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The Thrill of the Chase

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Quidditch was what had brought them together in the first place.

After it became known that he had decided not to join the Aurors, Harry found himself inundated with requests to sign for professional Quidditch teams. He ended up signing up to be reserve seeker for Puddlemere United, choosing the team based on Oliver Wood’s enthusiastic stories. For a year, he trained hard but spent more time watching matches from the side-lines than he did on the pitch, waiting desperately for the day when it would be his turn to play a whole match. Harry had always considered himself a good seeker, but spending hours watching the professionals play made it clear how much he still had to learn.

Finally, the day came when he was called up to be Seeker for the main team. Harry had never felt happier than he did that day as he flew high above the pitch, searching for that glint of gold. The match was fast and brutal, and so very different from the Quidditch he had played at school, but the rush of adrenaline that filled him when he felt the cold metal of the snitch against his palm was just as heady and overpowering as it always had been.

During the next match, however, Harry was not happy. In fact, livid might be the word to best describe how he felt when he walked out onto the pitch to see Draco Malfoy standing there, dressed in the sky-blue robes of the Tutshill Tornados and broom in hand.

Harry stared open mouthed for a moment before whirling around to face his captain, Jones, demanding to know why he hadn’t been told that he would be seeking against Malfoy.

‘We didn’t tell you, Potter, because we know what you’re like,’ Angelina, one of their Chasers, said matter-of-factly. ‘You’d have been unbearable if you’d known. I remember what you were like in school, and no way was I spending a month’s worth of practices listening to you bitch about Malfoy’.

‘I wasn’t that bad in school!’ Harry protested to gales of laughter from Angelina and Wood. They knew that Harry actually had been ‘that bad’ in school.

‘Well there’s no point complaining now, Potter. You have to play him, and you have to beat him,’ Jones said. ‘Channel that hatred into the game, and for Merlin’s sake, make sure you get to the snitch before him.' And with that, the whistle blew, and the game began.

For the first part of the game, Harry stayed away from Malfoy, flying high above the other players as he scanned the sky for the snitch. Although part of him was still furious with his team mates for not telling him that he would be playing against Malfoy, another, larger part of him was relishing the opportunity to compete against him again. As he circled the pitch, keeping one eye on Malfoy, Harry imagined how good it would feel to beat Malfoy to the snitch once more, proving once and for all that he was the better seeker.

Eventually, Harry drifted over to the same area of the pitch that Malfoy was currently circling around. He couldn’t resist throwing a cheeky jibe Malfoy’s way.

‘Hey, Malfoy, I can’t quite remember, did you ever manage to beat me to the snitch?’

‘Oh fuck off, Potter, being good at kiddie Quidditch doesn’t mean you’ll be any good out here in the real world,’ Draco snapped back, eyes still focused on the pitch.

‘How did you get onto the Tornados, huh? What did Daddy buy them this time?’

‘Oh, and you definitely got in purely on skill, oh Chosen One?' Malfoy replied sarcastically. ‘I’m sure they weren’t thinking at all about the publicity you might bring when they offered you the spot.’

‘It had nothing to do with that, Malfoy, and I’m going to kick your arse to prove it to you,’ Harry said, his competitive spirit kicking into high gear. Harry had never been able to resist a challenge from Malfoy, and he wasn’t going to start losing to him now.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the quickest flash of gold. Subtly, so that Malfoy wouldn’t notice anything, Harry flew in a lazy circle around him, repositioning himself to be ready to sprint towards the snitch. Once in position, Harry braced himself, and then shot forwards. He bent low over his broom as he chased after the snitch at full speed, knowing that Malfoy wouldn’t be far behind him.

As expected, Harry very quickly sensed the presence of Malfoy flying just behind him; he had obviously only taken a split second to react when he saw Harry fly off. Harry increased his speed, determined to beat Malfoy. Despite his best efforts though, Malfoy was quickly gaining on him, and soon they were flying side-by-side.

‘Not so fast now, are we, Potter?’ Malfoy shouted across the wind that whipped through Harry’s hair, stinging his eyes even behind his glasses.

‘Get lost, Malfoy, this snitch is mine!’ Harry spat back, the need to humiliate Malfoy, to best him again, somehow becoming even stronger.

