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traintracksTitle: Something in the Middle or Beyond
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
traintracks
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~4,500
Summary: Harry is demoted. Draco seizes the opportunity. Sort of.
Warnings: drunkenness
Disclaimer: I don't own anything having to do with Harry Potter, and I intend no copyright infringement.
"You know who you are, Harry?" Weasley said very seriously. "You're Captain Kirk. You're Kirk at the end of Star Trek IV when he's demoted from Admiral back to Captain." He gestured with his drink, the ice tinkling. "Hermione's been making me watch Muggle movies," he explained briefly at Potter's look. "See, it's not really a demotion. Everybody knows he belongs on a ship, not…well, doing whatever Admirals do, right?"
Draco stood some distance away, just not so much that he couldn't overhear. Weasley and Potter were too sloshed to be astute enough to pick up on it anyway. And it didn't take much to know what they were talking about – or what Weasley was talking about at least: The Bellatrix Believers uprising. It had been in all the papers – Harry Potter, Head Auror's resounding defeat of the new group of dark wizards and witches. What wasn't in the papers were his fifteen counts of illegal acts in order to take them down. What also wasn't popularly known yet was his demotion from Head Auror down to Elite Auror, decreed by the Minister herself.
Draco had known about it first thing, of course. He had his sources, his eyes in the right places. He fondled a cocktail napkin with a little too much intensity. He fidgeted, pulling a bit at the collar of his shirt. He wasn't used to these sorts of…costumes. 'Muggle Work-Casual' the invitation had said. Draco slanted a look Potter's way. He looked more than comfortable in the get-up: starched grey dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, charcoal trousers, no tie. Draco had mistakenly let Pansy dress him, and now he felt overly warm in the black wool trousers, sleeves properly buttoned, the sage green silk tie strangling him. He fought the urge to tug at it, remembering his mother's hand swatting at his own when he'd messed with his robes before school.
He glanced at Potter again who was raking a hand through his terrible hair. It was all of two days after he'd saved the bloody world (again!) and one after his demotion, and it was New Year's Eve at the office party, and Harry Potter – formerly perfect Harry Potter – had broken fifteen (you had to hand it to him) magical laws and was getting righteously pissed.
Draco had been watching him from various parts of the room for around an hour and a half, and now, several of Potter's Firewhiskeys later, Draco was fiddling with the crackers and tiny sausages at the snack buffet, listening to Weasley's enthusiastic yet ultimately indecipherable advice. Draco renewed his interest in the cocktail napkin, pretending to become engrossed with the design on it.
"Ron," Potter said gloomily. "You know what would help me right now?"
"What?"
"Another one of these. Could you be a lamb and get us another round?" He swayed slightly as he leaned forward to aim his empty glass toward Weasley's unwavering hand. It took him a couple tries to hit the mark. Then he patted Weasley's cheek. "That's a good bloke."
Weasley rolled his eyes and wandered away. Draco watched Potter lick his lips, his hooded eyes lazily roaming the crowd. He averted his eyes just as Potter's gaze passed over him, but it didn't matter; he'd been spotted.
"Hey!" Potter yelled in a terribly undignified fashion.
Draco attempted to slip through the crowd, but a hand suddenly shot out and pulled him over into the corner in which Potter'd been ensconced with his friend the entire party. Draco opened his mouth to complain, but nothing came out. He truly wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to Potter. Serves you right, bloody arrogant prat? (Even though he wasn't.) Unhand me, you drunken cur? (He was.) It'll be nice working with you again; I've missed you and I've hated having you as a boss (because you're a prat) and really I'm very confused about my feelings which are rather mixed and upsetting to me, which is why I've been eavesdropping on you for the entire party, and also you smell nice and I hate that?
Potter didn't really give him much of a chance to come up with something proper. He just started in.
"Wha'reyou looking at, Mmmalfoy?"
"Uh…"
"Yerr probably happy, huh?"
"Actually, I –"
Potter's face suddenly got very close. "Where'syer date? D'ya have one?" He cast his eyes around the room, wobbling dangerously, and pulling Draco along, too, since his balled fist was still clenched around Draco's robes.
"I don't have one," Draco said, his face flaming. Pansy wouldn't exactly have counted even if she hadn't 'come down with something' and begged off at the last moment.
"Jesus, Mmmalfoy, it's not like you're a troll. You're not a prude are you? What're you doing fondling the tiny sausages with no date? Are you more pathetic than me? 'Cause I've got news for you, Draco Mmmalfoy –" He hauled Draco close and went a little cross-eyed. "No one," he said definitively, "is more pathetic than me." He pushed Draco away with as much force as he seemed to be able to muster, but it was Potter himself who stumbled.
Draco reached out before he'd thought and righted him, Potter's strong wiry arms in his hands. "Would you like a coffee?" he found himself asking. Potter's little speech about prudes and patheticness had unnerved him some. He might like a coffee, too, really. Coffee might really help the situation. Possibly. Draco half wanted to simply Apparate away. But Potter's arms were in his hands, and they were more muscular than they looked, hard and solid and very warm. Everything was so very warm of a sudden.
Potter looked disgusted with his offer of coffee. Or with him. Or both. "Mmmalfoy," he said. "You ARE a prude! Bloody hell, what a waste of a perfect pair of lips, I have to say. I mean –" He smiled crookedly, and Draco's blood burned through his body. "If those lips weren't meant to be wrapped around a cock, my name isn't the Boy Who Lived and then…Got a Job only to…Be Ssssacked!" He hiccupped. Then he laughed. Draco quickly let go of his arms. "Don't look so thunderstruck, Mmmalfoy," he said. "Former Head Aurors have needs, too, you know." Then he sidled up to Draco crookedly. "Do you? Have needs? Mmmalfoy?"
It was that fortunate or unfortunate moment (Draco couldn't decide which) that Ronald Weasley reappeared with drinks.
