Harry smiled at Draco's reply. He felt drunk already, despite the fact that he'd only had three sips of alcohol. It was probably nothing more than euphoria caused by having finally made a decision, and one that felt very right.

He also fully intended to get Draco Malfoy into bed. Perhaps his biggest epiphany had been the realisation that although he had reluctantly dragged out his decision to sleep with Eddie for months on end, he felt no such hesitation in regards to Draco. In fact, he was finding it bloody difficult to keep his hands to himself and had to hold tightly to his glass to keep from reaching out now.

"You were such a prat in school." He winced as soon as the words left his mouth. Antagonism was hardly the smartest path to choose if he wanted the road to lead to the bedroom.

To his surprise, Draco only chuckled. "Wasn't I? Merlin, the things I did. No wonder you despised me. Although I am still rather pleased with the 'Potter stinks' badges. I worked my arse off to perfect that spell."

"You were definitely no slouch in the magic department." Even at the time, Harry had been impressed by Draco's ability to repair the Vanishing Cabinet. If he had been pressured to do the same at that age, he doubted he'd have managed it. Not without Hermione's help. And Draco had been without Harry's support system. Crabbe and Goyle had to have been pretty useless.

"I was taught at a very early age. The statute for underaged magic is seldom enforced in magical households. My father would have given them the what for if they'd have even tried to curtail my lessons." Draco wrinkled his nose. "Funny how I used to worship him as a youngster. I was always so impressed at his arrogance, and thought it was brilliant to emulate his sense of superiority. I expected it was the thing to do, to treat others with contempt and rudeness, as though they were little more than ants to step on, unless they had some useful function."

"I remember," Harry said wryly. "But you don't think that way now." He thought about the way Draco had behaved with Agatha, the woman diluting Pepper-up in her kitchen after losing her only son in the war, and Consuelo, the forger that made tapas to die for. The old Draco would never have deigned to speak to them, much less treat them with kind fondness. "What changed your mind?"

Draco looked at him sidelong and then took a drink of his whiskey. It left his lips wet and his tongue flicked out to take in a lingering drop. Harry swallowed hard. "I suppose you did, in a roundabout way."

"Me?"

"Yes. I know you wondered why I sought you out at the Ministry, why I refused to work with anyone but you. I was reluctant to admit that you are the sole reason for my…reformation, I suppose you can say."

Harry smiled at that, wondering how far Draco had actually reformed. So far, his illegal activities seemed to have been little diminished, although none of them appeared to be particularly dangerous. He hoped.

"I hated you after the war, you know. Even more than before and during the war, if you can believe that. I blamed you for nearly every terrible thing in my life, foolishly rationalising that if you'd never existed, then that whole mess with the Dark Lord would never have happened. Voldemort—" he shuddered even as he spat the name "would never have been defeated the first time and he would have risen to power, rid the world of Muggles, and set my father up as a great power. It would have been glorious. Or so I told myself during my darkest moments. I was foolish." Draco drank the last of his whiskey and grimaced. "The war should have brought me wisdom. Instead, it took utter devastation before I could begin to see things the way they truly are."

Harry took his glass and got up to pour another three fingers of Firewhiskey. He wasn't certain that he wanted Draco to get drunk, but he seemed to need the relaxing power of alcohol tonight. There was a darkness about him that Harry wasn't sure how to combat. Something had happened, and if it took Firewhiskey to loosen his usual tight bonds of self-control, then so be it. Harry hoped that Draco would let him in, if only a little. It might be a start.

He returned with the glass and regained his position as Draco took another drink. "Tell me," he said.

Draco sighed and stretched his legs out before leaning his head against the back of the couch. He shut his eyes. "We went back to the Manor after the war, of course, and tried to carry on as best we could. The Manor was a wreck and Mother threw herself into restoring it. Looking back, I am certain it was less a restoration than a purge. She was hoping to eliminate every tainted memory of those who had crawled sickeningly through the halls she loved. My father barely bothered. He locked himself away and spent hours poring over his papers. And drinking." Draco lifted his glass as though in silent, sardonic tribute, and took another sip.

