Thank you to all for the reviews! As this is is a two-shot story, this is the final instalment. I hope you enjoy and, please, don't forget to review with any feedback. :)
Potter's face blanched at Draco's words in a way that he found all too pleasing. His words had been abrupt, he knew. They washed like acid over his tongue, harsh and stinging. It felt good to be free of the stifled polite exchanges, the careful word choices that he usually relied upon in his political games. He knew, after all, that Potter wouldn't fall for them. Potter was Potter and he was Malfoy; this was them, pure and raw.
He watched Potter's rapidly changing expressions with light amusement; it was now his turn to flounder, gaping like a merman plucked from the depths of the Black Lake, as he tried to find the words to respond to Draco.
"I'll take that as a no." Draco said, an amused smirk of satisfaction curling across his lips. "That makes what I have in mind all the better."
Potter had regained control of his features, his surprise now forced away behind a blank mask. Or, at least, what Potter probably thought was a blank mask. Honestly, how this man had become head Auror was beyond Malfoy. His face was straight, but his eyes had a mixture of shock and confusion which had him looking as lost as a Flobberworm. Sensing the time was right he leant forward, close enough to direct his breath hot and heavy into Potter's ear as he spoke, but not close enough to arouse suspicion amongst the crowd of partygoers.
"I'm going to own you, Potter." He breathed, allowing his eyes to flicker sideways and take in the changing expression of his face. "I'm going to take back my pride from you. I'm taking back the crown." He paused to deepen his smirk, knowing Potter would be able to feel, rather than see, the change of expression against the side of his face. "I see what's mine and take it."
Potter was silent as Draco drew back, licking his lips as he poured his gaze across the dark haired man's face. He could feel a bulge building beneath his robes; Potter was attractive, but it went deeper than that. The power, the heady feeling he got from speaking his desires aloud, so close to his goal that he could taste it, was enough to make his cock begin to fill with blood.
"What makes you think I'll allow that?" Potter whispered back. He was, Draco thought, probably going for a haughty, slightly prudish tone. Instead all he achieved was a squeaky, high-pitched tone that would have betrayed his desire – if the burning glare of his emerald eyes already hadn't.
"Everything." Draco replied simply, smirking as he raked his gaze up and down Potter, deliberately heating him with desire. "Your voice, your eyes… If I was close enough, I'd bet my reclaimed fortune would tell me your cock could tell me too."
Potter's sharp intake of breath as Draco mentioned his physical response told the blonde all he needed to know about the other man's current situation.
"I didn't think you… Were…" Potter was stalling now; Draco could see through the open emotions of his eyes that he was floundering between finding a reason to walk away and giving into the desire that tugged at him.
"I have no real preference." Draco responded, eager to dismiss Potter's weak attempts to stall and move onto claiming his mate. "Unlike you, Potter, I have no qualms about my sexuality. I can teach you things you wouldn't dare to dream of, I could make you feel things that would blow your mind." A little bit of seduction, Draco reasoned, would not make his victory over Potter any less. It would not taint his pride when it returned to him. If anything, it would break down Potters final barriers, leave him entirely open to bend to Draco's will and make his victory all the sweeter. As he bore his grey gaze into Potter's eyes, he could see the his words had only increased the ferocity of the battle that raged in them.
Time to take a risk.
"I do not, however, wait around." He hissed, allowing just the right amount of frustration balanced with a hint of desire seep into his tone, keeping his face poker straight as he took a step away from Potter –
to have his wrist grasped, a hard, sure gesture strengthened by the fingers which tightened around him.
Victory swelled within Draco, singing to him like the sweetest siren, yet when he spoke he levelled his voice to the coolest tones. "I trust you can apparate to the gates of Malfoy Manor." He said, watching the nod of response that Potter gave although he didn't need to see it. Since his first visit during the war, Potter had visited the Manor on several occasions in his earlier years within the lowest ranks of the aurors. In the days where the Malfoy name was just beginning to rise again, as Draco figured out the right tip in the balance of power, the politics he needed to play and the pockets he needed to fill, the aurors had become disturbed, demanding to search Draco's home and question him for illegal activities. They were convinced his return to power must be as dark as the magic which still scarred his arm. Draco wouldn't allow himself, even in the privacy of his mind, to respond to such a thought (Legimens working under the guide of Ministry, he knew, were beginning to appear everywhere and were becoming increasingly discrete) only to comfort himself in the safety of his secrets and the knowledge that the aurors would never know.
