The summer after my eighteenth birthday, after I leave Hogwarts, I move in with Harry and Draco. Ostensibly it’s because I don’t have a job yet—though I’m beginning an unpaid internship at the Ministry in the autumn. Really, I just wanted out of my Gran’s house ASA-fucking-P. Harry’s oblivious to this, though when I asked if I could move in, my leg bouncing with nerves as I sat on their sofa, an undrunk tea cooling in front of me, Draco’s eyebrow had gone up, and something told me he saw the truth of it: that if Granny Ann found, washed, and folded one more of my wank socks and left a note on it saying, ‘You’ll drain your magic doing this,’ I was going to implode from humiliated frustration.
So, here I am. Been here two weeks, making the bedroom one floor down from theirs my own. My Dragon Pox 2014 tour poster up on the wall, as well as one for each of their Quidditch teams, the Arrows and the Falcons. Leave it to Harry and Draco to shack up in Grimmauld together and still be bitter enemies on the pitch. I’ve heard about their history—we even read about it in History of Magic class during sixth year—but seeing them together now, it’s hard to imagine they weren’t shagging even back then, though Uncle Ron insists they weren’t until he’s green in the face. Literally.
They’re each at summer practices four days a week for several hours a day, so I get the place to myself sometimes, which is pretty cool. A little lonely. But they’re almost always back in time for dinner. Harry’s a really good cook, and Draco brings home takeaway from posh restaurants, so either way I’m well-fed. I try to earn my keep by being up before them so I can make breakfast. I try to clean stuff, but if Harry catches me, he tends to wave me off and take over, pulling his wand and making quicker work of it than I’m capable of.
“I’m not a guest, Harry,” I tell him. “I live here, right?”
Draco, from his peacock-coloured chaise longue in the corner of the living room, not looking up from his book, “Let the boy clean, Potter.”
“Maybe he wouldn’t feel the need if you got up off your arse,” the word punctuated by Harry shoving Draco’s crossed ankles off the cushion, “and contribute from time to time.”
“That’s what house-elves are for.” It’s a snarl that’s followed by an incongruous wink and the recrossing of his ankles. Finger to his tongue and then the page of his book turning.
Harry shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that, Teddy.” He snatches the vase from my hands, Vanishing the rag I was using to dust. “Certainly not without a wand,” he adds.
It vexes me… how once Harry has decided how things are, you’re sort of forced into acquiescence.
So much about Harry vexes me, not the least of which how his fingers feel when they brush mine, the way the tendons stand out on his forearms, the wiry hair at his wrists.
The way he kisses Draco when he thinks I’m not looking, backing him into a corner, hand on the wall, head angled, a whispered something, and then his lips opening Draco’s mouth. Soft wet sounds, a stifled groan.
I’ve learned to avoid the third step from the top near the first floor so as not to squeak it and alert them.
It’s not the first time my dick got hard because of Harry. And maybe I should have considered that when I asked to move in. Maybe I did consider it and chose to ignore how my harmless crush might transform into something much more damaging with the closer proximity. Whatever, I’m in it now, sneaking back to my room to toss off while I try to think about the lead guitarist of Dragon Pox rather than my own godfather and his lover, who just happens to be my first cousin once removed (or something like that).
They’re pretty good with the privacy charms at least. The arseholes.
Three weeks into living here, I get invited out with some friends. It’s probably good I give Harry and Draco an evening alone anyway; I think they’ve probably missed getting to fuck wherever they want. I get dressed in my black jeans, dull grey t-shirt, boots. A little bit of eyeliner. Skip down the stairs toward the living room Floo. They’re on the sofa watching some tv.
“Home by midnight,” I say. I go to grab the Floo powder but at their silence turn back. “What?”
The look on Harry’s face is indeterminate. Sort of hard. I even think he might be angry with me. Draco looks me up and down, lifting a brow. “Pub crawling?” he asks.
“Maybe,” I say. “Might just go to the Leaky,” I shrug, “play darts.” It’s a lie. We’re going to a place down Knockturn, but neither of them needs to know that. “Harry?” I check when he still hasn’t said anything.
Draco gives him a soft nudge. Harry blinks and then abruptly stands. He fishes in his trouser pockets and pulls out a handful of Galleons. “Here.”
I draw back slightly. “What’s that for?”
“For you to have fun with,” he says as though that had been obvious.
I can feel myself frowning at him. “I’ve got my own money.”
“Not much of it.”
And though it’s true, something’s still stopping me from taking it from him. Even though part of me wants to. It’s so… parental, the offer. I’m at once warmed and offended by it. It’s a bizarre sensation, this simmering anger mixed with something else, something I can’t put my finger on. Something sort of sickeningly pleasant.
I hold my breath, reach out, and let Harry drop the coins into my palm. They make a sound—hail striking a windowpane, Christmas ornaments hung clumsily, seashells at the bottom of an empty jar.
“Thanks.” I close my fingers over the gold. It’s already warm from his pocket, from being pressed against his body. He smells a little like whisky, and I spy a nearly-drained tumbler on the side table, wine glass on Draco’s side. I wonder if they’ll fall to it right after I leave, Draco’s hands tugging on Harry’s trousers, Harry’s cock sliding into his mouth. Red wine and the salt of Harry’s sweat. They’ll forget about me the second I zip up the chimney.
I swallow and pocket the money.
“Have a good time,” says Draco, wine glass almost to his lips. A swirl, a drink, a small smile in my direction. The audience on their programme laughs in the background.
I watch Harry’s face for a moment before I call out my destination. His gaze alights on my neck, right where my pulsepoint flutters. And then I’m gone.
I knew I was gay when I was twelve years old. Maybe before. Well, whatever it’s called when a metamorph is into boys—when he gets laughed at and called bent for unknowingly staring at a fit fifth year Gryffindor bloke until his own hair turns pink.
The club wavers around me, lights like glitter fastening on painted faces, a bright smile, flirtatious come-hither glances, the smoke in the room sweet to overpowering. I sip from my pint and decline a dance with Jack, one of my best mates. The bass from the music pitches the room into a frenzy, and I feel unmoored.
I’m not typically all that moored to begin with. But for someone who can change skin with a thought, I’m surprisingly attached to my expectations for reality.
I don’t know what I expected from Harry. I knew I was gay. I knew he was bi. I didn’t know how desperately I’d want him or how nebulously adult the formerly innocent yearning could become, his eyes on the beating of my blood and his money in my pocket.
I don’t know what I want. And I know exactly what I want.
“‘Nother pint?” asks Jack.
“Sure. But I’m buying.”
I reach into my pocket and run my fingers over a Galleon, imagining the warm musk inhaled as I lay my head in Harry’s lap.
He tries to give me money again when I’m heading out to the cinema by myself the next weekend. It’s raining and glum, and the last thing I want to do is study for the internship exam which will determine which department I’m best suited for. I know what I’m suited for, and it’s an Unspeakable pin clasped to the throat of my robes. I didn’t get an Outstanding in Advanced Arithmancy for nothing.
“What’s this?” I ask Harry again.
This time he shrugs. “Popcorn?”
I look at the money, back at him. The silence stretches for ages between us before I say, “Don’t you think I should earn it?”
He blinks twice, lips parted, uncomprehending.
“Accio mop,” I call, and grab it out of the air when it arrives, its flight more cumbersome than a broom. “The hallway for three Sickles,” I say.
He looks so perplexed, it’s almost laughable. “... polishing charms?” he asks.
I know he’s cleaned with a mop more often than not, that he had to as a child. He probably can’t understand choosing it over a wand. I can’t explain it right now myself. I only know that I want to give him something that takes some effort. I want to show him something he’s not seen in me yet.
I want the flash of the money exchanged between us and his fingers warm on my palm in the moment he pays me while the sweat still cools between my shoulder blades.
“Suit yourself,” he says when he sees I won’t budge. “But won’t you miss your film?”
“There’s another at two o’clock. I’ll go to that place with the soggy chips first. I like soggy chips.”
He smiles. “Me too. Malfoy thinks I’m mad.”
“Did you just call him ‘Malfoy’?”
He gives a breath of a laugh. “Yeah, I suppose I did. Old habits.”
“Very old habits.”
He sighs. “We have a match in a week.” As if that explains it. I guess it does. He holds out the money again.
I shake my head. “Not until I’ve finished.” Then I charm the mop with floor polish, carry it into the hallway, and slap it down.
It becomes a thing.
Harry tries to give me money for no reason, so I make one up, something by which I earn it instead, and Harry gives in. It becomes a bit of a joke: Nobody wants to do the dishes and Kreacher’s already cleaning the cobwebs out of the attic? Pay Teddy to do it. Sometimes it’s Draco who flashes his gold, flicks it in my direction, forcing my reflexes fast in order to catch it out of the air. But mostly it’s Harry’s money that I get. Always with that rueful smile that makes my insides jumble up and get hot. Sometimes with a tousle of my hair, like I’m a child still and not a man. Yet I don’t dislike it. A sigh wells in my throat at his touch. And sometimes…
Sometimes he praises me.
“You did a good job with that,” when I sanded the garden fence and then stained it for fifteen Galleons. Followed by, “You’re good with your hands.”
And I was good with my hands that night, under my sheet, stroking my cock feverishly, too aroused to be careful as I sank a finger inside myself and worked up a hot friction. Lip held between my teeth, throat arched, I came, hot and sticky over my fist, remembering the look on his face, the breath in his deep voice, that fatherly hand on my head, my shoulder, his scent overwhelming me: leather and skin-salt and Quidditch practice still clinging to the back of his neck, his underarms, his chest.
A Pavlovian response begins: the offer of money, the task, the payment… all bringing a rush of endorphins, the curl of my magic in my belly, tight, then loosing through my system like whiplash. The inevitable hard-on. Especially when Harry watches me do whatever thing I’m making his money with. Leaned back against the trunk of a tree while I mow, his wand out as he trims hedges with a flick here, a flick there. But his eyes straying from his own work to find me. And then, when we’re through, his coins dropping into my palm while I’m still breathless from the work.
His back leaned on Draco’s chest as they lounge, both reading: Draco, his novels, Harry, a Quidditch mag. Me, dusting the mantelpiece. I feel his gaze on my back and decide not to turn. I enjoy the heat of it, the crawl of sensation up my spine. I feel powerful and at the same time nearly liquid with want. He turns a page, and I chance a look behind myself to see he’s gone back to his article. Draco grunts a little, resituates his body, one foot on the floor, the other leg stretched out along the sofa, framing Harry. His hand strays down Harry’s chest, fiddling idly with the material of his shirt. Harry takes a long breath in, face creased in a slight frown at whatever he sees on the page, slow exhale. Draco’s fingers rubbing the cotton between finger and thumb.
When I’m finished, I walk over and stand before them. They both look up at me. It’s Draco who pulls his wand; it’s stuck for a moment, in his pocket, beneath Harry’s weight. But then he Summons a small purse, opens it, and pulls out five Sickles. I hold out my hand, and Draco drops the money into my waiting palm, one Sickle at a time, his gaze never leaving my face.
I clear my throat. “Thanks.”
“Much appreciated,” Draco says. His hand wanders an inch more down Harry’s front. Then he tosses the bag on the coffee table, pushes his reading glasses back up his nose, retrieves his book from where he laid it, open and face down on the back of the sofa, and returns to reading.
