He was pathetic. Maybe even worse than pathetic. He was insane. Insane and pathetic and stupid.
Malfoy was dancing with the most beautiful man in the club. It should be the beautiful man, not Malfoy, Harry was slobbering over. He wished he could blame it on the drink or the fact that he was knackered, but he’d decided months ago to stop fooling himself. He wanted Malfoy. It was pathetic and insane and stupid and mortifying and . . . intoxicating. He had to admit it. Watching Malfoy dance was more intoxicating than the lager he’d been drinking all evening.
God! He wanted Malfoy so much it made his teeth ache. Or maybe his teeth ached because he’d been clenching his jaw all evening.
They weren’t friends, but they’d snogged once behind a potted tree at a Ministry dinner. Harry had nearly come in his pants. He knew Malfoy could tell; there was no way he couldn’t have. Interesting, he’d said before kissing Harry chastely and walking away. Harry had to remain behind the tree for another couple of minutes before he could return to his table. He’d felt Malfoy’s gaze the whole time. He was pretty sure Malfoy knew he wasn’t admiring the miniature lemons or musing over the composition of the potting soil.
It’d been a dare. “Don’t ask him,” Seamus had said. “Just grab his hand, drag him behind that tree over there and snog him. If he hexes you, we’ll come to your aid, but he’s not going to hex you, mate. No way. He’s been watching you all evening and not in an I’m-evil-and-stalking-you kind of way either.”
Harry had resisted until Ron (Ron!) drunkenly bet his autographed Cannons poster that he wouldn’t have the bollocks.
Harry was now the proud owner of said poster. Lesson learned, he hoped. Never dare him to do something and then bet against him with anything more precious than a pint at stake. Sadly, though, he’d been drunk and didn’t remember much more than Malfoy’s smug laugh and his hands on Harry’s arse. And then a hard-on as a souvenir.
Harry sighed and swallowed the last of his lager. Malfoy was still on the dance floor with that beautiful well-dressed man. Harry looked down at his rumpled shirt, which had actually been stained before Hermione had noticed and cast Tergeo. There was no question of trying to compete. He was sure The Potted Tree Incident had been enabled by the fact he’d been wearing a formal robe that actually fit and a tie whose colour Hermione had said “accented his eyes.” Tonight he looked as though he’d just climbed out of a skip.
Nearby couples looked at Malfoy and his partner like they were a work of art – which Harry had to admit they did. They moved together sinuously – not lasciviously but with grace and an obvious knowledge of each other’s body. The man had his hands on Malfoy’s waist, and Malfoy’s arms were around his neck. There may as well have been no one else around. They were focused only on each other. Malfoy looked positively glowing with a slight flush in his cheeks and the sheen of sweat on his skin.
“You’ll never know unless you ask,” Neville said.
Harry snorted and nicked a chip off Hermione’s plate. “I’m pretty sure his boyfriend wouldn’t appreciate my attentions. I give them ten more minutes before they Floo out of here.”
He nicked another chip. Hermione slapped his hand.
“You’re a Gryffindor,” said Neville. “And it looks like Malfoy’s headed to the loo sans boyfriend.”
“How do you know I care?” Harry asked.
Neville looked at him with the kind of long-suffering expression only Neville was capable of. He must’ve got it from his grandmother. “You’ve been watching him all evening with your tongue hanging out,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.
Harry cringed. Was it really that obvious?
Harry watched Malfoy kiss his date and start weaving through the crowd toward the loo. After a couple minutes of indecision and prodding from everyone at the table, Harry decided to follow him. Apparently if he was plied with enough lager, he’d do almost anything. It was an alarming realisation.
He pushed open the door to the loo, his heart pounding. Unfortunately a couple was fucking loudly in one of the stalls, so when he said “Hiya, Malfoy,” Malfoy had to say “What?” Which was embarrassing, and Harry felt his face heat up.
“Sounds like they’re having fun,” Malfoy said with a nod at the stall, which now looked like it was ready to fall apart at any moment. They were standing at the sinks, and Malfoy gave him a quirk of a smile. “Quite athletic.”
Harry nodded. An awkward moment passed while one of the stall’s occupants came shouting every situation-appropriate four-letter word in the English language. And then, horrifyingly, his partner farted wetly.
Harry wanted to die, but Malfoy laughed.
“Should’ve stayed away from the beans.”
Harry smiled weakly at him in the mirror. He was suddenly very sober and painfully aware of what a bad decision following Malfoy had been. But he had followed, and now he had to do something. By the way Malfoy was looking at him, it was clear he knew he’d been stalked.
“Wannagetdinnersometime?” Harry croaked.
Malfoy made a face of amused incomprehension. “Pardon?”
“Wannagetdinnersometime?” Harry asked again just as incoherently as before.
Now someone was getting a noisy blowjob.
“Are you asking me out to dinner, Potter?” Malfoy grinned slyly.
Harry could only nod.
“Just as long as we’re clear that it’s not a date.”
Harry tried to conceal his disappointment. “‘Course not. Us date?”
“Preposterous. Demons would have a snowball fight in Hell.”
Harry merely smiled awkwardly. He certainly hadn’t intended a shag-free evening.
“Owl me later this week,” Malfoy said, combing back his damp fringe with his fingers.
Thankfully he left before the receiver of the blow-job came with a bellow like an ox.
Malfoy had chosen the restaurant, and as usual, Harry walked in and immediately realised he was underdressed. He unrolled his sleeves and buttoned them at the wrists.
Annoyingly, Malfoy had brought an extra jacket and tie. Harry went to the loo to put them on. He couldn’t help but notice the tie was the same colour he’d been wearing the night of The Potted Tree Incident.
“Much better,” Malfoy said when Harry returned to their table. “When in doubt, shrink a jacket and tie and keep them in your pocket.”
Harry nodded. It actually wasn’t bad advice. Especially for him.
The waitress came over to give them their menus and read them the specials, one of which involved rabbit and another snails. Harry hoped to God there was a chicken dish.
“So,” he said. “Was that your boyfriend you were with the other night?”
Malfoy gave him that infuriating raised eyebrow look.
“Don’t bother with the niceties, Potter,” he said. “The answer is not really. We’re not exclusive.”
What the Hell? If they weren’t exclusive then why’d Malfoy insist that their dinner not be a date?
“Oh,” he said lamely.
“Are you seeing anyone?” It sounded like Malfoy was asking out of politeness and not curiosity.
Harry shook his head. “I work a lot.”
Malfoy didn’t answer until after he’d tasted, and turned down, three different bottles of wine before making a choice.
“So I’ve heard,” he said. “No time for love? I’m surprised. I’d always assumed you were a hopeless romantic.”
Harry blushed. “Who says I’m not?” he replied.
The waitress returned to their table and filled their glasses. Harry snatched up his immediately and gulped down a mouthful. Malfoy watched him with an amused expression.
“You know,” he said, “you blush a lot. It’s rather endearing. Tell me about your no-doubt scintillating job.”
The evening’s conversation continued along much the same vein. Harry could never figure out if Malfoy was serious or subtly mocking him. It made him uneasy, and as a consequence, he drank too much.
“You’re drunk,” Malfoy said as he stood up from the table and began to put on his coat. “You probably shouldn’t Apparate.”
“I’ll take the Floo,” Harry said.
“If you can remember your address,” Malfoy replied. “Thank you for inviting me out. This was a surprisingly pleasant evening.”
More of that half-mocking. It made Harry want to fuck him into a mattress.
“Hey,” he said, grabbing Malfoy’s arm as he was putting on his scarf. “I know this isn’t a date, but I want you to come home with me. No strings attached.”
Malfoy raised both his eyebrows this time. “You’re serious? Potter, you idiot. I’ve been taking the piss all evening. You’re supposed to want to hex me, not fuck me.”
So there was that question answered. Harry dropped his hand and glared at him.
“Nice,” he replied. “Lovely. Forget my suggestion.”
Malfoy finished wrapping himself up as if there was a howling blizzard outside instead of a cold drizzle.
“I’m flattered all the same.”
Harry didn’t respond. He’d been taking Malfoy seriously all evening, answering his questions honestly and probably gazing at him with moony cow eyes.
“Dinner again?” Malfoy asked, putting on his gloves. “Saturday next?”
“Not likely,” Harry replied. “See you around, Malfoy.”
He didn’t look back as he stepped into the restaurant’s fireplace and called out his address. It was only after he started undressing for bed that he realised he’d forgotten to return Malfoy’s jacket and tie. He shrunk them, put them in a sandwich bag and called his owl. He didn’t bother to include a note.
“Your friend is a wanker.”
“Which one?” asked Zacharias Smith. “I have a lot of friends, and most of them are wankers. You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Malfoy,” Harry replied.
Smith laughed. “And that’s a revelation to you of all people?”
Harry ignored him and looked at the report Smith had just handed him.
“Did you seize their wands?”
Smith glared at him. “I’m not stupid,” he said. “Look, Potter, don’t take it out on me that you can’t get Malfoy to fuck you.”
Harry returned his glare. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Malfoy; I’m just asking you and that dim-witted partner of yours to do your jobs.”
“Wow,” said Smith, buttoning his scarlet robe with a scowl. “Maybe I should try to convince Malfoy to fuck you. You’ve been a bastard for days.”
“Malfoy’s the bastard,” Harry grumbled.
They started walking down the hall to Kingsley’s office. Harry nodded good morning to the trainees as they jogged past on their way to the gymnasium.
“Malfoy’s a bastard to all the people who try to date him,” said Smith. “Always has been. Ask Parkinson.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “‘Ask Parkinson,’ yeah right. We’re best friends, didn’t you know?”
Smith shrugged. “Just a suggestion. Ignore it if you want. All I know is that Pansy knows something.”
“And why he’s a bastard.”
They walked into the meeting room. As usual Harry was one of the last Aurors to arrive. Kingsley looked about as peeved as he was capable of looking. Harry ducked his head in apology and sat down beside Ron.
It was Monday morning, and Ron was looking like he’d just rolled out of bed. Harry wondered who it was this time. Last month it’d been Alicia Spinnet.
“You’ll never guess,” Ron said during the coffee break.
Harry blew into his mug. The coffee was always watery – probably in an attempt to disguise the fact that it tasted like boiled owl droppings.
“It’d be easier for me to figure out who she isn’t,” he replied.
Ron laughed the hearty laugh of the recently-shagged.
“Pansy Parkinson,” he said. “She ‘bout killed me. Merlin, what a witch!”
Harry gaped at him. “No way!”
Ron looked at him with an irritated expression. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Why’s that so shocking? Even you have to admit she has the body of a goddess.”
“No, that’s not it,” Harry replied. “It’s that Smith just told me that Pansy knows why Malfoy’s such a bastard – it’s supposedly some kind of secret.”
“Well, it’s definitely not a secret that Malfoy’s a bastard. You don’t need anyone to tell you that . . .”
“No, no,” Harry said impatiently. “I know he’s a bastard, but I want to know why.”
Ron began counting on his fingers. “How is Malfoy a bastard? Let me count the ways. He’s an arrogant inbred git with Daddy issues who thought it was okay to let Death Eaters into Hogwarts.”
Harry ignored him and reached for a biscuit. “I think Smith meant something else,” he said with his mouth full.
“Well, Pansy did date him at school. Maybe he’s got a perverted kink that no one will agree to satisfy, which leaves him a frustrated prat.”
“Or,” said Millicent Bulstrode, sliding into the chair next to Ron, “maybe he has a small prick.”
Harry and Ron laughed. “Ouch!” Ron said. “I knew you didn’t like him, but that’s harsh. Making fun of a bloke’s dick is as bad as insulting his Mum – maybe even worse.”
She shrugged. “Could be wrong. Hey, I missed the first half of the meeting. Floo’s clogged. Anything worth knowing?”
Harry left Ron to answer her. His curiosity had been piqued, which meant he had to find out more. Mysteries were to be explored and debunked – or at least explained. Usually by Hermione.