Potter released his arm and moved away, sweeping toward the same grand door he had used to make his entrance. Draco watched him go, raking his gaze hungrily over the tailored robes which clung to him, allowing himself to bask in the glory, both physical and mental, that he would soon claim his prize.
When Potter was gone, he swept his gaze around the hall and finished the last of his drink. He placed it down on the tray of a passing waitress and began to move to a table lined with drinks toward the back of the room. He had already noted – as he always did when arriving at such events – several alcoves and hidden corners which most hosts often forgot when setting the altered apparition wards for their parties. He slipped behind the table and into a deep alcove, successfully hiding himself in the swell of darkness. He waited for a moment, closing his eyes and concentrating, forcing himself to feel the magic in the air around him. A short moment later he barked out a laugh, openly rolling his eyes in disgust. Honestly, he seriously doubted there was a wizard around who could set an personal anti-apparation ward worth a knut.
Apart from the Malfoy's, of course.
As Master of the Manor, Draco landed successfully where he had envisioned; at the very entrance to the Manor, at the foot of the long, winding, white stone path yet behind the tall, imposing iron gates which separated the Manor from the world outside.
Where Potter stood, waiting.
Draco allowed himself a smirk, opening the gates and lifting the wards to admit Potter with a non-verbal motion, stepping back as the gates parted soundlessly to allow him inside.
"Welcome." He whispered, dropping his voice to match the purr of Sphinx. He saw Potter glance up the long path behind him, clearly calculating the distance between them and the Manor and – no doubt, being Potter – wondering what they would do to fill the silence. He laughed, the sound deep and dark as it vibrated beneath his ribs, shaking his head as he stepped forward, closing the space between them and taking Potter's arm.
He tugged them both into apparition, his status of Master of the Manor allowing him to guide both himself and Potter through the strongest of the wards and directly into the entrance hall of the Manor itself. As they landed against the marble flooring a house-elf arrived with a crack beside them, bowing lowly to Draco.
"Welcome home, Master Malfoy. Is there anything Bilby can be doing for his master, sir?" The elf asked, addressing the floor rather than Draco with the depth of his bow.
"Firewhisky on ice in my bedroom. Two glasses. That will be all." The elf nodded in response to Draco's cool command and disappeared with the same crack it had arrived with.
With his attention returned to Potter he saw the swallow of apprehension deep in his throat as his gaze flickered around. The eye movements – from the vanished elf, to the grand, golden staircase which dominated the entrance hall, to Draco himself and, finally, to the door – were so rapid most would not have noticed them. Draco, however, did. He sensed Potter's hesitation with a flare of panic. Obviously Potter wouldn't be able to just disappear, with the Malfoy wards as strong as Draco knew they were, but he could certainly flee. He wouldn't make it far without interruption, not with the distance from the Manor to the gates, but Malfoy certainly wouldn't chase. That would more than halt Draco's attempts to claw back his pride; it would completely destroy it.
Without allowing his anxiety at Potter's changing mood to show he took a languid, almost lazy step forward, determined not to show Potter the power his hesitation currently held over him. If he knew the way he was currently affecting Draco he would no doubt find a way to use to his advantage. A way, Draco was sure, that would unbalance the restoration of his pride.
He connected their eyes, keeping his stare boring deep into Potter's, pleased to see the simple gesture seemed to fix him like stone, staring unblinkingly back into Draco's grey gaze. He stood for a moment himself, slipping out a tongue to coat his lips, noting with delight how Potter's gaze wavered in that moment, following the pattern that his tongue made. Potter's hesitation wasn't anything that some leisurely, teasingly placed seduction wouldn't fix, he reassured himself as he watched the other man's reactions, now musing unhurriedly over his next action.
He thought back to how his earlier risk had paid off, recalled the memories of his past spars with Potter, and a wicked smile crossed his lips. Potter would not – could not, Draco knew – back down from a challenge. A thrill ran through his bones as he slipped back into a persona he missed showing so publicly; the arrogant, spoilt, sure Draco, once a teenager with an over-inflated ego, but now a man with the achievements to enforce his superiority.