Harry looks at me a moment longer.
“I’m going to take a walk,” I say. Because I can only wank so many times a day. Maybe cold air and getting out of the house, away from the cloyingly oppressive tension I feel under Harry’s roof, will alleviate this problem that’s only growing exponentially the longer we do this.
I step out into the brisk evening. Merlin, what ‘this’? Me cleaning, gardening, doing household chores, for money? It’s nothing. Less than nothing. It shouldn’t make me feel… like this. Like I need it. Like we’re trading in something dangerous. Something transmutable.
Fog settles over the city, streetlights contained to fuzzy, golden orbs warming the way as I pass. The odor from Khatri’s intensifies, cinnamon and bay leaves and onions. I used to dream that my mother would cook Indian food from scratch. I’d make up stories about my parents in my head, about what they liked to eat, what curtains would hang at our windows, how my mother’s laugh would sound. I decided she would laugh a lot. Harry says she did, though there are clouds in his eyes when he says it. What I think he means is, she would have, if there hadn’t been a war on. She would have, if she’d lived.
I consider finding a dark, private place from which to send my Patronus, seeing if Jack or the others want to grab a bite to eat or hang out. I miss the common room suddenly, the easy access to company, even though I have that at home. I have Harry and Draco. But they’re increasingly becoming something else to me, something I’m worried about. Something I want.
I duck into a pub with pink neon in the windows advertising cocktails. I take a barstool near the end and nurse a pint, watching the passersby on the pavement, collars up against the unseasonable chill, shopping bags dangling from elbows, a woman’s hand held in a man’s, a pram with a snowy-white blanket, little feet kicking out from it.
I sip my drink and notice a man across the room, almost my age. No, older. Dark hair falls in one eye, and he lifts the corner of his lips in a smile. Arousal burns slow in my gut. He drops his gaze back to his drink, and I watch until he looks up again… looks at me again.
I could do it. Go to the back and push his head down on my cock. Go home with him. Smell his sheets, my face pressed into them as he presses into me. I could watch the fog from his window, drink water from one of his glasses, and wonder about his life. Maybe I could carve a place in it. Maybe he’s a carpenter, working with his hands. Or he paints. He’s a stockbroker. He goes fishing. He’s part Italian. He loves rimming.
I finish my drink and then glance at the man, giving him a tight smile, a polite ‘not this time’ sort of look, before I stand and walk out again.
He’s not what I want. Or not enough.
I walk home more quickly, drawn there by a force inside myself that I can’t deny, even though I fear it may end in the smouldering of my own ashes.
Three weeks later, Draco’s got a night match against the Tornadoes. Harry arrives home from his own practice sweaty and smeared with mud. He showers right away, and I make dinner, listening to the splash of water against tile, the groan of the plumbing as he shuts it off.
We eat together at the kitchen table, and Kreacher Apparates in to clean up when we’ve finished.
“Want to watch some telly?” Harry asks.
We move to the living room, Harry’s steps slower on the stairs than usual. When he groans as he sits on the sofa, I ask, “Are you hurt?”
“No,” he grits out, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just stiff.” He laughs. “Maybe thirty-five is too old to still be a Seeker.”
“I don’t think Draco would agree with that.” I’m pouring Harry a drink without asking. I pour myself one too. “Do you want to tune in on the Wireless and see how he’s doing?”
Harry gives me a grin. “Sure.” Lazily, he flicks his wand, and the match enters the room, all screaming crowd, announcers talking as fast as they can, the swish of a pair of brooms careening by the booth.
“Malfoy’s in pursuit, Greer close behind. Ah, the Snitch gets away again. That was a close one, Gwen.”
“Too right, Lee. Looks like the Tornadoes have a little more time to make up that point deficit before Malfoy gets another try to end this thing. We could be looking at a four hour match.”
“Great,” Harry sighs, but there’s a pleased smile on his face, his gaze fixed on the middle distance.
I draw my wand and start a fire in the hearth.
“That’s nice,” Harry says. He rubs at his neck again.
I set my drink down on the coffee table and, without breathing, make my way over behind the sofa instead of onto it.
Harry does a rather idle doubletake. “Where are you going?”
I lay my hands on his shoulders. “Here,” I say, beginning to squeeze the tight tendons there.
“Oh,” he says, but it doesn’t come out a word, more a moan, like ohh. He inhales warily. “Teddy…”
“Not good?” I ask. But I know it is. His muscles stiffen under my thumbs only to then relax with my next push.
“No, it’s not that.”
“Then shut it, Harry. Listen to the match.” And then I don’t know what comes over me when I add, “I expect two Galleons when I’m through.”
He gives a short laugh, easy enough, but I feel the heightened tension under my hands, just for a moment. We’re quiet, following the action from the match, our ears pricking when they mention Draco once more. Harry groans a little, stopping it in his throat, and I move my hands to the back of his neck.
His skin is warm, almost hot to the touch. He smells like Draco’s shampoo, citrus and tea tree oil, a hint of the raspberry tart he had for dessert. As I rub on either side of his spine, up to the base of his skull, I let my fingers curl around his throat, keeping my touch soft, just ever so slightly threatening. He melts for it, head back, throat even more exposed. My breath catches, and my cock stiffens almost painfully. The stubble on his throat against the pads of my fingers sends sparks into my belly. He swallows, and I feel it.
“Draco Malfoy is nearing the Snitch again, people,” Lee Jordan says with rising excitement. Harry lifts his head, listening. I run my fingers up into his hair, massaging his scalp.
“He’s got it, he’s got it, Malfoy’s got it! That’s the match! Falcons take it 210 to 30!”
Harry huffs a pleased little laugh, low in his throat. I can feel the happiness radiating off him. “Yes,” he whispers. And then when my thumbs press beneath the collar of his shirt, down his spine, again, “Yes…”
He turns the sound down on the Wireless, and then it’s just the popping of the logs in the fireplace, the rustle of fabric as I push my thumbs down into his shirt, the occasional note of pleasure when he can’t help but groan, the steadiness of our combined breath. The quiet in the room lends to the illicitness, and that feeling grows into the space, surrounding us in still, succulent guilt. I’m harder for it than I’ve ever been for anything, even for fucking.
“There?” I murmur, almost a whisper. My hand inside his shirt, between his shoulder blades, rubbing in a rhythm, his body moving with the surge of pressure.
He drops his chin to his chest. “Mm.”
I press my dick to the back of the sofa and feel the precome spread. I can only hope it doesn’t leak through my jeans. Or hope it does, so that when I’ve finished I have to stand before him with a wet spot for him to see, to know me by.
I trail my fingers up his neck, squeeze, rub his scalp again. “Good?” I just want to hear his voice. Want to hear him say it.
I spend some time on his shoulders again, try to rein in my arousal so that I don’t have to spend the rest of the night standing behind the sofa like a sentinel. The image almost makes me laugh, and the humour helps to flag my erection somewhat.
I withdraw my hands, and he sighs.
I walk around the front of the couch. The fire flickers burnished orange light onto him before I cast him in my shadow. I hold out my hand.
He blinks at me, and I see that his eyes are extremely dilated. I resist looking at his lap. Harry’s jeans are always so loose, but I know I’ll see it there. I know he’s aroused like I know my hair is a deep violet. I don’t have to see to know. I also know he doesn’t want to be.
Harry slowly pulls out the little bag of coins they’ve taken to having on hand. Because of me. He shakes out two Galleons… and then, once he thinks for a moment, a third. He places them in my hand, eyes on my face, watching for a reaction, some tell to cross my features.
Oh Harry, I think, I’m all one big tell, don’t you know that?
I pocket the money and then sit down the sofa from him, a good three feet of distance. He flicks off the Wireless, turns on the tv. We watch some vapid show neither of us has any interest in. Knowing he’s got it on just for noise, for distraction, feeds my ego like nothing else.
He wants me. He wants to jump me right now, I think. He’s working hard at not doing so. That or I’m so disconnected from reality that I’ve imagined all of it, and he’s tolerating me, just waiting for Draco to get home so that he has an excuse to divorce himself from this quiet torture sitting next to me.
I don’t have time to worry at the thought like picking at a scab because the front door opens and closes, and I hear Draco’s steps in the hallway. And Harry, subtle though it is, jumps another inch away from me on the sofa.
“Oi, Snitch-catcher,” I say when Draco rounds the corner into the living room.
His hair is wet from what was probably a perfunctorily fast shower. He lifts his eyebrows at me, his whole being electric with mischief from winning. Draco can be a sore winner with people he doesn’t love, but at home, he’s dickish in a good way.
“Congratulations,” Harry says as Draco nears him, leaning down for a kiss, and though it’s chaste—much more so than the ones I’ve voyeured on occasion—there’s an undisguised heat that lingers between them. I actually feel the magic shift in the room.
“Did you listen?” Draco says against Harry’s mouth—and then kisses him again before he can answer.
“Yep,” says Harry when Draco pulls back.
And then Draco turns his attention on me, grabbing my hair in a gentle fist and planting a kiss on my forehead. He then falls onto the sofa between us with a loud sigh. “Merlin,” he says. He grabs Harry’s thigh and pulls his leg over into his lap. “What are we watching?” Then, “Ugh.”
He snatches up Harry’s wand and changes the channel until he’s happy with it, and we all get into the crime drama he’s selected.
After several minutes, Harry’s arm slings out along the back of the sofa, behind Draco’s shoulders. A few minutes later, in a bid to seem as casual as possible, I exhale, scooting a little closer, and do the same. I chance a look and see the corner of Draco’s lips lift in a small smirk, though nothing in the programme warrants it.
I move my hand infinitesimally closer to Harry’s. As if by accident, my thumb brushes his finger and rests there.
“Muggles, I swear to fucking God,” Draco says to the television.
And Harry’s fingers move to lie over my own.
Two days later I take the internship exam, completely distracted. Still, I’d taken plenty of exams at Hogwarts when I wasn’t entirely even in the room. Once, I’d lapsed into the body of a middle-aged woman during a quiz to the shock of the other students around me whose traumatised murmuring got, first, the attention of the professor and then my own, enough that I went back into my own body with a sheepishness that left my hair scarlet. I still got an Exceeds Expectations. I rather think I really did exceed expectations given the circumstances.
To keep my mind off how I might have performed this time, I decide to rewire the dodgy lamp in the study. I’ve always enjoyed keeping my hands busy, and I have a weird flair for Muggle wiring which Mr Weasley likes to pick my brain about during family get-togethers.
I flick the light on and off and on again when I’m done, only to startle at the voice from the doorway. “I thought it would stay broken forever.”
“Hi,” I breathe, watching Harry come slowly into the room. He’s in a ratty t-shirt he likes to wear when he doesn’t have anywhere he has to be. Jeans that sit too low, causing his heels to tread on their hems. “It was just a loose wire.”
“I got that antiquing with Gin.” He’s looking at the lamp as though he’s never seen it before.
“Five… no, six years ago. We split up a month later. I don’t know why she gave that lamp to me.”
“Maybe because it’s a piece of shit,” I say.
Harry breaks into a grin. “Not anymore.” He comes closer. And then, before I’ve asked or even thought to ask, he holds out a handful of Sickles. At what must be a stunned expression on my face, he asks, “You don’t want it?” starting to withdraw his closed fist.
