In Front of the Fire
"You need to be sure about this, Potter. I mean it."
The soft sound of sparks snapping in the fireplace broke through the quiet, as grey eyes watched the raven-haired man sitting in the armchair opposite him with a wary intensity.
"I know, Malfoy. Trust me, I'm not exactly thrilled that I'm… well, asking for this. But I won't pretend that I don't want it."
Harry looked up from the warm wooden floor just in time to see the other bristle slightly at his choice of wording.
"I'm flattered, Potter, really," Malfoy drawled, irritation written into his pointed features.
"No, don't take that the wrong way; you're the perfect, er, candidate. I just can't believe I asked you to do this. I must be mental."
The words were quiet, the tone a tad unsettled, which seemed to still the Slytherin's ire.
"Neither can I," the blonde muttered softly, a small smirk growing on his lips, which only drew a hateful look from the Gryffindor.
"Cut the smugness, Malfoy."
Instead of responding, the taller man stood and purposefully made his way over to Harry's chair, each step laden with intent. He stopped just before his polished shoes met his companion's clean-cut trainers, leaning down to place a pale hand on either arm of the velvet chair, forcing Harry's head to draw back into the cushions as he trapped him there.
"I think my so-called 'smugness' is partly why you want me to do this. In fact, I think I'm one of the few who doesn't fall to your feet in adoration each time you step out of your door. You defeated the Dark Lord, Potter. You spoke on behalf of my mother and I at the proceeding trials. For those things, I admit I am grateful and have dropped my outward hostility toward you. But…" Malfoy lifted a hand and grasped Harry's jaw, hard. "Don't think for one second that I revere you. In fact, I know you're aware of my severe dislike. And that is precisely why you called on me, confided these things in me. Because you knew I could give you the thrill you seek, the results you feel you deserve, and in turn, you knew I'd do it with absolute conviction and misguided pleasure because I simply can't stand the concept of Saint Bloody Potter."
Harry's was staring, his breath laboured and heart fast as Malfoy's short speech washed over him, causing an uncomfortable jolt to run up his spine and his mouth to dry up, witty comebacks and Hogwarts-era slurs quite forgotten.
Sighing, the blonde suddenly freed his jaw and stepped away toward the fireplace.
It was a contemporary design – wide, though surrounded by a sleek mantle and little-to-no decoration. Very different to the aesthetics of Malfoy Manor, or even Hogwarts for that matter. But Harry Potter's house was funny like that, balancing minimalism with odd touches of metal and dark blue walls. Surprisingly, the Slytherin found that he didn't hate it.
"I daresay a measure of trust is usually standard in these exchanges," Malfoy threw out, the words seemingly flippant.
Harry nodded after a moment, coming back to himself. "True. But the magical contract should suffice for us? Nothing incredibly restricted, just to ensure we don't go any further than specified – and that this remains firmly between us."
A hardness returned to the dark-haired wizard's voice with those words, the warning clear – even though it had been repeated many times before. Malfoy treated it very seriously. He simply nodded his assent.
It might destroy the saviour of the wizarding world if their actions leaked into the public and press, but that didn't mean that Draco wanted his part known any more than the cautious Gryffindor in front of him. The public would crucify him no-matter what way the story broke. He would be the villain, taking advantage of an innocent Harry Potter, or the pure-blood who had sullied himself via controversial dalliances with the light's poster boy.
No. Just like Potter, he disliked that he wanted this, but he wanted it all the same. So, they would simply keep silent on the matter.
HP
HP
It took well over an hour, but words were carefully chosen, scripted with absolute formality and signed in a magical binding that neither party had any intention of breaking. Both had done their fair share of research, and now tensions were high, though hidden behind a wall of uncertainty and a touch of reluctance, both so unfamiliar with the other in any situation beyond school-time hostility, devastating war and bone-chilling court room trials.
As the parchment was tidied away and the fire continued to crackle, the young men considered each other, wondering and waiting. The curtains were drawn and the property was warded. There was nothing left to delay them.
After a few minutes, giving himself time to centre himself, Malfoy decided to take charge, pushing aside discouragement and standing tall, mustering together the arrogance of his youth to draw on as needed. He figured that would be important.
"We'll begin with something small," he said suddenly, watching as Harry started, hesitating before nodding slowly – his face betraying no sign of nervousness, though his hands seem to twist and wring in a fidgety manner – the movement unsuccessfully hidden behind his back.
Malfoy took out his wand, noting the other man's moment of tension, before he rolled his eyes and summoned a small black leather satchel from the hall where his coat hung. Catching it deftly in hand, he turned to the sturdy cherrywood coffee table and unfolded it.
