Summary: Hermione and Ron want a house too themselves. Unfortunately this means that Draco Malfoy has too live somewhere new and Harry Potter needs a new room mate to help him make the rent. Hermione and Ron get their devious on and all of a sudden the two schoolyard rivals are living under the same roof. Slashy Slash slash. Eventually very dirty. Hopefully three or so chapters.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, slash, bitching and boxer wars.

AN: I'm sorry. I really am. But this beast of a story would not go away. I will be updating wanker soon if you're interested. Hope you like it. Review if you're so inclined, I will not hold it against you XD

As he walked out of his room in the direction of the noise Harry wondered what was wrong this time, probably nothing. Draco was a Slytherin after all, and everyone knew Slytherins saw unicorn shit where everyone else saw rainbows. It was practically a proverb in the Weasley household.

"I swear to God, Potter! I know you're doing this on purpose and I am fucking sick of it!"

"Doing what?"

"Oh, I dunno! Maybe dropping your pants on my couch? And the kitchen table? And the bath tub? And my writing desk?"

"Oh, you mean this," Potter dropped his boxers right then and their in the middle of the front room and flung them at Draco's favourite couch.

Draco roared at him and pushed him against the wall, holding his wand in the traditional attack position at Harry's neck.

There was a tense moment of huffed breaths and clashing bodies till Draco turned away and fled leaving Harry leaning against the front room wall; naked, flushed and alone.

And for the first time in a long time he actually felt that way.

Harry repeated his performance over and over, only to have Draco glare at him and leave as quickly as he could. Draco's abrupt rejection was the greatest feeling in his life – he felt it so much, why did no one tell him he could feel like that again? – but it was the most confusing loneliness he had ever felt and this was from Harry, a boy who had spent more then half his life feeling more alone then any other wizard in Britain; not even the Prophet would deny that.

It was three weeks before Draco and Harry talked again.

Harry wondered into the kitchen to see Draco poring over some documents with a mug of coffee, looking like he was settling in for the long haul, and Harry took his chance to... Well, he wasn't sure yet but he was sure he'd find out soon.

"Malfoy."

The Malfoy in question stood up hastily, grabbing sheets of paper covered in secretive scrawls and moving towards the fireplace.

"Malfoy."

There was a pause and Harry could just feel that Draco was clenching his teeth and it was glorious. Predictably the aloof young blonde had composed himself and continued his path to the pot of floo powder on the mantelpiece; somewhat less predictably Harry's anger flared. He felt so angry and it was powerful and it was brilliant and it was burning through him like curse fire. He walked quickly across the room and stood in between Malfoy and his escape.

"Draco fucking Malfoy!" He felt like he was pushing the words in Draco's face and he could feel the terrified man in front of him breathe faster and faster; the volume and force of his panicked air reached across the distance to hit his lips and set Harry's pulse beating like it hadn't since the day he died. Harry's arm flipped up and grabbed Draco's wrist almost of it's own accord, but Merlin, did Harry mean too.

"You will not ignore me!"

Draco only took a single moment to gage the implacable force closing around his wrists, too feel the stretch in his arms, too see the muscles tensing in Harry's biceps and the strain of Harry's shirt against his strength.

And there it was again; that moment where everything broke and came together with a force that pushed everything else away. There was just them and anger and passion and feeling. Harry could feel it all. He could feel the way he was somehow pushing Draco into the wall and now holding both his arms above their heads in, impossibly, only one hand. He could feel Draco's pulse beat against his palm. He could feel want stir inside himself. It was not just the simple rousing that a quick fuck bought but animal lust and want and need that pumped through his head and all of a sudden he was glory and power and he didn't even care that he was supposed to be confused and upset. Yes, it was Draco Malfoy but Draco Malfoy had stopped being a schoolboy in the last few weeks and had become the man panting against his lips, the man who was looking at him through scared half lidded eyes and more importantly the man who made him feel so much. Draco Malfoy was gorgeous and so close. He was blonde and he was beautiful and he was... pulling himself as far into the wall as he could.

"What's the matter Draco? Do I scare you?"

Draco whimpered, drawing out a soft laugh from his captor.

His voice was like honey in Draco's ears, but the fact was Harry was right; he was scared. He had never let go of his emotions like that. Merlin, had he wanted too some times, but was never brave enough. Too be forced to; too lose control was terrifying.

Then there was the fact that his childhood enemy was crushing him against the wall and looking at him like he was edible.

Harry licked his lips – Draco looked practically edible.

"Harry," his voice came out softer then either man had heard from him before, "Harry, what are you doing?"

Harry looked at Draco's turned head and sighed.

"Draco," he leaned in and whispered in the man's ear, "Shut. Up."

There was a pause for a few moments where neither knew if Harry was going to punch Draco in the stomach or... something else.

"Draco."

Draco turned too look at the man, starting slightly from his unexpected proximity; Harry hadn't moved back after he had whispered. His lips brushed Draco's, he could feel the heat of them on his own and the breath, the terrifying intoxicating feeling of Harry's angry huffing called to something inside him. He just felt so naked.

"Draco," and there was a slow buzzing rough soft drag against his lips as Harry said his name and Draco froze, "you feel like," Harry paused, just resting his lips against Draco's, "You feel so beautiful Draco. Is it odd that it's like this? It almost feels like," he paused again and it almost felt like his lips moved against Draco's, that they pushed against them, "God, Draco, so wrong. So," Harry moved back slightly and forward again in what would have been a kiss had he broken the contact between them, "So beauti-"

The end of the word was a muffled breath – an air filled shadow of a final syllable – in Draco's mouth as Harry pushed forward in earnest; his open mouth against Draco's slightly startled and parted lips, his tongue slowly but forcefully mapping Draco's lips, then teeth, then entire mouth.

Harry didn't know quite when he had started kissing him but he knew exactly the moment when Draco had finally moved, when his lips started moving against his; It was when Harry had moved his spare hand to grip Draco's hip and pushed himself flush against Draco's body.

He'd never forget the way Draco had moaned. He sounded like a two dollar whore and he sounded beautiful.

He couldn't help himself.

Draco gasped as Harry's thorough ministrations quickly devolved. Harry began to plunder his mouth and his spare hand roved to Draco's backside, cupping it and pushing their crotches together, causing Draco to moan again, which in turn caused Harry to explode all over again. Harry's rolling hips and nibbling teeth seemed wildly out of control, but Draco knew better; Draco knew Harry. Harry had every ounce of control in this melding of hips and lust, and the mere thought made Draco whimper.