Hey guys! If you read the teaser, here's the awaited chapter! I really am sorry it's taking me so long to write everything, I am soooo slow. Anyways enjoy!

Draco was warm. Too warm really. It felt like he was wrapped in a dozen blankets, all of them charmed with warmth spells. Draco tugged his eyes open, blinking slowly, his surroundings coming into focus around him. He saw unfamiliar red sheets and a black dresser, the sunlight coming in from a high window highlight dust motes in the air. Where the fuck am I? he thought vacantly, staring uncomprehendingly at the room that was most certainly not his own lavender and white themed master suite with heated floors and artfully arranged decor. He attempted to fling the covers back to relieve himself of the stifling heat, but found his movements obstructed by a heavy, tanned arm.

Ohhhhhh fuck.

Everything came rushing back all at once; the lust, the slapping, the fucking, the begging…oh god the begging. Draco's face warmed with mortification; he had told his mystery man he never bottomed, and there he was, begging for it up the ass like some common prostitute. And his mystery man had complied…oh merlin had he complied. Draco's face was still warm as he stared vacantly at the white washed ceiling, but it wasn't from embarrassment as a zing of electricity shot through his body at the memory of James's cock buried in him to the hilt…

Wait. The white ceiling... Holy fuck.

It hit Draco like a bowling ball from the sky; the blindfold spell was gone. It must have worn off sometime in the night, and although he wasn't sure that was really supposed to happen, it meant that…

He could see.

And if he could see, he could also see the owner of the arm who happened to be suffocating him with his insane body heat. He could see James!

Draco stared down at the tanned arm wrapped loosely around his waist. He followed its muscular contours with his eyes, noting the scattering of pale white scars marring the olive skin underneath a fine layer of dark hair. The hand was large and powerful, flexing and twitching in the man's sleep, with obvious wand calluses and yet more scars. These were a working man's hands, unlike his own. Although he was no longer the coddled child he had once been, he was still a pureblood and therefore took his skin care very seriously. This rendered his hands soft as though he had never done a day's work, a quality still striven for among the pureblood society. So, not that it mattered, he told himself, did this mean that his mystery man was a halfblood? Or even a muggleborn? He reached up slowly, careful not to wake James, and softly swept the tips of his fingers down James's hand, feeling the coarse calluses beneath his fingertips. Feeling strangely self-conscious, he gently laced his fingers with the other man's. Their fingers molded together, olive against pale, a distinct contrast and yet oddly perfect.

Draco's heart was fluttering, little bird wings fluttering erratically, and he had an odd feeling in his chest; sort of tight and constricted. He slowly moved his eyes up the elbow to the muscular shoulder, inch by painfully long inch. He paused as he saw a flash of unruly black hair over the curve of the shoulder. There was no longer a sparrow taking residence in his chest; it had become a full fledged rhino, banging painfully against his ribs. He had no idea why; he ought to be excited to see James, to know the face of the man whom he had fucked and who had now fucked him. And yet, his heart continued to race and his palms to sweat. He swallowed convulsively, flopping his head onto the pillow to stare at the ceiling. He could feel the man's naked body against his back, could feel the contours of muscle and the tickle of his breath in heated puffs against Draco's neck. All he needed to do was turn around…Ah fuck it, he thought with certainty and carefully hoisted the dead weight of the man's arm up so he could turn over. Readjusted on his other side, Draco carefully repositioned the limb over him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them.

Holy merlin….

He found himself face to face with a wet dream. His mystery man was gorgeous.
Absolutely, positively, drop-dead gorgeous. Draco hungrily followed the strong curve of his jaw, covered in designer stubble, to his deep red lips, slightly pouted open in sleep, past the aquiline length of his nose to a strong brow and inky black hair falling in unruly, just-fucked waves over his forehead, devouring him with his eyes. His closed eyes were framed with long lashes that curled against high but strong cheekbones. His eyes were wide as a trembling hand reached up, seemingly of its own accord, to stroke James's cheek, the stubble deliciously rough against the back of his hand. "You are fucking gorgeous," he whispered to the sleeping man. Draco imagined he saw a gentle smile curve across his lips. Suddenly the man's breath caught, and his arm tightened briefly around Draco. James's stretched lithely and fell back against the pillow, his face inches from Draco's.

"Good morning," he murmured, smiling languidly, though his eyes were still closed, the effort of opening them obviously entirely too much for seconds after awakening. Draco smiled shakily and did what any other man in a situation like that would do; he panicked.

He sprang out of bed, gasping as the cool air hit his superheated skin. He heard a blurry exclamation from the bed, but didn't pause to hear what it was. "Sorry, got to run, I slept in way longer than I meant to, I've got work to get to, you know, I've got a business to run, potions and ingredients to sell," he babbled breathlessly, quickly pulling on clothes from the discarded piles on the floor.

"Are you alright?" James's asked from the bed, sounding concerned. "You sound a bit….frenzied. Oh fuck, did I go too far last night? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," the other man sounded worried, his normally velvety baritone a bit froggy with sleep. Fuck, shut up, Draco told his brain firmly as he slid his arms through his shirt, buttoning it with shaking fingers.

