Sleep didn't come easily. Draco tossed and turned and glared into the darkness, preoccupied by the way in which his evening had ended. He knew he wasn't truly mad at Harry, he hadn't intended his request the way Draco had interpreted it. So why had he taken it with hostility?

Probably because he wanted to do what Harry wanted him to do. And there was a part of him that still resented Harry for getting what he wanted. A stupid, childish part of himself that wanted to see Harry lose out, to be turned down, to not get any special treatment.

Which was especially stupid since none of that school days rubbish mattered anymore. The dark days were buried in the past. And clearly Harry didn't care about any of that anymore. And if he didn't care, why should Draco care? That was the question that haunted him and kept him awake.

Sleep came late in the night, when fitful thoughts finally gave way to quiet slumber. When the lotus flower summoned him awake he felt less rested than he wanted to, but more rested than he expected to.

He dressed in a suit and went down to the kitchen to oversee breakfast preparation, even arriving before Blaise. He perfected the table setting, set up the buffet, then flung the doors open on the pool side of the dining room to let the lovely cool morning air in.

"What's our head count this morning?" he asked as Blaise poked his head into the room.

"Eight. None of the witches stayed last night. They mostly shared spells and drinks and went home when everyone turned in." He shook his head in amazement. "All loyal married men, it seems."

"Not all of them." Draco's wand was in his hand and he was coaxing the ceiling into a magical display of a forested sky, with dappled sunlight spilling through the branches.

"I saw you leave with Potter," Blaise said. "Shall I assume?"

"No you shall not," Draco stepped back to admire his work. "He wanted some spa time. I obliged but did not stray from the menu."

"Did he want to stray from the menu?" Blaise asked. "Should I assume he's, shall we say, comfortable with a male aesthetician?"

"He's comfortable," Draco nodded. "He asked to stray from the menu."

"And you said no?" Blaise frowned. "Draco, you let Longbottom slobber all over your knob. I'm straight and even I know Potter is fit. Why would you say no to him?"

"Okay first, I did not let Longbottom do anything. I let a stranger do something and if I had known it was Longbottom I would have said no." Draco's words came out fast and annoyed. "Second, I don't know why I said no to Potter."

"Because he's Potter."

"Indubitably."

The first guests began to filter in, hungover and dehydrated from the night before. Head Auror Chelsey had provided a schedule of meeting times so Draco knew they would be heading upstairs for the first of several long presentations at nine o'clock. He planned on being as lazy as possible while they were occupied.

Ron and Harry drifted in last. Ron looked like death warmed over, his hair rumpled, his eyes baggy, and his lips parched. Harry, on the other hand, looked rested enough. But his shoulders were rounded and his expression was withdrawn. He glanced at Draco before moving on to the buffet line with his plate.

Draco felt terrible. There was no reason for him to have reacted so coldly last night. It was all just stupid bloody history and old habits. Totally pointless hostility.

When everyone was seated Draco moved around the table with a teapot, topping off cups and making sure everyone was satisfied. He stopped between Ron and Harry and let his hand drop lightly onto Harry's shoulder.

"All right here?" he asked. "Feeling a bit rough around the edges, Weasley?" He left his hand on Harry's shoulder and drew his thumb down his neck. Just once to try to make amends for his poor behavior. Harry looked up in bewilderment but didn't shrug out of his grasp.

"I'll be fine, Malfoy," Ron grumbled. "Just need food."

"Well if anyone needs anything please let me know," Draco squeezed Harry's shoulder once more, then took his leave. He could feel Harry's eyes on him as he left.

Once the guests had adjourned to the meeting room upstairs Draco felt free to take care of himself for a while. He popped up to his room to change clothes, then popped down to the atrium to make sure everything was still going as expected. He could hear Blaise at the back office Floo cajoling an old girlfriend into running the spa for a few days, but it didn't sound like it was going well.

Since no one needed him at the moment, he went where his heart was leading him: the pool. He shucked his sandals beside his favorite chaise lounge and yanked his t-shirt over his head. Glorious radiance from the ever-pleasant sun enrobed him in its warmth. He stretched his arms over his head, adjusted his slim-fit swim shorts, and padded to the edge of the water where the blue and white tile curved from the deck to the pool walls.