“I want it,” I say quickly, letting him transfer the coins to me. They’re ever so slightly damp. I pocket them, and Harry turns away.
He turns back, into the fresh lamplight. I don’t even know what I’m about to say.
“I can mend that for you.” I nod to the shoulder of his t-shirt where a rip in the seam exposes his tanned shoulder.
He looks at it, chin shrugged in a bit, then back at me. “Yeah?”
I nod and then pick up the first two objects I see, a coaster and a quill that have been sitting on the table beneath the lamp. With a jab of my wand, I transfigure them into needle and thread. Then, heart in my throat, I lift my chin at him. “Take it off.”
He hesitates. We both know there’s an easier way for me to do this without him disrobing; hell, he could have mended his own bloody t-shirt with a flick of his magic, maybe even wandlessly. But then, still watching me, Harry pulls the shirt up, revealing his stomach, his chest… he pulls it over his head, handing it over to me and righting his glasses at the same time.
“How long?” he asks as I sit on the edge of an armchair and thread the needle.
I shrug. “Why?”
A glance up at his face shows a wry smirk. “So I know if I need to fetch a new t-shirt.”
Merlin, never fetch a new t-shirt, I think.
I swallow. “Shouldn’t take that long.”
Harry’s physique isn’t a body-builder’s, but he’s also very obviously strong, his muscles honed from daily work. There’s a dusting of hair on his stomach, a little darker on his chest, and the knots of his shoulders are smooth, muscles gripping one another, sliding down to biceps that, even while he’s doing something as simple and easy as cleaning his broom, bunch up and release in a way that leaves me breathless wanting him. He shoves his hands in his jeans pockets now for something to do with them.
I sew up his shirt with fingers that don’t shake at all, even though taking looks at his body has me undone in a way I can’t even wrap my head around. I’ve never wanted to press my face to someone’s chest before and breathe them in. I want to wrap my hands around his waist and run them up his ribs. I want his arms around me tight, my face tucked near his armpit, smelling sage and sweat and heat.
“Do you like living here?” he asks suddenly.
My eyes shoot to his face. “Of course.” Then, clearing my throat, “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you miss living with friends your own age? What’s his name? Jack? And wasn’t there a Sabine?”
There was a Sabine. We dated for six months and slept together as many times before I realised I was thinking of men in order to get fully hard. I liked holding her breasts in my hands. They felt good there. But I like morphing and looking at and feeling my own breasts too. I don’t know, it just wasn’t what I was looking for, and fucking Jonathan Richmond that summer (and all summer) really put things into focus for me.
“I get together with Jack still,” I tell him.
“Well,” says Harry. “You can have your friends over here. If you want.”
“I know,” I say. But there’s this feeling that maybe I don’t want them here, something I don’t want to look too closely at. I think because I’m afraid they’ll see it, my feelings for Harry, my desire for him and for Draco too and maybe for what they share with one another coming off me like bonding magic, glowing, an indictment.
“Here,” I tell him, thrusting his t-shirt back.
He starts to shrug it back on. “Thanks. How much?”
“Seven Sickles,” I reply without thought.
“A bargain,” he says. A smile, a bright one. He flicks a whole Galleon at me. “Keep the change. I’m sure you’ll earn it some other way.”
My eyes widen at what was likely unintentional innuendo from him. But he’s blushing a little. I can see it in the light from the newly fixed lamp.
A cleared throat from the doorway. Draco leans there in nice trousers, pressed shirt, a waistcoat.
“We’re not due at Zabini’s for an hour, you fancy git,” Harry says to him.
“And you won’t be ready a minute too soon, will you?” His gaze slides down Harry’s body. “Or is that what you’re wearing? Is that why you mended it for him, Teddy? Merlin.”
“Fuck off,” says Harry, but with that light in his eye that says something like, I love you too much. I’m ready to burst with it. It makes me ache, that look.
True to Draco’s prediction, Harry’s ready a minute before they’re to arrive at their friend’s dinner party. Draco straightens Harry’s tie for him at the Floo, shaking his head. But he’s wearing that same look Harry had before. His eyes light up when it’s Harry under his gaze.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Draco asks me, tearing himself away from Harry with a bit of effort.
“Yeah, no,” I say. “I can’t stand listening to your lot go on about Pureblood art and the right kind of Pensieve to have this season and all that.”
“Neither can I, but I have to go,” Harry says with a pointed stare at Draco’s profile.
Draco jabs him in the stomach with a finger, and Harry laughs around his ‘ow’.
“I’m not dressed anyway,” I add.
Draco pulls his wand and points it at me. “Well now, I can have you outfitted quite nicely in under three minutes, if that’s your excuse.”
My face flames beneath the wicked glint in his eye. No one’s alluded to it, but the fact that he’d have to strip me nearly naked first is the only thing on my mind; I can’t imagine either of them has overlooked that fact either.
“Erm, no thanks,” I say. “I’m a bit tired anyway.”
Draco effects a fake pout. “Pity,” he says. “You’d look so sharp in my jade trousers. Wouldn’t he, Harry?”
“I—what? Yes,” says Harry. “I mean, probably.”
Draco walks over to where I’m seated on the sofa, and I hardly have time to panic about what he intends to do when he cups the back of my head and leans in, giving my cheek a warm kiss. He’s so close to my lips, I practically feel it there too, my whole body tingling with it. He releases me with a, “Suit yourself, Teddy,” and then begins adjusting his wrist watch. “Kiss your godson goodnight,” he says to Harry as though this is a thing not only that we do but that needs done.
Harry’s lips part, and I very much expect a resounding rejection of the suggestion. But then he takes a step toward me, and my eyes widen. I try not to look too freaked out or like I want it too badly; I don’t want to scare him off. But I’m a confluence of nerves and lust, and the roots of my hair are pink already, I know it. My heart’s beating madly against my breastbone as Harry nears, cups my chin in his calloused hand, and meets my eyes for only a split second before leaning in and pressing moist lips to my cheekbone.
“Have a good evening,” he says, his warm breath bathing my face as his hand slips to cup my jaw with unbearable tenderness.
He retreats then, and I don’t miss the hard look he spears Draco with, only to receive a lazy lift of Draco’s eyebrows in return. Draco smirks at Harry’s tight jaw, a muscle jumping there, and then turns to me as Harry grabs up some Floo powder. “Don’t wait up.”
Then together, bodies pressed closer than close, they spiral away.
I’m in bed when they return sometime after one in the morning. Somewhere between sleep and wakefulness I hear Draco’s laughter from downstairs, the sounds of their shoes scuffling along the floor. The murmur of Harry’s voice drifts up to me without actual words. Draco’s laughing rejoinder follows. Then a moan.
I hold my breath. I hear their shoes still, like they’re dancing or drunk… or vying for one another while they kiss. A deep chuckle. A groan. Harry’s.
Then the crack of Apparition, and suddenly the sounds are just above me. And they’re not stopping. Merlin, they’ve forgotten privacy charms, and I can hear just about everything. I hear the jangle of a belt buckle, harsh breaths, the rip of buttons, seams, a choked breath of want, and then the muffled moan, as into the kiss itself.
I should put up my own privacy charms.
I reach for the wand on my bedside table, careful to make no noise when I grasp it. Then I swish it and whisper, “Sonorous Minima.” Instantly their voices become clearer to me, as though they’re in the room.
“Eat me out,” Draco says, and I gasp.
I hear Harry growl, the shuffling of feet again. Series of dull thuds, items knocked from a surface, practically right over my head. A lamp crashes to the floor. The bedside table, I realise. They’ve not even made it to the bed.
“Bend over.” Harry’s voice, almost unrecognisable, dark and menacing.
The sound of Draco’s body against the table, another moan, muffled again, and Draco cries out. “Lick me harder, you fuck.”
Harry growls. The table moves. A hand slaps against the wall.
“Lick inside me.” Then, “Oh fuck, Harry.”
Fingernails on the wall. I shuck my sleep trousers down my legs and grip my cock, too shocked to have even moved up to now. Christ, I can hear his mouth… the sloppy, wet sounds, a rough grunt, Harry, wanting more, the sharp smack of his hand against Draco’s arse.
Then, from Draco, “Say his name.”
I cease breathing, my fist halting.
“Fuck you,” Harry’s mouth lifted for this. I can picture it, blush-pink and shining. His hand comes down again on Draco’s flesh. From his sounds, he’s once again got his face buried in Draco’s arse. I stroke myself slowly, lightly now, not wanting it to end. I’m already so close.
“Say it while your spit runs down my legs. Say it and I’ll come.”
“Get on your back,” Harry growls.
A commotion then. Clothes ripped away, bedsprings.
“Lift your leg.”
Then a tight sigh, the world waiting. Harry’s inside him. I close my eyes to better see it: Draco’s leg flung over Harry’s shoulder, Harry’s cock pushed all the way into Draco’s arse, wet from his mouth and nothing else.
“Look at me while I’m fucking you.”
Then the slow, measured banging of the bed into the wall. My cock twitches in my hand. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, that blank space a canvas for everything I’m seeing. I slip a finger into my mouth and then pull my legs up, feeling for my hole. I match Harry’s rhythm, sheathing my finger inside with every thud of the headboard, with every sigh that sounds fucked out of Draco’s mouth. It’s like they’re fucking me. Like I’m a part of them. As Harry fucks into Draco, he fucks into me, my quiet breaths matching the sounds from above.
“One day you’ll say his name,” Draco says, and I hear Harry start to come… the juddering of his rhythm, Draco’s soft voice coaxing him with nonsense, with those phrases that are nothing and everything all at once: ‘That’s it. Come on. Come for me. That’s so good. Fuck, that’s good.’
I can’t last, hearing it, and the power of it stuns me. I yelp out a wounded sound before I can press my face into my pillow, rolling over into it and riding my fist, hips pumping, toes clutching the sheets. Distantly, I hear Draco join me. I stroke my cock and picture his. I squeeze my eyes shut tight as we both finish, and all I want is to be wrapped up in their arms, to feel Draco’s heart thudding in conjunction with mine, for him to whisper to me what he whispered to Harry. I want Harry up against my back. I want his flaccid prick, his hot skin, his smell all around me.
I want to feel their kisses on my cheek while my spent body loses itself between them.
Breakfast is awkward. Like we all got drunk and don’t quite remember what we might have done the night before. But I remember. Vividly. My biggest concern is that yelp I gave. Though I suppose it could have just as easily been a stubbed toe.
It’s difficult, when I look at Harry’s face, not to recall, ‘Look at me while I’m fucking you,’ as though it were said to my face, with his weight pressing me down. Equally catastrophic is Draco asking me to pass the teapot and hearing, instead, ‘Lick me harder, you fuck’.
I excuse myself before I’m actually full and grab a jacket on my way out the door, deciding I’ll get a bite to eat at the café near the park. But once I’ve eaten (again) and have found my way into the copse of silver birch trees past the southern entrance, I no longer wish to be there. Like the place will magnify unwanted thoughts rather than helping me escape them. Looking both ways first, I Apparate to the alley outside the Leaky Cauldron and then make my way through to Diagon. It’s Harry’s birthday soon, and that thought tickles at the back of my mind while I prowl Flourish and Blotts, Potage’s, and then spend an hour in Uncle George’s talking to Victoire, who’s learning the business and is practically a genius at charms and therefore priceless when coming up with new products.