"Oh no, of course not, I just, you know, work and I'm late and fuck, I'll owl you later, alright?" He said, sounding a bit crazed even to his own ears. He ran around the small room, grabbing his wand and his jacket, trying, not particularly successfully, not to bump into things as he ran for the third time into the damn desk with an assortment of colorful curses. Why the fuck did they need a desk in a fucking sex room anyway? If people wanted office fantasies they could transfigure a damn desk, and if they positively needed it, then they could at least hide it in the abyss of The Closet where he would never slam his goddamn shin into it again.

"Scorpius, are you sure you're – " James began, but Draco cut him off with a hasty "I'll owl you, I promise," and ran out of the room, snapping the door shut behind him. As soon as he was out of the door, he tugged his fingers roughly through his hair in exasperation. What the fuck was that?! He yelled mentally at himself. You just realized you've been fucking the hottest guy you've ever seen in your entire life and you panic for no reason and run out of there like a bat out of the fucking forbidden forest. You must have been dropped on your head as a child, he berated himself as he hurried through the convoluted halls that constituted the sex bar. However, casting a quick tempus charm, he quickened his pace when he realized that he hadn't exactly been lying when he said he was running late. Wait, why was he walking again? He groaned. That man's model looks were clearly still scrambling his brain; he hadn't shown this much groan-worthy idiocy in a few years. It was either that or blame the nargles, and he'd already sounded insane enough this morning for a few weeks thank-you-very-much. Growling at his untied shoe, he apparated with a faint pop.

Harry was confused. Harry was extraordinarily confused. Ever since Scorpius's dramatic and sudden exit that morning had left him confused as hell in an empty room, he had been chasing his thoughts in circles trying to understand why the man had left so quickly and so…oddly. However, seeing as his most viable explanation was that Scorpius had awoken suddenly to find that he had grown a large, flamboyantly rainbow tail and was so mortified that he felt his only option was to flee, the only thing his mental chasing had led to was a mild case of mental dizziness that had plagued him all throughout his shift at the hospital. Mental Dizziness: a feeling of fuzzy thoughts and impaired concentration. Symptoms: being unable to get his brain to stop thinking about what he possibly could have done to make Scorpius leave so quickly, not to mention stop cropping up with extremely distracting thoughts about Scorpius's naked body. It truly wasn't a rewarding cycle.

oOo

Harry traveled through the halls of St Bridgett's on autopilot, nodding absentmindedly at coworkers, fulfilling his duties in a haze. Not even the bizarre case of the man who began sprouting eyes at a rapid pace could distract him, and normally cases like that piqued his interest. He was simply too distracted. Colorful trains of thought ran through his head, little blurs of color around and around. Had he done something wrong? Had he been too rough? Did Scorpius regret ever having sex with him? What if he never wanted to see him again? Harry's stomach dropped every time that thought blur made an appearance for reasons he didn't want to think about. He sighed, feeling world weary. All of a sudden, a flash of color caught his eye. He frowned, looking around him for the source. Not seeing anything odd in the barren hallway, he shrugged, attributing it to his overactive imagination. A second flash of color zipped by, this time accompanied by the faint zing of a spell. He paused, narrowing his eyes. This time he knew it wasn't his imagination.

Someone was aiming for him.

His heart responded with a familiar thumping against his chest, pumping his veins with adrenaline, ready for battle. Pulling out his wand, he carefully scanned the hallway, circling over his shoulder, hyperalert for any signs of movement. A flicker to his left; he whirled around, sending a blast of magic towards the movement. The spell bounced harmlessly off the stone wall, ricocheting off the floor before the sparks dissipated with a faint sizzle. He jumped around just as a blast of red light shot towards him from where he had seen the movement. The spell hit him, and he stiffened, expecting pain. Nothing happened. Puzzled, he looked around him. Had the spell missed? Then, a flash of color caught his eye. He whipped his head down, wand at the ready to defend from another spell, but he saw nothing except his own tie dye scrubs. Wait.

"Teresa!" he yelled crossly. "Get out here right now."

He heard a loud sputtering followed by gales of laughter emanating from the corner. "You should have seen your face," his raven haired friend gasped, bent over laughing. "You were totally like "Oh someone has come to attack my manliness, I must protect it at all costs," she grunted, slinging her weight forward. She began thumping around like a midget Viking, grunting manly things like "my balls are made of steel," and "see my rippling biceps ripple!"

"I think the manliness boat sailed when I realized I like it up the arse," Harry remarked dryly over her strutting, crossing his arms over his chest. He was not amused. He sighed heavily, casting a quick tempus charm. He was not in the mood for the spritely woman's antics today…he just wanted to go home. His whole body felt as though it was encased in concrete, each step a momentous effort. To be so incredibly high the night before and so low just the day after…the havoc Scorpius was wreaking on his emotions and his psyche was terrifying, not to mention the mere realization that it was the man's rejection that was bringing him down didn't exactly help his mood. Teresa seemed to sense this eventually, as she ceased her grunting and strutting, though she was clearly not ready to completely abandon her fun as she skipped over to Harry. "Is my ickle wittle Harrykins in a bad mood?" she cajoled, pinching his cheeks.

