Disclaimer: Don't have a kneazel, because all I own is my cat.

Moonlight

Harry's PoV:

There were a few downsides to using a Pensieve. The magic was a bit odd, so even though you were seeing some one's memories, as you were not them, you were on the outside and could see them, and some things even they did not see. The memories were not real, so everything had a semi-transparent look, and should you try to touch a person or most objects, like furniture for example, you would simply go right through. Ghostly. There were limits to the passages, though… walls of the rooms the memories were in were set. Lastly, though, in a Pensieve, since you were outside the person, unless they were saying what they were feeling and thinking aloud, you could not know it. A person's motivations for whatever actions seen remained obscured.

Tonight, Harry discovered there were benefits to using a Pensieve that he had never before imagined. Like, three dimensional porn. He could see everything, from every angle. Hear everything. Smell the pheromones, and the sweat. It was almost like really being there.

Sadly, this brought to mind all new disadvantages. The memory could not stop, or pause, so if he wanted to see from a different angle, he either had to watch in full and then restart, or jump out and back in, waiting to get to the right place. Surprisingly, or maybe not, Harry did not mind that too much. After all, watching this over and over again couldn't really be a downside.

Draco had sent the memories of the night at the club. Him stripping. For Harry. God… Harry had just about wanked himself raw, and this was only his fifth viewing. The elusive music, with a pumping beat and the vocals whose lyrics were impossible to understand as they blended in with the other sounds, had begun to drift in again.

Draco was waiting, and Harry's memory self would be walking through that door, into the private room of the club any second now. The door opened, and Harry watched the smile, quickly hidden behind a smug smirk on memory Draco's face. "So, Harry, you've read my letter, and know who I am, and you're still interested?" Still seated on the backless faux-dragonskin demi couch, he crossed his legs, and artfully draped an arm across his lap.

"I'm here, aren't I?" Memory Harry was drunk, but not yet swaying, as he leaned on the doorway, a half-empty old-fashioned highball glass of smoking firewhiskey in his hand. Memory Draco stretched, arching his back. He was wearing a hot little number – Harry didn't know what to call it, but it was silver, and clingy, and untucked. The collar had no tie, and was unbuttoned, as was the next two down, and surprisingly the bottom button, where the shirt hung loose, making two pointing triangles of fabric, with a pale splash of flesh just barely shown between when Draco moved like that. The blond hair of his happy trail teased, and taunted about what other secrets might still be hidden below.

"Harry," he murmured, "oh, Harry," he all but moaned, leaning forward and up, rolling his spine. "If we're going to do this, we've got to establish some… rules." His voice was a seductive purr. The hand that had been on the couch reached up, and began working slowly at the button third from the collar. "Firstly, Harry, sexy, hot Harry," he was moaning his words again, "I can touch you but you ab" the button was free of its hole "so" his hand was sliding down to the next button slowly "lutely" he had started to unbutton this one as well, "cannot touch me." It was free, and now most of his chest was visible.

Memory Harry was starting to breathe harder, and so was the real Harry. He already had his hard cock out, and was starting to stroke it slowly.

"Please Harry, say it for me?" The wide open collar was starting to slide off his left shoulder, exposing even more creamy flesh.

"Fine." Memory Harry stepped the rest of the way into the dark room, letting the door close behind him. There was a faint click, and the music which had been filtering in from the club quieted, fading further into the background. Harry could now hear memory Draco's breathe, as it hitched, in an involuntary almost sigh that caught in his throat.

Against his pale, nearly transparent skin, the color of his dusky nipples seemed darker, more obvious. Harry watched them as they moved up and down with Draco's breathing.

"Gooood, Harry, my oh-so-sexy Harry," Draco purred again, lips curling in a satisfied smile, reminiscent of the one he'd had the day he was announced Seeker, until Hermione had accused him of buying his position. He raised the hand from his lap, and now both hands were working the buttons on his shirt, but he was still moving achingly, torturously slow. "Second, this is for your pleasure," and he licked his lips, eyeing memory Harry with a lustful gaze, "and only your pleasure, no matter how much I want you."

By now, memory Harry was visibly hard. He swallowed a gulp of firewhiskey. "My pleasure. Right."

"Lastly, as long as those two rules are obeyed, your wish is my command. Shall we begin, Harry?" The last of the buttons were undone now, and memory Draco stood, allowing gravity to take the shirt, letting it simply slide off his shoulder and fall to the floor, as he strolled, hips rolling like no man should ever know how to do, to Harry.

His back was pockmarked in places, with pinprick like scars. Harry knew, without asking, they were from the glass of the chandelier. A trio of thin, silver lines zigzagged across his abdomen, the longest line going from just under his left nipple down to his right hipbone. Harry knew, too, without asking where exactly those scars came from.

The flickering, faint light of the dark room alternately illuminated and hid these imperfections, painting his pale skin in flickering colors. Memory Harry reached a hand out, and traced a light blue vein, barely visible through light skin, across his collarbone, curving, and branching, leading down towards the scarred nipple. "Ut-uh-uh," memory Draco teased, taking a step back. "Remember, no touching."

But, before memory Harry could respond, smiling, memory Draco grabbed the outstretched hand and led memory Harry to the abandoned couch. "Now, Harry, what would you like for me to do with you?"

Harry groaned, tightening his grip and pulling harder. Sweet Jesus, what it must have been like, to have his hands all over him!

And memory Draco did have his hands all over memory Harry, running them up and down his chest, stroking his sides, massaging his back… he leaned close, like he was going to kiss Harry, and whispered, lips a hairsbreadth from touching, "It's time." Suddenly, he was moving quicker, and both hands were on memory Harry's hips, grabbing him, pulling him close, and then pushing him, forcing him down roughly onto the couch. In a blink, he was straddling memory Harry, arching and rolling his back, twisting, thrusting, and grinding his hips, hands wandering, stroking, teasing and grabbing everywhere.