“Get Weasley to give up his other women and go out with me.”
Pansy Parkinson was wearing glossy lipstick that clung to the rims of her martini glasses like sticky crescent moons.
Harry groaned. “And how do you think I can do that? Ron’s famous for not listening to his friends’ advice.”
Pansy shrugged. “Fine,” she said. “But there’s no way I’m going to say anything unless there’s something in it for me.”
“Just give me a hint,” Harry said.
“As to why Malfoy doesn’t date?”
Harry inhaled sharply and almost choked on his lager. “I was going to say ‘give me a hint as to why he’s such a bastard.’ What do you mean he doesn’t date? I watched him practically fuck some bloke at the club the other night.”
“What’d he look like?”
“I don’t know, dark hair, tan, fit.”
“Ah, that must be Andre. He’s Draco’s favourite.”
Harry felt a stab of irritation. If Draco had “a favourite,” that meant there were others. Who knew how many men Malfoy was fucking? Why couldn’t he be one of them? Malfoy hadn’t seemed . . . indifferent during The Potted Tree Incident. Harry had actually been surprised at how welcoming Malfoy’s mouth had been and how quickly Malfoy’s hands had sought out his arse.
“He certainly looked favoured,” Harry said sourly. “Whoever he is.”
Pansy’s laugh was loud and fake. Harry remembered why he disliked her so much.
“He’s one of Draco’s ‘escorts’. Andre probably pays his rent with the Galleons Draco gives him.”
Harry was shocked into silence. “You’re joking,” he said finally.
“Nope,” Pansy replied. “I’ll have another Appletini.”
Harry sighed and waved over the bartender. This was Pansy’s fourth, and they each cost as much as a full-priced meal.
“Draco only fucks men he pays, and he pays them well.”
“I don’t get it,” Harry said, shaking his head. “He’s gor . . . I mean, he’s pretty okay looking. I’m sure there’s a lot of blokes who’d be more than willing to fuck him for free.”
Pansy grinned slyly, and for a second she could’ve been Draco’s twin sister. “Including you, right, Potter? Or perhaps you’d even pay him for the privilege.”
To his annoyance, Harry blushed. “That’s neither here nor there. I’m just saying it doesn’t make sense.”
“Not much about Draco makes sense,” Pansy replied. “Never has. I’m sure that’s not news to you. Listen, Potter, if you’re curious enough to ask me out for drinks, then you’re curious enough to . . . I don’t know . . . maybe call a certain escort. Ply him with alcohol and the attentions of The Chosen One and maybe he’ll give you the information you’re looking for.” She winked at him.
Harry bristled. “I don’t go around using the fact that I’m Harry Potter to get things from people.”
“So noble,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes. “Well, it’s either get Andre drunk and horny or get Ron to settle down. You’re not getting anything more out of me. I’ve already said more than enough. Draco would kill me if he knew.”
Pansy slid off her barstool and, to Harry’s surprise, pulled him down by his collar and kissed both his cheeks.
“It’s rather a shame you’re gay,” she said. “Thanks for the drinks. And good luck with Draco. Don’t be at all surprised if you don’t get anywhere. I’d have a back-up boy if I were you. No pun intended, of course.”
She winked at him again and clicked away unsteadily on green stiletto heels.
Andre wasn’t easy to find – even for an Auror. Apparently he didn’t need to advertise. It took a couple of days, but at last Harry reached his secretary (secretary!) and made an appointment for eight o’clock.
Andre stepped out of his fireplace neither a moment too soon nor a moment too late. He was wearing black wool trousers and what looked like a very expensive blue silk shirt. Harry looked down at his far more casual attire and immediately decided not to go out.
“Change of plans,” he told Andre, taking his coat and hanging it in the closet. “What do you want to drink?”
“What are you drinking?” Andre asked. “Whatever it is, that’s what I’ll have.” His tone wasn’t pandering. He merely sounded pleasant and accommodating.
“Please, have a seat,” Harry said gesturing with a nod at the couch. He was glad he’d taken the time to tidy up all the rooms and not just the bedroom . . . not that he planned on sleeping with Andre, but what if Andre were to need to use the loo and walked past Harry’s bedroom and thought it was a mess and that Harry was a slob . . .
Who was he kidding? He was definitely going to sleep with Andre. The thought of fucking someone Draco had also recently fucked was intensely arousing.
Harry handed Andre his drink and sat down in the nearby armchair. “I’m glad you could make room in your schedule for me.”
Andre took a sip and set the glass down on the coffee table.
“My pleasure,” he said, entirely without innuendo. “I had a cancellation this evening.” He crossed his legs and leaned back, draping himself handsomely against the couch’s cushions.
“I suppose you . . . uhm . . . meet a lot of . . . er . . . interesting people,” Harry said after a sip of whisky.
Andre smiled at him. “That I do,” he said.
Harry could tell that he wasn’t going to get anything by asking directly. No wonder Malfoy liked him. He was clearly very discreet.
“I meet interesting people too, but most of them are criminals.”
Andre laughed. “I’m sure many of them have fascinating tales of how they ended up where they are.”
Harry took another sip and nodded. “Although they’re usually not very forthcoming. I sometimes have to use some form of . . . encouragement. Are you hungry?”
“Not really,” said Andre. “But if you’re going to eat I’d be happy to join you.”
“You are very amenable. You must have some difficult-to-please cust . . . I mean, clients.”
“Some are more difficult than others,” Andre replied easily.
“Do all of them want sex?” Harry asked with genuine curiosity.
Andre reached for his drink and took another sip. Harry could tell he was being careful – clearly getting drunk on the job was a no-no.
“No,” he said. “Some just want companionship and someone they can go out to dinner or to the theatre with.”
“But most of them want sex.”
Andre nodded. His gaze, though still pleasant, had grown decidedly sultry.
“Does it turn you on?” he asked, his voice low and rich, “to imagine me with these other men?”
Harry finished his whisky in one swallow. “Yes,” he replied truthfully.
Andre placed his glass on the table. “Come here,” he said, patting the couch beside him.
“You may ask me questions,” he said. “But only ‘yes’ or ‘no.’” He put his hand on Harry’s thigh.
“I like blonds. Are any of your clients blond?”
Andre leaned forward until his lips were against Harry’s ear. “Several,” he replied.
Harry shivered deliciously. “Are any of them real blonds?”
“A couple,” Andre said and began nibbling on Harry’s earlobe.
“How can you tell?”
Andre laughed softly, making Harry shiver again. “That’s not a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question, but I’ll answer anyway. Their pubic hair.”
Harry closed his eyes imagining the gorgeous man beside him running his fingers through Malfoy’s pubic hair before wrapping his hand around Malfoy’s swollen cock. In his imagination, Malfoy’s cock was huge. Harry could almost feel it filling him.
“Do you have favourite clients?”
“Yes,” Andre said, moving his hand up Harry’s thigh. Harry was ready to grab him and drag him off to the bedroom. It’d been a long time – a very long time.
“Have you ever fallen in love with one of them?”
“No,” Andre said against his neck. “That’s my number one rule. No falling in love.”
“Isn’t that a rather lonely life?”
“Not when I get to spend so much time with some of the most handsome and interesting men in the city. I enjoy their company – and their bodies – but no more.”
Harry groaned and tipped his head back as Andre’s hand slid higher.
“Do your clients ever call you by someone else’s name?”
“Yes,” Andre whispered, this time searching for Harry’s mouth with his.
“Can . . . can I call you someone else’s name?” Harry surprised himself with his own question.
“You can do anything you want,” Andre replied. “This is your night.”
Harry squeezed his eyes shut as Andre’s hand finally cupped the bulge in his trousers. He decided to try it out.
“Draco,” he murmured.
Andre kissed him deeply. “Harry,” he murmured in reply when their mouths parted.
Harry thrust up into his hand. “Do . . . do any of your clients have, I don’t know, secrets?”
Andre began kneading his cock. “Of course,” he said. “All men have secrets. What’re yours, Harry?”
“I want to be fucked,” Harry said, surprising himself again with his own candour. “By Draco Malfoy.”
It couldn’t possibly be just his imagination when Andre’s skilful hand froze for a second.
“I know Draco’s one of your clients,” Harry said. “I saw the two of you at a club a couple of weeks ago. Am I wrong?”
Andre was quiet for a long time. He dropped to his knees in front of Harry, insinuating himself between Harry’s thighs, and began opening his trousers.
“No,” he finally said as he kissed the very tip of Harry’s prick.
“Oh God,” Harry groaned, turned on beyond belief, not just by Andre’s warm mouth but by his admission that he’d been – like this – with Malfoy.
“You’ve got a beautiful cock,” Andre said, sitting back on his heels and pulling down Harry’s jeans and pants as far as possible. Harry looked down as though he was seeing himself for the first time. He was rigid and already leaking.
“It’s going to be quite a mouthful,” Andre said before suddenly swallowing Harry to the root.
Harry groaned again and thrust up sharply. “Draco,” he said urgently. “Draco!”
Andre pulled off. “I can make you come like this, Harry,” he whispered with Malfoy’s accent. “Or we can go to the bedroom.”
“Bedroom,” Harry squeaked. “Now.”
By the time he had to stop out of exhaustion, Harry had come three times. Once in Andre’s mouth, once in his hand, and once as he’d thrust against a pillow as Andre fucked him. Andre, on the other hand, had come only once. He’d been buried in Harry’s arse, and Harry was crying out Draco’s name, urging him to fuck him faster and harder. He’d hauled Harry up onto his knees and leaned forward to bite Harry’s shoulder. Harry had been able to tell he was about to have an orgasm because finally finally the professionalism slipped just enough . . .
“Does Draco like you to bite him like that?”
Andre had groaned out a yes. “He . . . loves it when I suck his cock. . . Oh, fuck! . . . it’s all he wants . . . fuck! . . . I’m going to come. . . . I can’t believe I’m going to come! Do you want me to pull out?”
Harry had answered by impaling himself deeper. After coming for what seemed like forever, Andre had pulled out and lay down on his back with his chest heaving and his arm covering his eyes. After a moment, he removed his arm and turned his head to look at Harry.
“I shouldn’t have told you that,” he’d said, still breathless. “It was . . . just that fucking you kind of blew my mind . . . suddenly I realised who I was in . . . I never come with my clients . . .”
Harry had shushed him with a finger against his lips. “I’m just Harry,” he’d said.
“He calls your name too. He always has.”
Harry had been too surprised to respond. It’d never occurred to him that Malfoy might want him as much as he wanted Malfoy.
Then why the fuck hadn’t he let Harry bring him home that night?
He’d asked Andre exactly that question, and Andre had been quiet for so long that Harry thought he might’ve fallen asleep.
“Draco has . . . insecurities,” he’d said at last. “Please don’t ask me any more questions. I’ve already said too much.”
Harry had pulled him close and kissed him. “Okay,” he’d murmured. “Good night. I hope you like omelettes for breakfast.”
Andre had smiled and reached out to caress Harry’s face. He gave Harry a smile tinged with what looked like sadness.
“Forget Draco,” he’d said.
Harry had frowned. “Why?”
“He’ll never be with anyone except me or someone like me. Trust me. You’re amazing, Harry. Don’t waste your heart – and body – pining for him. He’ll never be anything more than a fantasy.”
“Even though he calls you by my name?”
Andre had looked at him regretfully. “Trust me,” he’d said again.
Harry had been quiet for a moment. “It’s not because you’re in love with him.”
Andre had laughed. “In love with Draco? No. He’s far too high maintenance.”
Harry had chuckled. He didn’t have to stretch his imagination to believe that.
“To what do I owe this honour?”
Malfoy folded his paper and set it aside as Harry sat down in the chair across from his.
Harry shrugged. “None of the other tables were free.”
Malfoy looked over at an empty table across the room. “I can see that,” he said.