‘Not so witty either, if that’s the best you can do,’ Malfoy said, the nose of his broom inching ahead of Harry’s.

Harry didn’t bother replying, all his energy now focused on the little golden ball in front of him as he tried desperately to put some distance between himself and Malfoy.

It was no use though. Malfoy was now definitely ahead of him, his hand outstretched as he reached towards the snitch. Harry pushed as hard as he could, but nothing he did made his broom go any faster. He looked up just in time to see Malfoy’s hand close around the snitch, the fluttering wings poking out from between his fingers.

Harry let out a roar of frustration and anger, unable to believe that he had been beaten, and by Malfoy of all people. Malfoy wasn’t supposed to be good at Quidditch; he’d never come close to beating Harry before, and for it to have happened now, in front of a stadium full of people, was unbearable.

Harry landed heavily on the grass beneath the pitch, glaring at Malfoy as he watched him land a few metres from Harry. Malfoy was immediately engulfed by his teammates as they congratulated him on winning them the match.

Harry was still glaring when Malfoy reappeared from the pile-on, hair mussed and a big grin on his face. Harry felt rage pumping through his veins as Malfoy caught sight of him and, smirking, began to saunter over to him, snitch still clasped tightly in his left hand.

‘Well, well, well, Potter, look at what I’ve got,’ Malfoy taunted.

‘Fuck off, Malfoy,’ Harry muttered back, too angry to even look at Malfoy.

‘Didn’t quite catch that, Potter. Did you say, “Malfoy, you’re the best seeker ever, you’re so much more talented than me”?’ Malfoy said, a glint in his eye making it clear how much he was enjoying lording his win over Harry.

‘I know it goes against every fibre of your being, but Merlin, Malfoy, can you just stop being a prick for a bit? You won once. Big deal, I’ve still destroyed you in every other game that we’ve played,’ Harry said, fighting hard to keep control of himself, not wanting to lose his temper in front of his teammates and the crowd.

‘Does it upset you that your ex is a better Quidditch player than you’ll ever be, Potter? No wonder she broke up with you. She was probably ashamed to be seen with someone so talentless and useless,’ Draco jeered.

That was the final straw for Harry. Although his break up with Ginny had been entirely amicable, caused by both of them realising that they were perhaps not as straight as they’d always thought, there was still a part of him that was insecure about the break up.

Harry launched himself at Malfoy, forgetting all about the thousands of people watching him as the red mist descended. The force with which he rushed towards Malfoy pushed them both to the ground and they both began to attempt to land punches on the other as they rolled around on the grass of the pitch.

Harry could vaguely hear the shouts of their teammates as he finally landed a punch on Malfoy, but the satisfaction he was feeling continued to overpower any shame he had about being seen publicly brawling. In response to the punch, Malfoy flipped them so that he had his weight on Harry, in the process managing to jab his knee hard into Harry’s side. Harry jerked as a result of the pain from Malfoy’s knee, flexing his body in shock.

The shock of the pain however was nothing in comparison to the surprise that Harry felt when his hips connected with Malfoy’s.

Malfoy was hard.

Harry immediately stilled, his brain unable to fully process what he’d felt, yet screaming at him to keep pressing his hips upwards. Malfoy had also frozen above Harry, a look of horror spreading across his face as their eyes met. They held eye contact for a beat too long, both unable to look away.

Jones took advantage of their moment of stillness and leapt in, pulling Malfoy off Harry and pushing him away before extending a hand to Harry and helping him up off the ground.

‘You okay, Harry? Not hurt anywhere?’ Jones asked.

‘Yeah, yeah, ‘m fine’ Harry muttered, eyes still trained on Malfoy who was stood a few feet away, eyes on the ground, looking uncomfortable.

‘Come get showered then, he’s not worth it,’ Jones said, leading Harry away towards the changing rooms. As he walked off the pitch, Harry looked over his shoulder, and locked eyes with Malfoy, who had obviously been watching Harry walk away. Malfoy had an indecipherable look on his face, cheeks red but eyes alight with what Harry hoped was desire.

Harry looked away from Malfoy’s intense gaze as he felt his face flush, his stomach flipping as he realised that Malfoy had obviously felt Harry’s erection too. The image of Malfoy’s face stayed in Harry’s mind as he left the pitch, and Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to forget it any time soon.


