Draco is a prat.
Draco is an absolute and an utter prat.
He’s an annoying, over protective,
fucking gorgeous prat, whom Harry definitely doesn’t like.
Because the people he likes?
Don’t have enemies who hold him at gunpoint, damn it.
It had been a stupid thing, really.
Harry had been planning to go to The Burrow to attend Ron’s birthday party and stay for the weekend. Only, his stupid fiancé had refused to listen.
“It’s too risky, love,” the blonde had said, oblivious to Harry’s narrow eyed glare. “We’ll be carrying out the Durmstrang job that very night and it’s going to be an all hands on deck sort of situation, really- no one to accompany you. Can’t you go another weekend?”
Harry snaked his way out of the octopus-like grip of his lover and put his hands on his hips firmly. “It might come as a surprise to you, oh almighty mobster lord, but birthdays only happen once a year. So no, I’m not going any other weekend. Besides, I don’t need any protection- I can handle myself just fine.”
Draco had replied with a snort and well… Harry James Potter was nothing if not stubborn.
Which is why, Friday evening finds him engaging in yet another shouting match with his fiancé, till finally he just fumes and marches out of the Manor, seething.
That bloody arsehole, he thinks viciously. What kind of sadistic moron doesn’t let his partner enjoy a nice, relaxed weekend with said partner’s best friend?
“Git thinks he owns me,” Harry scowls aloud, not paying attention to the route he’s taken. “Well, if he thinks for a second that I’ll give in to his overprotective, childish demands, he’s got another think coming.”
“Is that so?” a voice rumbles dangerously from behind him, making him start.
Harry falters, eyes finally taking in his surroundings. The street he’s in is dark and looks deserted- almost eerie in the dim moonlight. He must’ve taken a wrong turn along the way, because this is definitely not the alley that leads to Ron’s place.
“Er…” Turning around, he comes face-to-face with the sneering face of Igor Karkaroff, leader of the gang rival to Draco’s (which incidentally happens to be Durmstrang) and the owner of some spectacularly yellow teeth.
Harry really wants to politely stammer his way out of this mess so he can reach Ron’s on time only he might’ve said that last bit about the teeth out loud.
For the record, he’s never again going to underestimate the right hook of evil gangster lords.
“You smell delicious,” Karkaroff says when Harry comes to, slowly nosing a straight line up his throat like the creep he is. Harry fights a shudder as the other man’s hand begins to wander up his knees to rest on his thighs.
Fighting off this guy would be impossible enough for Harry under normal circumstances, and he doesn’t even bother trying when he’s trussed up like this. So, stalling is the next logical step.
Because Draco is coming for him.
Dang it, Draco had better be coming for him, because if he’s not Harry will personally whack his fiancé over the head with one of his beloved guns.
As if reading his thoughts, Karkaroff smirks against his neck and continue his creepy ministrations on Harry’s thighs with a hand that is now holding a goddamn pistol. Back to stalling, then.
“You do know he’s going to kill you, right?” Harry asks, struggling out of desperation against the bindings.
Karkaroff only raises an eyebrow in return. Harry rolls his eyes. “Draco, you wanker. He’s going to come and he’s going to be furious that you dared to punch me, not to mention all the…the molestation!”
It’s a tad too damsel-y, he admits, but it gets Karkaroff to back up and chuckle at his threats.
“Darling, if that blonde ferret was going to come rescue you, he’d have done it by now,” the mobster replies with a sinister smile that does nothing to help the swooping feeling in Harry’s chest. “You’ve been out for almost two hours.”
Alright, Harry might be panicking a little.
Harry is panicking a lot.
Two of Karkaroff’s buddies have shown up in the past half an hour, all declaring the talks with Draco are proceeding just fine. By which they mean they’re keeping his fiancé distracted enough to not notice his disappearance.
Logically, Harry knows Karkaroff has to have a plan of action here, a quick one at that, and since the Durmstrangs leave tomorrow, he isn’t particularly worried about being locked up in this stupid basement for ages.
What he is worried about is the fact that Draco hasn’t come for him yet. Which doesn’t make any sense because he knows his partner’s nature inside out and Harry had expected one of Draco’s minions to drag him back the second he had stormed out of the Manor. It worries him a little (a lot).
What if Draco really did take offense this time? They’ve had plenty of fights about the security thing before, but tonight’s spat was almost in a different league. Maybe Draco was legitimately mad that Harry had gone against his wishes? Maybe that’s why he hadn’t come for him yet? Maybe-
No. No, that’s just stupid.