"Oh look! It's my friend. Look, Mmmalfoy, it's my friend. Rrron."
Draco nodded to Weasley and Weasley nodded back, which was just about as civil as they'd ever been with one another.
"Look, Harry, I don't think this is such a good idea," Weasley began, holding the drink just out of a weaving Potter's reach.
Potter began to pout, still vying for the beverage, asserting all of his focus. "Accccio, Fffirewhishky!" he tried. And failed. "Exxshpellaranus, goddamnit!"
Draco cleared his throat, not quite believing he was about to side with a Weasley. "I've heard the coffee here is just lovely."
"Yeah," Weasley joined in, looking absolutely torn between relief and revulsion at getting some help from his least favorite person. "Yeah, lovely. Mmmm!" He sounded as though he were trying to convince a toddler to try spinach. "How 'bout I go fetch you one?"
"Like a lamb," Draco couldn't help but add under his breath.
Something like a lazy chuckle escaped from Potter then. He looked at Draco as though he were somehow…delightful incalculable. That look and that sound, directed at him, almost hurt. Draco swallowed and blinked his gaze away.
Weasley left in a huff, not like a lamb at all, whether or not to fetch the coffee, Draco couldn't be sure. In fact, Draco was only sure of one thing, and he'd be damned if he left this party without acting on it.
"Potter," he said, but it came out sounding like an official address, so he cleared his throat and tried again. He wanted to say a different name. Draco had, off and on over the years, tried it out. It was always exquisitely weird in his mouth. At the last moment, he faltered. "Hh-Potter," he said again.
Potter sobered. The tiniest bit. "Yes, Dr-Malfoy," he said very seriously, dipping his chin and looking at Draco over his glasses.
"I've got, uh…" He cleared his throat. "I've got even better coffee at my place."
"Do you," Potter said, and maybe it was Draco's imagination, but his eyes seemed to clear just a little more, and much more of the pupil took over the pretty green iris.
"Yeah. I do." Draco screwed up all his courage. "I could…Apparate us…"
Potter -- his eyes dark and shining -- cast him that lazy, crooked smile again. He was staring at Draco's mouth. "Lovely," he said softly, and then, in a way that struck Draco as ridiculously trusting, took Draco's arm.
"Ready?" Draco asked, feeling somewhat breathless.
"I've been ready for a good long while, Malfoy," Harry said without slurring at all.
Draco took a deep breath, and before he could analyze why this was grotesquely wrong of him, he Disapparated.
…
He then spent the rest of the night fighting off Harry Potter's octopus arms. Potter tried to grab Draco's package in the kitchen – tried to kiss his neck in the hall – tried to goose his arse (and missed) in the living room.
Finally, Draco got him set down on the sofa, got a fire going in the hearth, and put a steaming coffee mug in Potter's horny hands.
And it was murder. Fucking murder to be such a gentleman when all he really wanted was to strip Potter naked and do about a million and one things with that hot, tight little body and…
Bloody hell. When had he become so…not dark??
Sixth year. It wasn't like it was any secret. It all began sixth year. His downfall and subsequent "salvation". Who would have thought it would have taken getting the Dark Mark to make him lose all faith in its meaning? And then, once his faith was tried, it was like everything – everything that had previously been held back by blind hatred, by loyalty, by the masks he wore and the disgust he feigned – everything else came rushing to the forefront: Despair, ignominy, shame.
Lust.
Longing.
All of it rushed through him, unraveling him.
In a way, he was still coming undone all of twelve years later. And still he'd never made a move. Sure, he and Potter were on, to say the least, better terms. They worked together…well, brilliantly. It turned out that when Draco wasn't busy being the Dark Lord's errand boy and once Potter got off his high Gryffindor horse…lion…what have you, they met at a middle ground where sometimes words weren't even necessary they were so in sync.
It turned Draco on. Rather a lot. More than he'd expected or thought possible. But still, he'd never said anything, done anything… Maybe, at heart, he really was just a coward. Even tonight – he just stood there trying to sober up a man who, clearly, would shag him drunk if only Draco could access some small part of his former self and take bloody advantage of that fact.
But he didn't. For whatever reason, he just couldn't.
"Drink up," Draco told him. He watched Potter take a sip, eyeing him over the rim, and then left to take a frightfully cold shower.
When he returned (a towel wrapped around his waist and still half hard) the mug was empty, and Harry was flat-out asleep and snoring on his couch. And Draco'd had half a mind to drop the towel and go for it by then. He couldn't help but smile a little sickly at his fucked up circumstances. He sighed and Summoned a blanket, which he then draped over Potter's sprawled (and very loud) form. He leaned close for a moment. "Happy New Year, Potter," he whispered. One stray bead of water dripped off Draco's hair and onto Potter's bottom lip. He didn't wake.
Draco dragged his sorry arse off to his own empty bed and fell into it, still damp.
…
"Why didn't you do it?"
Draco came awake with a start, reaching for his wand. He blinked, holding it on Potter for a moment before lowering it with a heavy sigh.
"Christ, Potter, I could have cursed you." At the git's slight smile, Draco frowned. "What are you talking about? What time is it?"
"Morning. And you know what I'm talking about." Slowly, he walked into the room. His dress shirt was rumpled from kipping on Draco's couch. He just kept talking. "Why didn't you do it? I was easy pickings last night, Malfoy. Although, I probably would have been a dreadful disappointment, honestly." He walked around the foot of the bed, and Draco could barely breathe.
He sat up the rest of the way, and the sheet fell to his waist. "I don't know what you're talking about." He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wake up his eyes.
Potter snorted. "I grabbed for your cock last night, and you don't know what I'm talking about? Come off it, Malfoy, you're no virgin."
Draco took a long breath finally. "You called me a prude, or don't you remember?"