She and I dated for a couple months during seventh year, but she greatly preferred me in my female body, and though that probably would have been all right for a while, Jessica Clearwater caught her eye and held it, and that was the end of that anyway.
“Are you surviving then?” she asks, popping her gum and leaning over the counter looking bored.
I shrug. “Define survival.”
“Not creaming your pants over one or the other of them every two minutes.”
I shove her near the end of her sentence, but she finishes it anyway, though through throaty laughter now.
“It’s not like that,” I insist. Though it is exactly like that, and Victoire knows it.
“I’m sorry, love. But I—”
“You told me so,” I cut her off. “That really fucking helps.”
We both stare at the countertop for a while, and I pick up a gadget, giving it a spin and watching it throw off sparks.
“What are you going to do about it?” she asks.
“Distract myself, I suppose. I mean, that’s why I’m here.”
“You make a girl feel so special,” she says.
“Isn’t that what Clearwater’s for?” I rejoin, and to my pleasure, Victoire blushes. “Anyway,” I go on. “Harry’s got a practice today, and Draco’s at home, so it would have been just the two of us and…” I sigh. “And I don’t know.”
“Afraid to be alone with him? I thought Uncle Harry was the bigger problem.”
I wince at the ‘uncle’ bit. I dislike the reminder of how close we all are to being family. We are family. There’s no getting around that. It’s an extreme inconvenience that my cock doesn’t care at all. Or maybe that some part of me even… likes it. It’s sick, I know. But it thrills me… knowing that Harry feels responsible for me and getting him to want me regardless.
“I don’t know, I—” I exhale hard, unable to find the right words, or maybe unwilling to share them with her. It’s bloody complicated. I don’t want to be alone with Draco because I very much want to be alone with him. Because I don’t want him to be unfaithful to Harry, and I’m afraid he would be. Because I want it to be Harry first. I want it to be them together. Which makes me feel all sorts of mental because it’s never going to be either one of them at all, I mean, Merlin!
I run my hands through my hair to dispel the thoughts, but they remain.
I want Draco alone as much as I want to avoid being alone with him. I want to tempt him. I want him to break down my defences, as I somehow know he would; like a curse-breaker, he’d open me right up as with the flick of a wand. He’s Draco Malfoy. Who wouldn’t want him?
Victoire’s looking at me with an expression of dawning alarm when I realise she’s not actually looking at me at all, but at the person who’s just walked into the shop behind me. I turn to see him stroll in, his gaze on a display to his right, sharp profile and long neck lit by the early afternoon sun splashing in.
And before I know it, I’ve morphed. Maybe it’s because it’s so easy to do around Victoire—I’ve had a shitload of practice—but I go right into the leggy brunette she’d preferred when we fooled around. She lurches back from me now like I’m a cobra sitting next to her, but to her credit she recovers quickly as Draco nears. He gives her a nod. “Back room?” he asks.
“Er, sure,” she gets out. “The passcode is ‘bloodroot’.” She swallows. “Good to see you again, Mr Malfoy.”
“Good to see you too, Victoire. Are you minding the shop on your own today then?” His gaze flicks to me only briefly, looking me up and down in a coolly assessing way before turning his distracted attention back to Victoire as he makes his way toward the back, wand out.
“Er, yep,” she says. “Let me know if I can help you with anything.”
His smirk is crooked when he throws it her way. “Won’t be necessary.” Then, for whatever reason, he looks right at me, into eyes I know are a deep brown, and then he casts the password over the curtain dividing the front of the shop—the kid stuff, harmless joke items, etc.—from the more illicit back.
I look at Victoire, whose eyes are probably as wide as my own, and then I slip around the counter.
“Where are you going?” she hisses.
But before she can talk me out of it, another customer enters, forcing her attention away from me as I draw my wand and whisper the passcode, entering the back through the heavy curtain that blocks almost all the light from the room.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, and I just stand there blinking for a few moments, until two dim sconces flicker into view, and I see similar ambient lighting around the space, illuminating items not Dark in the sense that so many down Knockturn might have been in the day, but certainly more dangerous than anything out front—and many much more adult in nature as well.
As I step away from the curtain, I see Draco perusing a shelf nearer the back, picking up a phial and reading its label before setting it back amongst the others. I pretend to become invested in whatever’s on the display next to me while watching him out of the corner of my eye. He picks up a bigger bottle of something and sniffs it. This, whatever it is, he keeps as he meanders on.
I step along the wall, keeping an eye to Draco’s interest in items as he shops. But soon his back is turned, and I lose sight of what holds his attention. I turn to my own shelf and close my eyes, taking a deep breath. I shouldn’t be in here. I shouldn’t be spying on him like this. I’m about to go when his voice right behind me makes me jump.
“Green or red?” he asks.
I turn to see he’s holding up two pieces of cloth, both silk. He holds one a little higher, then the other. “If you don’t mind, that is. Do you think green?” He lifts that one. “Or red? I can’t decide.”
It’s then that I realise they’re restraints, meant for bondage play. Draco arches a brow at me, and I swallow.
“I, erm…” My voice, now changed to a woman’s, still comes out rough and low. “Which House were you in?”
He smirks. “I was in Slytherin. But my lover was in Gryffindor.”
“Well…” I breathe, everything in my body tense like a coil. “Maybe some of each then.”
His gaze bores into mine. “Which House were you Sorted into, if I may ask?”
I gulp. “Hufflepuff. Actually. But the, er… the hat almost put me in Slytherin first.”
He takes a step toward me, putting him within a foot of touching me. My back hits the shelves behind. I’m barely breathing. And I realise, horrifyingly, that I’m wet.
“That’s what happened to my lover as well,” Draco says. “Nearly Slytherin, then Gryffindor at the last moment.”
“Weird,” is all I can think to say, and it comes out completely breathless.
He smiles, his gaze travelling my face, looking for something. “Feel it,” he says then, holding it out to me. “Is that soft enough… do you think?”
Say his name.
I let my fingers drift over the material as it lies in his palm, feeling the warmth of his hand beneath the cool silk. “It’s… nice,” I get out.
He’s come even closer. And now he leans down, tilting his head. “I think my partner will quite like being tied up in Slytherin silk,” he says. “Or tying someone else up in it.”
“You mean you,” I elaborate on his behalf. And to this, he only smiles. He waits a moment—a moment during which my heart nearly explodes; my nipples have tightened, and they rub against the fabric of my shirt with every quick breath. Like thumbs brushing over them. His thumbs.
One day you’ll say his name.
Draco backs up just a little, picking up the bottle he’d set down to request assistance with his… restraints. He lifts his chin to the shelf behind me, the one I probably appeared transfixed by before he spoke. “I like the fat purple one.”
“Those plugs there,” he says, his smile remaining innocuous, though verging on amusement. “It’s not for the faint of heart or those unused to anal play, mind. But when you work up to it, or your partner does, it’s well worth the effort, I’ve found.”
At my mouth opening in shock, he smiles even bigger. He steps back. “Happy shopping, my dear.” Then, on his way out to the front of the shop again, “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again very soon.” He laughs, flicking the bottle into the air and catching it once more. Then he’s through the curtain, talking to Victoire, making his purchase—and I’m dying simultaneously from how embarrassed I am… and from how fucking much I want him.
Very, very belatedly I realise I’m wearing the same clothes in which I left the house this morning and futilely transfigure them into new ones before exiting the back room, my body returned to normal, if you can call it that. Thankfully, Victoire’s with a customer and I’m able to sneak out without her grilling me about what went on… in there. Draco wouldn’t necessarily remember what I was wearing of course. I’m sure he couldn’t have known who I was. Except that would mean he was openly flirting with a stranger in a shop. It just seems more likely than him openly flirting with me.
That ‘say his name’ thing has definitely been tickling the back of my brain. For all I know, though, he meant that Chaser for Puddlemere. I happen to know they both think he’s fit.
It really just can’t possibly be…
I wish someone would tell my body that; it keeps reacting as though it’s true.
I avoid the house the rest of the day, finding Jack and seeing a film together. I don’t even know which one or what happened in it. Afterwards, we go for pizza, and I let Jack talk at me about the action bits, how CGI is the Muggle form of magic, etc. When he pauses, it catches my attention.
“Mate, you’re a million miles from here.”
I push my plate away from me. “Just four actually.”
I manage to stay out until after dinner but arrive back home before they’ve gone to bed. I weigh Apparating straight from the entrance hall to my bedroom, but before I can, Harry calls for me from the living room.
“Teddy! Come here a minute!”
I shouldn’t be having heart palpitations; I haven’t done anything wrong. He’s not my Headmaster or my boss. He’s my bloody godfather.
And he fucked Draco face-to-face last night while I listened to all of it. While I got off to it.
I swallow and make my way down the hall to the living room. When I turn the corner, they’re in one of their favourite positions, Harry’s back leaned against Draco’s chest while they lounge on the sofa.
“This came for you,” Harry says, holding out a parchment, seal unbroken. It looks like an important seal too, a Ministry one. “Well?” he brandishes it at me. “Take it, we’re dying to know here.”
His smile is infectious, and I find myself smiling back, though my body is a jangle of nerves. I take the parchment and tear it open, eyes devouring the words as quickly as I can make sense of them.
“Bloody hell,” says Draco, “what does it say?” They’ve both sat up straighter now.
I swallow. “It says I have an interview with the Unspeakable division scheduled for two weeks from today.” I look up, a shocked little laugh erupting from me.
Harry’s up off the sofa and taking me in his arms, and for a moment I’m too stunned to hug him back.
“I knew it,” he says. “Congratulations.”
“I don’t have the job yet,” I feel the need to remind him. My heart pounds against his chest, and I finally wrap my arms around his body. His embrace tightens.
“Bollocks,” Draco says from the sofa. “The interview’s a formality.”
Harry’s hand strays up into my hair, and he turns his lips to my ear. “I’m so proud of you, Teddy.”
And fuck, but… my knees actually give way.
“Oi, you alright?” he asks, now practically holding me up. “Here, sit down. It’s big news. I get it.”
I let him believe it’s the news and not his lips brushing my ear, his voice sending shocks down my spine, being held in his strong arms, his scent enveloping me.
I sit on the other end of the sofa from Draco, and Harry sits his arse in the V of Draco’s spread legs once more.
“So?” Harry says, smile twinkling. “We should celebrate. Maybe after the match on Saturday? A nice dinner or something?” He turns his head to check with Draco.
“You mean after I’ve kicked your arse? Sure. I’ll get to celebrate twice.”
Harry ignores him, turning his attention back on me again. “Just think,” he says, “you’ll have your own money soon. Won’t need to earn it from us anymore.” He nudges my thigh with the toe of his socked foot.
“But I like earning it from you,” I blurt. I raise my gaze to his and watch him blink. Draco’s looking at me over his shoulder, his gaze gone a bit hooded, grey eyes dark.
“I know,” Harry says.
My face flames, and I’m grateful for the low light in the room, most of it coming from their turned-down programme on the tv.
“Besides,” I say, “it’s only an unpaid internship.”
I’m only making it worse now, sounding like I’m begging for their money.
“I guess I’ll… go to bed then,” I murmur.
But when I start to move, Harry’s voice stops me. “Wait.”
When I glance at him, he shifts just a little against Draco’s body. He gives a shrug. “We haven’t seen you all day. Maybe stay and watch some telly with us first?”
