the blond on the pitch and himself at that age. Yes, the reserve Seeker's hair was a good shade brassier than his, and his physique boasted the all-over bulk of a professional sportsman, but the blue, arresting eyes were almost uncanny and despite the muscles his toned body was not so dissimilar from Draco's in youth. He inhaled almost unconsciously as Harry's arms shot out to support the young man as they tested his balance and reach. He wanted to shut his eyes, draw away from the scene he was torturing himself with, but it was too compelling.
They had loved to fly together after Harry's real practice sessions had ended for the day, just the two of them and the open sky. Draco smiled nostalgically. Although admittedly nowhere near as skilful as his lover on a broom, Draco had adored quidditch as a boy – the thrill and noise and unpredictability of it – and he still felt that abandon in the air. But it was quite rare, now, for him to fly for enjoyment's sake, he realised. Gradually his job had gifted him with increasing responsibilities. Nowadays he was more likely to practice with Teddy on school holidays, than with Harry for fun.
The airborne pair were floating toward the dressing room doors now, brooms pressed together as they drifted, deep in conversation punctuated with laughter. Harry's head tipped back in amusement, exposing the strong column of his neck. Draco ducked out of sight and strode out of his door, intercepting them near the showers.
"How was your practice?" he heard himself enquire, tone unreadable.
Rhys flashed him an easy grin. "Exhilarating." He pulled his training short over his head, chucking it in the direction of his hook, all rippling, peachy skin and tight muscles. He headed into the showers, oblivious to the clenching of Draco's jaw.
"Hey," Harry's arms when round his waist. Draco could feel the heat of his body through the back of his shirt, felt the brunet shift the hairs at the back of his neck with the tip of his nose, before pressing a kiss there – rendering him instantly weak behind the knees. For a moment he gripped the brunette's forearms, head tilted onto his shoulder. Harry nipped him playfully. "Fancy soaping down with me?"
He stiffened. "Not now." Rhys was in there, all lithe and limber and …luscious! Draco shifted out of Harry's grasp. "It's been a long day."
"Well I'm sweaty," Harry returned, a moment's hesitation belying his confusion. He dithered for a second. "Let's go home and wind down, yeah?"
Draco sighed, relieved. "We can open some of that red."
888
Harry stretched a leg out further, trying not to jostle Draco who was snoozing on his chest. Carefully, he slid his quarter-full glass of wine onto the coffee table, thinking back over his practice session with Rhys that afternoon. He was surprising himself with how much he was enjoying mentoring his potential future replacement. The only way to ready himself emotionally for his impending retirement was to acknowledge the other player as his natural successor, and to work hard to leave behind a lasting legacy. Not to mention, he quite liked Rhys. He had quickly come to realise the vulnerability of the young man, his greenness with the media, and his mixed emotions of pride and embarrassment at the antics of his fans – not unlike Harry himself when he had entered the league.
The last embers of the log fire in the grate sputtered a little, prompting him to carefully levitate a few more bits of wood from the pile in their big willow basket. The light flared again slightly as the bark caught, then calmed down again. The soft warmth spread over his face and arms, painting Draco's hair a shimmering gold. That simple enhancement alone had him gradually becoming aroused, uncertain as to whether he could ask Draco for what he wanted. The strange brush-off by the showers that afternoon played on his mind again, after being shunted to one side while they ate, talked, and generally went about their evening as they usually did after a long day. He pressed his face into the blonde's neck, inhaling the familiar scent: cologne, massage oil and his own smell – something indefinably Draco. Before he knew it he was kissing that neck, that soft temple, and lightly lined forehead, followed by the pale mouth, lips lightly parted in sleep.
"Harry."
He kissed him again. Blue eyes opened, unfocussed and dream-muddled. A small dimple appeared in the left corner of his mouth, chin tilting up slightly, seeking Harry's mouth again, which he gladly gave him. Their movements were sloppy, familiar and borne of years' worth of practice. Draco's socked foot pushed up the bottom of Harry's jean leg, angora on skin a juxtaposition of softy-soft and slightly-scratchy. His eyes shut again, one hand lazily carding the black locks at his lover's nape, and Rhys and any other man was forgotten.