Draco isn’t like that. He just…probably didn’t know Harry was taken. But that’s okay, that’s fine- eventually, the meeting will end and his lover is going to show up to kick the creep’s ass and rescue him.
He’ll be very angry, of course. Knowing Draco, he might even taunt Harry before finally freeing him from his restraints, taking him home, and back to their room and maybe punishing him- teasing him for hours and keeping him on the edge and spanking him and…
Rapidly shaking his head from side to side, he reminds himself how terrible it would be if Karkaroff came back to cop a feel and found him hard.
Yeah, no. That is definitely not happening.
Firmly driving his mind away from all thoughts of a hot, demanding, dominating Draco he tries to focus on slipping out of his bonds. So far, the effort’s been in vain, but he could swear he feels a bit of give that wasn’t there previously and maybe if he just twists a litt-
Just as he thinks he might have a shot at squeezing his left hand out, a voice tuts near his ear, making him grimace internally.
“That was quite impressive,” Karkaroff breathes into his ear, trying (and failing) to be sexy. It only succeeds in making him sound like a dickhead who’s never heard of toothpaste. Then Karkaroff tightens the rope brutally and he grimaces visibly.
Draco better be on his way.
It’s after another hour of listening to the megalomaniac rant about his plans of taking over Draco’s gang, the unbelievable talent of his goons (or lack thereof), and his unsettling obsession with Krum that Harry hears loud voices outside. A loud bang! sounds, making both of them startle violently.
Recovering quickly, Karkaroff moves over to a desk and pulls out… a meat cleaver.
An honest-to-god meat cleaver that is currently getting very cosy with the skin covering Harry’s carotid.
“Ah, Malfoy,” he drawls when his fiancé bangs open the door, and is it just Harry or has the man’s voice actually dropped to dramatize the situation? Twat. “You’re later than I expected.”
“You’re stupider than I expected,” the blonde shoots back, hands twitching dangerously at his sides even as his eyes rake over Harry’s body to catalogue any bruises. Harry feels his face beam as he hears his lover breathe a quiet sigh of relief.
Draco doesn’t quite return the smile, though. Sure, he smirks back but that purely wicked grin isn’t what Harry had been waiting for and he might be the sliiiiightest bit worried about how Draco plans on forgiving Harry.
He might also be the sliiiiightest bit turned on, he realizes when his pants shift.
Oblivious to Harry’s discovery of his newfound danger kink, the two mobsters keep talking.
“Thought you’d never show up. You here for your boy toy, Malfoy?” Karkaroff asks smugly, waiting for the other to negotiate.
“Not really, no.” Draco tosses back casually and Harry grins smugly. That's right, his fiance is so coo- Wait. What?!
“What?!” Harry yelps.
His partner just shrugs. “I only came here to know when the new bed’s arriving. Couldn’t remember the date for the life of me.”
Harry and Karkaroff stare. Draco merely looks back, an expression of polite expectation on his face.
“You mean you’re not here to… you’re not here to rescue me?” Harry asks, shock written in every feature.
An exaggerated expression of surprise takes over Draco’s face, “Not at all! I know you can...take care of yourself, darling.” He says in a saccharine tone. Harry groans. “I remember you telling me how capable you are of protecting yourself just a few seconds before you left. I’m fairly sure you’ve got this handled. I really only needed to know the date of delivery.”
Harry groans again, the noise turning into a pitiful whine at the end when the blade presses closer to his neck. “Quit fooling around, Malfoy.” Karkaroff spits out. “You want your boy toy back? You’re going to give up control of your gang to me and you’ll do it now.”
Draco gave him an unimpressed stare before sprawling on a nearby armchair royally, inspecting his nails casually. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen, Karkaroff.”
“Then you can start saying your goodbyes this instant.” The other sneers, drawing a line across Harry’s throat without applying pressure, threat clear in the action. Draco’s features change slowly and for a second, Harry feels hope bloom in his chest. “Because I’m not going to hesitate.”
“You’re completely right, Karkaroff.” Draco says with a sudden heartstoppingly sincere expression before turning to Harry. “Goodbye, Harry, it was nice knowing you. And don’t worry about anything, love. I’ll write and let the Weasleys know you got kidnapped and all. You can bank on me, I promise.”
“Bank on y- FUCK YOU, YOU PRICK! I swear to God, if you don’t stop bugging about right now, I’m going to find a way to shove your ba-aaahhh okay okay, I’m shutting up!”
