At the knock of the door, Harry casts a quick Tempus. One minute until nine.

Good boy.

He pads to the door, bare feet slapping lightly on the floor. When he opens it, Draco is there, looking freshly showered and remarkably calm.

"Please, come in," he says, gesturing Draco in with a hand.

Draco steps quietly into the room, and Harry takes the moment to assess his demeanor. The calmness he sees is pleasant and a little surprising; after all, a tiny part of him expected Draco to walk in here like a man on his way to his own execution. But in a way, maybe it is. Maybe Draco is resigned to let his experiences of the past die tonight. Harry thinks he's been an executioner once, and if it means getting Draco right where he wants him, he's happy to do it again. Only this time, he feels honored, not obligated.

Draco is dressed impeccably in a crisp, emerald green button-down and black bespoke trousers. No fraying hems to be seen. It makes him wonder about the trousers from before. Draco has money, there's no denying that fact, so it's a curious thing for him to be lounging about in clothes long past their prime. If he knows Draco, and Harry's beginning to think he really does, he's certain there's some sort of self-flagellation involved. Draco is a martyr to his guilt. Blaise Zabini is the glaring proof.

Draco says nothing, merely lets his gaze linger on the comforts of Harry's room, taking in the low lights and fire crackling in the hearth. His eyes skim over the bed and then return to it, falling there for a second or two before his head swivels around to look at Harry and subject him to the same gentle scrutiny.

Harry inhales deeply, trying hard not to look like a puffed-up peacock, but honestly, there's so much pride and confidence rushing through him he thinks he might burst. He knows what he looks like, black trousers and bare feet, a tailored blue shirt with the cuffs rolled up to the elbow. Elegant, but at ease, as if there's nothing in the world that can trouble him at this moment. And frankly, unless another Dark Lord suddenly rises to power in the next twenty minutes, there isn't. Even then, Harry thinks as Draco's tongue darts out to moisten his lips, it's iffy.

"Where would you like me, Harry?"

Naked. Begging for me.

"You're fine where you are," Harry replies, moving toward him.

Draco's hands reach for the buttons on his shirt, but Harry intervenes.

"Not yet," he says firmly. He's pleased to see Draco's hands fall to his sides and slide around to the small of his back. He doesn't need to look to know they're clasped together properly. The blood rushes to his cock and Harry takes a step back to gather his faculties.

He blinks twice, steadying himself before continuing. "There are a few things I want to get straight, so there's little doubt as to what you can expect." Harry flicks his gaze over Draco. "Tonight is about obedience and trust. I trust that you will obey, and you will trust that I will not push you beyond your capabilities. There is much we have to learn about each other, and that's not going to happen if we rush things. Understand?"

"Yes, Harry." Draco's eyes drift downward.

"You may look at me." Draco's lashes flutter as his eyes find Harry's. "Unless otherwise directed, you always have my permission to look at me. In fact, I encourage it." He leans in. "I want you to see what you do to me. What effect you have on me."

Draco nods, keeping his focus on Harry.

"You mentioned that you do not like humiliation. Neither do I, so be assured that is something that I will not pursue. How are you with pain?"

Draco shifts slightly on his feet before answering, "I do not wish to be injured, Sir."

"Other than that?" Harry prompts.

"Then," Draco's head tilts to the side, "pain is acceptable."

"Toys and apparatus? Providing they fall within your limits?"

Draco inhales and lets out a slow breath, "Acceptable."

"Bondage? Restraints?"

Harry's cock jumps in his trousers as Draco's eyes widen and he swallows.

"Yes, Harry."

"Do you like that? Being restrained?" Harry asks, pitching his voice low.

Draco nods again, mouth working, but no sound emerges.

The smile that crosses his face is sly, almost predatory. "What else do you like, Draco?"

Draco's breath is coming in short, small pants now, and his eyes are glittering. "Praise, Sir."

Harry sucks in a deep lungful of air and puts his mouth next to Draco's ear, letting his breath tickle over the appendage. He soaks in Draco's tremor with an internal groan. "Oh, I don't think that's going to be a problem. You're going to be so good for me, aren't you?" he purrs.

Draco stiffens, not in fear, but because Harry thinks if he didn't, he'd collapse to the floor in a puddle. He makes another mental tick in head beside 'bondage'. Yes, praise definitely won't be a problem.

