The Power Play
The Room of Requirement hummed quietly as Harry and Draco made their way inside. It had become their secret hideaway, a place where they could be alone, away from prying eyes and the constant noise of the school. They didn’t need to hide anymore—they had long since stopped pretending they weren’t together. But still, there was something about this room, this space, that made it feel like they could be truly themselves.
Draco was the first to step in, turning to face Harry with that knowing look in his eyes. He didn’t say anything at first, but the way his lips curled up, the way his gaze lingered on Harry—it was enough to send a shiver down Harry’s spine.
Harry followed, shutting the door behind him, his heart racing in anticipation. He was used to being with Draco by now—used to the way their bodies fit together, the way their conversations turned into something deeper, something more, but every time they were alone, it still felt like a new discovery. A new frontier.
“You look a little tense, Potter,” Draco said, his voice smooth and teasing, as he leaned back against the cushions, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. His eyes flicked down to Harry’s broad frame, his lips curling with a mixture of amusement and something else, something Harry recognized all too well.
Harry gave him a pointed look, though the effect was lessened by the way his pulse quickened at the sight of Draco, so effortlessly alluring. “Maybe I’m just tired of waiting for you to make a move,” he said, stepping forward.
Draco’s eyebrow arched, a sharp glint of mischief in his gaze. “Oh? You think I haven’t already?”
Harry took another step, his chest brushing against Draco’s, and for a moment, they just stood there, close enough to feel the heat radiating off each other. There was no need for words—Harry could feel it in the way Draco’s breath caught when he leaned in just slightly, the way his body seemed to react even when they hadn’t touched yet.
“Maybe I’m waiting for you to catch up,” Harry said, his voice low, the words almost teasing as he slid his hand to Draco’s waist. His thumb brushed against the soft fabric of Draco’s shirt, the touch sending a jolt of heat through both of them. He wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, they were closer, their faces inches apart.
Draco’s lips parted slightly, eyes flickering between Harry’s eyes and his mouth, as if considering the words he wanted to say. But then, without warning, Draco leaned in, his lips brushing Harry’s in a kiss that was slow at first—measured, deliberate, but as soon as Harry responded, it deepened, hard and hungry, like the kiss was some kind of unspoken confession.
Harry’s hand slid up Draco’s side, fingers tracing the curve of his butt, feeling the subtle shiver that ran through Draco’s body at the contact. Draco was smaller than him—more delicate, but there was strength in the way he responded, the way his hands found Harry’s shoulders, pulling him in closer. Draco’s body was warm against his, and the heat between them only grew as they deepened the kiss, no longer cautious, no longer restrained.
Harry groaned quietly as Draco’s hands slid down to his chest, tugging at his shirt, his fingers brushing against the firm muscles underneath. It was always like this, always a heady mixture of tenderness and rawness that left Harry wanting more. His hands moved to Draco’s hips, pulling him flush against him, feeling the softness of his body, the slight curve of his waist, the heat of him as they moved together.
“God,” Harry murmured, pulling back for a breath, his forehead resting against Draco’s. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
Draco chuckled softly, the sound almost too sweet, too innocent for how heated the moment had become. “Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea,” he whispered back, his lips brushing Harry’s with every word. “You’ve been looking at me like that for weeks.”
Harry’s heart hammered in his chest, but there was no hesitation now, no second thoughts. He pulled Draco closer again, his lips capturing his in another kiss, deeper this time, as if to prove everything that had been building between them. Draco’s hands roamed up to Harry’s hair, fingers threading through the messy strands as he tugged him closer, arching his body against Harry’s. The movement was so fluid, so familiar, and it sent a bolt of heat through Harry’s veins.
“Fuck,” Harry muttered, breaking the kiss for a moment, his voice rougher now. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”
“Me too,” Draco breathed out, a little too breathless, his hands moving to Harry’s chest again, brushing against the warm skin underneath. He looked up at Harry, his grey eyes darker than usual, filled with something that made Harry’s stomach tighten. “We’ve waited long enough.”
Before Harry could respond, Draco kissed him again, this time more urgently, as if they were both trying to make up for lost time. Their lips met with a fervor that was almost desperate, their bodies pressing together harder, closer, until Harry could feel the heat of Draco against him in every inch of his body.
They didn’t speak for a while. They didn’t need to. The only sound in the room was the rustle of clothing and the soft, steady rhythm of their movements as they lost themselves in each other. Harry’s hand slipped under Draco’s shirt, tracing the smooth line of his back, feeling the muscles there tense and shift beneath his fingertips. Draco’s breath hitched at the touch, his body pressing even closer as if he couldn’t get close enough.
When Harry finally pulled back again, his breath ragged, he looked down at Draco, who was flushed, his lips swollen from the kiss, his chest heaving with every breath. There was a moment of silence, just the two of them staring at each other, their hands still resting on each other’s skin, and Harry felt something shift inside him. He couldn’t deny it anymore—this wasn’t just physical. This was everything.