Harry lingered in the showers, distracted by memories of the feel of Malfoy’s body on his. He was glad that the Puddlemere locker rooms had individual, curtained-off shower cubicles rather than the communal showers that were common in the locker rooms of lower ranked teams. He didn’t think his teammates would have appreciated seeing his semi-hard dick, and he didn’t want them to know how much wrestling with Malfoy had affected him.

After what felt like forever, the last remaining member of the team finished changing and left the locker room, the door slamming shut behind them. Harry let out a groan, relieved to finally be left alone so that he could deal with his erection.

He reached for his dick, shivering with pleasure as he gave himself a light, torturous stroke. His eyes slid closed as he began a teasingly slow rhythm, wanting to draw out the feeling for as long as he could. He let his mind drift back to the fight, to the way Malfoy’s strong, muscled thighs had gripped Harry’s sides as he had rolled Harry onto his back, to the way he had felt as he straddled Harry’s thighs.

A sudden noise out in the locker room made Harry freeze mid-stroke, wrenching him away from a delightful fantasy of Malfoy on his knees in front of him. He stayed completely still, trying to quiet his heavy breathing as he tried to work out what had caused the noise.

‘Potter?’ came a voice.

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. That was definitely Malfoy’s voice. Malfoy’s voice calling his name, in his locker room. Malfoy, who had been hard while they fought.

Heart thumping so loudly in his chest that he was sure it was audible, Harry summoned up the courage to respond.

‘I’m, uh, in the shower…’ he said haltingly.

When there was no response he moved the curtain just enough for him to be able to see out into the locker room. He was not expecting the sight that greeted him.

Malfoy was walking over to him, barefoot and shirtless, in the process of unlacing his Quidditch leathers.

Harry couldn’t comprehend it, could only stare at the muscled planes of Malfoy’s chest and the long fingers entangled in the ties of his trousers. As Malfoy got closer, Harry looked up directly into his eyes and inhaled sharply at the heat and desire that he found there. Almost without thinking, Harry stepped back, allowing the curtain to open to let Malfoy into the shower cubicle.

Malfoy walked in, eyes roving up and down Harry’s body, lingering on his very prominent erection. He didn’t stop as he got nearer to Harry, forcing Harry to step back until his back was flat against the wall of the cubicle. Malfoy kept coming closer, until he was stood centimetres away from Harry.

For a long moment they just looked at each other, letting the anticipation of what was about to happen wash over them.

Harry eventually managed to tear his eyes away from Malfoy’s, instead lowering them to look at his slightly parted lips. Malfoy’s tongue flashed out, licking his lips, and Harry had never wanted to kiss anyone more than he wanted to kiss Malfoy in that moment.

Harry and Malfoy both leaned in, pausing for just a moment before their lips finally connected. The feel of Malfoy’s lips on Harry’s was incredible, butterflies taking flight in his stomach as desire flooded his body and mind. He moaned as Malfoy’s lips parted beneath his, his tongue slipping into Harry’s mouth as the kiss deepened. Harry reached up and tangled his hands in Malfoy’s hair as Malfoy’s hands wrapped round his waist, pulling Harry tight against his body.

Almost involuntarily, Harry pushed his hips against Malfoy’s, desperate for friction. He gasped as he felt the hard, hot bulge of Malfoy’s erection against his, and they quickly slipped into an agonisingly perfect grind. Harry brought his hands down to the untied laces of Malfoy’s Quidditch leathers, pulling away from the kiss to meet Malfoy’s eyes, checking that Malfoy wanted this as much as Harry did.

‘God, Potter, just take them off, and come back here,’ Malfoy panted, pulling Harry’s face back to his so he could kiss him again. Harry pushed at Malfoy’s trousers, manoeuvring them down over his arse, revealing his hard dick. This time Malfoy paused the kiss, stepping back slightly to take his trousers off completely.

Malfoy stood up fully once his trousers were off and moved forward to kiss Harry again. Harry however put his hand on Malfoy’s chest, stopping him before their lips could connect. Malfoy looked momentarily confused, his bemusement quickly turning into a groan of longing as Harry slid down to his knees.