When I hesitate, heart in my throat, Draco adds, “Yes, do sit with us a bit and tell us what you got up to today.”
When I meet his gaze again, he looks practically wicked. His fingers are stroking up and down Harry’s upper arm while his attention remains locked on me.
I shrug, leaning back into the sofa cushions and effecting calm. “Just this and that.” Then, “Jack and I saw a film.”
“Which one?” Draco asks.
I swallow. “I... don’t remember.”
Draco snorts, and then, seeming to drop his interrogation, he asks, “Do you want a drink, Teddy?”
“Yeah, but I can get it.” I’m leaning forward to get up when Draco pulls his wand.
“No need. What would you like?”
“Beer? I guess?”
He swishes, Summoning a cold bottle from the fridge down in the kitchen, which I catch with a nod of thanks.
“Harry?” Draco asks.
“Do we have any more of that Ache B Gone?”
“You’re only supposed to take it once every six hours. It’s only been three.”
“Bugger,” Harry sighs.
“Did something happen at practice?” I ask.
Harry groans a little, and Draco answers for him, “He got run into the ground trying to evade a Bludger.”
“You make me sound incompetent.”
“It’s what happened, isn’t it?”
Harry gives a tired laugh. “Fuck you.” Then to me, “I’m just a little sore.”
We watch the characters of some drama move around a drawing room, frowning at one another. Just like the Muggle film from earlier, I’m not tracking at all. I can feel Harry’s magic buzzing dormantly nearby, too massive a thing ever to completely rest. I hear a soft moan and glance over to see that Draco’s rubbing his thumb in circles against the base of Harry’s skull. He finishes, Harry’s head leaning back to rest on Draco’s shoulder as Draco’s arm wraps around his chest. Harry sighs.
I try to concentrate on the show. There’s a detective and someone with seemingly psychic gifts; I’ve gathered that much. It’s quiet as they both ascend a set of stairs in a creepy building. And then, into the silence, Draco asks, “How much to massage Harry’s feet?”
It takes me a moment to realise he’s speaking to me—and then I choke a bit on my swallow of beer. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he says.
“Malfoy,” Harry grits out.
“Don’t ‘Malfoy’ me. Let him answer. How much?”
I can barely look at either of them; I feel like my body’s just going to incinerate on the spot. But somehow, I find my voice and courage enough to ask, “Socks on or off?”
A glint appears in Draco’s eye that has me starting to get hard. I try to will the burgeoning erection away, but the way Harry moves a little against Draco’s lap doesn’t help.
“On at first,” Draco replies smoothly. “And then take them off.”
My heart’s going crazy. I’m breathless when I make my offer. “One Galleon.”
Draco digs in his pocket, pulls out the coin, and flicks it to me. I catch it, stuff it in my jeans pocket, and then… I sit there.
“Well?” Draco prods. Then he seems to thrust his hips under Harry a little. “Go on.”
“You said your feet hurt.”
Not waiting for them to work it out, I hold my breath, scoot a little closer, and take Harry’s sock feet into my lap. It ends the argument. I press into the arch of one foot, and Harry stiffles a groan.
“Good,” Draco says. “Can we watch the programme now? We’ve already missed who murdered Crosby.”
“It was Park,” says Harry, flexing his toes under my hand and humming a little.
Draco flicks him. “Bloody amateur Auror.”
“Yeah, I should have been one and then I wouldn’t have to kick your arse on Saturday.”
Draco makes to wrestle him or tickle him or both, and, laughing, Harry briefly pulls his feet out of my lap to protect himself. But then he sighs, and he stretches out once more. He gives me his feet, and I take one up again, pushing my thumbs into the arch and feeling him relax by increments.
It’s fucking lovely. They have no idea they’ve just given me heaven. And I do everything I can to act as though Harry’s feet in my lap aren’t a waking wet dream… that this moment isn’t everything to me… that I’m almost bored really. I spend half the time watching the show and seeing only the play of light and shadow in the room. The other half, I’m looking at Harry’s feet, sitting in my lap. I hold my breath when, having one in my hands, the other stretches out a little and rubs against my thigh.
“Okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Harry breathes out.
My cock jerks in my jeans. If Harry were to move his feet just a little closer into my lap, he’d feel my hard-on.
Magic zinging erratically through my body, I take a deep, slow breath, and then take Harry’s sock and slowly work it off his foot. I glance at his face to see him watching me do it. I bite my lip, and strip the other foot too. Then his bare feet are in my lap, in my hands. I work my thumbs gently over the top of the arch, down to his toes. A few wiry black hairs sprout from his big toe, and I feel mesmerised as I push my thumbs between his toes and hear his answering groan.
“Fuck,” he sighs. And my cock begins to leak. I feel faint… lightheaded.
His other foot pushes at me again, and this time he misses my thigh, and his toes go right to my prick, pressing at me hard for a second that makes me gasp.
He pulls his foot away quickly. I expect it to stop now. Surely, it’ll stop now. God, he felt it. He must have felt it. My face burns, but I keep massaging the foot that’s still in my hands, holding my breath. And he’s letting me do it. I’m about to slowly release the breath in my lungs when, as I watch, his other foot comes back into my lap, almost cautiously. It’s too close. I think about shifting my hips back, but then… his toes gently brush my erection, withdrawing only slightly this time, and then… Christ, he pushes his foot against my hard cock just a little and then relaxes, toes resting right there where I’m throbbing. My breath leaves me in a telling rush.
There’s no way he doesn’t feel how hard I am. No bloody way. And yet he stays, his warm foot nestled up against me while we all pretend what’s happening isn’t happening.
Except Draco’s not pretending at all.
“Teddy,” he says.
“How much to suck his cock?”
The fucking floor falls out from beneath the house. That’s how it feels anyway. My blood swoops to a stop—and then begins roaring through my veins.
“Draco!” Harry says, withdrawing his feet from my lap.
“Trust me, the boy has a number. Let him say it.”
Say his name.
I feel like if I look at either one of them, I’ll die of this. But I can’t not. I turn my head before I lift my gaze, and when I lift my eyes to see them both there, waiting, I let it tumble out without regard to the consequences: “Twenty Galleons.”
Harry’s eyes go a bit wider, hearing it. “Teddy…”
I swallow and meet Draco’s gaze instead. “Twenty,” I say again.
He digs in his pocket once more, pulls out a coin purse, and throws it on the coffee table. There’s a satisfying clunk of its weight that rings through the room. Then, heart in my throat, I crawl forward, take Harry’s belt in my hands, and begin to unfasten it.
“This has gone too far, Draco,” Harry says in one tortured breath.
“I’m not the one getting your cock out,” Draco says, his hands moving up and down Harry’s arms soothingly.
“Teddy,” Harry says again, now verging on panic.
I meet his gaze as I lower his zip… as I reach into his pants and grasp his thick cock, and somehow, we both gasp in the same breath. Gently, I draw his prick out above his underwear. It’s so heavy in my palm, skin soft even as he pounds, blood throbbing through its length. He gives me a small, questioning frown—which I answer with a soft smile, before I dip my head, and suck the head of his cock into my mouth.
His hand flies up and grips Draco’s arm hard, a groan forced from his throat. He tastes somehow both musky and clean. He tastes like every dream I’ve ever had of him. I lower my head a little, letting his cock push its way in, stroking over my tongue. I rise back up, lips distending around his girth, looking up at his face with his cock barely in my mouth; I lick softly under the crown and watch him practically dissolve.
“Christ,” he whispers, shaking.
I go down on him again, and again, covering my teeth and letting it push almost to my throat. As I bob in his lap, I feel a hand touch the back of my head, and from the length of the fingers, I know it’s Draco. I moan, rising up and letting Harry’s cock slip free of my lips, shiny and dropping close to his belly. I turn my head into the palm of Draco’s hand and then open my mouth in entreaty. He slips three fingers in, and I suck on them, something akin to delight flowing through me unhindered now.
I release his fingers, pulling Harry’s dick toward my face again. I nuzzle against it, sighing, and then lick around Harry’s slit. “How much will you pay me if I swallow?”
“God,” Harry groans. He thrusts his hips, pushing into my mouth. “Anything. Anything you want.”
“Merlin, Harry, what a hard bargain you drive,” says Draco. Endeared exasperation tinging his voice, he adds, “Slut.” Then to me he says, “Five extra. He’ll pay you five. Now do it.”
Draco’s hand pushes my head down, and I nearly gag around the dick in my mouth. I relax my throat, morphing ever so slightly, and I let it slip further in. I bury my face in the curls around Harry’s cock, and inhale deeply through my nose, a small whimper vibrating around him.
“Look at him. Fucking look at him, Harry.”
“Fuck...” Harry whines, his hips pumping up.
I let him use me. I feel it about to happen. Harry holds his breath, gasps, and then my mouth is flooded with his come. I swallow it, some still running out of my mouth, and once it slows, I lift my mouth and clean it up, hungry lips down the length of his cock, tongue licking up the mess.
Harry Potter came in my mouth. If I’m not careful, I’m afraid I’ll sprout wings from my back, I’m so bloody high on him.
Draco’s hand reaches down to cup my face. “Merlin, you’re… you’re positively glowing.”
“Am I?” I’m breathless, and I’m sure he’s right. My cheeks feel as though they’ve moved beyond mere blushing. I look into Harry’s eyes, still tasting him. My cock twitches hard; I’m almost ready to come. Just from this.
“Ten more Galleons to do whatever we want with you for the next five minutes,” Draco says, voice rough, and I realise he’s still hard, just like I am.
“Yes,” I breathe, nodding readily. “Yes.”
“Potter, I’m going to need you to move.”
Harry’s eyes are dark still. His cock not quite soft. He moves off Draco’s lap, and I edge back only to let him, before Draco hauls me down on top of him by the cotton of my shirt. We’re a blur of hands, getting our trousers open, mine pushed down, his cock pulled out.
He takes me by the hips and puts me straddling him awkwardly, no leverage. Then he’s cupping my bare arse, encouraging me to rub off on him. I plant a hand on either side of his head and get to it, hips rocking back and forth.
Harry moves in behind me, and his heat is intoxicating. His hand smooths over my bum, replacing Draco’s and I slow my thrusting in order to submit to whatever it is he wants to do to me. I look behind myself, spread my thighs a little wider. I want to invite him to do anything. He murmurs a lubrication spell, and then his finger pets my arsehole, slowly.
I shiver, mouth dropping open. Draco reaches between us and wraps a hand around both our dicks. I can’t help but buck into his grip. “That’s a boy,” he purrs. I can’t help it, I thrust like mad, wanting it too much. And Harry’s finger does no more than circle the rim of my arsehole, increasing the pressure only slightly. Merlin, he’s not even going to finger-fuck me. Something about what he’s doing—this luxuriant petting—makes me feel so exposed.
Draco’s fist begins wanking us in earnest. I look down at it, his cock and mine squeezed together; I’m leaking on him. Harry takes my bum in both hands then and parts me, his thumbs opening my hole just a little. I can feel him looking. And that’s when it rolls through me like thunder. I cry out, my cock shooting ropes of come over Draco’s cock, his hand, his pale stomach.
“Fuck,” he grits out, and then he comes too, and I watch it, am transfixed by it. I’m blushing and moaning, and now Harry’s running his whole hand between my cheeks, just stroking me through it, massaging and rolling my balls until I spurt a little more, and then petting my arsehole while I come down.