Harry's head is swimming now with all the possibilities that are open to him, with all the ways that he and Draco can come together. It's a bit dizzying, and altogether perfect, and Harry reels against the thought. It's more than he ever could have hoped for.

"Do you have a safeword?"

Draco blinks, startled. "I—I never—"

Harry knows it's foolish to think that all traces of Blaise's influence would be gone by this point in time. It's something they're going to have to work through, little by little, and some hesitance is expected. But this is how they will build trust. And Harry's not cruel enough to chastise him for it right now.

He takes a quick breath and stares deeply into Draco's eyes, willing him to listen. "You have to trust me. When I ask you if you have a safeword, it's because I intend to honor it, should you ever need it. I won't ignore it or disregard it. I can't. That's not the kind of man I am. And that's not the kind of relationship we will have. You will be able to trust me with this."

Draco's head jerks in a quick nod. "Yes—I'm sorry, Sir."

"Now, do you have a safeword?"

"Parachute, Sir."

Harry's eyebrow pops up. "Parachute?"

"Yes, um, it's a Muggle device—"

"I know what a parachute is," Harry replies with a small smile. "Very well, parachute it is. That will be my safeword as well."

Draco's eyes go round and incredulous. "Your safeword?"

Harry chuckles. "Of course. You don't think you're the only one affected by all of this? That you're the only one who might become overwhelmed?" He looks at Draco and feels the blood coursing through his veins. It's a heady rush. "I could very easily lose myself in you."

Draco bites back a small gasp and his arms flex. Harry has no doubt his fingers are curling into his palms behind his back.

"There are two reasons you should use a safeword. If you are physically injured, or if you feel you are either emotionally or morally compromised. I will check in with you sometimes and ask for a color. 'Green' means continue, 'yellow' means slow down. If you feel you are at 'red', then safeword. Can you abide by that?"

"Yes, Harry."

He waves a hand in the air, and a small pulse of magic settles over them both. "There. If either of us feels the need to safeword, the scene stops. If you are bound or restrained in any manner, you will be released. Then we will talk about what happened and either choose to continue or end the scene altogether." He fixes Draco with a pointed look. "There is no shame in using it. There will be no consequences or repercussions. It is exactly what it implies: safety. For both of us. Understand?"

Harry sees the tiny flicker of light in Draco's eyes growing by the second.

"Yes, Harry."

"Are you familiar with aftercare?" he asks, somehow already knowing the answer. Merlin help him if he ever gets his hands on Zabini.

"In theory."

Harry's lips purse. "Aftercare is not an option. You have put yourself in my hands, and I am responsible for you. I have a duty of care toward to you that I take very seriously. It is an honorable obligation and an essential part of this relationship for me. I want to take care of you. In all the ways that I can. Aftercare is necessary because it gives me a way to assess your physical and mental health after a scene. It lets me know what I've done right, and what I need to work on. If I'm pushing you too hard, or—" Harry's tongue flicks out over his lips, "not hard enough. It creates closeness and cements the bond that will form between us." He steps closer, entreating Draco with a soft look. "Will you let me care for you?"

Draco's breath is warm on his face, and his eyes are shining now. Heat is radiating from his body and Harry knows if he looks down, he's likely to see evidence of an erection in Draco's trousers. A slow, pink flush is working its way up his neck, coloring him in patches that Harry wants to lick and bite at his leisure.

"I asked you a question, Draco. Will you let me care for you?" It's an admonishment, but it holds no heat.

Draco is luminous.

"Yes, Harry."

Without a word, Harry turns from him and goes to the sofa, sitting down. He places his right hand on the arm and lets his left arm rest across the back. He swings one leg across the other at the ankle, the very picture of confidence and control.

"Very well, let's begin." Harry gestures with a nod. "Take off your clothes and place them on the end of the sofa."

Draco complies, hands slowly moving to the top button of his shirt. One by one, he unfastens them, stopping only when he reaches his waistband. He untucks the bottom half of the shirt, making deliberate work of pushing each button through the hole. His eyes are downcast the entire time, and his bottom lip is pulled between his teeth in light concentration. When he shrugs one shoulder from the fabric, his eyes come up to meet Harry's, and his lashes flutter as he releases his lip on a sigh.