Harry looked up at Malfoy, taking in the desire he could see burning in his grey eyes, unable to believe that Malfoy wanted him that badly. After a few moments of intense eye contact, he turned his attention to Malfoy’s prick. At first, he just looked at it; whoever said dicks weren’t beautiful had obviously never seen Malfoy’s. It was long and thick, jumping slightly as Harry watched it. He leaned forward, giving it the slightest lick on the head and revelling in the loud gasp that escaped Malfoy at the sensation. He continued to lick gently around the head, teasing Malfoy with the tip of his tongue.

‘Gods, Potter, stop being such a cock-tease and suck it properly,’ Malfoy ordered, his authority diminished by the waver in his voice.

Harry chuckled but did as he was asked, taking Malfoy’s dick all the way into his mouth. With one hand wrapped around the base he began to suck Malfoy’s cock in earnest, determined to drive him crazy.

After only a few minutes Malfoy was moaning continuously, his hands gripping Harry’s hair tightly as his hips bucked wildly. Harry pulled off as he sensed Malfoy approaching the edge, not wanting it to be over yet. Malfoy groaned his frustration but pulled Harry to his feet, pushing him back against the wall and kissing him hard.

Malfoy then moved to kiss down Harry’s neck, dragging a groan out of Harry as he moved his hand to his neglected dick.

‘Can I fuck you?’ Malfoy murmured against Harry’s skin in between kisses and nips.

‘Mmm, yes please,’ Harry moaned, desperate to feel Malfoy inside him.

‘Turn round,’ Malfoy commanded, smacking Harry’s arse cheek to get him moving. Harry immediately obeyed, bracing his hands on the shower wall as he bared his arse to Malfoy.

He jumped a little in surprise as Malfoy trailed a finger down his crack, groaning as Malfoy began to press the tip inside him. One finger turned quickly into two, and soon Harry was reduced to begging.

‘Don’t need anymore, Malfoy, just get inside me. Want your prick inside me,’ Harry said, already losing his mind at the feel of just two fingers, at the thought of Malfoy entering him.

After casting a quick lubrication spell, Malfoy complied, lining his cock up and starting to slowly push in. Harry was surprised at how considerate Malfoy was as he gently allowed Harry to get used to the intrusion into his body. Soon though, Harry was fed up with nice.

‘Come on, Malfoy, fuck me properly, is this the best you can do?’ he spat out from between gritted teeth.

Malfoy immediately began to go harder and deeper, adjusting his angle until his dick was brushing over Harry’s prostate with every thrust.

They were both mumbling nonsense, both dripping with sweat and steam from the shower Harry had forgotten to turn off, both chasing the bliss that they could feel fast approaching.

All too soon Harry found himself at the point of no return and with a hurried ‘’m gonna come,’ he gripped his cock and stroked himself through a mind-blowing orgasm. Lost in pleasure, he only vaguely heard Malfoy shout out his own orgasm, grinding deep inside Harry as he came.

They stilled as they caught their breath, unsure of what to say now.

Malfoy broke the silence first.

‘Well, Potter, you might be a rubbish Seeker but you aren’t a bad shag,’ Malfoy said as he slid out of Harry.

‘Fuck you, Malfoy,’ Harry said with no venom, too blissed out and tired to be bothered by the jibe.

Malfoy snorted as he rinsed himself under the shower. ‘We just did, Potter, in case you’ve already forgotten.’

‘You know what I meant,’ Harry replied, pushing Malfoy out of the stream of water so that he could clean himself up.

‘I do,’ Malfoy said, gathering his trousers from the floor and heading for the cubicle entrance. ‘See you around, Potter.’

With that, Malfoy slipped behind the curtain and out of sight. Moments later Harry heard the door to the locker room close as Malfoy left, and he leant back against the wall, letting out a breath and muttering ‘fucking hell,’ to himself, only just really realising what he had done.


Fucking after matches became a pattern for Harry and Malfoy. They never formally made an agreement, but inevitably they would end up seeking each other out after the matches ended. They never went any easier on each other on the pitch, and fighting after games wasn’t unheard of. Harry justified it to himself as just a way to let off steam after the stress and adrenaline of a hard-fought match, and tried to ignore how often he found his thoughts drifting to Malfoy during his day-to-day life.