“You’re mine, Draco,” Harry murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, but the words held weight. “You always have been.”
Draco’s lips curled into a soft smile, one that spoke of something far more vulnerable than Harry had ever seen in him. “I know,” he replied, his voice barely audible. “And you’re mine.”
And for the first time, in that quiet, heated space, they both knew they had crossed a line that neither of them could take back. And neither of them wanted to.
The air in the Room of Requirement was thick with the unspoken tension between them, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Their breaths were heavy, their bodies still too close, but there was a playful glint in Draco’s eyes, one that told Harry the teasing wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.
Draco shifted slightly, pushing himself up to sit on the plush cushions, his legs parting just enough to give Harry a perfect view of how the fabric of his trousers stretched tight around his hips. The look on Draco’s face was almost casual, but the way he tilted his head back, his lips curled into something that was half smirk, half something far more inviting, made Harry’s pulse race.
Draco tapped the seat next to him, the motion languid, his finger lingering just a second too long. “Well, Potter,” Draco drawled, his voice light but with an edge that made Harry’s stomach tighten. “What’s next?”
Harry raised an eyebrow, pretending to look nonchalant, though he could feel the heat flooding his cheeks. He took a step closer, his body too aware of Draco’s. “What do you mean?” Harry asked, voice deliberately casual, but the quick glance he shot toward Draco’s lips betrayed the urgency building inside him. “I thought we were just having a little chat.”
Draco’s eyes darkened slightly, the teasing smile still on his lips. “You know, Potter,” Draco said, shifting to lean back against the cushions with an exaggerated stretch, “I’ve been thinking about this. About us. I can’t help but wonder if you’re just as eager as I am.” His voice was low and smooth, each word slipping from his mouth like a challenge.
Harry’s breath hitched involuntarily at the suggestion, but he wasn’t about to let Draco think he’d won that easily. He took a step forward, narrowing his eyes with a smirk of his own. “Oh, I’m eager, Draco. But I was more wondering if you’re always this easy, or if I’m just special.”
Draco’s lips twitched as if he were holding back a laugh, but there was no mistaking the way his eyes glimmered with something darker beneath the humor. “You’re not the first to say that,” he said, letting his words hang in the air like a dare. He tilted his head toward Harry, looking up at him through his lashes. “Though I suppose you’re the first to make it sound interesting.”
Harry leaned in just slightly, the movement slow, deliberate. “You think I make everything sound interesting?”
Draco’s lips parted, his voice now lower, more teasing. “You definitely have a way with words, Potter,” he purred, watching Harry’s face closely. “But it’s not the words I’m interested in right now. It’s how you say them.”
Harry took another step forward, his face inches from Draco’s, his body pressing close enough that he could feel Draco’s warmth. “And how do I say them?” Harry asked, his voice hushed, a playful note beneath the sharpness.
Draco’s lips quirked into a small, private smile, and for a brief moment, Harry saw something vulnerable flicker in his gaze—before it was hidden again behind that confident mask. “I think you already know, don’t you?”
Harry wasn’t sure if it was the challenge in Draco’s voice or the way Draco’s breath was quickening, but it set something off inside him. There was no denying the tension between them was practically unbearable, but they both thrived on it, building it up until it became a force of its own.
With a low laugh, Harry leaned in just a bit closer, his lips brushing against Draco’s ear, his voice a soft whisper. “So,” he breathed, “if I’m so good at this, what does that mean for you?”
The sudden shiver that ran through Draco’s body made Harry’s pulse race, and Draco’s voice came out in a breathless murmur. “It means, Potter, you’re definitely not going to get away with being the only one in control.”
Harry couldn’t help the grin that tugged at the corners of his lips. “Oh, I’m not in control?” he teased, pulling back just enough to look into Draco’s eyes. He wasn’t sure if Draco’s smirk was a challenge or an invitation, but either way, it made the heat building between them even more unbearable.
Draco sat up straight, narrowing his eyes. “If you want me to show you who’s in control, Potter, I will,” he warned, his voice sultry, the words laced with a threat of something far more consuming. His hands rested on his thighs, fingers flexing slowly as if to accentuate the quiet promise in his words.
“Show me, then,” Harry said, his voice quieter now, a thread of anticipation running through it. He was leaning in again, but this time, he could feel the challenge between them, the playful but sharp edge. There was no way Draco could back down now.
For a long moment, Draco stared at him, eyes flickering over Harry’s features as if he were weighing the decision. Then, with a casualness that didn’t quite match the intensity of the moment, Draco stood up and took a step toward him.
“You really don’t know when to quit, do you, Potter?” Draco muttered under his breath, his hand brushing past Harry’s chest. It was a small motion, yet it sent a spark straight to Harry’s core.
Harry leaned in again, lowering his voice into a deep, dangerous whisper. “No,” he said simply, his lips brushing against Draco’s ear, “and I don’t plan on starting now.”
Draco’s breath caught, and the sudden shift in the air told Harry everything he needed to know—this game was far from over. It was just getting started.