"This isn't a striptease, Draco," Harry says. "You already have my attention."

Draco looks surprised at that and slips out of the shirt with much less fanfare. He walks to the other end of the sofa, folds the shirt and places it on the cushion. He divests himself of his shoes, placing them neatly on the floor, tucking his socks inside.

"Is this alright? My shoes?" His voice is soft and quiet.

"Yes," Harry says. "Please continue."

Harry scrutinizes every patch of revealed skin, his eyes raking over the taut planes of Draco's chest and torso, marveling in the pale alabaster of his skin. The Dark Mark stands out, but Harry's eyes glance right over it, choosing instead to focus on the long column of Draco's graceful neck. Trousers are unbuckled without ceremony, and they come off in a swish of fabric. He's not wearing anything underneath, and Harry is presented with Draco in all his glory. He watches as the trousers are shaken out and folded. Draco's movements are precise and methodical, and Harry thinks he could watch Draco like this for hours.

"I like looking at you," he says. Harry's voice is thick and full of interest. "You have no idea how much. You're something worth watching."

Harry admires the muscled curve of Draco's arse as he bends to place his trousers on the sofa. Draco's lashes bat shyly, as if he's unused to such compliments. Perhaps he isn't, not like this. That's about to change.

Draco straightens and moves to stand directly in front of Harry, hands clasped behind him as before. He is tall, long and lean, just miles and miles of flawless skin that Harry wants to get his hands on.

But not yet.

Tonight will determine if Draco can obey enough, trust enough, to earn Harry's touch. Harry wants to give it to him, Merlin's fucking beard, he wants it, possibly even more than Draco. But he possesses enough self-control to keep from giving in. The waiting has a purpose, like everything else. Harry's learned that anything freely given has a tendency to lose its value over time, and that's the last thing Harry wants. What's about to happen between them has an importance that Harry can't possibly put a price on. If Draco wants it, he has to earn it, so that he may know the value of obedience and the depth of Harry's esteem.

A flick of Harry's wrist puts a Cushioning charm on the floor. He smiles up at Draco, lips pulling back over his teeth in a devilish grin.

"On your knees, Draco."

Draco is grace personified as he lowers himself to kneel. He assumes the waiting position, and if he is surprised by the charm, his face doesn't show it. He maintains eye contact with Harry, but his breathing has picked up a touch, making his chest rise and fall in a sharper rhythm.

Harry uncrosses his legs, his bare foot falling to rest on the other side of Draco's knees. He's framing Draco now, and he eases forward, letting his forearms come to rest on his thighs. The position puts his face level with Draco's. He casts a quick glance downward.

Draco's cock is hard.

Harry has to bite back a groan because that right there is undeniable proof of the truth to Draco's words. He wants this. He wants Harry. He's ready for Harry to take control. To make him feel alive, to give him pleasure. To make him come undone.

But only when Harry allows it.

Harry shifts his gaze to Draco's hands, upturned on his thighs. His fingers are long and elegant, exquisitely crafted, and Harry knows exactly where he wants them.

"You have lovely hands," he says on a rumbling drawl. "They're like the rest of you. Distinguished. Beautiful." He meets Draco's eyes. "I want to see you wrap them around your cock. I want to see what they look like when you pleasure yourself." Draco swallows and Harry can see tiny beads of sweat that have cropped up at his hairline. "Touch yourself for me. Show me the pleasure your body has to offer."

Draco's cock twitches at his words, and his right hand moves to grip his erection. As the first touch, Draco hisses and his chin drops to his chest. But he complies, and his hand begins to stroke with hesitance, fingers curling lightly around the shaft.

"Good," Harry purrs, and he can see the ripple in Draco's shoulders at the low praise. "Like that—slowly."

The faint blush that colored his pale skin darkens and creeps steadily outward, covering his cheeks, bleeding out to spread across his neck, shoulders, and chest. Draco moans softly under the touch of his own hand and the sound makes Harry's cock hard in his trousers. He's keeping to the steady pace demanded of him, but Harry can see his knuckles whiten as he tightens his grip, prolonging the sensation. Draco's cock grows redder, slick and purple at the head, and Harry's mouth waters. It's not a show, but it is. He's doing as he's told, but fuck if he doesn't know exactly how to keep Harry's attention.