Harry drew his attention slowly down the column of the blonde's neck, paying special attention to the erogenous zone behind his ear, hands on the buttons near the hem of his shirt, and the drawstring on the soft pyjama bottoms he'd slung on after work. A few kisses on his stomach was the only sore moment, Draco's muscles tenser than a tiebreaker score for just a moment, before Harry moved his attention on to giving him as much pleasure as possible. He raised his gaze to the blonde's eyes, painted dark and inky with desire, the flicker in them as he teetered on the edge, fingers clenching and unclenching in Harry's hair and on his shoulder.
There were many things he had discovered over the years he liked to do to Draco, what he liked to try to make him feel, what he himself personally enjoyed doing, and one of them was oral sex, which was something he had had serious doubts about with the various short-lived boyfriends he'd enjoyed before Draco had happened. It wasn't so much the taste of Draco, although that was nothing unpleasant, or the feeling of power, the blonde's release at his mercy, because ultimately Harry had found that he wasn't so much into power games in bed, although they did indulge now and then. It was more the emotions he was able to read flickering over the blonde's face in moments of exquisite vulnerability like this: emotions of love, and self-worth and deserving. Like right now, looking straight through those inky eyes and into his soul, the wonderment that someone could want to bring him pleasure like this, coupled with the underlying uncertainty of his own deserving. And it was Harry's job to wipe away that moment of doubt. Moments like this: it wasn't just a blowjob, not then; how could something so revealing be so crassly explained away?
He pulled back and worried the tip of the blonde's arousal with the underside of his bottom lip, flicking his tongue over and over, waiting for that high, desperate keening sigh, the wordless plea, the indicator that it was time to finish the job and accept his lover's release, hands gripping and caressing the underside of his flushed thighs.
Draco arched and spilled over and over, wide awake and gasping. His lips parted under Harry's again, his muscles both liquid and greedy, hands desperate for the warm skin of the Seeker's back, a ragged laugh drawn from the depths of his breathless lungs. They separated briefly, the tatty t-shirt Harry had thrown on after his shower ending up under the coffee table. It was Draco's favourite thing, to run the pads of his fingers, the palms of his hands, all the way over Harry's torso and back again, and then again, until every inch had been touched. It was something he never got tired of. The brunet gave him a lopsided smile, half teeth and half shy acceptance of his desire for him. That particular expression always reminded Draco of the boy-Harry, the bane of his Hogwarts days, of the later Harry in his mid-twenties, asking him to adopt Teddy with him, and the recent Harry in his quidditch uniform, looking back at him over his shoulder after winning the World Championship Cup, checking that he'd been watching him. All of those Harrys rolled into that one smile; the one Draco liked to think of as his.
A small glance passed between them, a swift communication, then Draco was apparating them away to their large bed, one hand reaching out to the bedside drawer even as the rest of them was materialising; groping for oil and balm. He kicked Harry deftly onto his front, the action playful and demanding. Unscrewing the lid on the pot of balm he smoothed his fingers into the creamy substance before rubbing his palms together. Harry groaned, pinned with his own arousal trapped beneath him, but equally as impatient to feel Draco's hands on him. Thumbs and then the heel of those talented hands mashed firmly against his lower back, eliciting a deep groan of satisfaction. Greg was a good masseuse, but there was nothing like Draco's hands on him: Draco's hands were paradise.
"Three days, one match, before we break for Christmas," Draco reminded him, running his hands forward up between Harry's shoulder blades, scooting forward to straddle his bottom. "All that time to spend in bed."
"We should probably pay a bit of attention to Ted," Harry said, rolling his shoulders into the strong press of fingers, and cushioning his head of his arms.
"Can we talk about that when I'm not grinding a hard-on into your back?"
Harry laughed: "Is that was that is? I thought it was a special massage trick."
"It is: The Potter Special," Draco replied, moving backward, peeling away Harry's tracksuit bottoms to reveal the curve of his arse. He kneaded the soft cheeks for a moment, before biting one – a little harder than intended.