The bliss lasts all of a few seconds—and then I feel Harry’s warmth move away. I turn to see him sitting back in the sofa, the heels of both hands pressed to his eyes.
He leans forward, eyes still covered, and braces his elbows on his knees. I get the distinct feeling he doesn’t want to even look at me.
“Teddy, I’m sorry, but could I have a moment alone with Draco, please?” Voice tight, the control he’s exercising over himself more than apparent.
What comes out of my mouth is, “Sure,” but as I stand and ruck up my trousers, my hands are now shaking. There’s a pit in my stomach where the lust roiled before. I feel like a cauldron, still hot from the potion but empty.
Unsure what to do, I trudge upstairs and around the corner, leaning there just out of sight and straining to listen when their hushed voices start up. Snatches of harsh whispers at first, nothing I can make sense of. Until it becomes a row.
“—my godson!” filters up to me easily as Harry’s voice rises. I swallow, every cell tense.
“Oh come off it, you wanted it, and I gave it to you, Harry.”
“And now what,” Harry spits. “How are we supposed to go on after this? Did you ever think of that?”
“That boy has been in love with you since—”
“Don’t you get it, that doesn’t matter. This is not what Tonks and Remus had in mind, Draco, and I—”
“Don’t pull that sanctimonious bollocks now, Potter. If he hadn’t wanted to do it, he wouldn’t have. If you think this changes anything for him, you’re barking. Or blind.”
“He’s eighteen. He doesn’t know—”
I’m back at the top of the stairs before I know it. “Stop it!” I shout over him.
“Teddy, go to your room,” Harry grits out.
“No! You’re not my father,” I spit. “And just because you didn’t know that you were gagging to shag Draco when you were eighteen doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.” At Draco’s sudden smirk I whirl on him, my temper flaring. “Harry’s in pain. Surely you’re not bastard enough to find that amusing.”
Draco swallows, his smirk evaporating as his jaw goes tight.
I start to descend the stairs, and I think it’s only instinct and fear that have Harry throwing a wall of magic from his palm to try to deter me. I’m stopped in my tracks by its force momentarily, but I pull my wand and dismantle it with a charm of my own that rends even magic as powerful as his to shreds. I see from his stupefied look that I’ve surprised him. I pad down the stairs the rest of the way, a sort of rapturous calm coming over me at the meeting of our magicks.
“Accio coin purse,” I cast. It flies into my hand from the coffee table where I left it, and I stuff it into my pocket. “How much more money do you have on you?” I ask.
“Teddy, it’s not—”
“Healthy?” I interrupt. “Right? Harry, maybe you still don’t realise what you want. But I know what I do.”
It takes every ounce of courage I have in my body to walk up to him, to invade his personal space, to withstand his wary frown. I lay my hand over his heart and feel it thud fast against my palm. I lean in and leave a chaste kiss on his lips. “One Knut,” I say. He goes still, lids lowered so that he’s watching my lips as I lift my chin and kiss him again. “Two Knuts.” Another kiss against his unmoving lips. “Three.” Draco nears. I sense him slip his hand into Harry’s. “Do you know why I want you to pay me for it?” I ask, leaning in and leaving two more glancing kisses on his mouth. “Do you?”
When he parts his lips further to speak, I don’t let him; I surge in and delve my tongue into his mouth. It’s only a moment that he hesitates to respond, but I ache with it, my mouth softly open for him—and then he kisses me hard, his hand gripping the hair at the back of my head. He angles his mouth to take me deeper, and I groan helplessly into it.
We kiss for a long minute in which I want to simply cling to him, rut against him, let him have me. And yet, there’s something unsaid, something I’m both terrified and compelled to say. I draw back from the rough insistence of his mouth regretfully. “One Sickle,” I say.
“Teddy,” he starts.
“It’s because I want to be owned.” It rushes out in one scared breath. I swallow down the fear, metallic on my tongue. “I want to be owned by you.”
His brows draw in, and his gaze goes over my face like the beginnings of a Legilimens, looking for the truth of me, the why.
Draco presses to his back, his lips dropping to Harry’s shoulder.
Harry inhales to speak, and then exhales, shaking his head. “Don’t you know how much we… how much I value you without that?”
I can’t help but smile at him, my own nervousness falling by the wayside in the face of his confusion, the malignant guilt that seems to be eating him alive. “Of course I do.” Tentatively, I slide my hand up and cup his stubbled jaw. “I don’t know if I can explain it to you,” I tell him. And maybe I really can’t. I’m only beginning to form the words for it myself, how him owning me makes me feel so safe, how it thrills me, makes me hard, makes me wilt… how, with that, I can let go of everything else I’ve carried around my whole life, shed my clothes and let him have me, let them take me, and I’m reduced to the very thing that makes me feel, instead of small, infinite, finally beyond this skin that’s always restricted me—and never more fully inside myself.
I meet his blinking gaze. “But maybe I can show you.”
Draco reaches out and cups the back of my head, his fingers finding Harry’s and intertwining. “Why don’t we go upstairs?” he says near Harry’s ear.
Harry turns to him, gaze questioning. “What do you want, Draco?”
Draco meets his look with a ferocity that shakes me. “I want to move whatever mountains get in the way of you having everything you desire.”
Harry’s grip tightens in my hair as he leans in and kisses Draco, a deep kiss, irrevocably intimate. When they separate, it’s slow, lingering on one another, and then Harry’s attention turns unwaveringly to me. “Do you really want this?” he asks.
And my whole being thrums with one word: “Yes.”
They strip me, both of them, and they do it slowly. Trousers drawn down and off, exposing my straining cock, then Harry’s lips on my shoulder from behind once my shirt’s gone, Draco’s hands encircling my waist. For a moment, I close my eyes, swaying between them. Draco kisses my throat, and Harry’s hand roams around my middle, pressing warm and flat there—before they move to unbuckle Draco’s belt.
Once it dangles open, Draco lies on his back in the middle of the bed, slightly propped, his shirt open but still on, otherwise clothed. Harry hugs me from behind. “What do you want?”
I let my cheek rest against his stubbled one. “I want you to tell me what you want me to do.”
He murmurs, low in my ear, “I want you to suck him off.”
I shiver. Draco’s already unfastening his trousers.
“How much?” Harry whispers. His hand strokes my stomach, and I can feel how hard he is against my bare bum.
“For the night? For both of you?”
“Yes.” Harry’s lips at the shell of my ear, kissing the word there.
“Harry…” I whine, my cock leaking.
Draco’s gaze drops to it. “You should see what you just did to him,” he says, lifting his chin at my prick.
“Mm.” Harry’s hand wraps around me and strokes, so slowly, until his thumb rubs over the head, over the slit, smearing the precome around. “How much to let us have you, Teddy?”
“Fifty,” I breathe, so turned on I’m barely standing. Harry’s strong arms are the only reason I haven’t become a puddle of myself at his feet.
He guides me gently toward the bed, and I climb up. Draco gets his cock out and holds it for me. I groan and drop my face to it, kissing the crown and then opening wide for it to push to the back of my mouth. Draco holds the base of his cock with one hand and pets my hair with the other.
I feel Harry approach behind me. “Lift your arse, love.”
I whimper around the cock in my mouth, sucking Draco enthusiastically while I set my knees apart and tilt my pelvis in open invitation.
And then Harry’s hands are on my arse, massaging me, and his breath hits my hole. Oh god…
I lift my face from Draco’s lap at the first lick of Harry’s hot tongue. I moan, long and high in my throat.
“Mmm,” he hums, like he’s enjoying it, like I taste good. Then his mouth sucks at my hole, tongue pushing and then breaching me.
I cry out, arching my back. Draco’s face transforms with a smirk that exudes affection at the same time as it’s smug as hell. He’s pulling on his own cock, taking his time with it, and I’m so hungry for everything that’s happening, I drop my head back into his lap and suck his balls into my mouth.
Harry’s tongue is fucking my arse, and his spit runs down my bollocks. I’m nearly ready to come from it. And then Draco aims his cock and fits it back between my lips, and I suck dutifully on the head, unstoppable whining noises coming from deep in my body.
Then Harry lifts his face. He’s panting. “I want to fuck you.”
Draco’s dick pops out of my mouth as I nod, a line of drool following from my wet lips and then breaking. Draco rises, moving to where he’s sitting on his heels, while Harry manhandles me into the new position, and they’re going to… oh god, they’re going to fuck me at both ends.
“Teddy?” Harry checks, already having Conjured lube; he smears it around my hole, his breath hitching as I assume he strokes it down his cock. “Still okay?”
I can only keen for a moment, then, “Yes. Yes, Harry.”
I see Draco catch Harry’s eye over my back, and something passes between them, an agreement, like a bond or a secret, something so easy and simple and hard-won all at once. Then Draco’s giving me his cock again, and I’m taking it into my mouth, and Harry lines up. Merlin, his cockhead feels so wide; I think maybe I should adjust my body for it, and yet, that’s not what I want. I want him to open me himself… to take me. This is what it means to me to be owned… to give myself over to him.
And so when he pushes in, it hurts a little. In the best way, it hurts. I moan around Draco’s cock, and he hisses at the vibration, grabbing a handful of my hair.
“Oh Teddy,” Harry sighs. I think he’s only about halfway in, but he eases back again and then fucks into me gently, just that much of his cock working me loose. His hands wrap around my hips and start pulling me back a little each time. Draco joins his thrusting, moving in and out of my mouth at leisure. Their breathing even matches. I want to die I’m so happy.
It’s not long before I’m relaxed enough that I begin backing into Harry’s cock and taking it all the way. He groans, a breathless, surrendered thing. Draco’s watching him fuck me, his eyes dark as smoke. Then he watches himself fuck my mouth. I let go into it and feel them both taking me. I’m shivery with lust, dismantled. Harry’s all the way inside me again and again, and my arse feels full with him, hot with sensation. I’m drooling around Draco’s cock as it plunges into my throat. All it takes is Harry’s hand reaching around, giving me one brutally soft stroke, and I scream around the cock in my mouth, coming all over Harry’s hand as he works me, my arse cinching closed around him, like I want to keep him inside me. And I do.
When I’m spent, they begin working me in tandem, a vessel. I can’t hold myself up anymore, but they’re holding me, Draco’s hands lifting under my shoulders as he thrusts, gritting his teeth when he comes, a wordless cry shouted to the ceiling, his come running down my chin.
I collapse in his lap, and he strokes my hair, while Harry fucks me hard and fast. I do what I can, arching my back so he has the best angle to go at me. Draco’s fingers run through my hair soothingly while Harry hammers me, the slapping sound of it, his low grunts drifting in the air. I moan a little, my cock twitching from the friction of him fucking me. Then he holds his breath, slams home in me, and he shudders. I feel it flood inside me, so warm and wet. He fucks it in, slowly, grinding. I whimper.
And then he’s through, and he’s pulling out. Somehow they lay me down onto my stomach, my head on a pillow. I’m so sleepy, I can barely move, hardly make a noise, though I want them to know how happy I am.
I feel their bodies come close to me. I’m warm all over. There’s the rise of someone’s magic… Harry’s… and then the tinkle of coins piling themselves up on the bedside table. I sigh into the soft cotton pillowing me, and fall asleep.