One graceful leap from the deck, a perfect stroke to the other side, and he crested in the shallows feeling like a renewed man. If he'd learned anything during his time in the Virgin Islands, it was that his soul needed water and sun.

He pushed his platinum hair back from his face and splashed his chest and arms a few times for good measure. Then he ascended the ladder and returned to his chaise.

He glanced up at the second floor windows as he angled his seat for perfect sun exposure. He could see the Aurors who were seated closest to the glass, all focused on the far side of the room, where someone, perhaps Longbottom, was making boring chit-chat about staffing or crime rates or whatever it was they were up there to discuss.

But there was one face not pointed towards the opposite end of the room. Draco felt a smile lift the corner of his mouth. Like what you see, eh, Potter?

He stretched his arms up again to smooth back his short hair, knowing that doing so would elongate his torso and show the toned, trim lines of his physique. Then he turned, bent over to adjust his sandals and give Harry a good look at his arse, and then he laid on the chair with his legs extended. There, that ought to give him something to think about.

He'd only just achieved perfect sun-nap stasis, where his sunblock spell was the proper strength relative to the sun's rays, his skin had reached the ideal sunning temperature, and his mind had reached its sun-soaking zen, when a shadow cut across his face and interrupted it all.

"Sod off, Blaise, you're blocking my sun."

"How do you stay so pale if you lay out like this?" A deeper voice answered.

Draco's heart rate skyrocketed but he affected a bored, casual demeanor. He looked up and squinted at Harry Potter's silhouette against the sun.

"To the left, Potter," he said. Harry obeyed, shifting his shadow so that it fell across Draco's chest. "Sunblock charm," he drawled. He closed his eyes as though falling asleep again.

Harry stood silently for a moment, then his shoes scuffled as he turned to walk away. That was what Draco was waiting for.

"Like what you see?" he called.

The sound of Harry's shoes halted. "Like you don't already know the answer to that," he murmured. Three of his officemates walked out onto the deck with brunch plates in hand.

"I'd like to hear you say it," Draco cracked one eye open again. This felt better, the power dynamic was more equal here than when he was servicing Harry in the spa.

Harry checked over his shoulder and jammed his hands into his pockets. He chuckled and ducked his head, a tiny blush reddening his cheeks. Yes, this was a much better power dynamic.

Harry raked his eyes hungrily down the length of Draco's body. His gaze practically had fingertips, and it was like being stroked from head to toe. Draco considered purring.

"Yes," Harry's voice was soft. "I like what I see."

"I know," Draco let a sly smile creep over his face and closed his eyes again. He heard Harry chuckle to himself and then walk back inside with the others for their second morning meeting.

Twenty minutes before lunch a shadow fell across Draco again as he was sunning his back. This time it was Blaise, his frown of disapproval etched into his skin.

"You need to get dressed and make sure lunch goes smoothly," he said. When Draco opened his mouth to complain he cut him off with a wave of his hand. "No, don't speak. You've been out here for more than two hours. It's time to get up and run your business."

"Bastard," Draco snarled. But he rose to his feet, slipped on his sandals, and went inside.

As he was ascending the stairs the door to the conference room swung open and guests started filing out. In a panic Draco Disapparated and landed with a loud pop just outside of his door, which he now regretted adding anti-apparition protection to. He flexed his wrist and drew his wand from the bottomless pocket in his swim shorts and raised it to swish.

"Malfoy."

Draco whirled around. Harry was standing at the bend in the hallway, peering at him with curiosity.

"Potter. Pardon me, I just need to get changed."

"Is this your office?" Harry crept towards him as though Draco were a small animal who was easily frightened. He reached out and grazed his hand down Draco's arm, a smile flickering faintly across his lips. "You're still warm from the sun."

"It was brilliant today," Draco ignored the goosebumps that raised up and down his skin.

"I was a bit envious," Harry said. "And a bit distracted."

Draco smiled. "Good."

Harry checked over his shoulder and shuffled closer. "Good?"

"Well, you know."

Egads it's getting snug in here.

"Malfoy-"

"Potter, listen," Draco had a hard time looking into his eyes. Harry was at least an inch taller, and his gaze was fixated on Draco. "Listen, Potter. I need to get dressed for lunch service."

"Now?" Harry reached a finger out and trailed it down Draco's arm again.