"Ow! I still have to train tomorrow, you arse!"
"Oh no, your arse," Draco smirked, upending the oil over the Seeker's buttocks. Harry shivered and looked round at him. Their eyes met, one of Draco's hands braced on the brunette's hip as the other worked with slow movements. "This okay?"
Harry nodded; head tipped forward, one eye still on his lover. A tap on his thigh prompted him to kneel up, arranging his cheek on the pillow.
"Want me to find a condom?"
"If you don't mind showering after, no."
Their movements became slower, less hurried, Draco's hands still smoothing over the muscles of Harry's strong back and shoulders, turning him over onto his back halfway through, the built thighs around his waist. The small height difference always worked in their favour like this, enabling him to lean right over Harry without having to contort into awkward angles. They fit, Draco thought, they fit.
888
POTTER AND MALFOY REUNITE!
TENTATIVE TRUCE OR ULTIMATUM?
Exclusive Report by Rita Skeeter
They never fail to keep us guessing, on the pitch and off it. Potter and Malfoy, the romantic power couple of our time, have reunited after a three-month cooling period, instigated by Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, the esteemed sports healer and exclusive physiotherapist to the Brinsbourne Beaters, of which Potter still maintains starter Seeker position (despite a lessened track record – for more information see statistics at the back of this publication), called the halt on their relationship after Potter's scandalous affairs with fellow quidditch players during away-training. Potter's ego, blown out of all proportion at the tender age of seventeen following the demise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, is no doubt given a short rein by the possessive blond, whose strict family background curtailed extravagant displays of arrogance in public. (For a full depiction of the Malfoy family tree, including profiles of Malfoy's parents, deceased, go to page twelve.)
Malfoy fled the family home in South Kensington following Potter's well-publicised indiscretion with Alexander Cutteridge, the support Seeker for the Tornadoes. A man significantly younger than Potter, this reporter can now reveal that Cutteridge's proclivity for his fellow players may not be restricted to Potter. This Prophet is currently awaiting confirmation from sources close to Cutteridge regarding several counts of infidelity against his former lovers. This reporter has the feeling we will see more of Cutteridge's exploits in the near future.
As for Potter, fans of the star Seeker will be gratified to learn that following a stern ultimatum from Malfoy, reportedly the threat of withdrawal of Potter's parental rights to their adopted son Theodore Lupin, Potter has taken clear actions to turn this turbulent relationship around, including a strict ban on contact with attractive younger players. This reporter is happy to divulge to her readers information from her reliable sources that Malfoy has now returned to their family home, and…
Draco gazed blankly out of his office window, face angled toward the duo outlined against the otherwise deserted pitch, the current copy of the Daily Prophet he'd been reading through grasped loosely in his hand. Harry and Rhys, out there again. He swallowed, trying not to panic. He could not quite convince himself that nothing was between the two. When he had arrived at work that morning, his breath standing out before him in the frozen air, it was to find the two of them deep in conversation as they braced on the press-up benches. He twisted away from the window quickly and was confronted by the plate of sandwiches sitting under a stasis charm on his desk. He had tried to eat one but it had made him sick, and it had taken supreme effort not to throw them straight in the bin. He felt lightheaded as he scrambled for the door, moving as though a hundred other people were restricting his path.
By the mouth of the corridor to the team dressing room, his Firebolt 360 was sitting in the wall-bracket with Greg's and the spare ones belonging to the trainers. Usually he didn't have much call for it, except during a dire emergency on the pitch, but he found it in his hand as he made it out of the doors, kicking into the air without even thinking about it. The air was fresh and exhilarating whilst at the same time shockingly chilling. Harry noticed him immediately, and Draco's heart, ribs and really his entire chest lifted at the sight of his lover's open grin.
"Hey!" He shouted over the wind, swooping nearer. Rhys was hovering just inside his peripheral vision, but he couldn't tell what his expression was.