Now he was rubbing and teasing his own nipples, writhing on memory Harry's body at the contact with his right hand, while reaching between their bodies to stroke the jean clad erection of his partner. Both men were panting and moaning now. Memory Harry's glass, now with less than a shot of firewhiskey in it, was wavering precariously. The blond saw, smirking, and stole it. He ripped open Harry's shirt, somehow managing to not rip the buttons, and poured the drink down his chest.

Memory Harry cursed at the hot contact. Harry cursed at how hot the sight was. The blond was licking the hot liquid off memory Harry's body, rivulet by rivulet, drop by drop, placing open mouth kisses, and sucking softly, leaving faint pink marks, no bruises, that would be long gone by morning.

Draco stretched up, moving closer, nearly knocking memory Harry over, crawling up his body, so his knees where on the couch, legs still spread around Harry, hips and thighs raised with his crotch right in Harry's face. He undid his zipper, and pushed the fabric down, undulating his hips to aid the effort. His left arm wrapped around Harry's neck, holding him in place, while his right hand held the bunched fabric on the side still. His leg, pulled up and through the fabric, and wrapped around Harry's waist. Memory Harry moaned, fingers digging into the faux dragonskin, fighting not to touch.

He tossed the fabric aside, now only clothed on the bottom left, and reached up caressing memory Harry's face, before winding his fingers into thick brunet hair. Memory Harry's open shirt caught and bunched as his left arm slid down his body, to mimic his earlier actions, and finish stripping his trousers. Now wearing only tight, black pants, and both legs firmly wrapped around memory Harry, he continued writhing and thrusting. Suddenly smiling devilishly, he grabbed both of the brunet's arms, wrapping them about him, hands tight on his jutting hips bones. "Keep them still," he whispered, "it's okay if I start it."

Then, he did the move that brought both Harrys to orgasm. He arched and rolled his back so far he almost did a back-bend off Harry's lap. Only his legs around Harry's waist, and Harry's hands, tight on his hips, held their erections together. Only the fabric, little that there was, between them kept Draco from wearing Harry's cum.

The memory faded again, and Harry was once again, in his room, staring at his Pensieve, all alone.

It was time to look at the second memory now, he supposed. He didn't really want to, he wanted to go back into the first memory first memory again. But, he was already sore, chaffing, from too much all too close together. He couldn't handle any more tonight. Carefully lighting his wand, he summoned the memory back out of the bowl placed it once more in the glass jar, stoppering it to preserve it again. Opening the second jar, and collecting that memory, he sighed. He didn't know what memory this one was, but really, did it matter? Not after the first one…

Luna had the best ideas! If this was what he got for singing in public, he didn't care what ideas she suggested, she could suggest dancing naked on his head, he'd do it.

He took a deep breath, and dove in, not knowing what to expect.

He recognized Draco's flat immediately, even if he'd never been in this room before. He'd seen glimpses of it through the open door way often enough to know, without looking back the other way through the same doorway, this was Draco's bedroom. He was seated casually on his bed, wearing nothing but a dressing robe in a deep sapphire blue. The color made his eyes especially vibrant.

Just as his kitchen and dining room had not been Slytherin green, neither was his bedroom. The earthy tones, rich rusts, browns and beiges, like the dining room, continued. But, there were splashes of blues here, instead of the reds and oranges there. His bed, turned down already, had rich silk sheets of the darkest midnight blue. The coverlet, where visible, was many shades of different browns and blues, some sort of pattern, Harry couldn't figure out turned as it was.

He took in everything he could, while watching Draco, confused, and a little aroused. Draco seemed to be looking at the door, as if he was waiting for someone. Harry glanced back at it, too, and then looked again at Draco. "I want you," Draco whispered. WHAT? Harry thought, enraged, is this some sort of joke? Is he having me on? Then, the next thought, is he cheating on me?

Harry's heart almost broke. Almost. What stopped it was a very softly moaned, and very nearly missed, "Harry."

"Harry," the blond called again, a little louder, "I loved your song. I, too wish, for you to come inside me."

Harry thanked God profusely for His creation, and thanked Magic for Pensieve memories. He'd wait until he saw Draco and thank him in person.

Draco stood, and with a flirtatious smirk, began to stroll towards the attached master bath. "I heard from a little birdie that you were too inebriated to remember your visit to Constellations. So, I thought I'd send you a little reminder." He paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder. "Just so you'd know exactly how 'well' I really do 'wear nothing.'" Harry wasn't sure exactly what Draco did, but now that lovely blue dressing robe was a lovely pool of fabric at Draco's feet.

Draco's bare arse was … Harry was beginning to think that 'male recovery time' was a myth, because impossibly, he was hard. Again. Draco stepped out of and over the fabric pooling at his feet, seductively sauntering deeper into the bathroom. Harry followed, swallowing convulsively. He didn't know where this was leading, but he liked what he had seen so far.

There was a massive bath, smaller than the old Hogwarts' Prefects bath, and far less elaborate, as it had no sculpture for a tap, but still impressive. It was filled, nearly overflowing, with hot bubbly water, and Draco was slowly sinking into the depths, his exquisite body disappearing under the foam.

He leaned his head back, resting on the edge, and groaned deeply in pleasure. His eyes slid shut, as he relaxed giving in completely into his obvious enjoyment. "Harry," his voice rough with desire, "I'm ready and waiting."

The memory faded, and once again Harry pulled his soaking face out of the basin. Without stopping, even long enough to dry his face, he Apparited.