He cocked an eyebrow, keeping the rest of his face as cool as the marble floor beneath them, and spoke in nothing more than a whisper. He chose his words carefully; choosing a quote which he knew would resonate with the rash, impulsive Gryffindor tendencies he knew could still control his opponent. "Scared, Potter?"
Draco watched as the flicker of understanding ran through Potter's eyes, leaving a burning fire in their wake. "You wish." He hissed in return, seemingly determined to build up his own pride. Draco repressed a chuckle; breaking down those barriers would be now problem once he had him on his back.
With delicious thoughts of Potter in that exact position Draco cocked his head, as if mulling over a particularly interesting thought – it wasn't hard to feign, the thought of Potter on his back was interesting for more reasons than one – and curled his lips into a gentle smirk. "Not this time, Potter. I prefer my lovers-" Draco paused, delighting in the shiver that shook Potter's spine at his choice of words and deciding to play deeper on the reaction, lowering his tone seductively. "-to be willing, after all, pleasure is nothing to be fearful of."
Confident that Potter's hesitations had been forgotten and that he was rightfully back in command of their situation Draco turned toward the stairs. He was now confident that Potter would follow and he had no desire to overplay the situation – employing the right amount of seduction, he still believed, was not detrimental to regaining his pride. Too much, however, would make it seem as if he wanted Potter for more than power and physical pleasure.
He heard the soft footfalls of the man behind his as he led the way up the staircase and was sure that now Potter would not turn back. He was careful to move through the Manor's corridors at a languid pace, revelling in the tingling sensation which spread across his entire being at the power he held, shifting the pattern of his steps as his erection began to grow again. When he had claimed Potter and taken back his pride he would be unstoppable.
He reached his rooms and touched the door handle for a few moments with the tip of his wand. It was an extra layer of wards he had personally introduced to the Manor, leading to a suspicion amongst investigating aurors which had, at the time, made Draco light-headed with glee. They had of course returned with powers to instruct Draco to permit entrance to his chambers and found nothing – the extra security which lay there had done its job remarkably; the job of distracting the aurors from the true hiding places of the Manor's secret. Now, as he heard the man behind him shift his weight nervously from foot to foot, it gave him the added advantage of enforcing the reality of the wealth of power he held over Potter.
Once they were in Draco's rooms he headed to the table that, true to instruction, the elves had left covered with crystal tumblers, ice and a bottle of Ogden's finest. He headed over the table, aware that Potter had stopped still in the doorway. He had suspected this and was glad he had the forethought to request the drinks as a tool to coax him to the final destination of Draco's lavish, silken four poster bed.
He poured a generous helping into each glass, lifting one toward Potter as a welcoming gesture. He had no intention of drinking his own, of course, as he had plans to commit every moment of this night to his memories. Potter stood, eyeing the glass with his last traces of wariness, yet moved forward all the same. He took the glass from Draco with a nod, his fingers trembling only for a moment before he wrapped his fingers behind it.
"Now , now Potter, I won't bite." Draco teased, treating the other man to a smile he knew was devilishly handsome thanks to the reassurances of several of the witches and wizards to grace his bed. He dropped both his tone and his lips, seeking out Potters ear at the same time the dark haired man went to take a drink and whispered;
"Unless you want me to, of course..."
If Draco had been looking to take Potter as a lover and companion he would have been dismayed with the sound of crystal shattering against the floor, spilling its contents over his finest, elf-spun rug. However, Potter was only here for the power he could afford Draco, and the soiling of a rug, however fine, and a glass that could be fixed with a simple 'repairo' were small prices to pay for the knowledge of the absolute power he held over him.
So Draco Malfoy claimed his first kiss from Harry Potter's lips.