"I said a great many things I regret. But you haven't answered my question."
"What do you want to hear, Potter? That I'm just that much of a gentleman? Maybe I don't fancy you. You ever consider that?" Draco really didn't know why he was denying it. The bitter remnants of his battered ego, he supposed.
Potter wasn't having any of it, though. He glanced down at Draco's lap – the obvious rise of his erection under the sheet – and lifted an eyebrow.
Draco dragged a pillow over it. "What are you doing in here?" he huffed. To his dismay, he was flushing nearly scarlet down his neck and chest.
Potter said nothing. He was right beside the bed now. He just reached out and slowly drew the pillow off Draco's lap. Then he took the sheet and, so slowly it hurt, dragged it off Draco's cock, which quite embarrassingly pointed straight at him ('YOU! I want YOU!'), unhindered since he wasn't wearing any pants.
"You are so goddamned beautiful, Malfoy," Potter murmured.
Draco sipped in his breath, shocked that Potter would say anything of the kind to or about him.
"Do you know how bad I want to—" Potter began, his hands clenching at his sides.
But it occurred to Draco, in that short amount of time, that this was his chance. His chance not to be a coward. To be something between the gentleman and a servant of the Dark Lord. Something in the middle. Maybe to be himself for once.
And before Potter could finish whatever wonderful thing it was he was about to say, Draco had launched himself out of the bed, slammed him into the wall, and was snogging him soundly.
Draco Malfoy, wearing nothing but a blush, had Harry Potter, fully dressed, pushed back against the wall, and he was devouring him. After all this bloody time, devouring him. He thrust his tongue into Potter's warm mouth, fucking him, moaning. No. Potter was the one moaning, and Draco was breathing hard, grunting a little when Potter's tongue matched the ferocity of his own, his hands going to Draco's hips like they'd done it a thousand times. Thumbs on his hipbones. Potter's thumbs were on his hipbones. That fact alone…
Draco gripped Potter's wild hair, wrenched his head back to bare his throat, and he broke the kiss to bite down the long line of it, over new bristly whiskers, licking into the hollow. Draco bit and sucked and kissed his way down, opening Potter's shirt – his dry lips over Potter's chest…down…down… He opened Potter's trousers, knees finally making contact with the floor.
Potter's hands slipped into his hair. "God, Malfoy…" He closed his eyes, his head thunking back into the wall.
Draco pulled Potter's cock out of his pants and felt faint. Imagine – going through all that he had only to faint dead away at the sight of Harry Potter's thick cock. It wasn't as long as his own. It reared up in a curve, the color of a rose. Draco took it deeply into his mouth.
"Shit! God…what… Oh…" Potter said. Draco thrilled to his incoherency. And fuck, his taste. Potter tasted perfect: Salty hot, his cockskin so soft over the engorged shaft of him, sliding into Draco's mouth as though he belonged there. Draco gagged on him and loved it. He regained his breath and bobbed his head, closing his eyes and sighing.
Then Potter, incomprehensibly, laughed.
"God, I don't deserve this – I'm a ponce!"
Draco drew off of him. "Sucking your cock and getting to hear you calling yourself a ponce at the same time, Potter? Go on then." He went down once more, Potter's deep laughter resounding in his own stiff prick. And somewhere in his chest, too. Merlin, the whole business was lovely. It was too much. Something broke open inside Draco at that moment. He hollowed his cheeks around Potter's cock, so happy he could scream with it – go up on the roof with his broom and fly off into the cold day naked and screaming and laughing his head off like a loon!
"I know I shouldn't be – oh fuck – uh, talking while you do that. This isn't, uh, really anything like I'd pictured."
At Draco's look and his pause, lips distended, Potter went on. "Yes, Malfoy. I pictured, all right?"
Draco nuzzled his cock, rubbing it on his face, and Potter swore again – like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Draco memorized how he was feeling right at that moment to use in the future; he'd be able to conjure his strongest Patronus yet.
"But wait. Stop." Potter's hand was stroking his head, his look down at Draco, imploring. Draco waited. "On the bed."
Draco nodded and scooted back onto the sheets, watching Potter disrobe to nothing.
"Lie back," he said.
"But I was –"
"I don't want to come in your mouth," Potter told him then. "I want you to come in mine."
Draco's eyes widened; he was sure he must look rather comical. He couldn't care. Harry Potter was pushing his legs apart, kneeling between them, then sprawling between them, holding his cock in his hand and licking his lips. Oh God….
In the broad daylight, Draco could see every flash of emotion in Potter's eyes, see the way his morning whiskers were almost half grey now even though he was not yet even thirty. Draco watched his Adam's apple move as Potter got ready to take Draco into his mouth.
Then Potter did it – he went down on him -- and Draco's eyes rolled back and all his bones disintegrated and he fell back into the pillows groaning. "Oh my God… Oh my fucking God…" And Potter laughed around his cock, still sucking.
Draco tried to hold it back. He did, truly. But Harry Potter forced his orgasm on him like the plonker he was. And after maybe only three or four minutes of the best blowjob Draco had ever gotten or imagined, he shot his come hard into Potter's soft, amazing mouth for what felt like five full minutes – until he was gasping and almost crying it was so bloody good.
Once he was empty and left whimpering, Potter lifted his mouth. "Turn over?"
At that point, Draco would have given him anything. ANYTHING. He rolled over, baring his arse. He held his breath, hoping.
Potter rose up over him and leaned down to whisper behind his ear, "You taste bloody glorious." He cast a lubricating spell, and Draco felt the slickness permeate him – felt Potter's blunt, wet cock slipping between his arse cheeks, seeking home.
"I'd open you up easy, Malfoy, but I'm dying," he admitted.
"Do it," Draco breathed, more than ready. Potter's body kept his pressed flat to the bed, and now his cock was nudging, asking, and then demanding, and he was pushing inside, and all Draco could do was bite down on the flesh of his own arm, trembling against it.