Harry blushed and made much ado about stirring cream and sugar into his coffee even though he preferred it black and unsweetened. Malfoy was looking as handsome as always in a grey jumper that made his eyes look lighter and even almost blue. His fringe fell at a fashionable angle, and his fingernails were buffed to a shine. Harry looked down at his own rough hands despairingly.
“I thought maybe we could try again,” Harry mumbled behind the rim of his mug.
Malfoy’s expression was disbelieving. “You mean another dinner I spend roasting you slowly with the burning embers of my wit?”
Harry scowled at the memory. “I was thinking of something less formal this time. Like a walk in a park or something. The weather’s finally getting nice.”
“I knew you were a hopeless romantic. Would we go in the evening to watch the sunset?”
Harry decided not to let him get under his skin. “Okay,” he replied. “That sounds nice.”
Malfoy finished his tea and set the empty cup on its saucer. “I’m not going to date you, Potter, so stop trying to court me.”
“I walk with Ron in the park,” Harry said irritably.
Malfoy raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “I didn’t know you and Weasley were sleeping together.”
“What?! No, of course not! I’m just trying to point out that one can walk in a park with someone and not look for a shag afterward.”
Malfoy leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “But you are looking for a shag, aren’t you?”
Feeling caught out and humiliated, Harry merely glared at him.
“You certainly think well of yourself,” he said finally.
Malfoy shrugged with an air of indifference that even Harry could tell was fake. His arms were still crossed and he looked like he was on the verge of saying something supremely insulting.
“Look,” Harry said. “I’m attracted to you. Why’s that such a crime?”
Malfoy turned his head to watch the people ordering their coffee and muffins at the counter.
“I don’t date,” he said without turning back to look at Harry. “It’s a waste of time. I have lovers to give me what I need . . .”
“You mean prostitutes? Or should I say ‘escorts.’”
Malfoy’s head snapped around.
“What are you talking about?” he hissed.
“I’m talking about Andre.”
Malfoy stared at him.
“He’s very handsome – and brilliant in bed. You have excellent taste.”
Malfoy blushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Harry sighed. “Okay. Fine. Play that game. I’m only suggesting that you don’t have to pay me to go to bed with you. You don’t even have to buy me dinner.”
Malfoy stood abruptly and tucked his folded paper under his arm. “As fun as this has been,” he said, “I have a job to get to, and I suggest you do too.”
Harry stood as well. “Malfoy,” he whispered. “We kissed. I know you remember, and I know you liked it.”
“Now who’s the one thinking highly of himself? I was surprised and drunk, nothing more.”
Malfoy pushed his chair in and turned to leave. “Good day, Potter,” he said, but he didn’t get far. Harry took his hand and pulled Malfoy toward him. Malfoy let out a surprised squawk, but Harry hushed it with a kiss. Not a tongue-filled kiss, just a brief moist kiss that was long enough to let his eyelids drift shut but not closed. Malfoy grabbed his arms as though he was about to fall backwards. Harry released him before Malfoy could gather his wits enough to draw his wand.
Malfoy was wide-eyed when Harry released him.
“What the fuck?” he hissed. “Are you mad? Have you not heard anything I’ve said? Or do you just not care?”
“I care,” Harry replied. “I just don’t think you really mean it.” He wanted to add that he knew Malfoy called out his name when he came.
“Oh, I mean it, Potter. Believe me!”
“Meet me tomorrow. Six o’clock by the gate at the corner of Willard and Courthouse.”
Malfoy backed away with an incredulous expression and a look in his eyes that Harry could only describe as hunted. “Good day,” he said again, his voice a tad too high to sound coolly formal.
Harry smiled and waved as Malfoy fled to the door. “See you later,” he called after him.
Ron stared into his pint glass while Harry inhaled a bag of cheese and onion crisps. Ron’s mood was less annoyed than curious.
“She said she wanted us – me and her – to be exclusive?”
Harry washed down his crisps with a mouthful of lager. “Not in so many words, but that’s what she implied.”
Ron looked at him sceptically. “Why on earth would she say any of this to you? I didn’t think you two even knew each other, let alone hang out in bars together.”
Harry shrugged. “Well, believe it.”
Ron sat scratching his chin for a moment. “I haven’t been with only one girl since Hermione. I’m not sure I’m ready for that again. Especially with Pansy. I mean, she’s brilliant in bed, but we’ve only had maybe five conversations.”
“Another pint, lads?” the bartender asked, wiping the counter with a towel and setting out new beer mats.
“Sure,” Harry replied. “Cheers.”
“She’s a Slytherin,” Ron said. He was talking to himself now.
“We’ve been out of school for seven years,” Harry said. “I think we can stop basing all our interactions on our former Houses.”
“You’re just saying that because you want to fuck Malfoy,” said Ron. “Ugh, speaking of which, if I do start seeing Pansy, I don’t want to have to go on dates with you two. I guess I don’t mind him keeping you company at night, but that doesn’t mean I want to have an actual conversation with him.”
“I don’t blame you,” Harry said. “Talking with Malfoy’s a bit like trying to snog a hedgehog.”
Ron chugged down three-quarters of his pint. Hermione used to hate that. Why the two of them had thought getting together was an idea that made even the remotest bit of sense, Harry would never know. He could picture Pansy not minding though. She’d put away her first two apple-martini thingies with a single sip.
Speaking of Pansy . . .
“Please, Ron,” he said. “Just try it out. It won’t kill you. You can always break up with her. It’s not like you’d be getting married.” He winced remembering too late that Ron had broken things off with Hermione just days before the wedding. Fortunately Ron didn’t notice the faux pas; he was still busy staring into his pint glass as though it contained the key to all the mysteries of the universe.
“Why do you care so much?”
“I just want to see you happy.”
Harry sighed. “Okay,” he said. “She told me if I could talk you into breaking up with your harem, she’d tell me the reason Malfoy won’t date anyone.”
“Ah-ha! The truth comes out at last!”
“Please, Ron. I haven’t asked you for many favours, but I’m asking for this one.”
Ron looked at him closely. “You’re really hung up on this Malfoy thing, aren’t you? I thought you were just joking around.”
Harry gave him a guilty smile. “Maybe I am kind of hung up on him. You know how I am about secrets.”
“Yeah, you’re like Fluffy. You’ll bite someone’s leg and not let them go until you’ve got what you’re after. I’ve never said it straight out, but you’re nosy, mate.”
Harry gave him another guilty smile. “Yeah, I guess I am,” he agreed. “So does all this mean you’ll tell Pansy you love her madly and want her to have your babies?”
“You know what I mean, you arsehole.”
Ron gave a martyred sigh. “Alright.”
“And will you Owl her tonight?”
“Merlin, Harry! A little pushy, aren’t we? Sure, why not? Might as well get the Quaffle rolling.”
Harry clapped him on the shoulder. “You won’t regret it,” he said. “She really is kind of hot.”
“Now you’re just buttering me up. But make sure whatever it is she tells you about Malfoy you pass onto me.”
Harry was careful to choose a different cafe from the one he’d found Draco in. He even sat in the back where there was more privacy.
Luckily Pansy arrived grinning and glowing. Harry stood up to greet her, and she kissed his cheeks.
“You’re a peach,” she said. “Oh my, this coffee is hot!” She set her mug down quickly and shook her hand.
He passed her the milk. He’d already burned the roof of his mouth. ‘Hot’ was an understatement.
“Your friend is amazing in bed,” she said, pursing her scarlet lips and blowing into her mug.
“Uhm,” Harry said. “I would really rather not know anything about it if that’s okay.”
She rolled her eyes. “Very well,” she said cheerfully. He was surprised by how different she looked when she was obviously happy. “So, I suppose you’re here to collect your part of the bargain.”
He bit his lip and nodded. Now that it came right down to it, he wasn’t sure that he really wanted to know. After all, ignorance was often bliss.
She leaned across the table and took his hands, squeezing them tightly. “You must never let on that you know what I’m about to tell you, and so help me God, if he ever finds out I told you, I will hunt you down and hex you with a lifelong case of piles . . . or worse.”
“Er, okay. I guess.”
She took a deep breath as though she was about to jump into the Giant Squid’s lake.
“Draco . . . Draco has . . . oh, shit. I can’t tell you this!”
Harry frowned. “Really? I know he’s Marked. It can’t possibly be worse than that.”
“To him it might be,” she replied and then took another deep breath. “Draco has a small penis.”
Harry just looked at her. “That’s it?”
“No, you don’t understand. His penis is really small. I’m talking less than three inches from base to tip. When it’s erect, it just hardens. It doesn’t get bigger. It’s like a weird little purple mushroom.”
Harry cringed. The thought of having his prick compared to “a weird little mushroom” was too horrifying for prolonged contemplation. “Wow,” he breathed. He had no idea what else to say. “So, I guess you’ve seen it then.”
She nodded. “Poor Draco. You know he’s my best friend. When we were in school I used to give him blowjobs. But there was no question about fucking. He’d never be able to get it far enough in.”
Harry was a little bit disturbed by the mental image she’d painted. “I get it. No need to elaborate.”
“Well, anyway,” she said, taking a cautious sip of her coffee. “Now you know why Draco will only go to bed with escorts. They’re professionals. They’re not going to make fun of him or reject him. Draco pays them handsomely I imagine so as to insure they fawn over his cock, such as it is.”
Harry thought of Andre. He could easily picture him not batting an eye at Draco’s . . . deficiency. It all made sense.
“Er . . . uh, . . . Does it work normally?” he asked.
“You mean Draco’s penis? Sure. It gets hard and ejaculates. To make the whole thing even weirder, though – his balls are normal size, maybe even on the large side of normal. The combination looks really . . . odd and, frankly, rather unappealing. Poor Draco! I can’t believe I’m actually telling you all this stuff! He was shattered when he realised he was gay. I think he’d imagined the two of us getting married so no one else would ever have to find out.”
Harry took a bite of his scone, but he wasn’t really hungry. ‘Poor Draco’ was a serious understatement. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to have such a small prick.
“So now you can see why he doesn’t date,” Pansy said, reaching across the table and breaking off a bit of Harry’s scone. “He’d die if anyone found out. He actually cried when he showed me the first time. I had to put all my effort into hiding my shock and . . . well, disgust. Not to mention disappointment. I’d wanted to sleep with him forever. I wanted him to be my first.”
Disgust. Wow. Harry shifted in his seat, suddenly acutely aware of his own prick. He’d measured it erect once – seven and a half inches. Which was apparently on the large end of the spectrum. Ron, the bastard, was nine inches. No wonder Pansy was glowing. The last time Harry’s prick had been three inches, he’d been ten. Or maybe nine. Maybe even younger.
“Promise me you won’t tell him,” she pleaded. “He’d never ever speak to me again, and I’d be heartbroken. We’ve known each other since we were toddlers.”
Harry shook his head vehemently. “I promise I’ll never tell him,” he assured her. He couldn’t even picture how such a conversation could come about. Hiya, Malfoy. I heard you have a three inch penis. Must be rough.
“Let him down gently,” she said, taking his hands again. “Tell him you’ve met someone else.”
Harry almost laughed out loud. “No need to worry about that. Malfoy’s made it more than clear that he’s not interested in me.”
She caught his eyes and held them, her gaze solemn. “It’s all bollocks,” she said. “He’s wanted you forever. He’s just terrified you’ll want him back. And now you know why.”
Harry nodded. He certainly did.
Harry was not at all surprised when six o’clock came and went without Malfoy showing up. Harry couldn’t blame him; he probably wouldn’t either. Everything about Malfoy’s haughty demeanour made sense now.
He leaned against the iron fence with his hands buried in his coat pockets. The day had been warm, but as soon as the sun started to set, it quickly grew cold. People walked past briskly. Harry watched them; ever since he was a child, he’d always enjoyed watching others and trying to picture where they’d come from and where they were going.
“This is a stupid idea, Potter. It’s freezing.”
Harry started and turned. Malfoy was walking towards him. The setting sun made it look as though he’d dyed his hair pink and lavender.