They were chapped, weather worn and bitten, beneath Draco's smooth ones, but were warm and firm and real. After a few moments – no doubt still recovering from Draco's words, bloody innocent Gryffindor – Potter's shock subsided and his lips responded eagerly in return to the pace Draco had set. Their mouths worked together and Draco worked their bodies backward, moving both of their bodies with ease until he felt his bed meet with the bottom of his legs. He paused his movements and focused his attention back to the current main event; the connection of his and Potter's lips. Time to up the stakes, he thought, sliding out a tongue to trace the opening to Potter's mouth. Potter granted him access and their tongues slipped and wound together. It was a battle that lasted mere seconds; Draco commanded dominance, his tongue curving strongly against the other man's and Potter appeared powerless to resist. With his strength assured Draco used his grip on Potter's shoulder and waist – when his hands had moved there, exactly, he wasn't sure and he vowed to keep better track of his bodies reactions to Potter's – and altered their positions so that the darker haired man now stood with his legs pressed against the side of the bed. Draco allowed the kiss to deepen further, investing more and more of an interest in exploring every corner of Potter's mouth. Normally, with a conquest like this which was more about power than pleasure, he would have already pinned his partner to the bed. For now, he was enjoying the kiss too much. Later, he would no doubt dwell on it and tell himself that the reason for pace was to ensure he had truly invaded every part of Potter, that he had truly owned him.
It would be an acceptable excuse, so for now he could enjoy the pleasure.
Their tongues continued to clash and a whimper from Potter escaped from between his parted lips. Recognising the sound as a clear sign in the game he was playing Draco took the opportunity to raise his hand to the clasp of Potter's dress robes, opening and dropping them to the floor with one neat click. Beneath Potter wore black trousers and a plain, white shirt; the shirt posed no threat to Draco and he wasted no time opening each of the pearly buttons until the shirt too lay discarded atop of Potter's robes. He broke their kiss, pleased to see that Potter seemed to gasp hungrily for air, and pushed the other man to the bed. Potter tumbled with no resistance, falling back against the silken sheets of Draco's bed. Their owner smirked, looking down at his prize with glee. He traced every inch of Potter with his eyes, starting with his face. His expression was so raw, so open it almost made Draco shudder; it screamed pure need, his emerald eyes blazed with fire and his lips still lay parted as if mourning the loss of Draco's. He allowed his gaze to travel down, over broad shoulders and tight muscle. He was by no means heavily built, like the burly beaters Draco sought out for pleasure, but was lined with the strength that came from life as an auror. His gaze travelled down, over the navel and to the unmistakable bulge straining against his trousers.
There was no sense in taking the image as another jewel in his crown of pride when, as a twitch from below his robes reminded him, Draco was just as aroused.
Not that he would show that to Potter until it was necessary, of course.
He reached out a hand, palming Potter through his trousers and watching the way his eyelids fluttered in pleasure. This is almost too easy, Draco thought to himself, repressing a dark, cool laugh and instead focusing on the task at hand. He opened Potter's trousers, tugging them down to his ankles where he hoped the other man would have the sense to kick them off. He lifted himself up, onto the bed and over Potter, straddling him and settling himself directly over the hard cock lining Potter's boxers. Malfoy himself was, of course, still fully dressed. In the game of power he would take no moves to undress himself until he was absolutely certain that Potter had undeniably bended to his will.
He sank his body lower, positioning his lips inches from Potter's; he was close enough that he couldn't see anything in the room but Potter, so close their lips almost touched, yet far enough away that he would be able to see the reaction to the words he spoke.
"You want me to fuck you, don't you, Potter?" He whispered, his breath bursting hot and heavy and dancing over the other man's lips. Draco felt, rather than saw, his reaction in the cock which twitched violently against his thigh. He smirked, yet waiting, needing the verbal admission before he could claim his prize.
Potter's eyes closed, agonisingly slowly, and opened again at the same pace. Bright, blazing eyes fixed to Draco's as the dark haired man's lips opened and he breathed, "Yes."
He could feel, even through the material of his robes and Potter's boxers, the other man's cock throbbing with need, still twitching against his thigh. He paused, wondering if another risk, another twist of the knife he was carving out Potter's pride with, would pay off. He knew, however, as soon as the thought crossed his mind that he would pursue it. There was something about Potter that returned him to the rash, impulsive teenager of years gone by; with other conquests, in other situations, Draco would maintain a cool separation, a steady head, and ensure that he succeeded. Yet with Potter, despite the price being as high as it ever had been, a question of his true pride, he couldn't help himself.