Cheeky sub.

The slow drag of skin on skin has to be rough, but it seems to be good enough for Draco. Harry doesn't feel the same way. A quick snap of his fingers has Draco's hand coated in conjured lube, and now his hand slips over his cock with a wet, slick slide. Draco cries out sharply at the increased sensation and his head jerks up to stare at Harry with wide, aroused eyes. Harry merely smirks in response as Draco snorts a harsh breath through his nose. The reduced friction has his hand moving faster now, and bless Merlin, he slows, obviously wanting to keep to the original pace Harry set for him.

"Faster," Harry says. "Tighter. Imagine it's my hand wrapped around you." He spreads his hands across his knees for Draco to see. His hands are not as long; they're wider, and his fingers are thicker. "How hard do you think I can squeeze?"

Draco's only answer is a muffled groan as his hand speeds up.

"I think you'd like that. My hand on your cock. Stroking you. Maybe running my thumb over your slit. Would you be wet for me?" Draco sucks in a gasping breath as his chest heaves. "I think you would. I think you'd be absolutely dripping for me." Harry's eyebrow raises. "Are you wet for me now?"

"Yes—" Draco huffs. "Yes, Sir."

Harry leans in, inches from Draco's lips. "Soon, I'm going to taste you. I'll rub your dripping cock all over my lips and fuck you with my mouth."

Draco swears and rolls his bottom lip between his teeth again. "Fuck, Harry."

"I'll have to hold you down to do it. I want to be able to taste your cock at the back of my throat."

Draco's hand is flying over his cock. It's flushed an angry red, and is glistening from the lube and the copious amounts of pre-come that has oozed from the tip. His left hand has turned over and is now digging into the flesh of his thigh, leaving crescent-shaped nail marks behind that are dotted with pinpricks of blood.

"I won't stop there," Harry continues, and the deep timbre of his voice makes his next words sound like a commandment more than a promise. "No, before I'm done with you, I'm going to know what every inch of your skin tastes like. Inside and out. I bet if I flipped you over right now and stuck my tongue in your arse you'd come like a faucet."

Draco's mouth falls open on a choked sob that sounds a lot like 'please'.

"But you see, we have all the time in the world for that, don't we?" Harry breathes over Draco's lips again. "Because I don't think I'll ever be done with you."

His jaw is clenched tight, biting down on his lip so hard Harry sees a tiny rivulet of crimson at the corner of his mouth. He's holding back, doing his best to ward off the impending orgasm, waiting for Harry's command. It's not something they discussed, and not something Harry expected. This is more of Draco wanting to be good. To prove himself. To show that he trusts Harry enough to let him know when he can come.

He can't hold on much longer, but Harry has to push him just a little bit. Harry leans to the side and puts his lips next to Draco's ear. Draco's head cranes, chasing him, wanting to lean into him, wanting contact, but Harry pulls back.

Draco whimpers, bereft. But his hand keeps going.

"You are so beautiful like this," Harry whispers in his ear. "So perfect. There are so many things that I am going to do to you. So many ways to give you what you want. We're going to do it all. I'm going to strap you down to my bed and crawl over your body and impale myself on your cock. You'll be so gorgeous laid out for me, and I'll fuck myself until neither of us can see straight. I'm going to ride you so hard, and the only thing you can do is lay there and take it. Take the feel of my arse clenching hot and tight around you, sliding up and down your perfect prick. You won't be able to move, all you can do is writhe and moan. I'll bet your mouth will be open, crying out for me, just waiting to catch a taste of my come." Harry sits back and catches his reflection in Draco's eyes, knowing that now it goes all the way into Draco's bones. "What do you think I taste like?"

"Please, Harry," Draco whines. "Please."

It's enough.

"You're so good, Draco. So good, baby. Do it. Come for me."

If he marveled at Draco's beauty before, it's nothing compared to what he looks like when he comes.

He is absolutely breathtaking.

Draco's head snaps back and his eyes slam shut. His mouth falls open on a keening, guttural groan that's got to be coming from his toes. The sound is so resonant it hits Harry right in the balls and he has to press the heel of his hand to the raging hard-on in his trousers to keep from joining Draco in plummeting over the edge. The muscles and tendons in Draco's neck are straining against his skin, and Harry wants to lean forward and sink his teeth in right there over Draco's pulse. He wants to feel the pounding of Draco's blood, feel the shake of his body as he rides out the high of orgasm.