"Hey baby," Harry continued to grin, pulling his broom alongside, their thighs touching – the only warmth in the cold sky. "This is a surprise. Want to practice with us?"
Us. Draco recoiled slightly, but managed to keep his broom steady. "What – what are you working on?"
"Just going over the feints for tomorrow." Right, tomorrow. The match. Draco felt stupid.
In the end, he hovered around the pitch, watching the two Seekers feinting, and doing a few loops to keep himself warm. Rhys broke off first, and Harry circled Draco's broom a couple of times, a soft smile on his lips.
"What?"
"Nothing. Just love flying with you. Shall we go down?"
They drifted slowly. This time, Harry didn't ask him to soap down, making straight for the blonde's office instead. Draco followed pensively, hanging up his broom and letting the warmth of the corridor wash over him. Unfortunately, he was so busy thinking about flying that he walked directly into Harry's back. The sandwiches were still on the table. They looked at them for a few moments.
Harry felt back behind him and caught his fingers in his. "Do you need to talk about something?"
"I just wasn't very hungry. I didn't throw them away."
"Come on." They sat on the massage bench, hands linked.
Draco took a deep breath. "Would you – Rhys. Tell me about Rhys."
Harry's hand went rigid in his grasp. "Are you asking me if I'm having an affair with him?" Draco didn't reply, the answer implicit in the silence. "He's a kid. He's only four years older than Ted."
"I know it's stupid."
Harry sighed explosively, turning to face him. "Not stupid, given – you know. But unfounded. I like mentoring him. That's all. He's just discovering himself as a gay athlete, he's just starting the whole crazy period with the press…it's like … he's me, you know? Me at the start. I'm going to retire, and I want him to take my place. He deserves it."
Draco gave him a pensive look.
"What?"
"You're more …ready, to retire."
"I want more time with you and Teddy." He did not need to add, 'and any other children,' but the thought was implicit.
Draco exhaled slowly, the tension leaving him finally. He manoeuvred them to lie on the narrow padded bench, his back resting against Harry's abdomen. "Hmm," Harry's cheek brushed against his temple, once, twice, nuzzling him. He still tried to keep his hair as soft as possible. They lay for long moments, Harry's arms around him, their fingers entwined. "Are you fit for tomorrow?"
"You tell me."
"You'll do." He reached back, massaging lightly, listening to Harry's breathing hitch.
"Draco."
"Why not?"
"You hate having sex in the office," Harry reminded him.
Draco pushed himself up on an elbow and twisted to straddle him. Harry's neck and cheeks were flushed with interest. "Everyone's gone." He dipped his head to him, and they kissed deeply for long moments, lips disconnecting in regular motions to allow for breaths. Caresses of long companionship and love. One of Harry's thighs was crooked to help support him as he undulated forward on his lap, eliciting a quiet groan of approval. He pushed the hem of Harry's training shirt up, pushing his fingers strongly against his stomach muscles and up to his nipples, before manhandling the garment off him and letting it fall over the back of the bench. Harry's hands went into his hair and around the base of his neck, one thumb stroking over the bump of his Adam's apple; he moaned, sucking his tongue into his mouth and sharing their tastes. A faint rasp of stubble tickled his chin and he whimpered, helpless despite his position of control, his hands braced on the Seeker's biceps. One of Harry's hands came down to knead the globes of his bottom, and despite himself he had a fleeting wish that he'd eaten the sandwiches to give him a little more to grab hold of.
On a whim he summoned one over, chewing it while Harry laid there under him, bemused – some crumbs fell on his chest. He raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm hungry," Draco stated.
"Yeah," Harry said, running his hands over the blonde's thighs and up the back of his healer's tunic, "but I was under the impression it was for me."
Draco smirked. "Need energy for what I plan to do to you." Just to taunt him, he summoned the next triangle, a sliver of cucumber flopping onto the floor by his desk. He chewed the last mouthful thoroughly, his hands already stroking the brunette's nipples with the backs of his knuckles, watching them peak gently.
"Fuck!" Draco whipped round, nearly falling off the bench – Harry's seeker-fast hands shot out to steady him. "Sorry."