“Hi,” Harry said, feeling tongue-tied. “I didn’t think you were coming . . . I mean, er, I didn’t think you’d show up.”
Draco gave a bored shrug. “I didn’t have anything better to do.”
Nice. Harry bit his tongue on a barbed retort.
“Well, do you want to walk, or are you just too delicate?”
Harry wanted to smack himself in the forehead. “Delicate,” was probably a word Pansy would use to describe Draco’s prick.
“Sure, let’s walk. This is a busy park. Someone will find our frozen corpses before they thaw and squirrels chew out our eyeballs.”
Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re weird, Malfoy. Not to mention morbid and insane.”
Malfoy hid his amusement behind his turned-up collar. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
They walked for a while without talking, occasionally bumping elbows. It was nice. If their situation had been different, Harry would’ve taken his hand.
“There’s a little restaurant on the other side of that pond,” Malfoy said, pointing. He looked at Harry appraisingly. “I don’t know what you’re wearing under that lumpy thing you call ‘a coat’ but this place is pretty casual. No jacket and tie required.”
“Wouldn’t matter if they were,” Harry said, pulling the shrunken garments from his pocket.
Malfoy laughed. “You learn quickly. Who would’ve imagined?”
They continued walking. The sun had almost disappeared, and the lamps on the edge of the walkway had come on. The white blossoms on nearby trees glowed orange in their light. Harry suddenly felt overwhelmed with an emotion that he hoped to God wasn’t pity. He didn’t think it was, but he wasn’t absolutely sure. All he knew was that he wanted to put his arms around Malfoy and protect him from the rest of the world. He stopped and took Malfoy’s hand. Malfoy frowned and tried to pull away.
“Don’t ruin a pleasant evening,” he snapped, but Harry ignored him and pulled him close. He held him for a long time before Malfoy hesitantly put his arms around Harry’s shoulders. Harry searched for Malfoy’s mouth with his own, but Malfoy turned his head.
“Stop,” he whispered. “Just stop, okay?”
He was shaking. Harry doubted very much it was because he was cold.
“I don’t want to stop,” Harry said. He wanted to take Malfoy by the shoulders and tell him that he knew. That he didn’t care . . .
. . . at least he thought he didn’t.
Harry pulled away when he realised his ambivalence. Pansy had only told him this morning. He’d gone straight to work and hadn’t had time to really think about it before he left the office to meet Malfoy.
Malfoy didn’t look at him, and they started walking again. This time the silence was not companionable. The tension between them almost made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
Things improved when they reached the restaurant. Malfoy shrugged off his coat and gave it to the hostess, and Harry did the same.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Malfoy said, sitting down. “They serve their meals in huge portions. In fact, if we want the same thing, we could share.”
For some reason, his words made Harry blush. He and Hermione shared meals all the time, but the idea seemed oddly intimate coming from Malfoy.
“So,” Malfoy said. “How was your day?”
Harry looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Are you going to make fun of me all evening? Or can I assume you’re actually interested?”
Malfoy cocked his head and considered him. “I feel like I shouldn’t make fun of you tonight. You’re far too gullible. It’s like kicking a blind quadriplegic puppy. I actually felt guilty when we parted that night. You’re too earnest for your own good, Potter.”
Harry was about to respond when suddenly the door opened, and Andre and another man walked in. Malfoy instantly turned pale. Harry tried in vain to pretend he didn’t notice anything amiss.
“So what are we going to order?” he asked cheerfully. “I’ll eat anything as long as it’s got vertebrae . . .”
Malfoy removed his serviette from his lap and placed it on the table.
“I’m not feeling well all of a sudden,” he said, standing up. “I think I’m going to call it a night.” He signalled the hostess for his coat.
Harry stood too. He didn’t know whether to keep pretending he didn’t know why everything had suddenly become so awkward.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Do you really have to go? Maybe if you stepped outside and got some fresh air . . .”
“No,” Malfoy said, shaking his head vehemently and going to the door. “Good night, Potter. I suggest the Chicken Cordon Bleu. It’s always excellent.”
“Malfoy!” Harry called after him. “It doesn’t have to be like this!”
But Malfoy didn’t stop, and before Harry could fully absorb what’d happened, he was gone.
He sat back down. The waitress had already brought over the bottle of wine Malfoy had chosen and uncorked it. Leaving would cause even more awkwardness. He knew Andre had noticed them. There was no way he couldn’t have; the restaurant only had ten tables. He poured himself a generous glass of the wine.
“Draco’s right,” said a familiar voice behind him. “The Chicken Cordon Bleu really is excellent.”
Andre came around and stood behind Malfoy’s empty chair. “Mind if I join you for a moment? My date for the evening stepped outside to have a cigarette.”
Harry nodded. “Wine?” he asked.
“Just a little.”
Harry poured it in Malfoy’s empty glass.
“It’s very unfortunate that I came here tonight. I apologise.”
Harry shook his head. “It’s not your fault. Malfoy freaked out for no reason.”
Andre swirled the wine in his glass and inhaled its fragrance with his eyes closed. Harry couldn’t help the twitch of his cock.
“You certainly do enjoy the finer things in life,” he observed.
“The very finest. I’m lucky to be in a position that I don’t have to compromise,” Andre replied. “But my tastes aren’t the reason you invited me to sit down.”
Harry took a deep breath and looked past Andre’s shoulder at a poster of Provence on the wall behind him.
“I know about Mal . . . Draco,” he said. It was all he could get out without choking on his tongue.
Andre looked at him with surprise. “Really? What would that be?”
Harry groaned. Andre was clearly going to make this difficult.
“His . . . you know.”
Andre shook his head. “No, I’m afraid I don’t,” he said, but then added, “you must remember, Harry, I’m paid very handsomely for my discretion . . . and my ability to keep secrets.”
Harry took another deep breath and leaned toward Andre until his lips almost brushed Andre’s ear.
“His prick,” he whispered. “I know about Malfoy’s prick.”
Andre didn’t react for a moment. Harry leaned back and emptied his wine glass.
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” Andre said. His voice was chillier than Harry had ever heard it.
“Listen,” he said. “I don’t need you to confirm or deny it. I just want to know what . . . what you do when, you know . . . when he gets undressed. Do you look at it or avoid looking at it?”
Andre took another sip of wine. “My date will be back any moment,” he said.
“Please,” Harry said, grabbing his hand. “Just tell me. I’m not going to give up on him.”
“I told you,” said Andre, “that’s a bad idea. Both for you and for him. It took him nearly a year to gather up the courage to get naked in front of me and even longer than that before he’d let me touch him. We’re not talking about an unfortunate birthmark or the like. We’re talking about something that could ruin his ability to trust ever again. I promised him I’d take care of him . . .”
“I will too,” Harry said. “I want to.”
Andre looked at him silently for an uncomfortably long time, but Harry didn’t look away.
“Are you sure?” Andre asked at last. “His shame is always just an inch from the surface, and he can be vicious if it gets triggered in any way. Even if it’s all his own imagination.”
Harry smiled. “Malfoy and I go back a long way. Nothing you’ve said surprises me.”
“He’ll never be able to fuck you like you’ve fantasised, Harry. His cock isn’t even a mouthful. It disappears in your hand when you stroke it.” He paused and took another sip of wine. He’d already drunk more during their short conversation than he’d drunk the whole night they were together.
“But he comes beautifully,” he said. “He has perhaps the most beautiful orgasm I’ve ever seen, which is saying something. I’ve seen a lot of beautiful orgasms – including yours.”
Harry blushed and looked away.
“I won’t hurt him,” he said. “I promise.”
“Oh, you’ll hurt him alright,” Andre said. “I’m a professional, and even I have trouble navigating his land mines. He takes a lot of coaxing and cajoling.”
“What do you mean?”
“We always go out – a restaurant, a club, the theatre – and he always drinks until he’s relaxed. Sometimes it takes one glass, other times it takes a whole bottle. As soon as we get to his flat, I blindfold him. It’s absolutely heartbreaking, but he can’t bear to look at himself. I kiss him until I know he’s ready, and then I slowly – I mean slowly – undress him, and then I worship his cock with my hands and mouth until he comes . . . with your name on his lips, I might add.”
Harry inhaled sharply. Despite the sheer . . . strangeness of trying to imagine Malfoy with a stub of a cock, his own was hard and aching.
“Does he ever touch you?” he asked.
Andre shook his head. “Never. He doesn’t even want me to take off my trousers.”
“Have you ever asked him why?”
“I don’t need to. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to be forced to compare.”
“So you get him off, but he never returns the favour.”
“He doesn’t pay me so he can get me off, but if you were dating him I can’t imagine you’d be so sanguine about it. Just one reason out of many why you should just let this go. He’s not a circus freak – he’s a man like both of us.”
Harry bristled. “I’ve never thought of him as a circus freak.”
Andre smiled warmly and kissed his cheek. “I know,” he said. “You have to forgive me. I’ve been seeing Draco every week for nearly four years. I’ve grown fond of him. I’d hate to see him hurt after all the work I’ve done. And I’d hate to see you waste your own capacity for pleasure. Leave Draco to the experts, my lovely Harry, and find someone who can make you come three times in one night.”
Andre winked and stood up. “Of course I needn’t mention that this conversation never took place.”
Harry smiled up at him. “As an Auror, I have a lot of conversations that never took place.”
Play tickets? Since when did you become a patron of the arts, Potter?
Harry rolled his eyes and gave Malfoy’s owl a treat.
I’m not a total cretin. If you want to go, meet me in front of the theatre at seven. There’s a wine bar – not a pub, a wine bar – nearby. We can a have a drink before the play starts.
Malfoy’s owl returned just as Harry was eating his before-bedtime ham and crisp sandwich with extra mustard.
This all sounds suspiciously like a date. You know how I feel on that subject.
Harry brushed his hands off on his t-shirt and summoned his quill and parchment.
Stop trying to label things. Let’s just see where things go, okay?
Malfoy’s owl woke Harry up sometime around midnight. He groped for his glasses.
No, that’s not okay.
I’m rolling my eyes right now.
Malfoy, what the fuck are you doing up at half past two in the morning?
What’re you doing up?
I’m not up! I’m trying to sleep. Your bloody owl keeps waking me!
What do you wear to bed? Pyjamas or boxers and a t-shirt?
Malfoy, are you wasted?
Maybe. You didn’t answer my question.
Pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. Now go to sleep, you berk!
Do you ever think of me when you wank?
Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes to make sure he’d read Draco’s latest note correctly. He decided it was probably not a good idea to answer. No telling what Malfoy would do when he sobered up.
I can feel the heat of your blush all the way from the other side of London. Answer me, Potter, or I’m just going to assume the answer is yes.
Harry flicked his wand at the light. Clearly he wasn’t going to get any sleep. The floor was chilly so he pulled on a pair of mismatched socks. He went into the dining room and sat down at the table. If Malfoy wanted to ask questions, Harry was going to give him answers whether Malfoy liked them or not.
Yes. Happy now? I do think about you when I wank. I wank until my wrist cramps thinking about you and that stupid kiss behind the stupid lemon tree. I want more than anything to do it again. I know you want me. Why do you keep pushing me away?
The answer didn’t come until dawn crept into the sky.
One kiss. Then drop it, okay?
Harry grinned as he scrambled a couple of eggs and put them on toast.
A real kiss, Malfoy. Not a stupid peck on the cheek. Tongues and all. P.S. You better remember this when you’re sober.
Harry was about to step into his fireplace and Floo to the Ministry, when Malfoy’s exhausted owl scratched at his window.
I am sober. I’ve been sober this whole time. I’ll see you tonight.
The wine bar was horribly crowded, and the play was horribly boring, but Malfoy seemed to enjoy the evening, and that was really all that mattered.
“Peter Gill is brilliant,” he gushed as they walked out of the theatre with a hundred similarly well dressed people. Harry was proud of himself for having dressed not only appropriately but handsomely enough that Malfoy had actually complimented him – before his first glass of wine nonetheless.