It’s late. Or early. When I wake once more. It’s so quiet. Everything is dark and warm. I’m on my back now, sunken into the bed. I feel his weight before I open my eyes and see him on top of me, having only just now rolled there. I smile sleepily up at him, opening my thighs. He hooks a hand under my knee and pushes it up. I feel a thrill run through me like no other: He wants to fuck me again.
I let my head lazily turn on the pillow to find Draco still asleep next to us. I look back up at Harry. He blinks, looks at Draco himself, and then looks down on me again. His hard cock nudges my swollen hole. I gasp as he Conjures the lube, this time slicking me inside. I wrap my hands around the slats in the headboard as Harry fits himself inside me with one aching slide.
My throat arches, but no sound comes out of me. His breath shudders out of him, onto my bare chest. Our bodies begin rocking together, and I bite my lip, staring up at him. He’s Harry. Sleep warm, rumpled, glasses discarded, a bit of beard coming in. He braces over me, strong arms flexing in the shadow of the room. He’s looking at me like he had no choice but to have me, like the conflagration of wanting is what woke him.
He presses me down into the bed, and I’m moved by the quiet force of his fucking, a soft whimper escaping me.
“Mmm,” comes the sleepy murmur beside us.
I look first and watch Draco’s eyes blink open. Watch the mild confusion—where am I? what’s happening?—and then the dawning of consciousness, the brief fire of envy that swiftly melts into pure desire.
Harry looks over at him now too, his hips still thrusting easily, his cock rutting in me. Draco rolls to his side, perches his head on a hand, and he watches, a small, crooked smile tilting on his beautiful lips. After this, I think, I’ll kiss him until he’s breathless.
Neither of us lasts long. I’m looking into Harry’s dark eyes when it rises up in me, making me pant little breaths in his shadowed face. I sneak a hand down to my cock while Harry rides my arse, and I make myself come with a few fevered tugs. Harry growls over me, hips going faster. He drops his head, squeezing his eyes closed, and then his head comes up sharply when it hits him. He takes long strokes into my body while he climaxes, his shoulders shaking.
When he’s through, it’s Draco who speaks. “Turn over, darling.” He’s speaking to me. I’m darling to him.
I do as he asks, feeling so resplendent it ought to be illegal. Settling my hips with a little wiggle, I hug the pillow to myself. They flank me, and the first thing they do is kiss one another. I feel them meet over my back, hear the wet parting of lips, over and over. Then Draco’s hand smooths down my back, into my crease, and he slips a finger inside of me.
“Ohhh…” I moan, wriggling for more of it.
“Shhh, relax,” Draco whispers. He fucks his finger in and out, for his pleasure, not mine.
I do as instructed and let the tension in my body go, which gives the idle finger-fuck a different kind of pleasure. I hum a little and then feel myself slipping toward sleep again.
But I feel Harry’s hand join Draco’s, then Draco’s finger slipping free and Harry’s replacing it. It’s hard not to work toward the feeling of arousal, but instead I let myself float on it. They go back and forth a couple of times, and I’m drifting off when I hear Harry whisper, “It’s my turn, Malfoy,” and the soft answering snort as Draco eases his finger out of me again, and Harry traces his around my rim. They kiss over my back again, briefly this time, and then I hear Harry’s soft voice. “I love his little arsehole.” His finger pressing inside me. My breathing slows. His voice barely stirs my impending slumber. “I love him.”
I startle, staring at my boss with wide eyes. “Er, you were saying that erecting protective magicks around Scotland’s unicorn preserve will take longer than expected and more wands than you anticipated. I imagine you’ll want to coordinate with Creatures?”
I’m a bit surprised I’ve followed the conversation as well as I have, being that I can’t seem to stop checking my watch. The match is due to start in ten bloody minutes, and it’s one I don’t want to miss. This meeting was due to end twenty minutes ago, and all I’ve been able to do is map the quickest ways out of the building in my mind so that I might at least minimise my lateness.
“Yes, and?” Unspeakable Treager is looking at me with raised brows. The entire table is, in fact.
“Er, I don’t…” I scratch the back of my neck where it’s begun to prickle with wariness.
“I said,” she goes on, “that being the case, the Council and I have decided to promote our best intern so that he may join the projects team. That is, if he can stop daydreaming long enough to let us congratulate him?”
A few smiles and chuckles break out around the table, and I realise I’m the butt of the most amazing joke ever. “Me?” I can’t help but check, which makes Robards outright guffaw.
“Yes, Mr Lupin,” says Treager with a shake of her head. Then she stands, and everyone else follows suit. “To the first intern ever to graduate from the program in less than a year: Unspeakable Lupin.”
I sit, dumbfounded, as people who were my superiors and are now my colleagues, come and pat me on the back, shaking my limp hand.
“I… don’t know what to say.”
Robards slaps me hard on the shoulder then leans down and murmurs near my ear, “My dear lad, say yes.”
For the first time, I allow myself the luxury of a smile. “Er, yes,” I say, and a happy shout goes up around the room.
And because of this, I’m late as hell.
“Where the fuck have you been?” is Victoire’s greeting as I sidestep cheering fans to get to my seat next to her.
“What’s the score?” I ask, bypassing her question. I’m not sure why, but I’m not quite ready to share my news yet. Maybe because doing so would make it real. I’m an Unspeakable, nearly two weeks before my nineteenth birthday. Plus, well, I really want to know what the score is.
Before she can reply, a streak of grey and white goes tearing by the stands, followed dangerously close by Arrows blue, and my heart stops for a moment as their combined magic rocks me back a step with its force.
“This is their third try for the Snitch already,” Victoire shouts over the crowd. “If either of them gets it, they’ll win the match, unless the Chasers change the score.”
“Blimey,” I breathe, my stomach already in knots. It’s the worst—and best—possible position to be in; I never know who to root for in this circumstance. And this is a big match, the winner possibly the one to be chosen to play for the national team at the World Cup.
“I truly don’t envy you,” Victoire says, leaning in.
I flash her a smile, ignoring my own anxiety. “But you really should.” I wink at her.
”They’ve shot up past the goal posts, folks. It’s an almost vertical ascent in pursuit of the Snitch, a very dangerous manoeuvre… Merlin, they’re flying fast!” Lee calls. “The Chaser for the Falcons has the Quaffle and she’s dodging both of the Arrows’ Beaters as the Seekers fly into the sun, and… I’ve lost track of them, folks, I—”
The stadium holds its collective breath. The Falcons’ Chaser zooms out of the way of the Bludger, and it rams into the stands causing a panicked wail from the crowd only one box away.
“Merlin!” exclaims Lee. “That Bludger cost the Falcons a couple of valuable seconds and— HE’S GOT IT! POTTER’S GOT IT! HARRY POTTER WINS THE MATCH FOR THE ARROWS! MERLIN’S BEARD, WHAT A CATCH!”
My heart ratchets against my sternum as I see him come into view, fist in the air. I can see his smile from here, and I feel myself mirror it. The crowd’s going wild, and both ecstasy and dejection duel inside me, as they always do. Draco’s broom floats into view. He’s lain forward on it, his fists over his eyes, legs dangling. Harry circles the pitch, Snitch held aloft, and Draco sits up again, wrangling his broom tiredly toward the ground. It’s all I can do not to Apparate into the middle of the pitch, even though the magicks around the match would never allow for such a thing. Someone with an Unspeakable’s arsenal of magic might conceivably attempt to bypass even such high security wards.
But instead I watch as Draco lands, dismounting his broom and leaning it onto his shoulder to walk to the centre of the pitch. Harry lands soon after and meets him there. They shake hands before Harry’s teammates mob him, separating them and holding him aloft.
“Give me your Omnioculars,” I tell Victoire, ripping them away from her face.
I ignore her and train them on Draco’s face. He wears a wry smile, watching Harry carried on the shoulders of his teammates. He looks simultaneously chagrined and enormously proud. I watch him give a wink in Harry’s direction and turn the Omnioculars on Harry in time to see his return smile. My stomach unclenches, and I let Victoire snatch the eyepiece back from me.
“I don’t suppose you’ll want to grab a pint with me and the rest of the gang, would you? They’ve all been listening at the Leaky.”
The crowd has already begun to thin as the teams exit the pitch. I sit back in my seat and sigh. “Think I’ll hang around here for a bit.”
She snorts. “Who’d’ve guessed?” Then she leans down and hugs me. “Maybe later then. After,” she adds with a saucy waggle of her eyebrows.
I strike out with my booted foot to kick her in the shin, but she evades. My face heats, and I avoid her ribald grinning as we say our goodbyes.
Then I watch the stands empty, letting the soft breeze cool my cheeks… and I wait.
I wait until I know the rest of their teammates have long gone. And then I make my way down to the locker rooms. I didn’t expect them to join me in the stands right away, mostly because I know they tend to avoid getting mobbed by throngs of fans whenever possible. But partly because I suspected what I’d walk in on when I finally find them.
I lean in the doorway and just watch for a moment, but it’s not long before Draco’s eyes lift from where he’d been watching Harry’s head bob, and he finds me there. He doesn’t alert Harry right away—because he’s Draco Malfoy, and he likes these little moments as much as he knows I do. He just looks at me, a devious smirk lifting one corner of his lips. His hand smooths over Harry’s head, and then he holds the back of it and thrusts gently between his lips… watching my reaction.
Which is predictable. I swallow back the saliva that floods my mouth, and I automatically reach to press a hand to my rising prick through my clothes.
Draco pushes Harry’s head off then and lifts his chin toward me in the doorway. Harry turns, eyes a little wide, lips swollen and pink. He wipes his mouth with his hand, and then he smiles at me… the sort of sweet, godfatherly smile that’s amusingly incongruent at the moment.
“Congratulations,” I tell him.
“Thanks.” His smile grows, and Draco, above him, rolls his eyes.
“Bad luck, Malfoy,” I say.
“Yes, well, he’s making it up to me,” Draco replies, rubbing his cock against Harry’s cheek, dimpled from smiling.
“Loser gets a blow job,” Harry explains from his knees, and Draco, frowning, smacks the side of his head.
Harry laughs but grabs his wrist hard, leaning back in to give Draco’s towering prick an open mouthed kiss. Harry turns his gaze on me. “Want to share?”
I let all my breath out and properly enter the room, whipping my wand at the door and adding my own privacy charms to their handy Disillusionments already in place. I strip my t-shirt off on my way over to them, discarding it carelessly on the tiled floor. I kneel next to Harry, and when he smiles at me, it sends warmth tingling along every nerve. I glance up at Draco, his uniform ripped open to reveal his pale torso, trousers unfastened and pulled down only enough to let his cock hang out.
“May I?” I ask.
Then both their hands are on my head, urging me forward, and I give a low chuckle that bathes the cock in my face before I open my mouth around it and suck.
Draco gasps above me. Harry’s fingers card into the hair near my nape even as Draco’s hand becomes a fist in the longer strands at the top of my head. I give Draco proper head for a while, relishing how he fills my mouth, the sharp sweat still clinging to him. Then I lift my head, lean my cheek against Draco’s hip, and watch Harry aim it back between his own lips, distending them. I watch him, transfixed by the sight of Draco’s cock poking into Harry’s cheek… the work of Harry’s throat when he swallows… then I tilt my head and lave the length of Draco’s cock until I meet Harry’s mouth. I lick where cock meets lips, the corner of Harry’s mouth. I lave his bottom lip, down Draco’s cock, back up to Harry’s working mouth.