"Sit, Potter. And stay silent."
There was a small delay, but Malfoy didn't bother to turn around to glower at the other, as after a few second's Harry moved toward the armchair he had previously vacated.
"Not there," the blonde said distractedly, again without turning. Harry stopped and glared over at the Slytherin.
"Where?"
"On the floor in front of the fire, Potter. On your knees."
An initial protest that seemed to begin at the word 'floor', ended with the last statement. The green-eyed man paused, swallowing hard, before stepping into the space between the chairs and lowering himself to his knees, cursing the fact that he had never bought a rug for this spot. The floor was hard beneath his bones, but he didn't dare show weakness.
"Right. So, what-"
"Jumper off, shoes off."
Scowling at the bored tone aimed his way, Harry furiously shed his outer layer to reveal a casual grey shirt, before tugging his trainers off and throwing each item off to the side. The shoes thumped against the ground, causing Malfoy to finally turn, shooting him a distasteful look that Harry momentarily revelled in.
Rolling his eyes, the Slytherin unbuttoned the top button of his own dress shirt, before moving toward the Gryffindor. Harry meant to sneak a glance at what had been laid on the table, but he couldn't keep his alert eyes off of the approaching blonde.
"It seems you can follow orders, Potter. Very good. Though less attitude next time might be wise."
Harry levelled a look at the smug expression aimed down at him. "You wish," he hissed.
Malfoy seemed to enjoy the comeback, for his mouth edged into a small smirk before he stepped around to stand behind Harry's kneeling form, whispering 'Incarcerous' as he trailed his wand against the other's spine.
Harry felt bonds take hold of his wrists and pull them together with snake-like precision, however, he noticed something fall snug around his ankles simultaneously; the cords finally looping together and reaching up to meet his bound hands, effectively trapping him in the kneeling position Malfoy had demanded. If he moved, he knew he'd topple.
Malfoy came into view again, his grey eyes a little wide and his mouth open in soft surprise, watching Harry's defiant eyes as his limbs tested the severity of the bonds.
But then the Slytherin became someone Harry knew all too well, the straightening of his shoulders and the slight cock of his head eerily reminiscent of his student years.
"Finally, a place that suits you, Potter."
"Fuck you" was snapped in response.
Malfoy laughed. "You did, quite literally, ask to be at my mercy. And now you're surprised to find yourself on your knees. Naivety really does suit you"
Harry had no response to that, his cheeks heating at the terrible truth.
"Besides," Malfoy continued. "You're going to enjoy this. Maybe not as much as I will, but even still."
The blonde turned back to the table, gently picking up something shiny and a length of fabric. He resumed his place in front of his captive, but this time chose to bend forward on one knee, so as to meet the other's eyeline.
"You look surprisingly good, Potter."
Green eyes blinked at the compliment.
"What are you going to do to me? You mentioned starting small?"
Malfoy made a small noise of agreement. "Quite. Let me explain everything first, that might help with your nerves."
"I'm not nervo-"
"First of all," Malfoy began, ignoring Harry's protest. "I'm going to gag you."
The Gryffindor's breath caught in his throat.
"Too many years of sanctimonious drivel have brought us here. This is for my enjoyment. Not yours. And I can't deny that seeing your lips bound by a wealth of silk isn't visually appealing. I'm only human, after all."
He paused to let that sink in.
"Then, I'm going unbutton your shirt, the entire way, and attach clamps to each one of your nipples."
Harry's eyes were wide now, protests seemingly stuck in his throat.
"And I'm going to sit back in this chair to my left and read a chapter of the riveting book I brought along. You said we would have hours tonight to get acquainted, so I think a small test of your endurance and patience would be beneficial. I'm going to read one chapter at a time, and as soon as I come to the end of each one, I'm going to remove the clamps for a few minutes, before placing them back on. Rinse and repeat. Now, before you start babbling at me, open your mouth."
Harry wasn't sure if it was shock or want that forced his lips to fall apart, allowing Malfoy to push a heavy silk between them, securing it behind his head with alarming tightness.
"Very nice," Malfoy whispered, before he began to undo all of the buttons of Harry's shirt – by hand, no magic – until it was hanging open on his slim frame.
"Hold still now," the blonde said softly, as he neatly clipped the first piece onto Harry's tender flesh.
A muffled noise of surprise left the saviour's mouth at the feeling, doubled by another, more pain-driven, muddled protest as the other was set in place.
Malfoy stepped back. The sight was everything he had wanted and more.
"You're lucky I am being careful, Potter. Imagine what we could have started with."
End