Harry scowled darkly, batting her hands away. "As a matter of a fact yes, so first change my scrubs back, and secondly go away." Teresa began to pout, sticking her bottom lip out and widening her eyes just so. Harry just stared at her. He was too drained and too confused to deal with her shit right now. He loved her, he really did, she just was sometimes…a little bit too much. "But Harry, I just-" Teresa trailed off, faltering under the sheer pain and frustration behind the blank stare Harry aimed at her. She dropped the pout and quietly returned his scrubs to their normal mint green color. Harry turned robotically to leave, but paused when a warm hand gently gripped his forearm. He turned back around slowly, suddenly exhausted. "What Teresa, what is it?" he sighed, staring down at her. Warm blue eyes looked up at him. "You're not okay, are you?" she said gently.

"No," Harry said softly. "I'm not."

The words shattered the crumbling dam in his mind, breaking the tenuous hold he had strained to maintain over his emotions. Down tumbled all the stress from the last few weeks, his anxiety over having messed up with Scorpius, his fears of the feelings he knew he was developing, the dreams, the bloody pigeon, and he cracked. A single sob harshly tore out of his chest, and he sank to the floor, burying his head in his knees. He could feel himself shaking, shaking desperately and harshly. He felt a warm pair of arms snake around his trembling form, a head resting on his shoulder murmering soothing words into his ear, shapes and sounds and colors, not words; a dull roar was all he could hear, like the static of his broken down old radio as he cursed at it, halfhearted curses, the damn thing never picking up a signal, never, never, his mind the radio; searching, searching for something to hold onto, a signal, an omen, a sign, slipping, grasping and sliding away, white noise all that was left, dulling, filling, soaring, crackling. He was weak, weak, not strong, the war should have made him strong! The war, fighting, dark, death, loss, this should be better, easier, a breeze, a relief, so easy, but how to face it, how, how? Unfamiliar territory, new places, unexplored, Scorpius, lust, fear…love…no, wrong, wrong, wrong, the tall man was a stranger, unused to the barren, empty, dark wasteland that was him…he was falling now, falling into himself, rocking back and force, dry eyes and shaking frame, love, love, love, how, how, why?

Why?

Slowly but surely the shaking ceased, and he was left feeling as though someone had taken a melon baller and scraped out his insides, leaving only an empty husk. Teresa was still there, wrapped around his prone form, and if he could have felt any emotion more strongly than a washed out whisper, he knew he would have felt a wave of extreme gratefulness for a friend like her. She looked past the hero façade and saw him for who he truly was, and that was a trait he had only ever found in Ron and Hermione. And Malfoy... he realized distantly.

He took a shaky breath and let it out slowly, attempting to calm his heart rate down to something resembling normal. Placing his hands on Teresa's arms, he squeezed once before gently extricating himself from her embrace. Leaning back against the stone wall of the corner, he attempted a smile, knowing it looked more like a grimace.
"Some picture I must make, huh?" He said quietly, staring down at his clasped fingers to avoid Teresa's worried gaze. "Collapsing from practically nothing into a mini panic attack; wow, some amazing wizard I am!" he barked a laugh, the self-deprecating comment full of bitterness.

A hand pulled his unwilling chin up to look into the gaze of his friend. In her gaze he saw only passion, no pity. "Everyone has those days," she said gently. "And, it may not seem right, but I think someone with as many skeletons in his closet as you have deserves to have those days more often than most." She smiled and pressed a kiss onto his forehead.

"Now go home!" she proclaimed, jabbing a finger into his chest. He protested weakly, but Teresa overrode his arguments with threats to him, the ministry, his food, his friends…when she threatened to find his mystery man and fuck him herself, he gave in with a faint laugh, promising to go home and rest.

"I'll take your shifts for the rest of the day. You are lucky I love you," she quipped, helping the bespectacled man slowly to his feet.

"I am, truly," he said, smiling vaguely at her. She just waved him off and sent him a coy mile over her shoulder as she walked down the hall to his next shift. He didn't even have the energy to feel guilty as he apparated, with his last burst of energy, straight into bed. He was asleep within seconds, still clad in his mint green scrubs, glasses hanging precariously off of his face.

Ha I can practically hear the screams! I had you fooled didn't I?! Well hopefully soon now they'll finally meet...they're getting closer and closer! Poor boys, they never do want to admit their feelings hm? Well I suppose I wouldn't either if I were falling in love with some guy I was fucking...that I met a club...that I'd never seen...oops. Aaaaanyways, please tell me if you like the pace, because I feel like at this point I'm almost starting to repeat myself so I might even go back and completely rewrite this aaaaaaaahhhhhhh please help!