Draco's fist stutters as he fucks through it, panting and gasping as thick, white ropes of come spurt out between his fingers and splatter on the floor. The sight of him is filthy and gorgeous, sweaty and debauched, and Harry feels a distinct sense of pride as his name falls from Draco's lips in a half-garbled utterance.

The Cushioning charm catches Draco as he collapses to the side, body twitching with tiny aftershocks. Harry snaps into action with a wandless Accio, and a fluffy white towel flies into his hand. He Vanishes the mess on the floor and hits Draco with a quick Scourgify.

Draco whimpers at the tingle of magic on his skin, and Harry knows he's overstimulated. His heavy-lidded eyes are barely cracked, his mouth open as his breathing struggles to level out, but his face is slack and sated. Harry kneels down next to him, wrapping the towel around his shoulders, careful not touch him directly. He's a bit of dead weight, and while Harry can handle him no problem, he casts a Lightening charm just to get Draco to his feet without any undue jostling. Harry walks him to the bathroom, murmuring soft noises of encouragement in his ear.

By the time Harry maneuvers him through the door, the shower is already running and steamy. Harry shakes his head and lets out a muted chuckle.

Bloody voyeuristic house.

He guides Draco into the shower and directs him to brace his hands on the tile. Harry steps in behind him, clothes and all, and grabs a couple of flannels and proceeds to wash Draco with careful, gentle movements. The cloth prevents skin to skin contact as Harry soaps him up all over. Harry lets his cloth-covered hand roam freely over Draco's body and he feels a level of contentment he's never felt before. Taking care of Draco is nothing like taking care of any of the other subs he's been with. He's never felt such a personal duty of care to someone before.

Not even with the entire Wizarding world counting on him to defeat a Dark Lord.

"You were so beautiful, Draco. You did so well."

Draco's moan isn't fully coherent. He's looking at Harry though shower-soaked lashes, and Harry can see that he's deep in the hazy, blissed-out fog of subspace. It warms Harry through because Merlin knows Draco needed it. He has no idea how long it's been for Draco to get this deep, or to get into subspace at all, given what Blaise had subjected him to.

Harry turns off the taps and leads Draco out of the shower, toweling him dry with slow motions, conscious of Draco's every breath and sigh. Harry's soaking wet but he doesn't care, only managing a half-hearted Drying charm on his own clothes. It's Draco's comfort he's concerned with.

They make it back to the bedroom and Harry steers him toward the bed. It takes no effort to get Draco under the sheets, naked, soft, and clean. He's asleep before his head even hits the pillow. Harry drops the towel in his hands and heads back over to the sofa. He stretches out, keeping his gaze on Draco's sleeping form.

He wants to reconcile everything that's happened, but there's too much emotion thrumming through his blood at the moment. Draco is something to behold. Something Harry knows he's been missing. He's unable to take his eyes off Draco, and he lies there like that, just watching, for several hours before sleep claims him as well.

When Harry wakes in the morning, his eyes instinctively shoot to the four-poster, already wanting to see if the reality measures up to previous vision given to him by the Manor. Harry gets up and strides to the bed. His gaze rakes over the tangle of blue sheets, and his mouth purses tightly. Because the bed is empty, the sheets are cold, and Draco has committed his first transgression.

OOOOO

Harry stands outside Draco's door, keeping himself in check. The wards around Draco's door ripple lightly, and then with a stronger, more warning pulse. He rolls his eyes and sighs, whispering into the air, "Really? You know I have intention of hurting him."

After a second, the wards dissolve, and the door to Draco's room flies open with a bang. Draco bolts upright with a hand to his chest.

"Shit!" he gasps. Draco cranes his neck forward, squinting into where Harry fills the doorway. "Ha—Harry?"

Harry puts his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. "Come with me."

Draco slips out of bed and into his slippers, not bothering with a dressing gown, before following Harry across the hall to his room.

Harry feels the tension radiating from Draco as he shuffles across the floor to stand next to Potter at the edge of the bed. Harry's hand comes up to press lightly at the base of Draco's neck.

Draco freezes.

"Relax," Harry murmurs beside him. "I think a bit of communication is in order."

