Chapter 10
In the days after Draco’s confusingly earth-shattering blowjob, everything felt numb, almost dreamlike. He had three Harrys in his mind– the arrogant, competitive one from his youth; the soft, bookish one who took care of him for two comfortable months; and the wild, grinning one who was kneeling on his hardwood floor the week prior.
Draco didn’t know the correct behavior for this kind of thing–though he had dated his fair share of men in his youth, none of them had been Harry.
After a week went by, and there was nothing to indicate that Harry was going to reach out to him, Draco sent him an owl inviting him over that Saturday. Almost immediately, he got a response from Harry’s speckled brown owl.
Can’t do Saturday. I’ll be over at 4 on Sunday
HJP
Draco nearly laughed out loud–it was so Harry that Draco found it extremely endearing.
Fine. Wear something nice.
Draco Lucius Malfoy
“How about this?” asked Draco. He held up a favourite suit of his–a lovely Ralph Lauren piece in cream.
Pansy hmmmed.
“I don’t mind it, love, but if you’re really trying to seduce Potter you might have to go with something a little bolder.”
“I’m not trying to seduce him, Pans, I’d sure hope I don’t have to–he was sucking my cock last week pretty enthusiastically.”
Pansy wrinkled her nose.
“That’s awful, Draco, you’re a menace. I did not need to hear that. Take your homosexuality elsewhere.”
“How’s your girlfriend, Pansy?” responded Draco cheerfully. “But yes, I do see your point. I need something with a little more…”
His eye caught on a suit nestled in the back of his closet–he had been a lot more flamboyant in his youth, and this suit had been one his finer purchases. Light gold brocade curled around a baby blue silk–double breasted, with matching gold buttons and a nipped in waist.
“Wow,” said Pansy admiringly. “You really are horny for this man.”
“I don’t need your criticism, Parkinson.”
Pansy started to laugh, but then her eyebrows shot up when she saw Draco’s choice of shoes–suede heels, with little gold zippers on the side.
“Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
Pansy grinned.
“But really, suede?”
Draco had low expectations for what counted, in Harry’s mind, as wearing “something nice.” These expectations were blown away–Harry showed up to Draco’s door five minutes late with a handful of flowers–forget-me-nots this time–with his wild hair unbrushed and curly. He was in a bottle green suit that made his similarly green eyes shine (although that was probably just the afternoon light, Draco thought to himself). He was out of breath.
“You look awful,” said Draco, as a way to counter the way his heart was beating at twice its speed. “You should have done something with your hair.” But he pulled Harry in by his lapels and kissed him, long and sweet.
“Do I really look awful?” asked Harry, peering up at him.
“No, for some dreadful reason you have to look good in everything, especially suits,” responded Draco. He was a bit miffed that Harry hadn’t commented on his suit yet, he’d spent a lot of time planning with Pansy beforehand.
“I like your suit,” said Harry. “That fabric is really nice.”
“It’s silk, you cretin,” replied Draco, but he felt better nonetheless.
“So, where are you taking me?”
“You’ll have to find out.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“Well bugger for you,” said Draco, as he grabbed Harry’s wrist and turned on the spot, Apparating with a crack.
The two men appeared suddenly in a long, echoey hallway filled with gold mosaics and marble statues. Draco slipped his hand around Harry’s, marveling at the way his cold, slender fingers felt on Harry’s warm, broad ones, and led him down the hallway and through a large, glossy door.
The doorway opened up to a different, but similarly decorated hallway. This hallway was full of similarly dressed people–though Harry observed that most of them were significantly older than Harry and Draco.
Draco nearly drooled over a woman’s faux mink coat before leading Harry to another doorway, where a well dressed man in purple uniform held out his gloved hand.
“Tickets, please.”
Draco held out two tickets he had procured from his suit pocket and gave them to the man.
“Through the left, over here, aisle B,” said the man, before turning his attention to the next couple in line.