Harry's pulse raced as Draco stood a little too close, their breaths mingling, the space between them tight and heavy. Harry had always enjoyed the game, the subtle dance of dominance and submission that flowed between them, but tonight, the stakes felt higher.
Draco's lips twitched again, his eyes glimmering with something that was both defiant and seductive. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from Harry's forehead with an almost dismissive gesture, as though Harry’s proximity didn’t affect him. But the slight tremor in Draco’s hand, the way his breath faltered for just a second, didn’t go unnoticed.
Harry knew Draco well enough to read the signs. Draco wasn’t completely in control here—he was teasing, playing a game of his own, but there was always an undercurrent to his actions. An unspoken surrender that only Harry could see.
“What’s the matter, Draco?” Harry said, his voice dropping lower as he leaned in, the words lingering between them like a challenge. “Aren’t you going to tell me what you really want?”
Draco’s lips parted, but before he could answer, Harry took a slow step forward, closing the distance between them. He could feel the heat radiating off Draco’s body, the way Draco’s chest rose and fell just a little faster than usual. Draco’s gaze flickered up to meet Harry’s, and there was something both daring and vulnerable in his eyes.
“You think you’ve got me figured out, don’t you?” Draco whispered, his voice smooth but edged with something deeper, darker. He took a step back, running his hands down his sides, his fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt, making it tighten over his slender frame.
Harry took another step, following Draco’s retreat like it was a game—like every movement, every glance, was part of the unspoken dance between them. He reached out and cupped Draco’s chin gently, tilting his face upward, forcing Draco to meet his gaze.
“I think I know you better than you’d like, Malfoy,” Harry said, his tone commanding but tinged with something more intimate. “You don’t have to fight it anymore.”
Draco smirked, though there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. “Who said I was fighting?” he replied, his voice low, almost teasing. “I’m just making sure you know exactly what you’re getting into.”
Harry's thumb grazed across Draco’s bottom lip, his eyes never leaving Draco’s. “Oh, I know exactly what I’m getting into,” Harry murmured, a smile curling at the corners of his lips. “You’ve made that very clear.”
Draco’s breath caught again, and Harry could see the way his body reacted to the challenge in his words. Draco was trying to maintain control, trying to play the part of the confident, aloof Slytherin, but Harry could see through it. The way Draco’s body tensed just slightly under Harry’s touch, the way his eyes softened, gave away more than he intended. Draco was always a little more vulnerable than he liked to admit.
Harry leaned in closer, his body pressing against Draco’s with just enough force to send a rush of heat through both of them. His breath was warm against Draco’s neck, and Draco let out a sharp breath, his fingers gripping the fabric of Harry’s shirt.
“You know, Draco,” Harry’s voice was quieter now, but no less commanding, “I don’t mind making you wait. But I’m not going to let you keep pretending you don’t want this. Not anymore.”
Draco’s lips parted in a barely audible gasp, and Harry could feel him shift beneath him, a subtle movement that spoke volumes. Draco may have been playing his usual game, but Harry had him right where he wanted him—helpless, wanting, and just waiting for Harry to push him further.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Draco muttered, though there was a quiver in his voice now, the sharp edge fading into something softer.
Harry let out a soft laugh, the sound almost a growl, and he brushed his lips against Draco’s ear. “What do you think I’m doing, Draco?” he whispered. “You’ve been waiting for me to take charge. And now that I’m here, you’re just going to stand there and pretend you don’t want it?”
Draco’s fingers dug into Harry’s shirt, pulling him closer, his chest pressing into Harry’s with a force that only made Harry smirk. “You think I’m just going to fall at your feet like some obedient little thing?” Draco’s voice was shaky now, though there was still a trace of that sharp confidence.
Harry’s grin only widened as he leaned down, brushing his lips against Draco’s neck, feeling the way Draco shivered. “Not fall at my feet,” Harry murmured, his voice rough. “But I do think you’re going to do exactly what I want.”
Draco’s lips quivered for a moment, and for a split second, there was a flicker of uncertainty. But then, with a quiet sigh, Draco’s head fell back slightly, exposing the pale curve of his throat. “You really think you can control me, Potter?” Draco’s voice was low, but now there was something in it that betrayed him—something that made Harry’s heart race.
Harry’s thumb stroked the delicate skin of Draco’s throat, and he pressed a soft kiss to the pulse point, feeling it race under his lips. “I know I can,” Harry whispered against Draco’s skin. “And I think you like it when I do.”
For a moment, neither of them moved, the weight of the words hanging heavy between them. Draco’s breath was uneven, his body tight with anticipation, but Harry could feel the shift—could feel Draco’s surrender in the way he softened under Harry’s touch.
“You like this,” Harry repeated, his voice quiet but sure. He wasn’t asking. He was telling.
Draco swallowed, his chest heaving with the effort, but the small nod he gave in response was all Harry needed. Draco was his, and he wanted nothing more than to explore that—body and soul—until they both couldn’t remember where one ended and the other began.