"There were threats, of course, from every quarter. Former Death Eaters hated us for escaping Azkaban with a tap on the wrist—thank you for that, by the way, since those words cannot be repeated enough—and people who fought on the side of light felt the same. The ranks of the forgiving were small and voiceless, while those with long memories for hatred were plentiful. My parents bolstered the wards and hid away from the world. I was angry and grew angrier and more resentful at the enforced containment. I was young. I wanted to see the world. I wanted to dance and drink and stay out all night at elaborate parties. "

"Understandable," Harry murmured, although he felt a pang at not really understanding at all. He would have given nearly anything to hide away after the war. Instead, he'd been thrown into the spotlight time and again, with every move he made subject to scrutiny and speculation. He had wanted nothing more than privacy and Draco had wanted the opposite. It was odd how things worked out.

"Who knows what might have happened? I might have fed upon my resentment until I turned into someone like Crabbe, full of festering hate and wanting only to lash out, feeling that the world owed me for everything that I had lost. My self-absorption was all-encompassing. I could barely see what was happening to my parents."

Draco's hand tightened on the glass and he paused. Harry nearly reached out and asked him not to continue, that it wasn't necessary to open old wounds for the sake of curiosity, but then Draco spoke again.

"My father locked himself away and wouldn't come out, demanding nothing more than a steady flow of gin and an occasional ear to rant to. My mother stopped caring about the house and instead remained in her rooms, writing. She was always writing. I regret that I was so self-focussed that I can't recall ever asking what she was writing about. I have no idea whether it was a history of her life, ledgers full of poetry, or the demented scratchings of a madwoman. I didn't care. I only wanted her to stop, and I wanted Father to get the hell out of his study and bring our lives back to what they had once been. All I could feel was anger. To keep from lashing out, I went on frequent walks, striding across the estate until my legs burned and my lungs ached. I suppose it was a minor form of self-flagellation, which is laughable until you take into account the spoiled nature of my upbringing. I felt those walks were harsh punishment, indeed."

Draco's lips quirked in a self-deprecating fashion and Harry realised with a start that he could hardly see any of the pampered child in the man he'd become.

"One afternoon I walked for hours. I was determined, at first, to walk to the ends of the earth and never return, but after a time I became distracted. I remember it was a beautiful day, late spring, and the temperature was absolutely perfect. My mother should have been in the garden on such a day, tending to her roses and gladiolas. She always…wore hats."

His voice broke and Harry reached out to put a hand on his arm. Draco didn't seem to notice.

"I remember thinking it would be nice to see her wear a hat again, and go out to the garden. Maybe I didn't really think that and it's only maturity painting a less selfish tint on my former self. It doesn't matter. As I turned to go back home that afternoon I saw a strange spiral of black smoke in the air. I'd never seen the like before and knew it wasn't Muggle farmers burning crops. At first I was annoyed, thinking that my father was out doing something stupid, but almost as soon as that idea came and went I began to panic. There was…a lot of smoke. Too much. I started to run."

Harry's hand tightened and he leaned closer. He already knew what Draco had found at home. He'd read the reports, but hearing it first hand, knowing the anguish that young Draco had been about to encounter made him sick to his stomach when he remembered his own first reaction at the news.

"Of course it was too late by the time I got there. The Manor was in flames. I tried to get inside, but the heat was too intense. I raced around the house, screaming and trying vainly to put it out with my wand. My best efforts produced nothing but steam. I found Mother in the garden. Somehow she'd made it out of the house, horribly burned. One half of her face was—" Draco broke off and drew in a careful, slow breath. "She was alive, but only just. I remember holding her and the sunlight…it shone on her hair so brilliantly."

Harry could scarcely breathe. His throat ached and his eyes stung. He swallowed hard. "Draco—"

"She died in my arms. Right there on that perfect day, surrounded by the garden she'd once loved." His tone was soft, giving no hint of the heartbreak the words must have conjured, the wound opened afresh. Harry could think of nothing to say. There was nothing that could ever ease the pain of such a thing, no words that could ever make it right. Draco took another drink, using his other hand to avoid dislodging Harry's grip.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, finally locating the trite words that people always spoke when they knew their words were no solace at all.

Draco exhaled, a soft sound that might have been an attempt at humour. "By all rights, I should have become even angrier. My petulant, cooped-up, adolescent rage was a child's tantrum compared to the white-hot fury that I felt that day. I knew that they had come. They had murdered my family and torched my ancestral home. They would have killed me, too, if I had been home. I had no idea who they were, but I vowed to learn. I promised on the remains of everything I loved that I would hunt them all down and make them pay."

"And did you?" Harry's voice was barely audible. He was almost afraid to learn the answer to his question, and half-hoped that Draco would ignore it.