“Definitely,” Harry concurred. “He’s brilliant alright.”
Malfoy elbowed him in the ribs. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, do you?”
“Not even a little bit.”
Harry was pretty sure Andre would’ve read the play – and maybe even others by the same writer – in anticipation of conversations just like this. Harry felt entirely inadequate and, as a consequence, grouchy.
“Look,” he said. “I know I’m not as clever as . . . your usual company. No need to rub it in.”
Draco stopped and regarded him with narrowed eyes.
“What precisely do you mean by ‘my usual company?’”
“Er . . . Parkinson? Smith? Zabini?”
“Pansy’s not interested in anything except shopping and shagging; Smith is too irritating to spend a whole evening with, and Blaise lives for the clubs. I’ve never gone to the theatre with any of them.”
“Er . . . I don’t know then. Maybe that man you were with the other night? Andre?”
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed even more. “What do you know about him, Potter? It seems a lot.”
“Nothing. Merlin, Malfoy. Stop acting like I’m the Inquisition . . .”
He was working himself into a righteous snit when Malfoy suddenly grabbed him by his tie and pulled him into a kiss that made Harry’s knees weak . . . and his cock hard. Malfoy combed his fingers into Harry’s hair and held his head still as he explored every corner of Harry’s mouth with his tongue. Harry wrapped his arms around Malfoy’s back and pulled him close. It was The Potted Tree Incident all over again, but better – there was more behind it. More desire. More need.
“Please,” he murmured against Malfoy’s lips as Malfoy began to pull away. “Don’t stop yet.”
“I agreed to a kiss,” Malfoy said. “Nothing more.”
Harry wracked his mind for something they could do that would let him keep holding Malfoy without spooking him.
“Let’s go dancing,” he said. “C’mon. It’s only half past ten.”
Malfoy looked like he was on the verge of saying no. But when he looked at Harry’s face, there must’ve been something there that changed his mind.
“Okay,” he said. “But this is it. I’m not going home with you, Potter, and you’re not coming home with me. Got it?”
Harry didn’t like to dance. He hated anything that involved spotlights and being jostled. But once he got Malfoy in his arms, it didn’t matter if he got his feet stepped on or his kidneys elbowed.
The club was crowded which forced them to dance close enough that their bodies touched now and then. Harry put his hands on Malfoy’s waist just as he’d seen Andre do, and after a couple of minutes, Malfoy put his arms around Harry’s neck. They moved against each other without speaking. It was awkward at first – Harry was pants at dancing and Malfoy’s body was rigid with tension – but after awhile they both relaxed to the point where Harry felt like he could kiss Malfoy without getting a knee in the crotch.
Malfoy kissed him back even more hungrily than he had before. If he’d been anyone else, Harry would have pulled him closer so their groins touched and they could rub against each other, but despite his growing arousal, he remained careful not to get any nearer. He knew now why Andre had kept his hands on Draco’s waist – that way if someone bumped into them, he could still keep them apart where it mattered.
Malfoy hands slid down Harry’s back until they rested with a surprising possessiveness on his arse. In response, Harry encouraged Malfoy to let his head fall back so he could kiss the warm damp skin of Malfoy’s throat. Malfoy inhaled sharply and pulled Harry’s shirt free from the waistband of his trousers.
“I’ll pay you a hundred Galleons if I can watch you two fuck,” said a man dancing next to them. “The chemistry between you blokes is insane. I’ll bet you’d put any porn film I’ve ever seen to shame.”
Harry rolled his eyes at him, but Malfoy froze. Careful to keep the right amount of distance, Harry leaned forward and whispered in his ear.
“I should go home. It’s getting late.”
“No it’s not. It’s not even midnight.”
But it was over. Harry could feel the tension return to Malfoy’s body. He knew he couldn’t push things.
“Alright,” he said.
Malfoy swallowed and nodded. He’d obviously expected an argument.
“There’s a long line at the Floo,” Harry said. “We should get over there before it gets even worse.”
“That’s okay,” Malfoy replied. “I feel like walking.”
Harry knew he was probably taking an unwise chance, but he decided to ask anyway.
“Can I walk with you?”
They were already on the sidewalk. It was drizzling. Harry tipped his head back and let the water bead on his face. It felt like heaven.
“Fucking hell,” Malfoy said furiously.
Harry looked at him startled. “Wha? . . .”
“You fucking bastard!”
Harry frowned, all too ready to get angry.
“What? What the Hell did I do?”
Malfoy mashed his eyes with the heels of his palms in obvious frustration.
“You make me want you,” he said. “I don’t want to want you.”
Harry knew the answer of course, but he decided to ask anyway.
“Why? I want you, too. Things don’t have to be so complicated.”
Malfoy shook his head and crammed his hands in his coat pockets. He was still flushed from dancing and his lips still looked kissed. Harry felt his heart turn over with desire.
Stupidly, he took Malfoy’s hand and pressed it tight against his hard cock.
“There,” he said. “Now you know how I feel. That’s you, Malfoy. That’s what you do to me.”
Malfoy yanked his hand away as if Harry’s cock was a hot brand.
“I’m going,” he said without looking at Harry’s face. “Thanks for the theatre tickets. Please don’t come with me.”
He turned and began pushing his way through the crowd of smokers and people waiting for taxis. He didn’t look back.
Harry watched him go. It hurt even though he knew he shouldn’t let it.
Pansy wasn’t exaggerating: it really was weird and disturbing.
Harry squinted at the page. It was too distressing to look at it with his eyes fully open. A “micropenis” was what it was called, and it was borderline grotesque. True, the man in the photograph was pretty ugly, but still . . .
The girth is often the same as a normal penis, but its length is stunted sometimes to the point where only the glans are visible. Because it is too short to be manoeuvrable, men afflicted with the deformity suffer the additional indignity of having their penises stick straight out at all times, not only when erect . . .
That explained why Malfoy never wore jeans or even close-fitting trousers.
Harry forced himself to open his eyes and look at the photos. If he was going to keep pursuing Malfoy, he needed to be able to deal with his . . . situation. Just reading about “micropenises” made him cringe with embarrassment. A man’s prick was his life – everything revolved around its needs. When he was alone, he was constantly fondling his own – not always for sexual pleasure, but because he could and it felt good. He often ate crisps with one hand and played with his prick with the other while he watched the telly. He liked to make it hard when he was in the shower and admire it, stroking it with a loose soapy grip. He couldn’t imagine even wanting to touch his prick if it was tiny – every time he did it would remind him of what a freak he was.
Urinating can also be a problem, and many men find it necessary to use a flexible tube to direct the flow.
Dear merciful God.
Often men with this deformity are unable to impregnate a woman through normal intercourse because the penis cannot be inserted deep enough. Many men are unable to achieve orgasm by insertion and require manual or oral stimulation. Some, however, have reported being able to achieve orgasm by inserting and moving their penises between the breasts or buttocks.
Harry pushed his glasses up and rubbed his face. Poor Malfoy. No wonder he was such a bastard. What did he do in school? He must’ve had to take his showers at two o’clock in the morning and dress and undress in a toilet stall. Wearing tight Quidditch trousers must’ve been especially unpleasant.
Nearly all men with micropenises have normal-sized, or above normal-sized, testicles.
Harry looked at the accompanying photo. The man’s balls looked like a balloon compared to his stub of a prick. This was what Malfoy looked under those tailored trousers of his. Harry actually shuddered. How would he be able to sustain a hard-on when confronted with such a cringe-inducing sight? Even touching it would be weird.
Maybe Andre was right. Maybe he should stop trying to get Malfoy to go to bed with him. Malfoy obviously needed a lover who wouldn’t have to shut his eyes when he took his clothes off. He needed someone who’d treat him as though nothing was wrong and tell him how much his little prick turned him on. No wonder Draco wanted Andre to keep his trousers on – he wouldn’t be able to bear the sight of his limp uninterested cock.
Harry shut the book and hid it in the drawer of his nightstand. It was unlikely anyone would be visiting his bedroom anytime soon, but one could not be too careful when it came to a book called Deformities of the Genitalia.
He was just about to get undressed and go to bed when the Owl arrived.
I’m drunk. Come over.
Harry stared at the note with its elegant (if slightly wobbly) handwriting. Fuck. Malfoy’s owl was clearly waiting around for a reply.
I don’t know your address.
Harry hoped Malfoy would fall asleep. If he was Owling Harry at one o’clock in the morning and inviting him over, he must be arsed out of his mind.
But Malfoy didn’t fall asleep. He Owled his address with a postscript that read don’t make me wait.
Harry paced in front of his fireplace. Maybe he was making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe Malfoy just wanted to play chess or something. Maybe he’d made too much pasta for dinner and wanted to give Harry some because he looked underfed. Maybe he wanted a back rub.
Or maybe he’d finally worked up the nerve to ask Harry to sleep with him.
Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped into the fireplace and called out the address of Malfoy’s flat.
“About bloody time.”
Harry stumbled onto a stone hearth and looked around. As he’d imagined, Draco’s flat was gorgeous – all gleaming wood floors and leather chairs and sumptuous exotic looking rugs. One of the walls was exposed brick with three floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Wow,” he said. “Nice place.”
Draco laughed. “Just nice?”
He was lying on a couch that looked like it could accommodate a family of ten. His feet were bare and a glass of what looked like whisky was sitting on his chest. He was wearing a t-shirt and his ubiquitous black trousers. The t-shirt was tight enough that Harry could see his peaked nipples beneath it.
“Get yourself a drink. The glasses are in the cabinet to the left of the sink, ice is in the freezer and the bottle of whisky is . . . shit, I can’t remember. You’re going to have to Accio it.”
Harry took his time assembling his drink.
“C’mere,” Malfoy said when Harry came back to the living room. “Take your shoes off. Make yourself comfortable.”
“Er . . . Malfoy? Uhm . . . why’d you invite me here? I thought you never wanted to see me again.”
Malfoy propped himself up so he could take a sip of whisky and not spill it down his front.
“I thought so too,” he said teasingly, but his tone was too tense to make it believable.
“So why am I here?”
“Because I’m drunk.”
“Is that all?”
Malfoy was quiet for awhile. He was lying down again with his eyes closed. When he didn’t answer, Harry thought (hoped) he’d fallen asleep, but no such luck.
“No,” he said. “I asked you to come over because . . . I . . . I wanted to kiss you in private for a change.” His voice shook slightly.
Harry finished his whisky. “Can I get another one?” he asked.
Malfoy opened his eyes and looked at him. For someone who was supposedly drunk, his gaze was steady and searching. Harry wondered what he was looking for – or, even worse, what he saw.
“Sure,” he said.
“Do you want a refill?”
Malfoy shook his head and sat up, tucking his feet under him. He was breathtaking – even more so than usual. The t-shirt had ridden up just enough to reveal his navel and a trail of dark blond hair that disappeared into his trousers.
Harry felt his cock swell and breathed a sigh of relief.
“The whisky can wait,” he said.
Malfoy’s sleepy smile made Harry’s heart turn over. “I’d hoped it could,” Malfoy said. He held out his hand, and Harry took it, letting himself be pulled down onto the buttery soft leather. Still holding his hand, Malfoy leaned toward him and brushed his lips against Harry’s cheek. Harry inhaled sharply and turned his head so their mouths could meet, open and hungry. Malfoy’s tongue tasted of whisky, and he took Harry’s other hand so that he was holding them both tightly.
“Can I ask you something?” Malfoy whispered.
“Uhm,” Harry replied warily. “Okay, I guess.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure, Potter?” Malfoy smiled but it was anything but carefree.
“What is it?” Harry asked. He was intensely glad he’d looked at that book – the element of surprise could’ve been disastrous.
“Can I handcuff you?”
“You don’t trust me.”
“It’s not that, I just . . .”
“It’s either that or nothing,” Malfoy said. “Take it or leave it.”