Soon though, sex after matches wasn’t enough. He and Malfoy began finding other excuses to see each other so that they could then sneak off to fuck. Malfoy’s Slytherin pub night started to take place in the same pub as Harry’s weekly pub trip with the Gryffindors, and they both began to frequent the same gay club nights, ostensibly looking for someone else to sleep with but always ending up going home together.

Harry knew that it wasn’t just sex for him anymore, that Malfoy wasn’t just a stand in for any warm body. Eventually, with the encouragement of Ron and Hermione, he gathered up the courage to tell Malfoy that they either had to be together properly or stop sleeping together, as he couldn’t pretend that this was something casual anymore.

Malfoy had looked up at him from where he was curled up on Harry’s chest, still pink cheeked from their earlier sex, and simply said, ‘Me too, Harry. Me too.’




Five years later, Quidditch was still an integral part of their relationship.

They now had elaborate game day rituals dependent upon whether it was Harry or Draco playing that day.

If Harry had a match, the main aim of the morning was distraction. Harry would wake early, already full of adrenaline and excitement for the game ahead. Adrenaline always turned Harry into a whirlwind of constant movement and stress, and when they had first got together Draco would often wake up to the noise of Harry pacing around the house, rearranging furniture or doing warm up exercises in an attempt to calm himself down.

Now, several years into their marriage, Draco had learned to make sure that he woke up at the same time as Harry so that he could start the distractions by forcing Harry to help him prepare a complicated but nutritious breakfast to properly set him up for the arduous day ahead. Then, they would go through the ritual of checking over Harry’s kit and rereading the game plans for the day, after which Harry would feel prepared for the match and could therefore calm down.

Then came some gentle exercises and warm up stretches, Harry checking that any injuries were doing okay and beginning to get himself ready for a battle on the pitch. After stretching came Draco’s favourite part of the routine, a ritual they had developed that had become sacred to him. It was one of the parts of their relationship that he loved the most.

They would start with a shower, Draco joining Harry under the hot water. Harry always used the same shower gel on game days, and they always had multiple bottles in the house to avoid any risk of it running out. Draco could never smell mint without immediately thinking of these showers, the scent always leaving him with a smile on his face.

The shower would be followed by what was quite possibly Draco’s favourite activity, ever. Harry would stretch out on their bed, and Draco would give him a massage, slowly but surely making his way up and down his husband’s body. Even after three years of marriage, Draco was still unbelievably attracted to Harry, and he would spend the whole week looking forward to the time he could spend just taking in the sculpted muscles of Harry’s body, revelling in the way that Harry melted under his hands.

The massage wasn’t designed to lead to sex; at first it had been just another way to get Harry to slow down and relax on a stressful day, but it often did, they were only human after all. Draco was never able to resist his husband, and Harry had such a weak spot for Draco’s hands on his thighs and ass that he would often interrupt the massage mid-way through, pushing his hips up off the bed in a way that clearly told Draco exactly what he wanted.

On these occasions Draco would put extra effort into reducing Harry to a babbling mess, indulging Harry by rimming him until he was crying out with pleasure. Draco would lick and lick until he could see that Harry was well and truly distracted from anything other than the feel of Draco’s tongue on him, and only then would he fuck his husband hard and fast. They would both end up breathless and grinning, Harry in need of healing spells so that he could fly comfortably.


If it was Draco who was playing that day, the routine was less about distraction and much more about regimented superstition. After a few winning games Draco had developed a patented formula for the best way to spend a morning before a Quidditch match.

His alarm would wake him at exactly 8.30, and he would wander downstairs to find that Harry had already prepared his pre-game breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon on toast, with a berry protein smoothie on the side.

As he ate he would read through his notes and game plans for the match, visualising any moves he wanted to try out. He and Harry would then move to the living room, where they would pore over sheets of parchment covered in information about the opposing team, discussing how Draco could use their weaknesses to his advantage. This was one of the many times when it came in handy that Harry also played Quidditch, as he would often chip in with insights he had gained from playing against the team in question.