"Not for a long time. I was no match for them. I knew nothing at the time, not even who they were or how to find them. I'd grown up sheltered, spoilt, wanting for nothing, and suddenly I had no family, no home, and not even a single house-elf. They had all vanished with the house.

"I went to Pansy, of course, and Blaise. Once I could function again, I learned. I soaked up information like a starving man sops up gravy. I found out everything I could about everyone I thought might be even vaguely guilty of destroying my life. I learned their habits, their methods, their preferences, and their weaknesses. I knew their friends, their loved ones, their mistresses, and their enemies. I learned to remember everything. Names, faces, connections, patterns. I could meet a man and instantly recall his wife, his in-laws, his cousins, his uncles and step-cousins and aunties twice removed. I knew his business and his bank balance, and all of the wicked little habits he tried to hide away from the world. I became an information broker, of sorts, trading knowledge for power. And then I went hunting."

Harry took his hand away from Draco's arm with a start, suddenly remembering that he was an Auror, albeit on leave, and that Draco was still a criminal with a past that no one had ever been able to piece together. "I don't want—" Harry took a deep breath and tried again, meeting Draco's eyes steadily. "I don't want you to tell me anything that will incriminate you."

Draco's stare was so intense that Harry thought he might drown in grey. "Harry Potter. Do you know that you were once on my list? Rather high, actually. I entertained the notion that you might have gone power-mad. It took quite some time for me to accept the idea that I was not the centre of the universe, you see, and even longer to get past the notion that I was not the centre of your universe." Draco smiled and before Harry could reply, he continued, "Therefore, I began to study you."

Harry blinked at him. "You studied—"

"I suppose you would call it spying. Granger certainly would, especially if she had any idea of the depths to which I've gone—but I digress. I studied you for years, attempting to accumulate all manner of nefarious materials with which to crush you."

Harry was bizarrely torn between feeling affronted and pleased. "And did you find such material?"

Draco sighed and looked away. He drained his glass again and then leant forwards to place it on the table before regaining his relaxed position. "Sadly not. You are pathetically lacking in vices, Potter. You do not drink to excess, you do not smoke, you have no hidden potion addictions or strange sexual fetishes; you exercise regularly and wake up ridiculously early. You have a slight preference for sugary and fatty foods, but you balance that by frequently forgetting to eat. You really are the Golden Boy."

"I am not!" Affronted won and Harry puffed up to protest his lack of wholesomeness.

"Please, Harry, you don't even snore."

"I—How do you know that?"

"Frankly, I'd had great hopes for a scandal when I discovered you preferred the phallus-endowed portion of the population, but shortly thereafter you came out with scarcely a whisper of protest and then moved in with someone as outwardly blemish-free as yourself. I despaired."

"Outwardly?" Harry chose to focus on the veiled slur against Eddie than on the fallacy that his coming-out had been easy. The press had nearly destroyed him with their slurs and speculation.

"I finally had to admit that you were practically perfect."

Harry blinked at him. "Practically."

"Indeed. You do have one rather alarming weakness. Your ridiculous need to throw yourself into danger. I found myself taking action a time or two in order to waylay your need for self-sacrifice."

"Are you saying you protected me?"

"On occasion. At first I was not even certain of my motives. Blaise thought I was insane. Pansy told me I was obsessed."

Harry didn't know what to think. He tried to remember a time when a case had gone too smoothly, or when clues fit together too easily, or appeared out of nowhere. "How long?"

Draco shrugged.

"Why did you decide to come to the Ministry? If you'd been helping me all along, why open yourself up to danger? You were nearly killed!"

"Because I'm tired. I don't want to do this anymore. I'm sick of being hunted, tired of being used. I hate looking for ulterior motives in every greeting and wondering if the next hand I shake will be the one that stabs a knife into my back. I want to remove the final few murderous cretins currently keeping me from my goal and then I want to disappear."

"Disappear?"

He nodded. "Secure in the knowledge that I will be relatively safe from revenge-seekers. I have found the criminal life to be…unsatisfying, of late. Or perhaps I just want something more now."

"And what is that?" Harry asked, trying to mask the spike of panic he felt at the thought of Draco disappearing.

"Peace. I have had enough of blood and death and torture. I want to sit on a beach somewhere with a glass of wine and a good novel and not have to look over my shoulder for some arsehole with a grudge."

"A beach."

