Present day
He and Draco were often the first to arrive, and among the last to leave.
Harry pressed the call button for the lift. It was late, and he'd been working alone since Draco had left a few minutes ago.
With a great jangling and clattering, it ascended in front of him; the golden grilles slid back. He hesitated before getting in.
He heard familiar footsteps—thump-thump-thump-thump—and Malfoy jogged up to the lift.
Draco. Of course it had to be Draco.
He hesitated before joining him.
The grilles slid shut with a crash and they descended.
They both stared resolutely ahead.
It moved agonisingly slowly.
"Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee," called the cool voice.
A little flock of memos entered and flapped idly above their heads. They looked up, and then caught each other's eyes.
The grilles clanged, and they went down.
Draco stepped forward, and placed a hand on the wall behind Harry, inches from him.
"Wh-what are you doing?"
Draco gently pressed his thumb to Harry's mouth, and pleaded with his eyes.
Harry raised an eyebrow and sucked greedily on it, tasting the salt of his skin, clutching Draco's sexy robes, staring into his pleasured grey eyes, aware they had just precious seconds—
The lift ground to a halt. They sprang apart. The grilles slid open.
"Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office and Pest Advisory Bureau."
A ghost of a mournful boy and dog glided in. Both Harry and Draco crossed their arms, occupying opposite sides of the lift.
Ever since the war, Harry had been a morning person, and he was always first in the Ministry gym when it opened. His stomach squirmed when he found a sparkling freesia on the benches. He cradled it in his hands, before casting a preservation charm on it and placing it carefully into his bag.
Harry had just begun his morning workout when Draco entered and headed straight for the dressing room. Cool, disinterested, unruffled.
Considering what to do for a minute, he tidied up his weights and went for a shower. Upon entering the changing room, he was immediately assailed by Draco pressing him up against the door and kissing him soundly. He tasted of coffee and wizarding tobacco. Harry crushed him in tighter, closer, before Harry pulled on his hair to lick up and down his neck.
"Showers," Draco panted.
Obeying, Draco in hand, he tugged them into a stall. Jets overhead and at waist height turned on automatically, and Draco held out his arms, threw back his head and laughed. Majestic, carefree, beautiful.
At his look, Draco asked, "what?"
He just shook his head and grinned. "I like seeing you like this."
Harry squelched out of his shoes and sodden socks, and Draco cast 'Impervius' on his glasses. Tugging off Draco's scarlet robes and black trousers, suddenly it wasn't so funny anymore. He stood before him: pale, slender… Harry's brain disobeyed him when he continued, "beautiful."
Draco ducked his head and said nothing.
He pulled Draco near. His lips brushed a pink scar on his bicep, a raised ridge on his shoulder, his Dark Mark.
No Sectumsempra scars, thank God.
He kissed his right nipple. His haughty chin. He nipped his jaw. Draco pressed him into the wall and placed his thigh between Harry's legs as Harry mapped his broad back. "I cannot help but notice you are somewhat overdressed, Potter."
Pulling off his T-shirt, he pushed Draco away so he could tug off his shorts and underwear. He was half-hard, and drew down Draco's sodden black silk boxers.
They were really going to do this.
Draco reached around Harry to dispense some fluffy, fragrant soap. He was compliant as Draco soaped up his shoulders, armpits, chest, calves, outer thighs, inner thighs, buttocks.
Harry clunked his forehead against the wall as Draco's hands explored the curves of his arse.
His glasses fell to the floor with a crack.
He's on his knees.
He's going to do it.
Erotic shock melted his mind as a hot tongue pressed there. Fingers grasping at the tiles, toes curling, breath escaping him in gasping pants—his entire world centred around that probing tongue.
"Draco." A prayer or a plea or a thank-you.
Impossibly, Draco sent his pleasure higher when he reached around to stroke his throbbing cock.
Draco pulled away to lock and silence the door with a wave of his hand. Harry whimpered at the easy display of magic and at the loss of contact. Tugging Draco back into his arms urgently, he whispered between deep kisses, "you don't have long. Make it count."
Not breaking their embrace, Draco pushed on his shoulders to slide them down the tiles until he was straddling him on the floor. The jets of the shower sprayed over their heads.
"Cushioning Charm," Draco commanded, reaching across to his robes and getting lube.
He obeyed.