Draco never liked to have sex before playing Quidditch; although he knew it was likely just a myth, years of hearing that sex before sports was a bad idea had left their mark, and he wasn’t the type to take an unnecessary risk. For Draco, sex came after the match; either as a reward for a match well played, or as a way to take the edge off the disappointment of a loss. Whatever the outcome of the match, Draco would always come home to find Harry patiently waiting for him, ready to be led up to their bedroom.

Draco’s rituals continued up until the moment he stepped on the pitch. He always apparated to the same spot on the pitch, arriving with exactly 40 minutes to spare before the start of the match. Harry wasn’t allowed to come to the stadium with Draco; if he wanted to watch the game he had to arrive on his own, and Draco never wanted to know if Harry was in the crowd, just in case his presence distracted him.

These routines had served them both well over the years, and they were now so practiced at them that they could have carried them out in their sleep. They obviously worked, too, as the two of them were consistently the best seekers in the league. Thanks to their efforts, their teams had shot up the leaderboard, often fighting against each other to finish the season in the top spot.

A large blackboard was the focal point of one wall of the kitchen in their townhouse, and they used it to keep track of a variety of Quidditch related stats. They had columns for number of snitches caught that season, number of snitches caught ever, fastest catches, slowest catches, and total time spent chasing the snitch over the course of their careers. They ceremoniously updated the blackboard after every match, taking great delight in teasing whichever of them was losing in each category.

They had bets riding on each category, with the winner being officially crowned at the end of each season. So far, they had been doing this for four years, and they were tied for end-of-season wins, making this year even more important than usual. The winner got to choose their prize each season, and the prizes varied from Harry taking Draco on a romantic weekend to Paris, to Draco having to wear his Weasley jumper every day for a week.

The banter that accompanied them updating the blackboard often turned from teasing to flirting very quickly, and Harry had ended up pressed against that blackboard while Draco pounded into him on more than one occasion. Indeed, sometimes he would provoke Draco on purpose, just so that Draco would drop to his knees, taking Harry’s cock in his mouth and rendering Harry unable to speak.

The competition between them was always healthy, a tamer and flirtier version of the competitive relationship they’d had as teens. Making a game out of their Quidditch stats made it easier to stop Quidditch coming between them, and allowed them to laugh off the frequent articles debating which one of them was the better player, a topic that the press loved to return to over and over again.



One day they each received a letter that threatened to upset the blissful set up they had worked so hard to establish. Richards, the seeker for the England World Cup team, had been badly injured and would be unable to play for long enough that he would be too out of practice to play in the upcoming World Cup. Apparently scouts would be attending the next game they played against each other as a way to judge which one of them would be better for the team, the winner taking the coveted spot.

They both read the letters at the same time, having come home from Sunday lunch at the Burrow to find the owls waiting for them. 

‘This is going to be okay, isn’t it?’ Draco said quietly, his face revealing his uncertainty. ‘It’s an honour to be considered, but I don’t want to do it if it’s going to make things uncomfortable or weird between us.’

‘It’ll be fine, Draco,’ Harry replied, moving closer to Draco so that he could run a soothing hand up and down his thigh. ‘We’ll treat it as just another game, and I’ll be so happy if it’s you they pick. I know how much you’d love to be chosen.’

‘You’d be amazing, too, Harry, and I’ll be so proud if it’s you. I’ll be in the crowd cheering you on at every match.’ Draco said, leaning in to rest his head on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry pressed a kiss to his husband’s forehead, counting his lucky stars once again that he’d ended up with such a wonderful man.


The day of the match came around quickly, with both Harry and Draco having been incredibly busy training in preparation.

They’d generally avoided talking about what the match signified, instead doing their very best to pretend that it was just any other game. As usual, they’d agreed on the reward for the winner; if Draco won, Harry would have to cook dinner every night for the next week, and if Harry won Draco owed him 3 blowjobs, to be claimed by Harry any time he chose.

Despite their best efforts however, once they woke up that morning they were unable to pretend that nothing momentous was happening. As they always did when they were playing against each other, they retreated to different rooms to carry out modified versions of their pre-match rituals, but this time there was a new, subtle tension filling the house as they both kept remembering the significance of the match.

They barely spoke throughout the morning, not wanting to increase the tension by saying the wrong thing, only exchanging a muttered ‘I love you, good luck’ as they apparated to their respective changing rooms.