"You're mad, you know that?" Draco was pressed with his back against the door, the inlaid wood cold against his bare skin.

"Maybe I am," Harry murmured. He was almost pressed up against Draco now. He tipped his head and nuzzled his nose into the whisper-fine stubble along Draco's jaw. An electric jolt fired down Draco's spine and spread through his groin like wildfire.

"You hate me," he gasped. Harry slipped a hand around his waist and pulled him into his arms.

"No I don't," Harry murmured into his ear.

"We've never liked each other," another gasped protest.

"That was ages ago."

"Five years."

"I don't care," Harry breathed.

"Harry, oh, sorry," Ron appeared in the hall behind them and immediately averted his eyes. Harry and Draco pushed away from each other and tried to affect a conversational distance between them. Ron sighed laboriously. "For Merlin's sake, Harry. It's time for lunch."

Draco swished and flicked and threw the door open. "I'll be down in a moment," he said. Harry nodded and eyed him regretfully before following Ron downstairs. Draco flung himself down on the bed and groaned in agony, then flipped onto his back and had the fastest wank in history. It put even his furtive Hogwarts bathroom wanks to shame.

Somewhat relieved he dressed in a spa uniform and went downstairs to offer mostly superficial supervision to the dining room. He pointedly kept his eyes off of Harry, preferring to make it to the end of the service without another erection.

After lunch Head Auror Chelsea announced that everyone could have an hour of relaxation before the next session. Seven guests went outside, one stayed behind. Draco folded his arms across his chest and waited for him to say it.

"Is the spa open?"

"I suppose so."

He led the way across the building to the glassed-in breezeway and skipped down the two steps to the spa floor. He went to the main counter to retrieve the menu but Harry was upon him as soon as the door was closed. He slipped his arms around Draco's waist from behind and nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

"Ye gods, Potter, get control of yourself," Draco gasped. He twisted out of Harry's arms and swept his hand in a slash to draw all of the drapes along the pool side wall.

Harry's cheeks were flushed and he grinned self-consciously. "Can I choose whatever I want to do?" he asked.

"Obviously, Potter."

"I want to return the favor and give you a massage."

"That would be highly unusual," Draco's voice cracked a bit, startling him and widening Harry's grin.

"Please?" Harry asked.

"I don't know."

"Come on," Harry patted the table. "Hop up."

The idea was too appealing to resist.

Draco stripped out of his clothing and climbed up onto the table, quickly draping the sheet over his cock and balls. Then he rolled onto his stomach and placed his face in the hole in the head support.

He heard Harry pump oil into his hands and rub them together, and the next thing he knew strong, powerful fingers were digging into the muscles of his back and eliciting a groan of delicious pleasure from his throat.

Harry was good. He used confident pressure, firm but not hard enough to hurt, and he stroked in long, even lines that pushed the tension right out of Draco's body. He squeezed and kneaded Draco's legs, his shoulders, his arms and hands, and unlike Draco he gave into temptation and licked one of his fingers before moving to his other hand.

Draco was instantly and uncomfortably hard.

"Turn over."

"Okay but try not to read too much into this," he rolled onto his back and tried to maintain a dignified expression when the sheet tented prodigiously over his cock.

An enormous grin spread across Harry's face. "Well then," he breathed.

Another pump of oil and he was working across Draco's chest, then carefully skirting his groin, then down his thighs, and finally his feet. Draco was particularly sensitive in his feet. Goosebumps flared up and down his body at the first squeeze.

"You're really enjoying this," Harry marveled."I wasn't sure you would trust me enough to let me do this."

"Well if you don't care about the past then I don't— oh," Draco's eyelids fluttered shut as Harry stroked a thumb down the arch of his foot.

"Then why does it feel like you're hesitating?" Harry paused, eliciting a disappointed moan from his subject.

"Because," Draco searched for an answer. "Because it doesn't make sense."

"Does it have to?" Harry began kneading again.

"Ideally, yes." Draco's tongue felt too thick for conversation.

Harry released his foot and rested his hands on Draco's legs. When Draco raised his head Harry was gazing half-lidded at Draco's draped cock. He looked up and swallowed hard, for the first time appearing nervous.

"What is it?" Draco knew what he hoped it was, but didn't want to assume.