“You’re not going to do anything painful, are you?”
Malfoy glared at him. “No, you arsehole. I thought it might be clear what my intentions are. I can assure you that they don’t involve hexes.”
Harry nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I’m going to trust you.”
Malfoy merely nodded. Both of them knew how momentous the moment actually was. Malfoy began slowly unbuttoning Harry’s shirt and kissed every new inch of skin revealed. It made Harry feel worshipped which, in turn, made him feel light-headed. Malfoy paused for a moment to suck on his nipples, and Harry couldn’t help a sharp reflexive thrust of his hips. Arousal had won out over anxiety for the time being. He was completely hard, and his jeans were way too tight.
When Malfoy finished taking Harry’s shirt off, he Summoned a pair of handcuffs.
“Turn around,” he whispered. When Harry complied, Malfoy cuffed his wrists behind his back.
There was no chance now that Harry would touch him. Harry breathed a deep sigh of relief.
Malfoy returned to kissing him – his mouth, his throat, his chest, his shoulders. The kisses were wet enough that they lingered on Harry’s skin even after Malfoy had moved on to kiss another part of him.
“You’re gorgeous, Potter,” Malfoy whispered in his ear. Harry tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Something in Malfoy’s tone made him remember what Andre had told him about Malfoy’s refusal to touch or suck him. Harry groaned. He was going to die if Malfoy did that to him.
“Will you straddle my lap?” he asked. At least that way he’d be able to rub himself to orgasm.
But Malfoy shook his head. “Sprained my knee,” he said.
Harry groaned and tipped his head back again. Malfoy kissed his lips, but the kiss was tentative, bordering on chaste.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” he murmured. “Maybe you should go home.”
Harry literally bit his tongue to keep from saying something terrible. “Why?” he asked roughly even though he was sure he knew the answer. Malfoy was getting spooked. Based on what Andre had told him, it wasn’t clear if Malfoy had ever seen a normal cock in person. Maybe he was worried about how it might affect him.
“Because I’ve sobered up,” Malfoy said sharply.
Neither of them spoke or moved for what felt like forever.
“Okay,” Harry said at last. He made his voice sound as cold as possible even though his body was still on fire. He turned his back to Malfoy so he could undo the handcuffs, but Malfoy didn’t respond.
“You said I could trust you.”
“You can,” Malfoy said weakly.
“Then let me go so I can go home and go to bed like I’d been ready do when you Owled.”
Malfoy didn’t reply.
Harry struggled against the cuffs. “Malfoy,” he said warningly. “Let me go.”
But Malfoy still didn’t say anything. Harry was just about to yell at him, when suddenly Malfoy said “fuck it” and reached around Harry with both his arms and opened his jeans with fumbling fingers.
Harry inhaled sharply. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Shut up, Potter.”
Harry clenched his jaw in annoyance, but then he felt the tips of Malfoy’s fingers brush against the head of his cock. “Oh, God,” he groaned. “Don’t tease me.”
“I said ‘shut up', Potter.” Malfoy turned him around so his back was against the couch again and then, as though as he diving into deep water for the first time, he dropped to his knees. Harry was breathing shallowly through his nose as Malfoy moved so he was between his legs. He was staring at the part of Harry’s cock that was sticking out of the waistband of his pants. As they both watched, a large drop of precome leaked from the slit. Harry whimpered.
“I’ve never sucked anyone’s cock before,” Malfoy said, his tone on the verge of combative. “So don’t expect too much. If I hate it, I’m going to stop.”
Harry glared at him. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
Malfoy ignored him. He leaned forward and carefully licked the head of Harry’s cock clean.
“God,” he murmured almost inaudibly. “You taste incredible.”
Harry’s whole body shivered. If his hands were free, he would’ve shoved down his jeans and held out his cock for Malfoy to swallow. But they weren’t free. Everything was up to Malfoy. The thought was actually quite exciting, and Harry’s cock twitched, leaking more precome which Malfoy lapped up greedily. Harry had to squeeze his eyes shut or the sight alone would make him come. Malfoy tugged down his jeans and pants; it was awkward because Harry’s thighs were spread open, but it was enough to free his cock and balls. Malfoy touched him clumsily, his hands shaking.
“You’re alright,” Harry whispered. He was afraid Malfoy would get spooked again.
Tentatively, Malfoy licked Harry’s full length, from his balls to the head of his cock and then took Harry in his mouth. Harry locked every muscle in his body to keep himself from thrusting deeper. Malfoy began moving his head up and down; it was still clumsy but somehow that made it even more arousing.
“Draco,” he murmured. Malfoy pulled off and looked up at him. His cheeks were flushed, and sweat was beading on his forehead. His expression was impossible for Harry to read, but it certainly wasn’t sultry. If anything it was anxious and unhappy. Harry closed his eyes and focused on breathing through his nose in an effort to quell his erection. He thought about Blast-Ended Skrewts and mouldy tomatoes and . . . he couldn’t help it. The photos of micropenises just popped into his head unbidden. Harry shuddered and felt his cock go soft.
He was appalled at himself.
“What’s wrong?” Malfoy whispered.
Harry opened his eyes. In addition to being unhappy and anxious, Malfoy now looked mortified.
“Uhm . . . It’s just that you don’t seem like you want to do this,” he said. It was true. Malfoy looked like he wished he was anywhere except on his knees, eye-level with Harry’s limp prick. He sat back on his heels and looked everywhere except at Harry’s face.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he mumbled. It wasn’t clear whether he meant the blowjob or inviting Harry over to begin with.
“You . . . you were doing great,” Harry said. “It just looked like you hated it. It’s hard to stay hard when your partner looks like he’d rather be chopping up Flobberworms.”
Malfoy shook his head. “It’s not . . . Look, can we start over?”
“I’d rather not,” Harry said truthfully. There was no way he’d be able to get another erection.
Malfoy stood and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “Okay,” he mumbled. “I understand.” Harry felt the cuffs open, and immediately stood and pulled his trousers up. Malfoy turned and walked to the kitchen. Harry heard the faucet run and Malfoy gargle and spit in the sink.
He wanted to die. He thought Malfoy had said he tasted incredible.
“I know this will sound completely mad,” Malfoy said, returning to the living room. “But will you stay here tonight?”
Malfoy was right; the request did sound completely mad.
“Er . . . uhm . . .”
“Fine,” Malfoy snapped. “Forget I asked.”
“No, no . . . It’s not that I don’t want to,” Harry said. He felt flustered and confused and still smarting from Malfoy’s earlier rejection. “It’s just . . .”
Malfoy turned away and Summoned Harry’s coat.
“Wait! . . .” Harry said. “Just wait for a second. You surprised me is all. Yes, I’ll stay.”
Malfoy draped Harry’s coat over the back of an armchair and nodded. “Okay,” he said softly. “Good. I’m glad.” He reached for Harry’s hand, and Harry took it.
Malfoy’s bedroom was much like the rest of his flat. One wall was exposed brick with glass doors that opened onto a little balcony. The wood floor was surprisingly warm.
“Heating charm,” Malfoy said when he saw Harry’s reaction.
“I need to do this,” Harry said. “My feet are always cold in my flat.”
“Just as long as they’re not cold under the duvet.”
Harry swallowed. He’d imagined they’d sleep on top of the bedclothes.
“You can wear my pyjamas. We’re pretty much the same size,” Malfoy said.
Harry took them when Malfoy held them out. They were dark blue silk – entirely unlike his shapeless cotton ones at home.
They stood awkwardly for a moment.
“Uhm, the loo’s down the hall on the left,” Draco said. Harry nodded. It was clearly code for “we’re not getting naked in front of each other.”
Malfoy was already in bed when Harry returned, and Harry joined him. It was easily the most comfortable bed he’d ever been in.
“This is heaven,” he murmured, closing his eyes. He hadn’t realised until that moment how tired he was.
They lay on their sides facing each other but with a good two feet between them.
“I like you, Harry,” Malfoy whispered. “I’m just not any good with . . . the physical part of things.”
“I understand,” Harry replied. And he did – he really did.
Malfoy gave him a little smile. “Thanks,” he said. “Sleep well.”
It didn’t take long before Harry was spending a couple of nights a week with Malfoy. They’d meet for dinner somewhere and then go back to Malfoy’s flat. The only night they never saw each other was Saturday. Harry was willing to bet that was Malfoy’s time with Andre or one of his other escorts. When Harry came over Sunday evening, Malfoy was always glowing and relaxed and in a good mood.
It made Harry jealous, but it was also a relief.
Neither of them ever mentioned the night Malfoy had tried giving Harry a blowjob. It’d taken a couple of weeks, but they’d started kissing and touching again. Malfoy had been the one to take the first step. One night when Harry got into bed, Malfoy lay down beside him on top of the bedclothes. His kisses started out soft, but slowly deepened, leaving Harry trembling with the desire to touch him. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t until Malfoy touched him first.
The kissing went on and on. It was uncomfortably warm beneath the heavy duvet, but Harry stayed where he was. The kissing was so all-consuming, he didn’t realise for a couple of seconds that Malfoy had rolled on top of him. Harry’s breath hitched. He slowly spread his legs until Malfoy’s hips rested between them.
Malfoy didn’t say a word or even open his eyes as he began moving almost imperceptibly. Harry freed his arms from the bedclothes and wrapped them around Malfoy’s back. Their kisses grew deeper and desperate as Malfoy began to thrust in earnest. Harry was fully hard. He was sure he could come this way. He gripped Malfoy’s hips tighter between his thighs, and Malfoy moaned, burrowing his face against Harry’s neck.
“Can you come?” Malfoy whispered against Harry’s ear, making him shiver.
“Yeah,” Harry replied, his voice hoarse. “Can . . . can you?”
Malfoy merely nodded without lifting his head. His thrusts were growing erratic. Harry gently, tentatively, slid his hands over the silk on Malfoy’s back until they grabbed his arse. Malfoy responded with a gasp.
“I’m going to come,” he said, still without lifting his head. “Fuck!”
Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensation of Malfoy’s ragged thrusts. To his surprise, he started imagining Malfoy’s little prick rock hard and throbbing, aching with the need for release. For the first time, Harry wanted to look at it; he wanted to watch it spurt. Harry used his hands on Malfoy’s arse to assist his thrusts. When Malfoy suddenly froze, Harry remembered Andre’s words about how beautiful Malfoy’s orgasms were and opened his eyes.
Andre was right. Malfoy’s whole body bucked and shuddered as he cried out Harry’s name. His face was flushed, but the flush became splotchy on his throat and chest. His eyes had a look in them that was both helplessly vulnerable and totally blissful. Harry couldn’t look away.
As soon as Malfoy’s body stopped shuddering, he slid down until his head was between Harry’s open thighs. In one motion, he pulled down both the duvet and Harry’s pyjama bottoms.
“God, Draco,” Harry groaned. “I need to come. Please don’t get spooked again.”
“I won’t,” Malfoy replied breathlessly. He held Harry’s cock at the base and put as much of it in his mouth as he could. Within a minute, Harry was urging Malfoy to pull off, but Malfoy wouldn’t. He merely pulled away until only the head of Harry’s cock was in his mouth. When Harry came with a sob, he felt Malfoy swallow it all. But as soon as the afterglow wore off, Malfoy’s body grew tense, and his expression grew anxious. Harry pulled up his pyjama bottoms.
“I’m going to the loo,” he said and immediately saw some of the anxiety melt away. Malfoy obviously needed to change his pyjamas and didn’t want Harry in the room. Taking his time, Harry took a leisurely shower. His cock was still slightly swollen, and he shuddered when the roughness of the towel touched it.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come so hard. And one of the reasons was imagining Malfoy’s hard little prick getting ready to shoot its load. Just thinking about it again made Harry’s cock twitch. Somehow, sometime, he’d gone from being repulsed by the thought of Malfoy’s prick to curious and even turned on.
Now he wanted to see it.