“Good.” Karkaroff purrs, drawing the blade away from lips. “Because it’s high time your ferret and I get to the serious talk.”
Draco yawns boredly, not even bothering to hide his disinterest in the slime before him. It irks Karkaroff, Harry can tell. But where he imagines Karkaroff getting riled up to do some more spit-launching, the gangster’s expression takes on a sly edge.
“We have to get to the serious talk. Unless…”
Draco’s eyes flit towards them, unwillingly by the looks of it. There must be something truly nasty in Karkaroff’s expression because Harry can see his unsure tells beginning to show- right index finger trembling, jaw clenching and unclenching slowly.
Karkaroff continues, nose slowly dragging across the skin of his neck. “Unless, you really don’t want him back.”
Harry’s pulse goes into frightened acceleration. He must be able to sense his fear, because he smiles against his neck. “In which case, Malfoy, I really won’t mind keeping him. He seems so…delicious.”
Draco’s fingers fist in the chair covers. Harry hopes it’s because he’s worried for him and not just because Karkaroff might be getting to him at last.
The blonde closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “That’s not a very polite thing to say in front of his fiancé, but well…” He opens them and shrugs in a what-can-you-do kinda way.
He isn’t worried or wound up. Fucking arsehole isn’t bothered by any of these very disturbing developments! Forget Karkaroff, Harry’s going to use that meat cleaver on him.
“Well what, Malfoy? You okay with this?” he asks, sliding his hands down Harry’s chest from behind. Draco’s smirk flickers.
Suddenly, an evil part of him (that he likes to refer to as the Draco part of his mind) cocks its head, realizing a very unattractive but surefire way out of this. Harry morphs his expression into the best imitation of panic he can while subtly trying to make the mobster’s gesture look lewder than it is. Draco’s smug expression nearly disappears.
“Or this?” his teeth graze Harry’s neck and he pretends to wince and lean away, giving the creep more room to work on. His hands have now reached Harry’s thighs and this time, he doesn’t even have to fake the shudder that wracks his body.
Draco looks like he’s about to blow, though. -
Harry almost grins. Almost.
“Or maybe I could-” Karkaroff is abruptly cut short as are his explorations when Draco growls and leaps at him, pulling back to solidly punch him square in the face. The other mobster cries out and stumbles for a few disoriented moments before managing to recover enough to rush forward, cleaver scarily pointing to Draco. The blonde merely sidesteps him, though, and Harry feels his breath come back to him as he twists Karkaroff’s arm around and smacks down viciously on his head, making him crumple to the floor.
For a few elated moments, Harry watches (with no little amount of heat rising in his belly) as Draco kicks at the scrunched over pile on the floor.
Then, Draco turns and fixes his gaze on him.
“Hi,” he squeaks, because he’s an idiot like that. “Draco, you’re- um, hi. You look… fantastic! Really good! Were you working out before you came over?”
Yeah, alright. It doesn’t sound all that great in hindsight. But honestly? He’d like to see you try and form coherent words when Draco has that mad expression on his face. At least he can’t kill his fiancé, right?
“You,” the other begins in a low tone. “Are in so much trouble.”
Okay, maybe he can.
Before, however, Harry can try and attempt to explain his innocence (or lack thereof), Draco leans down to make sure he isn’t hurt anywhere which means he’s centimeters away from Harry’s lips and yeah, no. His higher cognitive processes are gone.
Then Draco starts speaking. In furious, low tones. Which isn’t doing much to help the danger!boner he has. “I wasn’t working out before I ‘came over’. No, I was searching. Madly and desperately looking everywhere for you. I called Weasley, Hermione, Ginny, Blaise. And you know what they all said to me? ‘Maybe he just needs some space!’”
Harry winces. Their friends can really say the wrong thing at times. But. There will be time to scold them later. For now, he has to grovel. And beg. Mostly grovel.
“Draco, I’m sorry I just-”
“You really fucking should be.” Draco hisses and for the first time, Harry genuinely feels shame and guilt crawling in him. He opens his mouth slowly to apologize sincerely and profusely.
Which is, of course, why Karkaroff chooses that very moment to come flying at Draco. He hasn’t gathered himself enough to be able to form any actual warning, so the most he can do is let out a strangled yell.
It doesn’t look like Draco needed the alarm, though. By the time Harry’s finished praying to every God he can think of, Draco has twisted Karkaroff’s torso around at an unnatural angle, and kicked him back into unconsciousness.