Shit, they'd forgotten Rhys. The young man was in the doorway, back quickly turned to them. "Sorry," he said again. He sounded rather shocked. "I'll just-"
"Rhys," Draco stilled him. He looked down at Harry, sharing a humorous expression between them. They carefully disentangled and got down from the bench, Harry reaching for his shirt, and Draco for the errant cucumber slice. "Sorry, you can come in. We don't usually – I mean, I don't want you to think that's what we do in here."
Rhys turned his head carefully, half looking at them. "I didn't mean to."
"It's fine," Harry said, taking a seat in the desk chair, his clothing safely righted. "We forgot you were still here."
"How's your shoulder?" Draco queried, casually flicking his wand at the blue cover on the massage bench and exchanging it for a fresh one. He turned round. The younger man was still lingering in the doorway. "For Merlin's sake Rhys, come in."
He shuffled forward, casting an uncertain look between them, still embarrassed. "I thought it was okay when we were flying but just now in the shower it was like I pulled it again. All I did was reach up for my towel."
"Alright, let's have a look. Harry," he turned, remembering that ostensibly an examination should be private, "meet you at home?" He gave him an apologetic look, knowing that he would get the message.
"Shall I start dinner?" The brunette's gaze strayed to the unfinished sandwiches, despite himself.
Draco met him by the corner of the desk. "Make a reservation, yeah? We'll eat out – big game tomorrow." He kissed him chastely on the cheek, and watched him apparate out before turning back to the younger blond. "Okay, let's have a look. Circe's tits I'm not going to molest you!"
Rhys laughed and carefully pushed his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders. "Teach me to knock."
"We really don't usually indulge at work."
"I'm not going to run off and tell anyone."
Draco inspected the shoulder area carefully, casting a diagnostic charm. They had been having issues with it for two weeks now. "Things have been a bit odd between us recently," he offered, feeling that he should give some kind of explanation. "Okay, brace on the wall bar. Has someone twisted your arm? Maybe in training this morning? You can play if you need to tomorrow, but your reach is off."
"I may have been with Nick last night."
"Watch out, that's your opponent tomorrow."
"I know." Rhys gritted his teeth as Draco pummelled the muscle group into submission before massaging a warming gel into the skin. "Do you think that's a problem? I mean, could be a problem – like, if I made it publically known."
Draco met his eyes in the mirror, looking for a trick. But the boy seemed to genuinely want his advice. Maybe Harry was mentoring him after all. "Only if you let it. Skeeter will probably try to make things difficult for you." He leaned on the wall bar, hip resting, looking at the other man properly for the first time as a boy rather than a patient or a rival for Harry's affections.
"She has a way of manipulating the other reporters," he continued, "making them think they're going after a story that already exists, rather than a fabrication of hers. You'll go through it too, but hopefully to a lesser degree. When we were first living together, we were a bit older than you. So-called 'journalists' would go through our muggle rubbish bins looking for things they could make stories out of, they even did an 'exposé' on our diets once. We quickly learned to simply burn sensitive material. When we adopted Teddy our lawyers drew up rules prohibiting pictures of him, but there were some who managed to get round it despite the stern penalties. If you can cope with all of that, you'll do fine. You've already come out, that's a huge hurdle in this business. When Harry did it was the scandal of the year, if not the next five years."
"I remember."
"Yeah," Draco twisted the cap of the healing balm on and off, wistfully. "but it was so worth it in the end. And you know, he's him, 'Harry Potter,' and I'm me, 'reformed Death Eater,' - that's what the papers liked to call me at that time; you don't have to cope with any of that stuff. Do you want to go public with Nick?"
"I'm not sure; I've only been seeing him for just over a month. But, I don't want to hide it."
Draco placed a friendly hand on the healing shoulder. "Look after your arm tonight. I need to get home before Harry dozes off. We can have another session before the match."
"Okay."
"And Rhys – you're ready for this, alright?"
"Right, thanks Draco."
Please review, it's lovely of you! skinnyrita xxx