Harry was full of even more nervous energy than usual as he paced around the changing rooms; not having Draco’s calming presence next to him all morning was definitely having an effect on him. It didn’t help that his team all knew that the scouts were going to be at the match—they kept giving him tips or shouting words of encouragement across the changing room, not realising that they were making things worse. Harry just wanted to forget about the scouts. He didn’t want to be aware of the pressure on him, and he certainly didn’t want to think about the fact that if he played well, Draco would miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime.

As Harry paced in the changing rooms, across the pitch Draco was sitting quietly on the bench in his, ignoring the ruckus around him as he silently continued the debate he had been having in his head all week. Play well and potentially upset Harry, or throw the game? It went against every instinct of his to do anything that he knew would make Harry unhappy, but it was against his professional ethics to cause his team to lose a game. He was no closer to reaching an answer as he joined the rest of his team at the door of the changing rooms, ready to walk onto the pitch.

Harry and Draco met in the middle of the pitch, facing each other as the referee ran over the procedure for the game and the captains shook hands. For a moment they just looked at each other, each immediately noticing the signs of stress in the other, signs they were very familiar with after knowing each other for so long.

‘We both play to win, no pulling our punches?’ Draco asked cautiously.

‘Agreed,’ Harry said, smiling for the first time that day. ‘Can’t let you get ahead of me on number of snitches caught this season.’

Draco grinned at Harry, a rush of love for his competitive, brilliant husband filling his chest. ‘May the best man win, Potter,’ he said with a wink, before pushing off the ground and shooting up into the air.

With the agreement to try hard in place between them, Harry felt lighter and freer than he had in weeks as he joined Draco in the sky, turning his broom and flying off to the opposite side of the pitch. The feeling he got just before the whistle blew to start a match was one of his favourites in the world, and he spent a moment just looking around, appreciating the fact that this was his life.

But then the whistle blew, and it was game on.

Harry’s competitive instincts took over and he was immediately scanning the sky for the snitch, keeping one eye on Draco the whole time, not wanting to lose track of where he was.

The fact that the England scouts were in the audience seemed to have energised all the players, not just the two Seekers, as soon the Chasers were locked in an epic battle, each team taking it in turns to score goal after goal. It looked like the match was shaping up to be one of the highest scoring games of the season.

Harry and Draco both stayed out of the carnage below, doing their best to avoid the bludgers that were speeding around the pitch trying to knock the Chasers off their brooms. They had deliberately stayed away from each other so far, focusing on their own game rather than on what the other was doing.

Harry was looking around scanning for the snitch when he noticed Draco take off at high speed out of the corner of his eye. He whirled round, trying to spot what Draco was chasing. He swore when he realised that Draco had seen the snitch, immediately shooting off to try and catch up. Luckily he was flying with the wind behind him, and that gave him the extra bit of speed he needed to reach Draco, finding himself within touching distance of the bristles of Draco’s broom before long. The snitch seemed to be determined to avoid capture, zig zagging madly as they followed it across the length of the pitch. They were flying side by side at this point, so close that Draco kept getting hints of Harry’s mint shower gel as the wind whipped his messy hair in Draco’s direction.

After what felt like an eternity, the snitch finally seemed to be slowing down, allowing them to inch closer to it. As Harry leant forward to try and reach out a hand for it, he accidently nudged Draco, swerving him off course slightly.

‘Oi, watch what you’re doing, Potter!’ he heard Draco shout angrily from behind him.

He tried to make the most of the accidental nudge by pushing forward, hoping to increase the gap between him and Draco, but it was no use, Draco was simply too fast. Speed had always been Draco’s strong suit, while Harry was more talented at complicated manoeuvres, and so Draco was able to catch him up once again.

The snitch suddenly darted right, and with cat-like reflexes Draco shot his arm out, fingers clenching around the struggling snitch. They both pulled up hard, unable to take in the fact that the battle was over, floating down to the ground as they tried to catch their breath.

‘Why did you foul me, you prick?’ Draco said to Harry once they’d dismounted their brooms.

‘What are you talking about? I didn’t foul you!’ Harry said hotly, turning to face Draco.

‘You did! You barged me out of the way!’ Draco retorted, stepping closer to Harry.