He took the risk, and breathed, "Yes….?"
His pause was long and purposeful, his eyes not backing away from the connection that Potter himself had made as he waited for the other man's response.
"Yes please." Potter replied, his breath sharp and short as he did, as if he were about to burst with need. The sight, the sound, the feel of Potter begging beneath him sent a jolt straight to Draco's cock and he stood in a swift, graceful movement and removed his own robes with a click as precise and neat as the one he had used to remove Potter's.
Beneath he was naked, now more exposed than Potter, yet he didn't mind. His state of undress was purposeful; tonight he had been a man on a mission. His nakedness, as it was, served to speed the time between now and the moment in which his pride would be truly restored. If Potter had resisted and Draco had returned home alone, it would have served as a harsh, bitter reminder of his failure that Draco would have needed to learn from.
Thankfully, however, that was not the case.
He opened his palm, silently summoning his wand to rest in it. It was a clever, impressive piece of magic that Draco had spent some time perfecting; it definitely made such bedroom trysts - where a cool, collected manor was essential to success – much easier than if he had to fumble through the folds of removed robes for his wand. Without missing a beat he spelled away Potter's boxers, not even allowing a moment for the other man to become used to his sudden naked state before he called upon his magic again, this time coating Potter's hole in lube.
Potter felt the intrusion and gasped, his eyes widening as the feeling assaulted him. Draco smirked, lowering his wand and then his body.
"I'll take you on your back." He murmured, nudging Potter's legs apart as he positioned himself between them. He urged the other man to change his position until his now wet, yet impossibly small hole was visible for Draco's greedy eye. He wasted no time in slipping a finger inside, revelling in every sound, every gasp, that Potter made. Each note was the sweet sound of the pride he had stolen sliding back to Draco. He soon added a second finger and began, slowly at first, to pump in and out of Potter, easing the hole wider. The addition of a third finger took Draco deeper and he searched expertly for Potter's prostate; his goal was not, of course, to give Potter pleasure, but he could hardly claim back his pride if he didn't truly leave Potter, after his first time with a man – with Draco Malfoy, ruined to anyone else. He was, he knew, a top class lover and he would ensure that Potter knew so, and that he would never know pleasure like it again.
A sudden squeal from above told Draco he had found his goal. The sound was somewhere between a yelp of surprise and a moan of pleasure and Draco allowed himself a short, dark laugh. "Welcome to your prostate, Potter." He smirked and redoubled his efforts, pulsing his fingers against the spot and inspiring more moans from the man beneath him.
He withdrew his fingers without warning, earning a gasp of surprise from Potter. He used his wet, lube stained fingers to coat his cock, feeling his erection throb with need as he touched it. He shifted Potter's legs, moving them until had the head of his cock aligned perfectly with the other man's entrance. He wasted no time on sweet words, on whispered reassurances; it would hurt, of course, and Draco wasn't about to do anything that would lessen that. Their liaison wasn't about Potter's pleasure, but about Draco's power, and it was time that Potter understood that.
Without warning, he pushed inside.
He forced himself to contain the hiss of pleasure which bubbled in his throat, trapping it behind his teeth before it escaped. There was no doubt that he had been correct in his earlier assumption; Potter had never confirmed that he had never actually been with a man but there was no way that someone could be so tight, so hot and close and not be a virgin. Well, an anal virgin, at least.
In line with his earlier stance, Draco wasted no time in a gentle pause, or even in slow, soft strokes which would reassure Potter that his pain would turn to pleasure as he became used to the sensations. It would happen, Draco knew that, and soon enough Potter would too. So instead he began to slam into the other man, his hips thrusting and grinding with pure, raw force. He clenched his fists into Potter's hips, holding him tight against him as he entered repeatedly, slamming with a steady yet strong rhythm into the one he had claimed. Potter soon began to writhe and moan beneath him and Draco knew his pain had succumbed to pleasure; he drank in the sight greedily, watching every nuance of Potter's expression, listening with rapt attention to every soft moan and pleasure laced gasp. Again, he knew that when the time came for him to be alone he would question the attention he had paid, yet once again his conscious mind had already prepared a suitable excuse; of course it was only natural that, after yearning for the return of his pride for so long, he would wanted to remember everything about the way it Potter looked when it crumbled from his grasp.