Something in his voice caused Draco to turn to him with a gentle smile. "Harry—"

Harry kissed him. Rational thought had deserted him and Draco's heart wrenching tale, combined with his anxiety over the thought of Draco leaving, had triggered Harry's impulsive instincts. Draco's lips were soft and warm and after a slight intake of breath, he was still. Harry pressed harder, not quite feeling encouraged, but at least Draco hadn't pushed him away. And he didn't think he'd imagined Draco's words the previous night, when he'd come back with takeaway. He was certain he'd heard Draco mention something about '"seducing the Saviour" or some such thing.

He placed one hand on Draco's chest and let his fingers splay open. Merlin, he'd never wanted anyone so badly. To his delight, Draco finally responded. Long fingers twisted in his hair and pulled him closer. Harry discovered that Draco's previous kisses had been nothing but playful teases compared to the one laid upon him now. His tongue played at Harry's lips and Harry eagerly let him in. His senses thrummed at the taste and feel of Draco and it was so much better than anything he'd imagined, especially when coupled with the fact that Harry was half-draped over him, pushing closer as if he wanted to crawl into Draco's skin and take up residence.

Draco pulled away and Harry made a noise of protest. His fingers curled in Draco's shirt. "Harry. Are you sure about this?"

Harry planted kisses on his mouth, over and over, and finally took Draco's lower lip in a gentle bite before sucking on it. The action earned a groan from Draco and a shift in his position that pulled Harry more firmly against him.

"So sure," he growled and then dove back in, tasting Draco more firmly and exploring his mouth until they were both gasping. They kissed for so long that Harry's jaw began to ache and his mouth felt raw and bruised. Even then he didn't want to stop. Draco was an amazing kisser. Harry's glasses had fogged up, skewed sideways, until finally he had yanked them off to toss them somewhere on the end of the couch.

"Upstairs," he suggested while pausing for some much-needed air.

"Salazar, yes, I don't think I could take another interruption from Pansy or one of your friends."

Harry didn't bother to mention that such an eventuality was impossible, since he'd blocked the Floo and strengthened the wards against all forms of intrusion, bar one. An emergency Patronus could still get through, but Harry hoped beyond hope that such a thing wouldn't be necessary. He wanted this. He wanted Draco.

He tugged him up from the sofa and headed for the stairs. There was no dragging involved; Draco matched him step for step until they were practically racing up the stairs. By the time they reached the top they were both laughing. Harry hadn't expected to find the low rumble of Draco's laugh to be such a turn-on, but at this point he supposed just about anything Draco did would only increase the tightly-wound tension of his libido.

Draco stopped him at the doorway and spun him around to kiss him again. The door frame dug into Harry's shoulders and buttocks, but Draco felt so nice against him that Harry could only pull him closer.

"How did you arrive at this monumental decision, Harry?" Draco asked after a moment.

"It isn't that monumental. It's only sex." He tried to sound nonchalant, but to his surprise, Draco pulled away, looking stung.

Before Harry could determine what he'd said wrong, Draco's expression softened and he smiled. "I suppose it is."

Despite the fact that the statement validated his own words, Harry felt a surge of disappointment. He tried to ignore it as he forced a return smile. "Are you going to let us into the bedroom anytime soon?"

Draco's grin widened and he pushed away before curling a fist into the front of Harry's shirt and tugging him into the room. "Behold the bedroom. I think it's time this came off." He gave the shirt a yank and then let go, but Harry crowded into him and pushed him up against the bedpost.

"Actually, I think it's time this came off." He nuzzled Draco's neck whilst his fingers sought out the buttons of Draco's stiff shirt. "How can you wear this much starch? It has all the give of a cardboard box."

"Some of us prefer not to look as though we located our clothing somewhere in a rubbish bin off Knockturn Alley, even if it means sacrificing comfort."

"God, you're sexy when you use that snobbish tone of voice. Why does it turn me on when you're being an arse?" He nipped at Draco's jaw and pushed his hands into the open shirt to feel his ribs. Draco's sharp inhalation of breath felt like a victory.

"Perhaps, because—" Draco's words were cut off by Harry's kiss. He chuckled at having found an effective way to shut him up. It turned into something of a game when Draco continued to try to speak. Harry couldn't contain his laughter and the resulting jumble of unintelligible sounds soon had them both giggling like idiots.