‘It was an accident!’ Harry said, also taking a step forward, bringing them close enough to each other that they were almost touching.

‘You just didn’t want to cook dinner this week!’

They were so close now that Harry could feel Draco’s chest rising and falling with every breath he took. During their argument they’d forgotten about everyone else watching them, their world reducing to just the two of them and the electric spark that they always felt when they bickered and teased each other.

‘Changing room?’ Harry asked, feeling his cock stiffen as he took in the desire burning in Draco’s eyes.

Draco didn’t even respond, simply turning and beginning to walk away, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Harry that clearly said follow me, now.


They barged into the changing room, door slamming loudly behind them as Draco rounded on Harry, pushing him up against the wall of lockers. He leant in as if to kiss Harry, but paused at the last second, lips hovering by Harry’s, breath intermingling as the tension between them grew and grew.

Harry let out a whine of frustration and closed the distance between them, his stomach swooping as he felt Draco’s mouth open underneath his. Draco was the best kisser Harry had ever been with, and he could happily spend hours just kissing the blond, savouring the way that Draco could slowly take him apart with his tongue and gentle nips on his bottom lip.

Soon Harry was frotting against Draco’s hard thigh, trying desperately to relieve some of the tension filling his body. His moans filled the room as Draco kissed his neck and jaw and lips, leaving Draco achingly hard at the thought of how easily he could drive Harry wild.

‘Turn around,’ Draco whispered against Harry’s neck, the commanding tone in his voice making Harry’s cock throb as he immediately complied. Draco reached round to quickly unlace Harry’s Quidditch trousers, pulling them down to the floor along with his boxers, kneeling down as he did so. He took a moment to stare at Harry’s firm, muscled arse before licking a stripe up his crease. Harry immediately let out a strangled moan, legs quaking as Draco began licking in earnest.

As he licked and kissed Harry’s arsehole, Draco reached down and pulled his own dick out of his pants, giving himself the occasional tug as he focused all his attention on bringing Harry as close to the edge as he could before easing off, determined to have Harry desperate and begging before fucking him.

It didn’t take long for Harry to start breathlessly begging Draco to fuck him, and despite how much Draco loved to hear Harry plead for his cock, he was unable to resist for long, instead rising to his feet, slicking his cock in preparation. Draco positioned himself behind Harry, and slowly began to enter his husband, kissing the exposed nape of Harry’s neck as he did so.

As he began to thrust harder into Harry, Draco reached for the hand Harry had splayed on the lockers, linking his fingers with his husband’s. He leant forwards so that his cheek was pressed against Harry’s, wanting to be as close to him as possible.

He loved that they could still bicker with each other and turn each other on through teasing arguments, but sometimes all Draco wanted was to be close to his husband and make love to him. He loved moments like this, when all that mattered in the world was the two of them, so in tune that their breathing synced up, showing their love to each other with every thrust and moaned term of endearment.

Draco picked up his speed slightly as he sensed Harry approaching his orgasm, and after only several thrusts Harry was coming loudly, squeezing the hand that Draco was holding tightly as he did so. Draco climaxed seconds later, the sight and sound of Harry’s pleasure triggering his own.

They stayed where they were for a long moment after their orgasms had dissipated, bathing in the afterglow that surrounded them, enjoying being pressed tightly against each other.

‘I’m glad you won,’ Harry whispered, unwilling to disturb the peace by speaking loudly.

‘You very nearly did,’ Draco whispered back.

‘Only cause I knocked you off course, you were way ahead of me.’

‘You would have caught up to me.’

‘I’m going to be so proud watching you play for England,’ Harry said, shifting so that he could look at Draco. The look on Harry’s face took Draco’s breath away; he had never seen so much pride or love directed at anyone before, and the fact that this incredible man was looking at him that way was still hard to believe, even after so many years being the focus of Harry’s love.

‘I love you,’ Draco whispered, even though his feelings towards Harry could never be encompassed by that one simple phrase.

‘I love you, too,’ Harry said back, kissing Draco gently.

‘We should really stop doing this. The team is getting seriously fed up with it,’ Draco said, laughing.

‘Mmm they can just deal with it. I’ll never stop being turned on by watching you play Quidditch,’ Harry murmured against Draco’s lips. ‘You might want to warn the England team though….’