Excuse prepared, Draco thrust forward again, his hips heavy and hard and demanding against Potter's arse, and lost himself to the pleasure. It built within him, pooling in his stomach hot and heavy, drawing closer to the edge with every thrust. He lifted one of his fists from Potter's side and clasped it around the thick, hard cock which lay between them. Potter hissed at the touch and Draco continued his thrusts, pacing the pumping of his fist in time with his hand. He could not, would not, allow himself to crumble before Potter. It wasn't about the pleasure Potter would receive, but the need to be on top, the necessity to be in complete control of their scenario. He leant down, his first still keeping perfect time with the roll of his hips, and sank his teeth into Potter's neck in a delicious, erotic bite.
Draco didn't need Potter's moan to tell him that he had reached his climax; the warm, sticky liquid which doused his palm told him all he needed to know. He released the flesh between his teeth, giving the red mark he'd left a parting lick before lifting himself again. He knew, now Potter had come undone, that these would be his final strokes. He pulsed long and hard into the dark haired man beneath him, gripping his hips so hard they knew he would be faced with the bruises for days to come, and lost himself to oblivion.
He moaned, a long, drawn out, primal sound as he came inside Potter, hardly even realising he had made the sound. His entire body shuddered as he emptied the last of himself into the other man and gasped a deep, long intake of air. He wouldn't collapse onto Potter, he wouldn't be seen as weak, no matter how spent his bones were after the pleasure which had burst through them like fire. He pulled himself free and rolled to the side, casually plucking his wand from the folds of silk sheets where he cast it down. With a simple flick and a muttered charm he was draped in a fine, silver night robe and looking down at Potter who, it seemed, had lost all ability to move. He smirked, allowing his gaze to travel the man before him again, his attractiveness only doubled in the knowledge that Draco had now claimed him.
He had taken Potter in a way no other man had and, even in the future when others would no doubt follow, in a way that no other man could hope to.
He had, more importantly, taken back his pride. His crown rightfully restored, his smirk rightfully in place, Draco turned his gaze to Potter's face.
"Bilby will see you out." He told the other man, his voice cool and detached, at odds with the sweaty, spent figure beside him.
Potter blinked, lay still for a moment, then suddenly burst into a sitting position. He leapt from the bed, rummaging for his wand to – Draco assumed – cast a cleaning charm before he dressed himself. Potter's actions were jerky, hurried and clearly uncertain. What had he expected? Draco mused with amusement… A cuddle? He sneered at the thought, although he did allow himself to appreciate the swell of Potter's arse before it disappeared beneath his trousers.
Perhaps, now that his pride was rightfully restored, they could see about trading games of power for games of pleasure.
Or perhaps the two were never really as far removed from each other as Draco had first assumed.
Once Potter was clothed Draco summoned Bilby with a snap of his fingers. The elf bowed lowly, expertly training his eyes to the floor and saying nothing of his master's current situation.
"Bilby, you will see Mr Potter directly to the gates of the Manor." Draco instructed yet he did not take his gaze off Potter who still, from the moment he leapt from the bed, kept his back to him.
"Yes Master Malfoy sir, at once sir." The elf assured, bowing in such quick succession it was possible he hadn't actually ever righted himself from the first.
"Potter." Draco called, his gaze fixed on the back of his head now, urging the other man to turn around. After a moment he did and their eyes locked.
"Malfoy." He retorted in return. His eyes directly challenging Draco with the question he wouldn't speak; why?
Draco saw no reason to hold back the response whether Potter would speak the words or not. "You owed me. We're even." He made sure his gaze conveyed the subtle nuance of his words – they were even in terms of their sparring, yes, with Draco restoring the pride Potter had taken. But in the game of life, Draco would always win. "Just remember, Potter…" He paused, licked his lips, and made sure Bilby hadn't left. It was vital these would be his final, parting words to Potter. "Heroes always get remembered, but legends never die."
With that he nodded to Bilby, who nodded to his master in return, placing his grimy hand over Potter's arm, and taking them both away with a sharp, piercing crack.