Harry pulled away and leaned back to take him in. Draco's eyes were dark and sparkling with merriment. His lips were parted and wet and he looked so bloody gorgeous with his shirt open that Harry's breath caught in his throat at the knowledge that the beautiful, funny, enigmatic man before him wanted him just as badly. It was sobering. Before he could do anything foolishly sentimental, Draco yanked the t-shirt out of Harry's jeans and then pulled it off over his head in a rush of motion.

"Who knew that your hair could get even worse?"

The words dashed Harry's momentary lapse into seriousness and he growled and pushed Draco away from the bedpost before shoving him back onto the bed and climbing atop him. "Oh really? Well, what do you think of this, Mr Perfect Hair?" He rubbed his hands through Draco's soft locks, mussing it rudely whilst fending off Draco's hands and ignoring his outraged protests. "Oh, Merlin, isn't it shocking? You can look something less than pristine!"

"Potter! Stop this at once! And get off of me, you giant oaf!"

Harry stopped wrecking his hair and switched his position. "Do you really want me to get off?" He lined up his erection with Draco's and ground his hips forwards. Both of them were only partially erect, but it still felt delicious and his groan was answered by Draco's.

"Perhaps not, but only if there are fewer layers of clothing between?"

"Great idea," Harry said and kissed him again. That occupied them for much longer than it should have. Harry couldn't seem to get enough of kissing him and Draco didn't seem to have a problem with it. Finally, however, Harry became conscious that his erection had grown painful and the friction of trousers and jeans between them was not at all satisfying. "Clothes off," he murmured.

"Please, yes."

Harry pushed away with effort and paused for a moment to enjoy the sight of Draco Malfoy looking thoroughly dishevelled—hair a mess, lips red, eyes half-lidded, shirt open…and trousers bulging attractively in a way that demanded unwrapping. Harry reached for the fancy, old-fashioned silken lacing on the trousers Draco wore.

"You wear these intentionally to make people want to unlace you, yeah?"

Draco sniffed. "Hardly. I haven't even got started on your hideous wardrobe. You would do well to accompany me to a proper fitting—oh dear Salazar." Draco's patrician babble was cut off abruptly when Harry reached in and wrapped a hand around his cock. As Harry had suspected, Draco wore no undergarments. He had examined Draco's arse enough times to have become certain of it.

"Brilliant. That's two ways I've found to shut you up." Harry smirked at him.

Draco pulled a face at him and then smiled. "I won't disagree with your methods. And now you've got it, what do you plan to do with it?"

Harry made a humming sound and let go long enough to remove Draco's trousers completely. Draco hadn't bothered to put on socks or shoes, which made the trouser extraction much simpler. The shirt he left on. He shucked his own jeans and briefs while he was at it. With the necessary mechanics out of the way, Harry settled himself between Draco's legs, met his eyes for an instant with a wicked smirk, and took as much of Draco's cock into his mouth as he could manage. It felt amazing, and Draco's reaction—head thrown back and hoarse, wordless cry spewing from his lips—made him feel accomplished. Tossing caution to the wind, he took it even deeper, mentally willing himself to repress his gag reflex.

It didn't work. He backed nearly off of Draco's cock with an inelegant choking sound and a dry heave. Draco put a hand in his hair and lifted his head to give him an indulgent smile.

"Harry, you have nothing to prove to me. I am already impressed, remember?"

Harry flushed and nearly voiced a denial, but Draco's words left him with a rush of warmth anyway, so he said nothing and sucked down Draco's cock again, moving more slowly this time and working his tongue along the length as he did so.

Draco let out a slow, almost-tortured sounding breath. "Merlin, never mind. If you are intent upon earning the title of Boy Who Sucked the Best, then by all means, do continue—bloody hell, that feels amazing."

Harry had performed a couple of blowjobs in the past and had felt horribly amateurish and awkward. He also hadn't much cared for it. But this, because it was Draco, who smelled and tasted and felt incredible, and who was normally so unshakeable… To bring him to such a state of trembling, gasping, and clutching at Harry's hair was a power trip that spurred him to attempting all sorts of techniques. While he was gripping the base with one hand and delivering rapid flicks of his tongue to the slit in the crown of Draco's cock, he actually had to hold Draco down to keep him from bucking off of the mattress.

A hand suddenly yanked hard at his hair. "Wait! Harry, stop, I'm going to—"

Harry swallowed him down, hollowing his cheeks and sucking gently. Draco's thighs shook and he gave a hoarse cry as his hands pulled Harry's hair again; a hot jet of fluid poured into Harry's throat.