“Where did you take me?” hissed Harry as they made their way through the second set of doors. Draco almost laughed at the expression on Harry’s face as they entered the theater–his mouth was open and he ran his gaze along the vibrant, painted ceiling, arching, marble columns, golden, curling boxes at the back, and plush, maroon chairs spanning about the size of the Hogwarts Dining Hall.
“Aisle B, that’s right here,” was Draco’s response. “I assumed you had never been to the opera before, and purchased seats accordingly.”
“I–opera, Draco?”
Draco pursed his lips and crossed his legs as he sat down, then took out his programme and began flipping through its pages.
“I knew you were posh, but really, this takes it to a whole new level.”
Harry threaded his fingers back through Draco’s.
“Thank you for taking me.”
Draco stuck up his nose.
“Yes, well, you were in desperate need of some cultural education.”
Draco would not have been able to give you a description of the performance if he tried. Of course, he had already seen Pelléas et Mélisande twice already, but the first two hours were a complete blur.
First, Harry shifted in his seat during the first number, and a good bit of his long, raven hair brushed softly against Draco’s suit jacket, and Draco thought of nothing except Harry’s awful amazing citrus shampoo for a good twenty minutes.
Halfway through the second act, Harry shifted again to adjust his dress shirt underneath, and when his hand returned back down, it was on Draco’s silk-clad knee. Draco stiffened, but said nothing, staring straight ahead at the velvet collar of the woman sitting in front of him.
Silently, Harry’s hand began to slide, his thumb rubbing gently against the side of Draco’s leg. Still Draco said nothing, eyes watering from his attempts not to blink. Then Harry, predictably, made it to the top of Draco’s thigh, and moved inward, his thumb still making circles against the hollow of Draco’s pelvic bone. Draco took a sharp intake of breath and clamped down on his lip so as to not make a sound, still staring steadfastly at the actors in front of him. When Harry started dragging his fingers downward, Draco finally pulled his gaze away from the stage.
“We are in public. Quit it,” he hissed.
Harry looked back at him, all innocent.
“Move my hand away, if you hate it so much.”
Draco glared at him, but said nothing. Harry smirked and continued his ministrations.
Draco had had a low, simmering burn of arousal ever since Harry showed up at his house with that goddamn suit, but it reached its peak just as Harry was reaching his destination; he ran the pad of his thumb across Draco’s inseam, and made his way up the length of bulge in Draco’s pants.
Draco suddenly regretted his choice in trousers–the material was so thin he could feel the roughness of Harry’s hand through the material and it made for an agonizing slide, skin on silk on skin. As Harry started to rub in earnest, and Draco wondered how his lip wasn’t bleeding for how hard his teeth were digging into it, he grabbed Harry’s wrist once more.
“The restroom is up the stairs, to the left,” Draco said, barely a whisper. “Don’t follow me.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and desperately tried to hide the fact that he had a massive hard-on in the second row of the opera.
Harry arrived in the luxuriously clean bathroom mere seconds after Draco did, his eyes glossy and his hair even more of a mess than before.
It felt as natural as it did to breathe when Draco slammed Harry up against the marble tiled wall at the back of the bathroom. He hadn’t noticed Harry’s earrings before, and the glint of the gold studs matched the flecks of gold in Harry’s eyes.
“God, you are so inappropriate,” hissed Draco. “I can’t believe I spent the money on these tickets only for you to ruin it. Pelléas et Mélisande is one of my favorites, and you couldn’t make it halfway through.”
“I like it when you speak French,” was Harry’s response, mouthing at Draco’s jaw. Before long, Draco had Harry up on the gold embossed sink, grinding his hips against him as he sent a silent Locking Charm on the door. Anyone who needed to go would have to wait. After briefly considering his options, Draco began fumbling with Harry’s gold buckle, and eventually his trousers came undone, revealing orange and black striped underwear, with a large Chudley Cannons emblazoned on the front.
Draco laughed.
“Chudley Cannons, really?”