Then Potter did this fantastic thing. When he'd pushed all the way inside and his bollocks were touching Draco's arse, he let out the lustiest of groans, like the embrace of Draco's body was where he'd always longed to be. He braced his forearms on either side of Draco's back then, dropped his head to rest it against him, and Potter started to fuck.
Of course, at first, it hurt. But there wasn't any moment when it didn't also feel…ridiculously divine. Draco found himself moving against him from the start, wanting all of it, all of Potter, all of them both together. So they moved, undulating against one another, breathing together, and it couldn't have been better if they'd used every sex spell they each knew.
At one point, Potter slipped an arm under Draco, a palm pressed to his chest, and he breathed hot in Draco's ear, "Jesus… Jesus…" rocking his hips, and Draco just almost came again.
He opened his mouth to say something, although he had no idea what. The word that came out, though, was "Harry". Potter gasped, faltering, but then he groaned and started going faster. His mouth found Draco's shoulder, and he bit down and then kissed where he'd bitten. Draco lifted his arse as much as Potter'd let him. He offered himself to Potter. He was trembling.
To Potter's credit, he lasted quite a while. (It occurred to Draco that if they'd been competing as fiercely as they had in school, Draco would have taken a resounding defeat.) But Draco was nothing but grateful for Potter's longevity. He wanted this to last all bloody day. Draco felt it might just be possible to die from pleasure.
When Potter's hand moved down to Draco's cock and fondled it, Draco groaned so loudly he should have been embarrassed. He simply wasn't. In fact, he was smiling into his pillow.
"Come with me," Potter said behind his ear, stroking him and taking short, utilitarian thrusts, fucking Draco down into the bed.
Draco just nodded.
"Please," Potter whispered. "Say it again. Please say it again." He sounded close.
Draco took a breath, squeezed his eyes closed, and said it, "Harry…"
Harry – God, he was Harry and he was Potter and he was everything -- began to come inside him, losing his rhythm. Draco shoved his hand down between his legs and took Potter's fist, holding it still and trusting into it until he, too, came once more, bucking between Potter's cock and his fist, warm and shivering, skin sliding on skin, reduced to that one word: "Harry… Harry…"
…
Draco hadn't intended to fall asleep, but after Potter rolled off of him and then pulled the blankets up over them both, it just sort of happened. When he woke it was to the smell of fresh coffee and Potter's arse making a dip in his side of the bed.
Draco blinked his eyes open -- but then frowned, because although Potter was setting a mug down, presumably for Draco, on the nightstand, he was also quite dressed. Draco wanted to ask where he was going, but he didn't want to sound needy, so he just lay there confused.
Potter saved him, though. "Can you believe I've got meetings today?" He shook his head. "I've got to get new robes again and – this is the worst – help train my replacement. My replacement." He shook his head once more. Draco thought he looked unfairly beautiful. He remembered his words from last night: You are so goddamned beautiful, Malfoy.
Draco turned on his side and rested his head on his hand. His arse hurt wonderfully. He wanted to take a chance…lay his hand over Harry's ('Harry's'… Merlin!) wrist or something...touch him somehow. But he couldn't. Too many years not touching him. He had to say something, though. "Ron was right." The admission was physically painful.
"What do you mean?" Potter, apparently feeling no such ambivalence about touching or not touching him, reached out and brushed a strand of hair off Draco's forehead. Like it was nothing. Like it was everything.
Draco had to take a breath and steady his thoughts. Then he said, "You are this…Captain Carp person."
"Kirk?"
"Whatever."
Potter smiled down at him. There was something just slightly ashamed about it. "How so, Malfoy?"
"You were a good Head Auror," he found himself saying – and not even grudgingly. Merlin, but what had a fantastic lay done to him?!
"Thanks, Draco, but you don't get a vote." Draco…
"And if I did, I might have done the same thing."
"Gee, thanks ever so much."
Draco seized that moment and took Potter's wrist, gently wrapping his fingers around it. "Harry," he said. Potter looked at him then, searching his eyes. "As good as you were, you're a thousand times better and more valuable out there." He nodded toward the foggy window and brushed his thumb uncertainly over the back of his hand. "Desks and parchments aren't your style. They never were."
Potter looked like he was trying to figure out a particularly dodgy yet endearing puzzle. "You are the biggest surprise of my life," he said finally.
Draco removed his hand and averted his eyes, caught completely off-guard and unprepared. Potter pursued him, though, planting a hand on either side of him and kissing him down into the pillows, rough and wet. It sort of stunned Draco for just a moment, but then he pulled Potter down and rolled them over so that he was on top, and he snogged Potter back as good as he got.
Fuck being a coward. Fuck being a gentleman. Fuck trying to be normal or whatever the fuck. He seriously doubted Potter could tell normal from not anyway.
"Merlin, I'm gonna be late," Potter laughed between kisses. "Shower with me? You know, save some time?"
"Are we shagging or dating or what, Potter?" Draco asked, prepared to be ecstatic about any answer.
Potter shrugged. "I guess when you call me Potter, we're shagging, and when you call me Harry, we're…more than shagging."
Draco slipped his tongue into Harry's mouth and kissed him extra slowly, just marveling that he could – that any of this was actually happening. Then he said, "Hold onto me, Harry Potter." And Harry smiled rather brilliantly and gripped his arms. Then suddenly they were in the shower, standing there together with Harry still dressed.
Harry started to laugh, and Draco began ripping at his clothes, his own lips curving into an irrepressible smile. Harry snapped his fingers and Vanished his clothes completely. Draco snapped his and turned the hot water on them.
Then Harry Potter, Former Head Auror, pushed him against the shower wall, under the deluge, bathed in steam, and it was quite possibly the best morning after – the best start to a year, to a life -- in history.