“Ngggh,” Draco groans above us.
Harry lets the cock slide slick from his lips, looking at me. I read it off him, what he wants, and I want it too. We kiss the head of Draco’s prick, me on one side and Harry on the other, and then we meet over him, kissing each other, my tongue lapping his on a hedonistic groan, before we’re back on Draco, mouths open and wet. Harry licks Draco, licks into my mouth, and it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
“Wait,” Draco grits out. He grips the base of his cock hard. I hadn’t realised how close he was, simply taking my pleasure in him and in Harry without thought to the progression of things.
Harry rises from the floor, hand laid comfortingly against Draco’s stomach for a moment before his fingers move to toy with a nipple instead, gaze on Draco’s lips when he asks, “You didn’t want to come in our mouths? On our faces maybe?”
Draco growls a bit at that, and it looks as though he’s fighting the inclination to shove Harry back down to his knees. He glances down at me, my cheek against his thigh, waiting, and then he leans in and whispers something in Harry’s ear. I sigh and enjoy the beauty of it… this covertness, their faces close, Harry’s Adam’s apple moving as he swallows. It thrills through me, knowing, whatever it is, it’s about me. I play with the pubic hair low on Draco’s belly while I wait.
Finally, they meet one another’s eyes, absorbing and then transmuting a moment of hesitation. Draco moves away, even as Harry’s palm cups my chin. “Shower with us?”
I nod, hearing the water already turning on. Harry releases me to finish undressing, but when my own hands go to my trousers, he gives a shake of his head, holding his hand out to help me off the floor. “You know how we like to do that.”
“Strip me?” I ask, liking his reaction to me saying it, eyes dilating, cock rearing up.
Then Draco has returned, gloriously nude as well, and they sandwich me between them, kissing my skin… the tendon from shoulder to neck, the lobe of my ear, while their hands slowly work at my trousers. Draco tugs them so that they bunch at my thighs, and my cock bounces out. Harry pushes them further down my legs without rush, his gaze never leaving my face. I’ve begun to breathe in shallow little sips of air, reaching back to grasp onto Draco as Harry relieves me of one leg and then the other of my trousers and pants.
Then we’re all naked, and the steam has begun to billow into the room. They walk me into the shower, kissing me… always kissing me… and when the water drenches us, I moan.
Draco’s hand wedges in, his finger finding my arsehole and making tender circles. “Ask him,” he says against my shoulder between biting kisses.
“Ask me what?” I’m sort of lolling between them, cock smearing a mess on Harry’s stomach.
Harry’s dark, heavy gaze finds mine and holds me. “How much to take both of us at once?”
I lean my head back onto Draco’s chest, dizzy with it. It’s something we’ve not yet done, not even in all the months we’ve had to try. I’m not sure why we haven’t—it’s probably whatever reticence I’m sensing in Harry right now. As though they could hurt me, when they should know full well that they can’t.
I move against Draco’s finger, rubbing my cock on Harry’s thigh. Across the room, in the pocket of my trousers, is my formal invitation to join the Unspeakables. I’m an Unspeakable. It’s news I’m fairly bursting to share with them, and yet I’m holding off. Maybe because of this. Maybe because I don’t want to do anything to suggest I want things between us to change.
“Both of you?” I breathe. I reach for and stroke Harry’s big cock. “In my arse?”
“Yes,” says Harry. I shiver hard at the promise I see in his eyes.
“One hundred Galleons.”
Draco licks the shell of my ear. “Potter, get the lube.”
A wave of Harry’s fingers, wordless, and he Summons a bottle, overturning it and pouring some over his cock, passing it to Draco who I can feel does the same before discarding the bottle entirely. Then Draco’s slick fingers are breaching me. What comes out of me is part grunt, part sigh.
“I don’t need the prep,” I say, though I’m quite enjoying it. “You know what I can do.”
And though they know it’s true, and I know it’s true, I’m still nervous. I’ve never actually done this with anyone. Never really thought I’d have the occasion to try it. The hot water soothes me; their hands, stroking all over my body, inside my body, have me both relaxed and titillated. Draco pulls his fingers out and murmurs behind my ear, “Come here.”
Then he tugs on my hips until his back is against the shower wall, Harry following at my front.
“Are you ready?” Harry asks, cupping my face.
I wrap my arms around his neck, even as Draco’s hard cock presses insistently against my backside. I nod. A moment passes. And then Harry’s got my waist, and he’s lifting me, and Draco’s got me too, under the thighs, bending my legs into my body. I’m off the ground, my arsehole vulnerable like this, as I hang between them, knees wrenched nearly to my armpits.
“God…” I whisper, feeling Harry aim Draco’s cock for him.
“There?” Harry asks, looking at Draco over my shoulder.
“Yeah,” Draco grunts. And then he’s pushing inside me with a guttural breath against my neck.
I gasp, unable to move, only to take it. And he feels so good, filling me up until I’m aching pleasantly, tingling all over, breathing hard.
Harry steadies me, gaze dancing over my face. “You okay?”
I nod vigorously, staring into his eyes.
Harry breaks the eye contact to look over my shoulder. “Fuck him for a bit first.”
Then I’m subjected to the wicked slide of Draco’s cock in and out of my arse. “Ohhhh fuck,” I whine, squeezing my eyes closed. I haven’t morphed yet, and taking his cock at this angle, with no leverage of my own, feels overwhelming, like plummeting toward the ground on a free-falling broom before an updraft of magic swells beneath you and takes you into the sky.
“Good boy,” Draco murmurs against my ear. “Harry… oh fuck... he feels so good on my cock.”
They look at each other, and Harry’s eyes flare. He asks me, still looking at Draco, “Are you ready for me?”
I grasp his strong shoulders, unable to speak, Draco’s cock sliding into me and into me and into me.
Harry’s gaze alights on my face again. I feel him nudging the head of his prick between my legs. Draco slows to a stop. “Tell me,” Harry says.
“H-harry,” I breathe. “Yes.”
And all through my body: You own me, you own me. Own me, Harry.
“Shh.” As though he hears the swell of my undercurrent, the rush of me towards him. He leans in, tongues sweetly into my mouth and then says against my lips, “Get yourself ready, love.”
I feel him there, about to enter me… feel Draco’s restraint as he waits for it, as they both hold me aloft. I close my eyes and soften… expand… change myself for him, just a little, just enough. Harry pushes, cock slipping along Draco’s. “Shit,” he whispers. Draco jostles me in his arms, “You got it?” “Yeah,” Harry grunts. “Yeah, just… hold him.” Then, “Yeah?” “Yeah, right there,” says Draco. I feel his arm muscles bunch against my body. Then Harry thrusts, and this time he slips inside.
“Oh God,” I cry, trembling with the force of it. Harry’s cock slowly joins Draco’s, their arms cradling me between them so that I can relax—and when I do, they slide further into me, and we all groan.
The water beats down, insulating us in steam. I’m so full, hanging helplessly between them. I wrap one arm behind Draco’s neck, the other around Harry’s shoulders, but for the most part, they’re holding me up. I have no control over this. I feel heavy, and weightless. A tear rolls down my cheek. I’m impossibly unguarded.
And then they begin to move.
My eyes roll back, and I can only rest my head against Draco’s shoulder, jostled, entered, fucked.
Harry blinks dazed eyes and finds Draco’s gaze over my shoulder. He huffs an incredulous little laugh, like, You’re in here with me. I feel you. We’re together.
Harry then wedges tighter against me, pushing Draco and myself into the wall. His thrusts go harder, faster. He looks me in the eye. I see a thousand words and sentiments there, some tender, some brutal. I see the moment he lets himself own me, eyes hot with it, and without warning I come.
“Ohhhh,” I whine, cock shooting in the crevice of my hip where it’s pressed. My arse squeezes down on them, and I hear them coaxing me, praising me; they’re thrusting into me until it feels like all I am is where they’re joined with me. I mewl as it hits me anew, a second round, my cock barely managing a little line of come.
Draco holds his breath, a sure sign, and then his warm come runs out of me almost as fast as it floods inside. I want to hold onto it, but I can’t. I have to just let it leak out over Harry’s cock, dripping onto the floor and washing away.
“I can feel you coming,” Harry whispers. “Every throb of it.”
Draco gives a tired laugh, something of awe in it. When his arms start to slacken, Harry says to me, “Wrap your legs around me, honey.”
My heart soars, my body soft and pliable. I do as he asks. I wrap my whole self around him, Draco breathing at my back, holding my arse now, holding me open for Harry.
I cling to Harry’s muscular shoulders, and he fucks me so good like that. His hips snap, and his cock works up a friction that makes me want to cry with the heady pleasure.
“Harry,” I whisper to him, my magic reaching out, coiling, stroking him toward his climax.
“Teddy,” he answers, a tight whine—and then a gush of breath as he comes in me, saying my name, “Oh Teddy…”
Loose. I’m so loose: my bum, my whole body, my soul. I sway between them as they bathe me, cleaning my arsehole with care, fingers sinking into me as they love to do once they’ve had me. I rest my head on Draco’s chest, and they kiss each other.
They get me into a large, fluffy towel and wash themselves much more perfunctorily. I sit on a bench, cushioned for my sore arse, and I watch them smile at each other, dirty, sweet, snarky smiles, accompanied by the splash of water, a lazy shove, hands reaching, Draco’s on Harry’s hips, pulling him in. Slow kisses. Harry’s hand coming down wet and loud against Draco’s arse.
“You’re going to start losing the Snitch on purpose now.”
“You so sure it wasn’t on purpose this time?”
Harry snorts. “Yes.”
They join me, and we dress. They help me. I’m still… floating, slow to come back.
We decide to walk to one of our favourite restaurants in the wizarding district, even though our legs are collectively like jelly. The air is cool on my overheated skin, helping me regain my balance, my centre. I let myself enjoy the feel of them on either side of me, our arms linked. It doesn’t look perverse, I’m sure. If you didn’t know about us, you wouldn’t know. Except that I’m betting I look well-fucked. I am well-fucked. The thought makes me smile. I lean my head briefly on Draco’s shoulder as we stroll, and he kisses the top of my head.
“Best hundred Galleons I’ve ever spent,” he says.
And indeed the Shrunken coins jingle a little in my pocket with each step. In the other pocket, of course, is my Unspeakable contract, about which I’ve still not spoken up.
“I’m going to get the oysters,” Harry muses aloud, and I smile. Leave it to Harry to jump directly from paying me for double anal penetration—to dinner. His stomach rumbles loudly, and I laugh, nudging into him and dragging Draco with me a little.
“I’m buying,” I tell them. “So order whatever you’d like. Tiramisu… Champagne maybe?”
Harry gives me a considering look and then spares a lift of his eyebrows for Draco. “Are we celebrating something?”
“I’m not,” Draco grouses.
I elbow him gently. “We are,” I tell him. “You are too.”
“What is it?” Harry asks.
We walk a few more steps, the sun glinting off our shoulders. I listen to the soft jangle of coins and sigh. “Everything,” I tell him. “We’re celebrating everything.”
I shift positions and clasp Harry’s hand, rejoicing as I always do when his fingers unhesitatingly interlace with mine.
For now, it can stay like this. For now, maybe always, they own me.