“Ron gave them to me as a laugh many years ago, and I was out of underwear,” said Harry, grinning, but it turned into a moan as Draco pulled down the offending underwear and took hold of Harry’s cock.
It was thicker than Draco’s, soft and brown like the rest of him, and twitched eagerly in Draco’s hand. Pumping his fist against Harry and holding on to his bare thigh for support, Draco rocked up against Harry, biting down hard on Harry’s chapped lips and claiming his tongue for his own.
“Ah, oh god, Draco,” moaned Harry, twitching against the sink, one hair cupping Draco’s face and the other behind him, stabilising himself.
“Fuck, I need your mouth on me, please, fuck,” cried Harry, his hips canting up into Draco’s fist, but Draco was just getting started, moving his hand slowly and agonizing. He wasn’t going to let Harry get what he wanted, just yet.
Harry’s pelvis, desperately trying to find friction where there was none, was rotating and snapping with such urgency that Draco guessed he must have been in a lot of pain.
He supposed he should take pity on the poor man, a wreck of dark hair and darker eyelashes.
Harry let out an even louder string of slurs as Draco licked one long stripe against the underside of Harry’s member, relishing in that slightly bitter taste of a man aroused.
“There you go,” said Draco approvingly, “we’ve got twenty minutes until intermission, so you can scream as loudly as you’d like until then, Potter.”
Draco knew he was doing something right–Harry didn’t even attempt to correct him, instead he dug his nails into Draco’s shoulder as Draco put his mouth to Harry once more.
After a few minutes of using his cheeks to make a maddening suction against Harry’s prick, and Harry letting out one after another of animalistic cries, his panting became even more rapid, his chest rising and falling and his face flushed red.
“Fuck, Draco, that mouth, oh shit, I’m going to come,” moaned Harry against Draco’s hair.
“No you will not,” said Draco sternly, pulling off immediately. “This is a nice establishment, and I will not have you ruin it by coming all over the place.”
Harry’s cock, suddenly free, was red and angry, and Harry wrapped his fingers around it, desperately trying to find the satisfaction Draco wasn’t going to give him. He started to groan at his soothing motion, but Draco batted his hand away.
“I said no. We will go back to your flat, and you will come when I tell you, like a civilized person.”
“Please, god, Draco,” whimpered Harry again, but his words were swallowed by Draco pressing a soothing kiss against his lips, before Apparating them both away.
“Will you let me come now?” asked Harry as soon as they appeared in his living room.
“Clothes off, first,” said Draco, leading him to Harry’s bedroom.
Eagerly, Harry fisted at Draco’s suit jacket. Shirt came off next, then shoes, socks, trousers and, finally, underwear. Draco pushed Harry back, hard against his bed, and slid on top of him, straddling those massive thighs that had been keeping him up at night. He ran his hands along Harry’s torso–neck, clavicle, collarbones, stopping at his chest.
“When did you do these?” asked Draco, feeling as if he was about to come on the spot, without even being touched. Little golden posts glinted back at him from Harry’s rosy nipples, glimmering balls attached to the ends of both.
“Last, ah, week,” said Harry, arching his back as Draco gave an experimental flick to one of them.
“God, Potter, were you just put on this earth to torment me?”
Harry grinned. “I told you, please call me Harry.”
“And I told you, ah” Draco moaned, unable to finish his sentence. Harry captured Draco’s mouth with his teeth and started gently rocking back and forth against him.
“Can you please get back to what you were doing? I am–fuck, Draco, I’m almost th–”
“Like I said, you’ll come when I tell you. And that time isn’t now, Potter, you need your cock for other things.”
Draco gracefully reached into Harry’s bedside table and pulled out a condom and some lube.
“I–what?”
“Did you not hear what I said?”
“I–yes, I heard you. But you–”
“You’re going to fuck me, yes. Please do try to keep up,” said Draco primly.
“I just figured–I figured you would want to f-fuck me,” said Harry, confused.
“Did you? Bless,” said Draco, smiling one of his wide, fake smiles saved for people who were causing him great inconvenience or strife.