Author:
traintracksPairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~4,500
Summary: Harry is demoted. Draco seizes the opportunity. Sort of.
Warnings: drunkenness
Disclaimer: I don't own anything having to do with Harry Potter, and I intend no copyright infringement.
"You know who you are, Harry?" Weasley said very seriously. "You're Captain Kirk. You're Kirk at the end of Star Trek IV when he's demoted from Admiral back to Captain." He gestured with his drink, the ice tinkling. "Hermione's been making me watch Muggle movies," he explained briefly at Potter's look. "See, it's not really a demotion. Everybody knows he belongs on a ship, not…well, doing whatever Admirals do, right?"
Draco stood some distance away, just not so much that he couldn't overhear. Weasley and Potter were too sloshed to be astute enough to pick up on it anyway. And it didn't take much to know what they were talking about – or what Weasley was talking about at least: The Bellatrix Believers uprising. It had been in all the papers – Harry Potter, Head Auror's resounding defeat of the new group of dark wizards and witches. What wasn't in the papers were his fifteen counts of illegal acts in order to take them down. What also wasn't popularly known yet was his demotion from Head Auror down to Elite Auror, decreed by the Minister herself.
Draco had known about it first thing, of course. He had his sources, his eyes in the right places. He fondled a cocktail napkin with a little too much intensity. He fidgeted, pulling a bit at the collar of his shirt. He wasn't used to these sorts of…costumes. 'Muggle Work-Casual' the invitation had said. Draco slanted a look Potter's way. He looked more than comfortable in the get-up: starched grey dress shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, charcoal trousers, no tie. Draco had mistakenly let Pansy dress him, and now he felt overly warm in the black wool trousers, sleeves properly buttoned, the sage green silk tie strangling him. He fought the urge to tug at it, remembering his mother's hand swatting at his own when he'd messed with his robes before school.
He glanced at Potter again who was raking a hand through his terrible hair. It was all of two days after he'd saved the bloody world (again!) and one after his demotion, and it was New Year's Eve at the office party, and Harry Potter – formerly perfect Harry Potter – had broken fifteen (you had to hand it to him) magical laws and was getting righteously pissed.
Draco had been watching him from various parts of the room for around an hour and a half, and now, several of Potter's Firewhiskeys later, Draco was fiddling with the crackers and tiny sausages at the snack buffet, listening to Weasley's enthusiastic yet ultimately indecipherable advice. Draco renewed his interest in the cocktail napkin, pretending to become engrossed with the design on it.
"Ron," Potter said gloomily. "You know what would help me right now?"
"What?"
"Another one of these. Could you be a lamb and get us another round?" He swayed slightly as he leaned forward to aim his empty glass toward Weasley's unwavering hand. It took him a couple tries to hit the mark. Then he patted Weasley's cheek. "That's a good bloke."
Weasley rolled his eyes and wandered away. Draco watched Potter lick his lips, his hooded eyes lazily roaming the crowd. He averted his eyes just as Potter's gaze passed over him, but it didn't matter; he'd been spotted.
"Hey!" Potter yelled in a terribly undignified fashion.
Draco attempted to slip through the crowd, but a hand suddenly shot out and pulled him over into the corner in which Potter'd been ensconced with his friend the entire party. Draco opened his mouth to complain, but nothing came out. He truly wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to Potter. Serves you right, bloody arrogant prat? (Even though he wasn't.) Unhand me, you drunken cur? (He was.) It'll be nice working with you again; I've missed you and I've hated having you as a boss (because you're a prat) and really I'm very confused about my feelings which are rather mixed and upsetting to me, which is why I've been eavesdropping on you for the entire party, and also you smell nice and I hate that?
Potter didn't really give him much of a chance to come up with something proper. He just started in.
"Wha'reyou looking at, Mmmalfoy?"
"Uh…"
"Yerr probably happy, huh?"
"Actually, I –"
Potter's face suddenly got very close. "Where'syer date? D'ya have one?" He cast his eyes around the room, wobbling dangerously, and pulling Draco along, too, since his balled fist was still clenched around Draco's robes.
"I don't have one," Draco said, his face flaming. Pansy wouldn't exactly have counted even if she hadn't 'come down with something' and begged off at the last moment.
"Jesus, Mmmalfoy, it's not like you're a troll. You're not a prude are you? What're you doing fondling the tiny sausages with no date? Are you more pathetic than me? 'Cause I've got news for you, Draco Mmmalfoy –" He hauled Draco close and went a little cross-eyed. "No one," he said definitively, "is more pathetic than me." He pushed Draco away with as much force as he seemed to be able to muster, but it was Potter himself who stumbled.
Draco reached out before he'd thought and righted him, Potter's strong wiry arms in his hands. "Would you like a coffee?" he found himself asking. Potter's little speech about prudes and patheticness had unnerved him some. He might like a coffee, too, really. Coffee might really help the situation. Possibly. Draco half wanted to simply Apparate away. But Potter's arms were in his hands, and they were more muscular than they looked, hard and solid and very warm. Everything was so very warm of a sudden.
Potter looked disgusted with his offer of coffee. Or with him. Or both. "Mmmalfoy," he said. "You ARE a prude! Bloody hell, what a waste of a perfect pair of lips, I have to say. I mean –" He smiled crookedly, and Draco's blood burned through his body. "If those lips weren't meant to be wrapped around a cock, my name isn't the Boy Who Lived and then…Got a Job only to…Be Ssssacked!" He hiccupped. Then he laughed. Draco quickly let go of his arms. "Don't look so thunderstruck, Mmmalfoy," he said. "Former Head Aurors have needs, too, you know." Then he sidled up to Draco crookedly. "Do you? Have needs? Mmmalfoy?"
It was that fortunate or unfortunate moment (Draco couldn't decide which) that Ronald Weasley reappeared with drinks.