When he looks up from his victory, he seems much cockier. “Nice of you to worry, love. But I can take care of myself.”
Harry smiles a little hesitantly, hoping he’ll be forgiven. “So, you going to let me out of these any time soon or…?” he asks, gesturing to his bonds.
Draco scrutinizes them carefully like he’s actually considering it and Harry mentally kicks himself for presenting the question like an option. He really doesn’t want to spend any more time in them or in this stupid place. Almost like he can sense Harry’s lingering discomfort, he sighs and gives in. “I would honestly love nothing more than to use those all night, but I’m pretty sure we can come up with better bondage ideas, don’t you think?”
Harry fights his blush (in vain), averts his eyes from beautiful grey ones (also in vain since the owner just follows him) and nods shyly. Draco grins and starts cutting him free from the restraints.
When they’re done and Harry’s stretched out to regain the feeling in his feet, Draco calls Goyle, asking him to bring the car around. “Come on,” he turns after hanging up, holding out a pale, deceptively strong hand.
Harry hesitates. “You’re not… I mean, we’re alright, right?” he asks, chest burning uncomfortably. “As in, you’re not actually still upset at me, are you, Draco? Because I meant it when I said I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to be treated like a child and I know it was stupid of me- you only wanted to make sure I was safe and-”
Soft but demanding lips press against his and Harry finds himself being pulled tight against Draco’s chest. He tries to keep rambling through his apology but it only comes out sounding like ‘mmpff!’ and then Draco grabs his ass, pushing his thigh against Harry’s cock and well… it isn’t quite possible for him to speak after that.
Pulling back after almost exhausting his air supply, his lover looks him firmly in the eye. “We’re going to go back to the Manor and this time when I say something, I expect you to obey.”
He shivers. “Yes, of course. Anything you say, Draco.” Harry babbles, eager to forget the events of the evening.
Draco smirks, evil glint slowly slipping into his eyes. “Anything?” he questions and Harry gulps because of course he would promise an evil attractive mob leader anything in return for forgiveness. Nevertheless, he nods bravely, tilting his face up to ask for a kiss.
Draco’s smile softens as he leans forward to recapture his mouth.
For the record, there isn’t anything soft about the way Draco has Harry finger himself for literal hours. Or the way he ends up spending almost half an hour across Draco’s thighs, whining as slap after slap lands on his ass. Or when he’s made to ride their thickest vibrator pressing directly against his prostate as Draco idly switches between the settings.
Draco takes him everywhere- the armrest of their couch, their kitchen counter, the windows- whispering into his ear about how everyone will see him pressed up against the glass, taking his cock so beautifully, all the while roughly jacking Harry off right before encircling his fingers and stopping his release.
It’s the fifth time Draco’s stopped his orgasm and this time, Harry can feel tears leaking out of his eyes as he sobs. “Please Draco, please. I have to- ahh- please let come, I’ll do anything, Draco, please!”
Finally, after hours of denial, his begging seems to make a dent in his lover’s resistance. Still in the mood to draw it out a little though, the blonde grins and pushes in slower. “Are you quite sure you deserve it, love? You really worried me today, you know-”
Harry cuts in, frantic babbling overtaking his instincts. “I know, I know! I’m sorry, you know I am, Draco. Just…please don’t be mad at me, I’m so-”
Within seconds, Draco has Harry flipped around to face him, expression firm yet loving. “I know, darling. I’m just teasing… you’re so good for me, babe. My perfect lover, you know I’d never let anything happen to you, don’t you?” Harry nods, features lost in pleasure. “Come for me, love. Anytime you feel like… go on.”
It doesn’t take long after that for Harry to spill, his partner whispering softly in his ear, kissing and biting at his neck, sensations wracking through his system. Draco follows him soon after and they both collapse tiredly on the bed.
One, two, Draco counts in his head. Three, four, fi-
“’M really sorry about today,” the brunette mumbles right on time, trying to mask the way he’s inching in to fit his head under Draco’s chin. “You know that right?”
Draco snorts, wrapping his arms around the closet cuddler and drawing him close. “I know, love. It’s alright.” Harry smiles and places a kiss at the bottom of his throat before sighing happily and closing his eyes.
It makes Draco grin evilly. “Besides, you’ll be proving how much you regret it every night for the next week.”
His partner groans audibly, deflating. “You’re not starting from ton-”
“You start from tonight. Clean us up, babe.”
“Fucking hate you.”
“You too, Potter, you too.”