Normally, Harry would have been correct–though he had experimented a lot when he was younger (the Slytherin boys dormitory certainly opened plenty of doors), Draco found that he much preferred to top in these situations. Topping meant control, and part of what got Draco off was seeing his partners submit to him.
But his relationship with Harry was new; he didn’t feel he had to top to be the one in control. He looked down at Harry, with his gorgeous green eyes and soot-covered eyelashes, and realized that this wreck of a man beneath him would do anything for Draco, and that was better than anything Harry could do with his mouth, fingers or cock.
“Fuck, okay, uh, where do you want me?” asked Harry.
Draco rolled over so that now Harry was the one on top, his tanned chest rising and falling and his hips rutting their naked cocks against each other.
“Have you done this before?” asked Draco breathlessly.
“I–yes, Draco, fuck, I just–”
“Good then, you know what to do.”
Shakily, Harry pressed one hand against Draco’s hip, and moved the other underneath him.
“Deep breath,” murmured Harry.
“I’m not a child–this isn’t my first time doing this either,” said Draco, but he sucked in a gasp as Harry slid one large, warm finger inside him.
“Oh, god, you’re so tight, Draco,” grunted Harry softly as he pulled his finger out, then back in, quicker this time.
Draco’s hips arched to meet Harry’s hand, one of his hands, predictably, back in Harry’s hair and the other on his chest.
“Two fingers, give me another one,” commanded Draco. “Gods, that feels so good.”
Harry complied, and it nearly made Draco come on the spot to see him so obedient, so pliant and willing.
“There you go, oh, Merlin, that’s it.”
“Want another one?” asked Harry huskily, crooking his two fingers and making Draco nearly cry with pleasure.
“Yeah, give me three, that’s it, stars, your fingers are like magic, fuck.”
Harry dutifully fed Draco a third finger, and Draco gasped–the intrusion was welcomed, but painful, and Harry was as skilled with his fingers as he was with his mouth.
“D’you think I can make you come with just my fingers?” asked Harry, smirking, and Draco practically sobbed.
“No, please, I need you inside me, now.”
Draco was hardly even ashamed to be pleading, so masterful was Harry with his mouth and his fingers and his low, grumbly voice and gold glimmering from his ears and nipples and eyes.
Harry grinned.
“As you wish.”
With one slick motion, he slid his fingers out of Draco, leaving him shivering and empty. As Harry lubed up, running those deft fingers up and down his large, angry cock, it struck Draco how absolutely bizarre this was; he had had to keep reminding himself that this Harry was the same Harry he knew at school. In this situation, however, Draco didn’t need to be reminded; suddenly the look in Harry’s eyes–hungry, arrogant and smirking–was perfectly identical to the one Draco had seen a million times before.
“Tell me what you want, Draco,” said Harry quietly, as he slid on a condom.
“I–fuck, you know what I want, you monster,” whimpered Draco, hating the painful tone his voice had taken, but knowing he couldn’t do anything about it.
“I need to hear you say it,” mouthed Harry at Draco’s collarbone, sucking and biting at his skin.
“I need–I want y-you to fuck me, gods, I need it,” whined Draco, his eyes screwed up in pain.
“There you go,” murmured Harry approvingly, and in one long thrust he was inside of Draco, breathtakingly huge and filling him up, thick and hot.
All the air was sucked out of Draco’s lungs as Harry pulled out, then thrust in, less gently this time, a hand on Draco’s abdomen.
Draco’s hips bucked uncontrollably as the tension in his thighs and arse built up more and more.
“God you feel so good around me, Draco–I wish you could feel this–so tight and hot for me–this arse of yours is driving me–fuck–” Harry was letting out a slough of praises and driving into Draco hard and fast, hard enough to hurt.
“Oh, Merlin, you’re perfect, your cock feels so, fuck,” babbled Draco, but it wasn’t enough–Harry was moving maddeningly slow, just slow enough not to be satisfying; it was driving Draco crazy.