"Oh look! It's my friend. Look, Mmmalfoy, it's my friend. Rrron."
Draco nodded to Weasley and Weasley nodded back, which was just about as civil as they'd ever been with one another.
"Look, Harry, I don't think this is such a good idea," Weasley began, holding the drink just out of a weaving Potter's reach.
Potter began to pout, still vying for the beverage, asserting all of his focus. "Accccio, Fffirewhishky!" he tried. And failed. "Exxshpellaranus, goddamnit!"
Draco cleared his throat, not quite believing he was about to side with a Weasley. "I've heard the coffee here is just lovely."
"Yeah," Weasley joined in, looking absolutely torn between relief and revulsion at getting some help from his least favorite person. "Yeah, lovely. Mmmm!" He sounded as though he were trying to convince a toddler to try spinach. "How 'bout I go fetch you one?"
"Like a lamb," Draco couldn't help but add under his breath.
Something like a lazy chuckle escaped from Potter then. He looked at Draco as though he were somehow…delightful incalculable. That look and that sound, directed at him, almost hurt. Draco swallowed and blinked his gaze away.
Weasley left in a huff, not like a lamb at all, whether or not to fetch the coffee, Draco couldn't be sure. In fact, Draco was only sure of one thing, and he'd be damned if he left this party without acting on it.
"Potter," he said, but it came out sounding like an official address, so he cleared his throat and tried again. He wanted to say a different name. Draco had, off and on over the years, tried it out. It was always exquisitely weird in his mouth. At the last moment, he faltered. "Hh-Potter," he said again.
Potter sobered. The tiniest bit. "Yes, Dr-Malfoy," he said very seriously, dipping his chin and looking at Draco over his glasses.
"I've got, uh…" He cleared his throat. "I've got even better coffee at my place."
"Do you," Potter said, and maybe it was Draco's imagination, but his eyes seemed to clear just a little more, and much more of the pupil took over the pretty green iris.
"Yeah. I do." Draco screwed up all his courage. "I could…Apparate us…"
Potter -- his eyes dark and shining -- cast him that lazy, crooked smile again. He was staring at Draco's mouth. "Lovely," he said softly, and then, in a way that struck Draco as ridiculously trusting, took Draco's arm.
"Ready?" Draco asked, feeling somewhat breathless.
"I've been ready for a good long while, Malfoy," Harry said without slurring at all.
Draco took a deep breath, and before he could analyze why this was grotesquely wrong of him, he Disapparated.
…
He then spent the rest of the night fighting off Harry Potter's octopus arms. Potter tried to grab Draco's package in the kitchen – tried to kiss his neck in the hall – tried to goose his arse (and missed) in the living room.
Finally, Draco got him set down on the sofa, got a fire going in the hearth, and put a steaming coffee mug in Potter's horny hands.
And it was murder. Fucking murder to be such a gentleman when all he really wanted was to strip Potter naked and do about a million and one things with that hot, tight little body and…
Bloody hell. When had he become so…not dark??
Sixth year. It wasn't like it was any secret. It all began sixth year. His downfall and subsequent "salvation". Who would have thought it would have taken getting the Dark Mark to make him lose all faith in its meaning? And then, once his faith was tried, it was like everything – everything that had previously been held back by blind hatred, by loyalty, by the masks he wore and the disgust he feigned – everything else came rushing to the forefront: Despair, ignominy, shame.
Lust.
Longing.
All of it rushed through him, unraveling him.
In a way, he was still coming undone all of twelve years later. And still he'd never made a move. Sure, he and Potter were on, to say the least, better terms. They worked together…well, brilliantly. It turned out that when Draco wasn't busy being the Dark Lord's errand boy and once Potter got off his high Gryffindor horse…lion…what have you, they met at a middle ground where sometimes words weren't even necessary they were so in sync.
It turned Draco on. Rather a lot. More than he'd expected or thought possible. But still, he'd never said anything, done anything… Maybe, at heart, he really was just a coward. Even tonight – he just stood there trying to sober up a man who, clearly, would shag him drunk if only Draco could access some small part of his former self and take bloody advantage of that fact.
But he didn't. For whatever reason, he just couldn't.
"Drink up," Draco told him. He watched Potter take a sip, eyeing him over the rim, and then left to take a frightfully cold shower.
When he returned (a towel wrapped around his waist and still half hard) the mug was empty, and Harry was flat-out asleep and snoring on his couch. And Draco'd had half a mind to drop the towel and go for it by then. He couldn't help but smile a little sickly at his fucked up circumstances. He sighed and Summoned a blanket, which he then draped over Potter's sprawled (and very loud) form. He leaned close for a moment. "Happy New Year, Potter," he whispered. One stray bead of water dripped off Draco's hair and onto Potter's bottom lip. He didn't wake.
Draco dragged his sorry arse off to his own empty bed and fell into it, still damp.
…
"Why didn't you do it?"
Draco came awake with a start, reaching for his wand. He blinked, holding it on Potter for a moment before lowering it with a heavy sigh.
"Christ, Potter, I could have cursed you." At the git's slight smile, Draco frowned. "What are you talking about? What time is it?"
"Morning. And you know what I'm talking about." Slowly, he walked into the room. His dress shirt was rumpled from kipping on Draco's couch. He just kept talking. "Why didn't you do it? I was easy pickings last night, Malfoy. Although, I probably would have been a dreadful disappointment, honestly." He walked around the foot of the bed, and Draco could barely breathe.
He sat up the rest of the way, and the sheet fell to his waist. "I don't know what you're talking about." He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wake up his eyes.
Potter snorted. "I grabbed for your cock last night, and you don't know what I'm talking about? Come off it, Malfoy, you're no virgin."
Draco took a long breath finally. "You called me a prude, or don't you remember?"