“So,” said Pansy. “You’re sleeping with Draco.”
She’d cornered Harry in the cooking section of Flourish & Blotts.
He glared at her. “It’s none of your business.”
She crossed her arms over her ample chest and gave him a “you’ve got to be joking” look.
“Of course it is,” she said. “And you know why. Remember, Potter, I’ve got your best friend’s prick in my hand every night. You wouldn’t want to be the cause of a . . . mishap.”
Harry winced. “Look, Pansy, I don’t know what you’re so put out about. Yes, I’m ‘sleeping’ with Malfoy but only in the literal sense.”
Her expression went from contemptuous to surprised. “You two aren’t having sex?”
“Not really,” he replied.
“Have you seen . . . it?”
“I’ll mention again that this is none of your business.”
“Everything involving Draco is my business.”
“No, okay? The answer is no. And it seems like I never will.”
She nodded. “So he still thinks you don’t know.”
“I’ve never given him a hint that I do.”
She smiled with what looked like relief. “Oh,” she said. “Good. I’m glad. I’ve been terrified he’d find out I told you. You’re much more subtle than I thought. And that’s a compliment. Now, out of curiosity, what are you doing in the cooking section?”
Relieved they were done talking about Malfoy’s prick, Harry gave her a genuine smile. “I like to cook sometimes,” he said. “Especially now that I have someone to cook for.”
Pansy regarded him for a moment. “You’re falling in love with him, aren’t you?”
Harry turned to the books and started browsing through them. He hadn’t actually thought the “L” word, but now that it was out there on the table . . . yeah, he supposed he was falling in love. Not that it was any of Pansy’s business.
“No comment,” he said, and she grinned.
“I’m glad,” she said. “I think Draco believed he’d never find love.” She patted Harry’s cheek, but then she suddenly grabbed his collar. Harry squawked with surprise. “Hurt him and die, Potter,” she said. “And don’t think for a second that I’m exaggerating.”
Everything was going smoothly until Harry stepped out of Malfoy’ fireplace one late Sunday morning and found Malfoy in bed with Andre.
They’d clearly just finished fucking . . . or whatever it was they did together. They were lying in each other’s arms under the duvet, flushed and breathless and glowing.
Harry swallowed hard and turned to go. He knew he shouldn’t be jealous. He knew Malfoy still went to bed with Andre, but still . . . seeing it, having it rubbed in his face . . . hurt. A lot.
He walked back to the fireplace with as much dignity as he was capable of and was just about to Floo home when Malfoy called his name. Harry stopped, but he didn’t around.
“Potter, you idiot. Don’t be an arse.”
Harry still didn’t turn around, which forced Malfoy to walk around him until they stood facing one another. Malfoy was wearing a long dark green robe and probably nothing else. His hair was gorgeously mussed and his lips were still swollen from kissing. To his shame, Harry felt stupid tears prick the corners of his eyes. He heard the shower turn on down the hall.
Malfoy crossed his arms and glared at Harry’s obvious emotions.
“This is Andre we’re talking about,” Malfoy said. “I pay him, remember. He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Am I your boyfriend?” Harry asked, his voice rough.
Malfoy was clearly startled by the question, but then his expression returned to a glare after a moment.
“No,” he said. “My boyfriend? Don’t be ridiculous.”
Harry’s temper flared. “What’s so ‘ridiculous’ about it?”
Malfoy looked at him as though he was insane. “Well, among other things, if you were my ‘boyfriend,’ I’d have to stop seeing Andre.”
“You don’t need to see him,” Harry said angrily. “Why am I not enough?”
Malfoy actually rolled his eyes. Harry wanted to smack him. “I’ve been seeing him for four years,” he said as if that answered Harry’s question.
“So we have to see each other for four years before you’ll consider me your boyfriend?”
“Look, Potter. I like you. I like spending time with you. I like giving you the occasional blowjob now and then, but you’ll never be able to satisfy my needs.”
If Harry hadn’t known what Malfoy was talking about, he’d surely have stormed out that second and probably not come back. But he did know, so all he could do was stare helplessly.
“I’d like to be able to at least try.”
He’d expected some pity and contrition, but he didn’t get them. What he got instead was the coldest look he’d seen on Malfoy’s face since they were in school.
“Leave,” Malfoy said. “Now.”
Harry was shocked. All he could do was continue to stare. “What’d I say?”
“Potter, get out.” Malfoy drew his wand and Accioed the few things Harry kept in his flat.
Harry continued to stare at him in shock. At that moment, Andre entered the living room. He looked at both of them and Harry’s things, which were shrunk and swarming in the air around his head like multicoloured bees.
“What’s going on?” Andre asked calmly.
“I honestly have no idea,” Harry replied.
Malfoy turned to Andre with a furious expression. “Nothing,” he replied. “Potter was just leaving.”
“Okay,” said Andre. His voice was gentle. “What did Harry do? Remember, Draco; he just found us in bed together. He’s bound not to be entirely happy with the situation.”
“Well, fuck him then,” Malfoy snarled. “It’s none of his business.”
Andre glanced over at Harry who was gathering his things out of the air with shaking hands.
“You may have to forgive him for thinking it might be his business,” Andre said, turning back to Draco. “You, yourself, told me he’s been spending the night here a couple of times a week.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Draco snapped. “He never will be.” He looked at Harry. “If I led you to believe otherwise, then I’m sorry.”
Harry could only nod. There was a lump in his throat that felt like a fluttering Snitch was trying to escape.
“Draco,” Andre said, his tone clearly trying to be soothing. “Think about what you’re doing. You’re acting out of fear and pride right now . . .”
Malfoy merely stared at him. Something passed between him and Andre through their gazes. Malfoy was trembling all over.
“Okay,” Andre said gently. “It’s okay, Draco.” He turned to Harry. “I think you should go,” he said. His voice was kind but firm.
Harry didn’t say a word. He walked to the fireplace and stepped in. It took three tries to get out his address. The last thing he saw was Andre’s regretful expression. And Malfoy’s turned back.
He couldn’t sleep. He kept seeing the expression of contempt on Malfoy’s face – contempt and anger as though Harry had pissed on one of his Turkish rugs. He missed the warmth of Malfoy sleeping beside him. He missed his unguarded smile in the mornings. He missed the soft kisses and the sound of Malfoy breathing in the darkness and the feel of silk under his hands. He tried hard not to dwell on the hollow aching space under his ribs. He knew he should feel angry – his friends did – but he didn’t; he just felt empty.
The Stinging Hex took him by surprise. He didn’t have a chance to draw his wand and turn around before he was hit by another – this one more painful than the first.
“You fucking bastard!” Pansy yelled when Harry unarmed her. “I warned you!” She ran at him and began pummelling his chest with her fists.
“Stop,” Harry said. “I don’t want to have Stun you.” He grabbed her wrists. He looked around. People were staring at them and whispering. “Why don’t we discuss things somewhere other than the middle of Diagon Alley,” he said.
She started crying. “You’re an arsehole,” she said. “I told you not to hurt him.”
She had to be fucking kidding him.
“Let’s go to my office in the Ministry Building,” he said. She nodded resignedly. He offered her his arm. She paused a moment before taking it.
“It figures your office looks – and smells – like a Troll’s cave.”
He Levitated some files off a chair. “Sit down,” he said. “Tea?”
“This is not a social visit,” she said. “I’m here to tell you what a prick you are.”
“Honestly,” Harry said. “Honest to God, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about Draco, you arsehole!”
He regarded her incredulously.
“I don’t know what you did,” she continued, “but he’s miserable. He looked like shit when I saw him Friday night. In fact, he looked worse than shit. He looked like he’d had his heart torn out. Thank God, Andre’s been there for him. Merlin, Potter, you are such a bloody wanker! You knew about Draco. If you couldn’t handle it, then why’d you let him get naked with you?”
He realised his mouth was hanging open and closed it. He didn’t even know where to start.
“I haven’t seen him naked,” he said. “I haven’t even touched . . . it.”
She stood up and slapped him hard. “You can’t even talk about this, can you?”
He touched his mouth and then looked at his fingers. There was blood on them.
“I . . . he . . .we . . .” He swallowed and looked away. “He chucked me out,” he said hoarsely. “Not the other way around.”
“Well, you must’ve done something to deserve it.”
“I didn’t! All I said was that I wished he’d let me have sex with him! I’m ready! I’ve been ready for a long time! He freaked out and told me to leave!”
“So,” said she. “You made him feel guilty that he wants to keep some privacy.”
Harry Levitated more files off the other chair and sat down. He was exhausted. He hadn’t been able to sleep soundly for more than a week. He wondered if he looked as bad as she said Malfoy did.
“I only wanted him to know I was ready to take our relationship to another level. That’s all. He got angry and told me to leave. He hasn’t tried to contact me since. So, don’t talk to me about how his heart is broken.”
She regarded him silently for several seconds. “You haven’t tried to contact him, have you? You’re a prick, Potter.”
He didn’t respond. He simply stood and went to the door. “Please go,” he said wearily. “Think what you want about me, but I haven’t broken our promise. I haven’t tried to push him . . . I merely tried . . . oh fuck it! Why am I telling you any of this? It’s none of your bloody business!”
She stood up, smoothed her shirt and looked at him with contempt. “I don’t know how many times I need to tell you: Anything that involves Draco is my business. Good day, Potter.”
Harry sat as far away from the dance floor as he could and still be able watch the people there. Malfoy was with Andre. They were dancing slow and close even though the music was blaring. Their bodies were pressed together from chest to groin, and their foreheads rested against one another. Harry could see their mouths moving between kisses. He wondered what they were talking about. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. The fact that Malfoy clearly didn’t mind that Andre felt his prick through his trousers made Harry insane with jealousy. Malfoy had never let Harry hold him like that, and for a long time Harry had been okay with that. But now he wasn’t; he wanted more than anything to feel Malfoy’s little prick poking against his own.
“Well, he certainly looks miserable, doesn’t he?” said Ron. “It sure didn’t take him long to get back with his ex.”
Harry just nodded vaguely and emptied his glass. Another pint appeared before him.
“Pansy and I aren’t talking.”
Harry sighed. “No need to break up with her because of me and Malfoy.”
“It’s there in the background. I don’t get how she can be friends with the git, let alone best friends.”
Harry glanced at Malfoy and Andre’s table where Pansy was throwing back neon blue martinis and laughing with Zabini. Neither she nor Malfoy seemed torn-up. Certainly not the way Harry was.
“Why are we here?” Ron asked. “We should be out trying to get laid instead of watching our exes have a grand old time.”
Harry agreed, but he couldn’t stop wanting to be around Malfoy. Tonight he was wearing a shirt the colour of an aubergine. It complemented his hair and made it even more striking than usual. Harry tried to concentrate on his conversation with Ron, but his gaze kept drifting over to Malfoy and his lean lithe body in Andre’s arms. They still looked like they were talking, but then Malfoy kissed Andre’s cheek and stepped away. Andre kept holding his hand until they were too far apart and he had to let it go.
Harry was so intent on watching Malfoy walk to the door that he didn’t see Andre waving to him from a small table by the bar. Ron had to nudge him in the ribs.
“Looks like Malfoy’s boyfriend wants to chat.”
Ron nodded in Andre’s direction. “I wonder what he wants. Do you have your wand, mate?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course I have my wand, but it doesn’t matter. He’s not going to attack me.”
“How do you know?”
“He’s actually a nice bloke. I’ve . . . er . . . met him before.” Harry had to bite his tongue to keep himself from laughing. Ron probably wouldn’t appreciate learning that Andre had fucked him into the mattress once and left him as boneless as a filleted fish.
“This may take awhile,” Harry said. “You can go home if you want.”
Ron glanced over at Pansy who was now sitting alone, her smile gone. “Perhaps I may have company after all,” he said.
“Well, good luck.”
Ron got up and starting making his way toward Pansy. Harry stood as well and crossed the room. Andre smiled when Harry sat down across from him.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Fine,” Harry replied.