“Harder, I need you to go harder and faster,” moaned Draco, desperate for some satisfaction, “I want you to fuck me harder, Potter, god, fuck me harder.”
At this Harry stopped his motion altogether, and Draco cried out in pain.
“I would like you to call me Harry, Draco,” said Harry calmly, pulling out of Draco completely and sitting back on his heels.
Oh no. Oh, shit, thought Draco. Absolutely not.
He maneuvered himself so he could straddle Harry again, desperately trying to sit on his cock, anything to soothe the absence he now felt.
Harry firmly placed his hand on Draco’s chest, pressing him back down.
“No, Draco. I need to hear it–I need to hear you say my name.”
Draco shuddered.
“P-Potter, please.”
Harry ran his nails along Draco’s abdomen, digging them into the bony hollow besides his cock.
“You poor thing,” he said sympathetically. “You really want this, him?”
His fingers skated over Draco’s leaking cock and went straight to his own, placing it back against Draco’s hole.
“You want me back inside you?”
Draco sobbed with happiness.
“Yes, that’s it, I want you to pound into me, thank you, god.”
Harry’s eye’s flashed, his teasing cock still nudging against Draco’s arse.
“What’s my name, Draco?” he growled.
Draco’s breath stilled. He realized, suddenly, how much the tables had turned–just minutes ago, Draco knew that Harry would have done anything for him.
Oh, shit, Draco thought. Harry had flipped everything on him–Draco thought with a start that he would do anything, anything at all, just to make Harry happy.
I’m so screwed, thought Draco.
“I–oh, fuck. I need you in me…H-Harry,” mumbled Draco, hating himself and Harry and his magnificent cock.
“There you go,” said Harry smugly, his mouth curved into a smile. “That wasn’t so hard, yeah? Almost there, baby, I just gotta hear you say it louder for me.”
Draco, now any ounce of self-worth he never had in the first place gone, cried out.
“Fuck me, Harry, oh god, please, I need you in me Harry, need your big, beautiful cock!”
Harry groaned.
“There you go. God, Draco, you’re so obedient, it drives me crazy.”
And with that, he rammed back into Draco, harder and faster than before, thrusting with grunts and moans and a whole plethora of Muggle slurs, some of which Draco hadn’t even heard before. Mercilessly hitting Draco’s prostate, smirking as he watched Draco writhe and weep beneath him, Harry was a vision of beauty, his raven curls tumbling over his shoulders.
“Ah, Harry, I’m going to come, harder, make me come.”
“You want to, yeah?”
Draco nodded furiously, rotating his hips up and gripping the sides of Harry’s head, driving him into him.
“Alright, let’s see it, beautiful. I want to see you come all over me.”
Bizarrely, as Draco’s organism started building low and fiery in his stomach, he thought of the half-dozen lovers that Harry had been with during Draco’s stay as a snake; the grinning, wirey youth with long, flaming hair; the willowy, feminine man who had a ridiculously French sounding name (and was probably part veela); the tall, blonde woman whose eyeliner was as sharp as the few words Draco heard her speak.
I bet I’m better than all of them, was Draco’s last, selfish thought, and then he came, beautifully and painfully, the tension in his thighs finally releasing and splattering himself and Harry with his cum.
He came to just as Harry was coming with a shout–Draco watched, enraptured, as Harry threw back his head and filled Draco with his seed, his hands on either side of Draco’s legs and his mouth open, wide with pleasure.
“I hate you,” said Draco, once Harry had come down from his orgasm. He ran his hands through Harry’s hair and kissed him hard.
I haven’t done nearly enough kissing in my life, thought Draco deliriously.
“No you don’t,” smiled Harry, shifting over so he could rest his head against Draco’s chest.
“No, I don’t,” agreed Draco. “God, Harry, who knew you were so good at this?”
“You called me Harry,” murmured Harry.”
“I’ll call you anything you want if you make me come that hard,” grumbled Draco.
Harry sat up, leaning on his elbows for support.
“Yeah? You wanna test that?”