"I said a great many things I regret. But you haven't answered my question."
"What do you want to hear, Potter? That I'm just that much of a gentleman? Maybe I don't fancy you. You ever consider that?" Draco really didn't know why he was denying it. The bitter remnants of his battered ego, he supposed.
Potter wasn't having any of it, though. He glanced down at Draco's lap – the obvious rise of his erection under the sheet – and lifted an eyebrow.
Draco dragged a pillow over it. "What are you doing in here?" he huffed. To his dismay, he was flushing nearly scarlet down his neck and chest.
Potter said nothing. He was right beside the bed now. He just reached out and slowly drew the pillow off Draco's lap. Then he took the sheet and, so slowly it hurt, dragged it off Draco's cock, which quite embarrassingly pointed straight at him ('YOU! I want YOU!'), unhindered since he wasn't wearing any pants.
"You are so goddamned beautiful, Malfoy," Potter murmured.
Draco sipped in his breath, shocked that Potter would say anything of the kind to or about him.
"Do you know how bad I want to—" Potter began, his hands clenching at his sides.
But it occurred to Draco, in that short amount of time, that this was his chance. His chance not to be a coward. To be something between the gentleman and a servant of the Dark Lord. Something in the middle. Maybe to be himself for once.
And before Potter could finish whatever wonderful thing it was he was about to say, Draco had launched himself out of the bed, slammed him into the wall, and was snogging him soundly.
Draco Malfoy, wearing nothing but a blush, had Harry Potter, fully dressed, pushed back against the wall, and he was devouring him. After all this bloody time, devouring him. He thrust his tongue into Potter's warm mouth, fucking him, moaning. No. Potter was the one moaning, and Draco was breathing hard, grunting a little when Potter's tongue matched the ferocity of his own, his hands going to Draco's hips like they'd done it a thousand times. Thumbs on his hipbones. Potter's thumbs were on his hipbones. That fact alone…
Draco gripped Potter's wild hair, wrenched his head back to bare his throat, and he broke the kiss to bite down the long line of it, over new bristly whiskers, licking into the hollow. Draco bit and sucked and kissed his way down, opening Potter's shirt – his dry lips over Potter's chest…down…down… He opened Potter's trousers, knees finally making contact with the floor.
Potter's hands slipped into his hair. "God, Malfoy…" He closed his eyes, his head thunking back into the wall.
Draco pulled Potter's cock out of his pants and felt faint. Imagine – going through all that he had only to faint dead away at the sight of Harry Potter's thick cock. It wasn't as long as his own. It reared up in a curve, the color of a rose. Draco took it deeply into his mouth.
"Shit! God…what… Oh…" Potter said. Draco thrilled to his incoherency. And fuck, his taste. Potter tasted perfect: Salty hot, his cockskin so soft over the engorged shaft of him, sliding into Draco's mouth as though he belonged there. Draco gagged on him and loved it. He regained his breath and bobbed his head, closing his eyes and sighing.
Then Potter, incomprehensibly, laughed.
"God, I don't deserve this – I'm a ponce!"
Draco drew off of him. "Sucking your cock and getting to hear you calling yourself a ponce at the same time, Potter? Go on then." He went down once more, Potter's deep laughter resounding in his own stiff prick. And somewhere in his chest, too. Merlin, the whole business was lovely. It was too much. Something broke open inside Draco at that moment. He hollowed his cheeks around Potter's cock, so happy he could scream with it – go up on the roof with his broom and fly off into the cold day naked and screaming and laughing his head off like a loon!
"I know I shouldn't be – oh fuck – uh, talking while you do that. This isn't, uh, really anything like I'd pictured."
At Draco's look and his pause, lips distended, Potter went on. "Yes, Malfoy. I pictured, all right?"
Draco nuzzled his cock, rubbing it on his face, and Potter swore again – like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Draco memorized how he was feeling right at that moment to use in the future; he'd be able to conjure his strongest Patronus yet.
"But wait. Stop." Potter's hand was stroking his head, his look down at Draco, imploring. Draco waited. "On the bed."
Draco nodded and scooted back onto the sheets, watching Potter disrobe to nothing.
"Lie back," he said.
"But I was –"
"I don't want to come in your mouth," Potter told him then. "I want you to come in mine."
Draco's eyes widened; he was sure he must look rather comical. He couldn't care. Harry Potter was pushing his legs apart, kneeling between them, then sprawling between them, holding his cock in his hand and licking his lips. Oh God….
In the broad daylight, Draco could see every flash of emotion in Potter's eyes, see the way his morning whiskers were almost half grey now even though he was not yet even thirty. Draco watched his Adam's apple move as Potter got ready to take Draco into his mouth.
Then Potter did it – he went down on him -- and Draco's eyes rolled back and all his bones disintegrated and he fell back into the pillows groaning. "Oh my God… Oh my fucking God…" And Potter laughed around his cock, still sucking.
Draco tried to hold it back. He did, truly. But Harry Potter forced his orgasm on him like the plonker he was. And after maybe only three or four minutes of the best blowjob Draco had ever gotten or imagined, he shot his come hard into Potter's soft, amazing mouth for what felt like five full minutes – until he was gasping and almost crying it was so bloody good.
Once he was empty and left whimpering, Potter lifted his mouth. "Turn over?"
At that point, Draco would have given him anything. ANYTHING. He rolled over, baring his arse. He held his breath, hoping.
Potter rose up over him and leaned down to whisper behind his ear, "You taste bloody glorious." He cast a lubricating spell, and Draco felt the slickness permeate him – felt Potter's blunt, wet cock slipping between his arse cheeks, seeking home.
"I'd open you up easy, Malfoy, but I'm dying," he admitted.
"Do it," Draco breathed, more than ready. Potter's body kept his pressed flat to the bed, and now his cock was nudging, asking, and then demanding, and he was pushing inside, and all Draco could do was bite down on the flesh of his own arm, trembling against it.