"I want to suck your cock," Harry's voice was nearly a whisper.

To Draco's embarrassment his knob answered before he did, bobbing and becoming so incredibly hard that he could have exploded.

"Here?"

"Yes," Harry circled the table with his hand tracing lines up Draco's leg to his bollocks. He cupped them through the sheet and squeezed gently. A tiny damp spot darkened the cloth covering the tip of his shaft.

Draco couldn't answer. All he could do was nod.

Harry gently lifted the sheet and set it aside, then lowered his mouth and engulfed Draco in one smooth dip of his head.

"Fuck," Draco mashed his fist into his mouth and tried not to rattle off a string of profanity.

Harry drew up in a long, slow pull, then dove back down until his nose was pressed up against Draco's lower abdomen. His control was finely honed, no hint of a gag reflex. No teeth, just a preternaturally acrobatic tongue and— fuck.

Harry bobbed his head faster now, over and over, sucking and pulling with one hand massaging his bollocks, and Draco didn't know how long he could hang on. He shuddered and gasped and tried not to rudely thrust into Harry's throat but it was damn near impossible to control. Harry swept his other hand in and grasped the base of his shaft and squeezed, creating an amazing counter-rhythm to his mouth, and even though Draco wanted to hold out even just a moment longer so it wouldn't have to end, the spark flared and raced up his spine like the flame trail of a Romanian Fireflight dragon.

He bit down hard on his knuckle to suppress the shout, which only served to lengthen the climax, and arched his back in a long, suspended convulsion. Harry moved with him, riding his wildly bucking hips like he was breaking a wild horse, and brought him back down the other side of climax with a soft release.

"Salazar's ghost, Potter," Draco panted, the heels of his hands pressing against his eyes. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"Enjoyed that, did you?" Harry wiped his mouth with the discarded sheet and then laid it over Draco's exposed body.

"Obviously," Draco sat up and looked around for his clothes. The oil had soaked in and left his skin feeling smooth and soft. He hopped down from the table and dressed quickly, aware that Harry's eyes were on him the whole time. "So, um."

"I probably need to be getting back to the group," Harry smiled apologetically. Which was completely ridiculous since Draco owed him one and should be apologizing for the lack of time—

"Maybe after supper?" Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Potter," Draco removed Harry's glasses and cleaned a stray spot off of the lenses with his shirt tail, "I am tremendously in your debt. You can call it in anytime."

"Yeah?" Harry's grin widened and he ducked his head in a giddy shrug. He punched Draco lightly in the shoulder, "All right then. See you later."

"Cheers."

Draco watched him leave, all broad shoulders and messy black hair and an arse that would reduce a Greek god to tears.

He collapsed against the table and exhaled slowly. What a thing to happen. How was this even in the realm of reality? If someone Apparated right then to tell him it had all been a hallucination brought on by a hex, he would have believed them.

Just then Blaise popped into the room with his mouth set in a stern line.

"Don't you dare tell me I've been hexed," Draco said.

"Calm down, I was just waiting for Potter to leave," Blaise waved his hand for silence. "I found someone to cover the spa tomorrow."

"Twins?"

"I'm a wizard, Draco, not a miracle maker," Blaise sighed. "But I have a lead on twins."

"Good."

"So you won't have to be the one responsible when Potter asks to be serviced."

Draco cleared his throat and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"You didn't."

"No," Draco cocked his head. "But he might have."

"What?" Blaise hissed. He waved his hand and wandlessly slammed the door for privacy. "What did he do?"

"He wanted to give me a massage," Draco shrugged. "So I said yes."

"And you got a happy ending?" Blaise's eyes were wide with the thrill of gossip.

"The happiest sort of ending," Draco drew one finger down the corner of his mouth.

"Rubbish, I don't believe it," Blaise smacked himself in the forehead. "You realize that two of the eight Ministry staff out there have gone down on you, don't you? That's a quarter of our current roster."

"Not bad," Draco smiled smugly.

"So what are you going to do now? Is that it, or is this a hook-up?" Blaise asked.

"I don't know, actually," Draco frowned. "I'm not sure what he's after."

"What are you after?"

"I don't know that either."

Blaise patted him on the arm. "Just be careful. This is your life. But Potter," he looked around the spa, "Potter is on holiday."