Draco turns to look at him with apprehensive eyes, and it makes Harry want to drag Blaise Zabini back to England by his bollocks.

"Is this where I left you last night?" Harry asks.

"Yes."

Harry's thumb rubs a hard circle on the column of Draco's neck. "Did I tell you to leave?"

Draco swallows, blinking rapidly. "No." His voice has a slight croak.

Harry draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Draco is still so tense beside him. "If I left you here last night, and didn't ask you to leave, then why in the world were you not here this morning?"

Draco's eyes are searching his, and Harry sees the wheels turning in his mind. What's the right answer?

"Be honest. We have to trust each other," Harry says. He lets his fingers thread through the bottom of Draco's hair, swirling in a soothing pattern. "Why didn't you stay?"

"I—I didn't know I was supposed to—I mean, I've never—stayed before." Draco stutters his response as he attempts to duck out from underneath Harry's touch.

But Harry tightens his grip enough to keep Draco still, and maneuvers his head back to look at the empty bed. "This is a problem easily solved. I should have been clearer in my direction. I apologize if it made you uncomfortable."

Harry's made quite the habit of startling Draco into speechlessness, and this time is no exception. He smiles with warmth at Draco's surprised expression.

"Remember my words," Harry says. "Above anything, I value communication, honesty, and trust. Without those, this type of relationship will not work. I think you already know that, but putting it into action will be a challenge for you." Harry continues caressing Draco's neck. "I will help you with that. I will also require you stay. There are exceptions to that, of course. But unless you need distance, I'm keeping you from something, or I specifically ask you to go, I want you to stay. I like having my lover close to me."

Draco's breath hitches at the word 'lover'.

Harry leans in to the side, getting close to Draco's ear. "I wanted to watch you wake up in my bed this morning. I wanted to see the sunlight stream in and shine across your beautiful body. I wanted to be the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes." Harry huffs out a disappointed breath, and Draco shivers beneath it. "I wanted it to be in my room, not your doorway."

"I—I'm sorry, Harry," Draco whispers.

Harry shushes him. "No, there's no need for an apology. I admit I was upset at first, but you cannot be held accountable for something of which you weren't aware. But now you know." The last statement is final. "And now you are accountable."

"Yes."

Draco's acquiescence is warm and liquid in Harry's chest. It's amazing how a little patience and some self-control can bring out this side of Draco. The one that wants to understand, the one that wants to please. And Harry wants to repay him for his willingness to learn. Harry dips his head and drags the bridge of his nose along the column of Draco's neck, watching him swallow hard in response. He breathes out over Draco's skin, warm and humid, leaving behind just a flicker of moisture.

Draco bites off a tiny moan.

"Very good, Draco." Harry's lips press along the shell of Draco's ear, not a proper kiss, just a brushing of flesh of flesh. Draco's still not ready for kissing. Harry hums softly against the appendage in approval, peeking down to see what effect he's having.

The tent in Draco's pajamas is unmistakable. As is the darkening spot of damp on the pale blue fabric.

"I like you like this," Harry purrs. "Warm, mussed from sleep, looking satisfied, but still wanting. It had been a while, hadn't it? Coming like that?"

"Ye—Yes, Harry." Draco sounds totally broken now and Harry smiles against his skin.

He pulls back, but continues to speak in Draco's ear. "Now, I'm going to go downstairs and have breakfast with your mother. While I'm gone, I want you to go into my bathroom and take a nice, long shower. I want you to think about last night and touch yourself again. I want you to wash your hair with my shampoo, clean your body with my soap, and think about what it would feel like to have my hands all over you. I want to be able to eat my breakfast knowing that you're up here, bringing yourself off and thinking of me. Of my hand on your cock, my lips on your skin. Thinking about what it would be like if I split you open and fucked you against the wall, right underneath the hot spray."

Draco whimpers, and Harry's cock twitches at the sound.

"I want to know that you're in my room, my space, my shower, smelling like me, fucking into your fist, gasping for me. I want you to make yourself come for me, and then I want you to wear something from my closet and come down for breakfast. Am I clear?"

Harry steps back and Draco falters a little, but steadies himself before nodding. "Ye—Yes, Harry."

"Excellent," Harry says brightly. "And Draco," he adds before turning, "Make it good for me."