Then Potter did this fantastic thing. When he'd pushed all the way inside and his bollocks were touching Draco's arse, he let out the lustiest of groans, like the embrace of Draco's body was where he'd always longed to be. He braced his forearms on either side of Draco's back then, dropped his head to rest it against him, and Potter started to fuck.
Of course, at first, it hurt. But there wasn't any moment when it didn't also feel…ridiculously divine. Draco found himself moving against him from the start, wanting all of it, all of Potter, all of them both together. So they moved, undulating against one another, breathing together, and it couldn't have been better if they'd used every sex spell they each knew.
At one point, Potter slipped an arm under Draco, a palm pressed to his chest, and he breathed hot in Draco's ear, "Jesus… Jesus…" rocking his hips, and Draco just almost came again.
He opened his mouth to say something, although he had no idea what. The word that came out, though, was "Harry". Potter gasped, faltering, but then he groaned and started going faster. His mouth found Draco's shoulder, and he bit down and then kissed where he'd bitten. Draco lifted his arse as much as Potter'd let him. He offered himself to Potter. He was trembling.
To Potter's credit, he lasted quite a while. (It occurred to Draco that if they'd been competing as fiercely as they had in school, Draco would have taken a resounding defeat.) But Draco was nothing but grateful for Potter's longevity. He wanted this to last all bloody day. Draco felt it might just be possible to die from pleasure.
When Potter's hand moved down to Draco's cock and fondled it, Draco groaned so loudly he should have been embarrassed. He simply wasn't. In fact, he was smiling into his pillow.
"Come with me," Potter said behind his ear, stroking him and taking short, utilitarian thrusts, fucking Draco down into the bed.
Draco just nodded.
"Please," Potter whispered. "Say it again. Please say it again." He sounded close.
Draco took a breath, squeezed his eyes closed, and said it, "Harry…"
Harry – God, he was Harry and he was Potter and he was everything -- began to come inside him, losing his rhythm. Draco shoved his hand down between his legs and took Potter's fist, holding it still and trusting into it until he, too, came once more, bucking between Potter's cock and his fist, warm and shivering, skin sliding on skin, reduced to that one word: "Harry… Harry…"
…
Draco hadn't intended to fall asleep, but after Potter rolled off of him and then pulled the blankets up over them both, it just sort of happened. When he woke it was to the smell of fresh coffee and Potter's arse making a dip in his side of the bed.
Draco blinked his eyes open -- but then frowned, because although Potter was setting a mug down, presumably for Draco, on the nightstand, he was also quite dressed. Draco wanted to ask where he was going, but he didn't want to sound needy, so he just lay there confused.
Potter saved him, though. "Can you believe I've got meetings today?" He shook his head. "I've got to get new robes again and – this is the worst – help train my replacement. My replacement." He shook his head once more. Draco thought he looked unfairly beautiful. He remembered his words from last night: You are so goddamned beautiful, Malfoy.
Draco turned on his side and rested his head on his hand. His arse hurt wonderfully. He wanted to take a chance…lay his hand over Harry's ('Harry's'… Merlin!) wrist or something...touch him somehow. But he couldn't. Too many years not touching him. He had to say something, though. "Ron was right." The admission was physically painful.
"What do you mean?" Potter, apparently feeling no such ambivalence about touching or not touching him, reached out and brushed a strand of hair off Draco's forehead. Like it was nothing. Like it was everything.
Draco had to take a breath and steady his thoughts. Then he said, "You are this…Captain Carp person."
"Kirk?"
"Whatever."
Potter smiled down at him. There was something just slightly ashamed about it. "How so, Malfoy?"
"You were a good Head Auror," he found himself saying – and not even grudgingly. Merlin, but what had a fantastic lay done to him?!
"Thanks, Draco, but you don't get a vote." Draco…
"And if I did, I might have done the same thing."
"Gee, thanks ever so much."
Draco seized that moment and took Potter's wrist, gently wrapping his fingers around it. "Harry," he said. Potter looked at him then, searching his eyes. "As good as you were, you're a thousand times better and more valuable out there." He nodded toward the foggy window and brushed his thumb uncertainly over the back of his hand. "Desks and parchments aren't your style. They never were."
Potter looked like he was trying to figure out a particularly dodgy yet endearing puzzle. "You are the biggest surprise of my life," he said finally.
Draco removed his hand and averted his eyes, caught completely off-guard and unprepared. Potter pursued him, though, planting a hand on either side of him and kissing him down into the pillows, rough and wet. It sort of stunned Draco for just a moment, but then he pulled Potter down and rolled them over so that he was on top, and he snogged Potter back as good as he got.
Fuck being a coward. Fuck being a gentleman. Fuck trying to be normal or whatever the fuck. He seriously doubted Potter could tell normal from not anyway.
"Merlin, I'm gonna be late," Potter laughed between kisses. "Shower with me? You know, save some time?"
"Are we shagging or dating or what, Potter?" Draco asked, prepared to be ecstatic about any answer.
Potter shrugged. "I guess when you call me Potter, we're shagging, and when you call me Harry, we're…more than shagging."
Draco slipped his tongue into Harry's mouth and kissed him extra slowly, just marveling that he could – that any of this was actually happening. Then he said, "Hold onto me, Harry Potter." And Harry smiled rather brilliantly and gripped his arms. Then suddenly they were in the shower, standing there together with Harry still dressed.
Harry started to laugh, and Draco began ripping at his clothes, his own lips curving into an irrepressible smile. Harry snapped his fingers and Vanished his clothes completely. Draco snapped his and turned the hot water on them.
Then Harry Potter, Former Head Auror, pushed him against the shower wall, under the deluge, bathed in steam, and it was quite possibly the best morning after – the best start to a year, to a life -- in history.