"Damn you, Potter, I didn't want to come yet."

Harry pulled away, not minding the long strand of pale saliva-come that stretched from the tip of Draco's cock until he wiped it away with the back of his hand and licked his lips. "Well, that point is now moot. We'll just have to make you come again. Ouch!" He winced as Draco tugged mercilessly at his hair, dragging him upwards and into a bruising kiss. When Harry could free himself, he complained. "You know, I could do with a bit less hair-pulling."

Draco hummed like a satisfied cat. "Are you going to fuck me now?"

Harry smiled. "That's the most brilliant suggestion I've ever heard."

"Well, I am brilliant, I admit. Where is your lube?"

"…lube."

"Yes, Harry, lubricant, emollient, something with which to ease the way, so to speak?"

"Bloody hell, I left it at Eddie's."

Draco lifted himself onto his elbows so quickly that he nearly cracked Harry on the forehead. A thunderous scowl darkened his brow. Harry leant back, surprised. "If you don't mind, I would prefer to touch nothing that has been anywhere near Carmichael."

"But…I've been near Carmichael."

Draco grimaced. "Don't remind me. Obviously, you are the sole exception. I am trying to forget that you—and he—"

"Well, we never did this."

"Never did what?"

Harry made a vague hand-waving motion between them. "This. Um. Sex."

Draco went still and fell back to look at Harry. He stared for so long that Harry gave him a poke on the chest to make sure he hadn't been immobilised. The gesture seemed to snap Draco back to reality.

"You never had sex. With Carmichael."

Harry shook his head, flushing slightly because it sounded a bit mad, the way Draco put it. Would he think there was something wrong with him?

"Potter, you lived with him for months."

Harry nearly pulled away and fled the bed, but a pale hand reached out and gripped his wrist, stopping him. "I know that! I just wasn't ready. And Eddie never pushed."

"Are you sure he's gay?"

Harry frowned at him. "Of course, he's gay! We…kissed and stuff."

"I've kissed girls, Harry. It doesn't make me heterosexual."

"But—"

"Trust me, any gay man that could live with you for months on end without begging to fuck you or be fucked is either a bloody saint—and Carmichael is no saint—or he has no interest in cock."

Harry puzzled over his words before his jaw dropped. "Has no interest— Wait! Was that a compliment?" He pondered it for a moment. "Yes, it definitely was. You even said begging—mphr!" His bewildered crowing was rudely silenced by Draco dragging him down into a kiss, but a laugh bubbled up from Harry's chest anyway. He was suddenly very glad that he'd never shagged Eddie, gay or not, because hearing those words from Draco made every moment of his prior indecision and confusion worthwhile.

"Begging," Harry reminded him when he could breathe again.

"Shut up, Potter. Now do you have lube or must I actually send you out into the cold, dark wet to fetch some?"

It wasn't particularly cold, dark, or wet, but Harry definitely didn't want to leave the naked warmth of Draco's gorgeous body, lest he change his mind about that shagging thing—

"Accio lube!" To his infinite relief, something slapped into his open hand. He looked at it curiously, to find a dusty jar that looked as though it might have been undisturbed since the days of Sirius Black. Hoping against hope that it wasn't full of dust or something dried out and ancient, he twisted the lid.

A delicate, spicy-floral scent reached his nose and he dipped a finger inside to find a smooth, viscous gel. He rubbed his finger and thumb together just as Draco took the jar from his hand and wiped through some of the dust on the side.

"Vermillion Violet? Well, despite the fact that you obviously haven't used this in far too long, at least you had good taste at one time. This is top notch. Very good, Harry. I approve." Draco handed the jar back and then flopped down again. His hair fanned over the pillow attractively, as he probably knew. "You may proceed."

Harry smiled as he took the jar back and dipped in his fingers to scoop a liberal amount. If it carried the Malfoy Seal of Approval, he was fine with it. As he smeared it over his slightly softened cock, he hissed at the chill.

"A Warming Charm helps with that. How long since you've wanked?"

"I wank plenty!" Harry protested and then realised that might not be the most prudent thing to admit. "Never mind! Just tell me how I do this. I mean…"

Draco jolted back onto his elbows. "Are you telling me you've never fucked anyone before?"

Harry winced. "Is that bad? I'm going to be terrible at this, aren't I?"

~TBC~

Author's Note: (I hope 3,000 words of foreplay makes up for the LONG LONG wait for this...) :D