“Bollocks. You’re ‘fine’ in the same way as Draco is ‘fine.’”
Harry snorted and finished his pint. “He looked fine to me just a few minutes ago. Let me ask you, Andre: I know you said you never fall in love with your clients, but do they ever fall in love with you?”
“Sometimes, which means I end the relationship immediately. It’s not fair to them. I could never love them back . . .”
“Does Malfoy love you?” Harry blurted out. “Because it sure looks like it.”
Andre smiled and shook his head. “I can assure you Draco isn’t in love with me. To the extent he even knows what love is, he’s in love you. He always has been.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” Harry said. “That comes across loud and clear.”
“He’s afraid, Harry. Pure and simple. He’s terrified of letting you get too close . . . and you know why.”
“Well, he certainly did a good job of pushing me about as far away as possible.”
Andre reached for Harry’s hand and wove their fingers together. “Listen, I called you over for a reason . . .”
“Don’t bother trying to tell me to forget Malfoy and move on. I already know that’s what I should do, and I will someday, but not right now, okay?”
Andre squeezed his hand. “Stop interrupting,” he said. His voice sounded more amused than annoyed. “You’re almost as bad as Draco. He rarely lets me get a whole sentence out. Harry, I’m going to suggest doing something that could ruin my relationship with Draco forever . . .”
“What? Why? He needs you.”
“Not as much as he needs you. He needs a real relationship, not a fantasy one.”
Harry leaned back in his chair. He had no idea where this conversation was headed and that made him nervous.
“So, what are you planning to do?”
Andre squeezed his hand again. “You’re going to Draco’s flat tonight.”
Harry knew his expression was incredulous because Andre pleaded with him to hear him out.
“Listen to me. I care for both of you – maybe more than I should, but it’s true. It’s clear to me that neither of you can be happy without the other. Draco tries to deny it, but I know him well enough to see through the façade.”
Harry shook his head and tried to pull his hands out of Andre’s. “There’s no way I’m going to Draco’s flat. He’s expecting you and won’t be all that chuffed to see me, which, of course, is an understatement.”
“I know,” Andre said. “He will be expecting me.”
“This is mad. I’m going to step out of his fireplace, and he’s going to hex me, and then I’ll hex him back. The evening will end with a full on duel.”
“Which, of course, would not be a good thing. Harry, don’t you think I’ve considered all of these things already? I didn’t make up this plan tonight. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time – long enough, in fact, that I had enough time to brew some Polyjuice potion.”
Harry felt his eyes widen. “Oh no,” he said adamantly. “No, no, no.”
“Why no? You haven’t even paused to consider it.”
“Because I don’t need to,” Harry replied. “It’s completely mad! He’ll know something is wrong. Plus, what about my voice? We can’t Polyjuice my voice . . .”
“Which is not a problem,” Andre said. “I don’t talk when Draco and I are in bed. It would spoil his fantasy that I’m you. Plus, as I told you, he’s always blindfolded.”
“I’d touch him differently than you do . . .”
“I don’t touch him exactly the same way every time we’re together. The only thing you really need to do is worship his prick.”
Harry snorted. “What exactly does that require? Burning incense and chanting?”
Andre laughed. “Don’t be an arse. Of course not, but you’ve got to lavish it with attention. Suck it, stroke it, kiss it – and whatever you do, don’t let him think you’re repulsed, which, by the way, you’d better not be.”
Andre’s voice contained a hint of a threat. Harry swallowed. He couldn’t fully predict how he was going to feel when the moment actually arrived. But he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be repulsion.
“You wouldn’t have to worry about that,” he said.
“Here’s what you do: the moment you step from Draco’s fireplace, kiss him and blindfold him.”
Andre pulled a length of black velvet from his pocket. Harry inhaled sharply as his cock twitched.
“Then lead him to the bedroom – you know where it is, of course. There’ll be candles already set out. Draco will ask you to turn your back. He’ll take off his clothes and lie down on the bed. He won’t roll over until he’s ready. When he does, don’t mess around with any other part of his body; immediately go straight to his prick, and, like I said, worship it. Make him come. Trust me. You’ll find all your work pays off handsomely.”
Harry couldn’t believe he was actually considering doing it – well, his brain couldn’t believe it, but his body did.
“I don’t see how this changes anything, though,” Harry said. “He’ll think I’m you. That won’t change the fact he doesn’t want to see me.”
“Which is why you’re going to spend the night. The Polyjuice will wear off by morning . . .”
“At which point he’ll cast every curse short of an Unforgivable at me.”
“That’s why you’re going to grab him and kiss him and tell him you’re in love with him, because you are, Harry. It’s obvious. Look, I’ve wracked my brains trying to think of a way to get you past Draco’s insecurities. This is the only thing that’s likely to succeed. I hear you’re a risk taker. You need to take this risk.”
Malfoy was waiting in the armchair by the hearth when Harry stepped out of the fireplace. Malfoy smiled slyly at him. “About time, Harry,” he said.
Harry panicked for a moment. Malfoy could see through the Polyjuice! But then he remembered. Malfoy wanted Andre to pretend to be him. He smiled back.
“Stand up,” he whispered almost inaudibly and pulled the blindfold from the pocket of the trousers Andre had given him.
He was sure it wasn’t his imagination when Malfoy shivered.
“Turn around,” Harry whispered, and Malfoy did. Harry tied the blindfold around his head. His breath caught at the sight of black velvet against pale hair and skin.
“Can you see anything?”
Malfoy shook his head. Harry took his hand and led him to the bedroom.
“Lumos, he whispered, and a dozen candles lit, turning the white bedclothes the colour of butter.
“Don’t look,” Malfoy said, and Harry turned around. To make sure he did, Malfoy touched his shoulder. Harry couldn’t contain his sharp inhalation. He heard Malfoy undressing, and he took off his own shirt, careful to keep on his trousers as Andre had instructed him. He pulled off his shoes and socks. He heard the bed creak as Malfoy lay down on it.
“I’m ready,” Malfoy said.
Harry turned around and immediately felt his cock start to swell.
Malfoy was even more gorgeous naked than he was dressed, which was saying something. His shoulders were more muscled than Harry had imagined, and his back curved gracefully into a perfect – perfect – arse, which, in turn, led to long legs, which were slightly spread just far enough for Harry to see the pink of his balls between them.
It was clear, that as far as Malfoy’s back was concerned, Harry wouldn’t have to fake his arousal.
He trailed his fingers lightly up and down Malfoy’s spine as he kissed and gently nipped his shoulders, making Malfoy shiver and say his name, not Andre’s, his. Malfoy’s skin was the colour of honey in the candle light. Harry wanted to kiss every inch of it. He moved between Malfoy’s legs and eased them further apart before pinching Malfoy’s arse, leaving each cheek pink. Malfoy squirmed and called out his name again. This time adding a “please.” He was thrusting against the bedclothes giving Harry a glimpse of the puckered rim of his opening. Not wanting to penetrate it (he’d forgotten to ask Andre if Malfoy liked to have his arsehole touched), Harry merely rested his fingertip on it very gently and watched it open and close reflexively. For the first time that evening, Harry couldn’t contain his groan. Malfoy responded by spreading his legs wider.
Just as the book had said, Malfoy’s balls looked entirely ordinary. His skin was dark pink and slightly shiny where his testicles bulged. Harry lay down between his thighs and kissed and sucked them, pulling them into his mouth as far as he could. Malfoy responded with a ragged groan. Harry pulled back and blew on the spit he’d left behind, and Malfoy’s balls tightened. Harry gently pinched his buttocks again, making Malfoy lift his hips off the mattress, before returning to licking his balls until Malfoy’s whole body was shuddering with too much stimulation.
“I’m going to turn over,” Malfoy whispered, and Harry was surprised that he’d feel the need to tell him. After all, he was pretending to be Andre, and Andre had seen his prick a hundred times.
Twisting his beautiful back, Malfoy slowly rolled over . . .
. . . and there it was.
It was even smaller than Harry had imagined. There was almost no shaft at all.
It was thick and red and wet . . .
. . . and no longer than three inches, probably less.
God, Malfoy would die if he knew Harry was looking at him.
Harry could see why.
It was . . . well, it was . . . really tiny. It might’ve even been funny except it was so mortifying.
Harry’s erection wilted. He couldn’t imagine how he’d be able to get it back.
“Andre?” Malfoy whispered. “What’s wrong?” His voice no longer sounded relaxed.
How could a cock so small actually ejaculate?
Harry shook his head to clear the thousands of thoughts and questions that filled it and spread Malfoy’s bent legs so he could lie between them with plenty of room. He was about to take Draco’s prick in his mouth when he realised that Malfoy was losing his erection – such as it was. The head of his prick was disappearing into his foreskin, and his whole prick – astoundingly – grew even smaller.
“I want to stop,” Malfoy said, his voice wavering. Before Harry could respond, he was wrapping himself in the duvet until he looked like he was in a cocoon.
Shit! God, he’d seriously fucked up.
Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain on his left buttock as though he’d been stung by a wasp. He whipped his head around and watched as Andre slowly materialised.
Clearly, he’d been there the whole time. Disillusioned so Harry couldn’t see him in the flickering candlelight. Still in shock, Harry stepped aside and watched as Andre took Malfoy into his arms and kissed him.
“Hush,” he said. “I was going to sneeze . . .”
“Bollocks!” Malfoy said, sitting up and pressing his back against the headboard.
“Draco,” Andre said soothingly. “Let’s start over.”
Malfoy shook his head. “I don’t want to. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m finished for tonight.” He started untying the blindfold, and Harry quickly Disillusioned himself.
Once the blindfold was off, Andre tried to kiss him, but Malfoy turned his face away.
“I want you to go,” he said. His voice was flat and weary sounding.
Andre was quiet for a long time. Draco’s face was still turned away.
“I haven’t seen you react this way in a long time,” Andre whispered. “What’s wrong?”
Malfoy merely shook his head without looking at him. “Nothing,” he said.
“This is about Harry, isn’t it?”
Malfoy turned to glare at him. “No,” he said emphatically. “I can’t imagine why you’d say that.”
“Because you miss him, and you want to ask him to come back, but you’re scared shitless because you know if you do, you’re going to have to deal with your insecurities all over again.”
Malfoy didn’t say anything.
“You know I’m right,” Andre said gently. “Draco, you can’t go on like this. You can’t build a life with someone and have sex with someone else . . .”
Andre fell silent, and neither of them spoke for a long time until Andre took Malfoy’s hand.
“Draco,” he said. “Look at me. I need to tell you something. My name isn’t Andre. It’s Robert. During the day, I’m an assistant wand maker, and I live with my Mum, who’s very sick. The Healers don’t know what’s wrong with her. My Dad is dead, but even before he died, we struggled to make ends meet. I’m saving the money I earn as an escort to pay for my Mum’s specialised treatments and, one day maybe, buy a wand shop.”
Malfoy looked like he might faint or cry or get incandescently angry. Maybe all three.
“So you see, our ‘relationship’ is an illusion. You pay me to give you what you want . . . and think you need, but what you really need is a real relationship. With Harry.”
“What I need is for you to leave,” Malfoy said in a small voice. “Right now.”
Andre nodded. “I thought you might, but let me say one more thing. You need to confront your insecurities and conquer them – and I don’t mean with another escort. Draco, I may not be who you thought I was, but I still care about you very much. I want you to find happiness and security – not just emotionally, but sexually too. Your pleasure, when you let yourself go, is beautiful. Don’t hide it away.”
Malfoy didn’t say anything. He merely lay down with his back to Andre. Andre tried to squeeze his shoulder, but Malfoy shrugged his hand off. Andre drew it back slowly.
And then turned to Harry.
If Malfoy had looked angry Andre looked ten times so. He gestured with his head to leave the room and followed him to the fireplace. “Your flat,” was all he said. Harry nodded.
“You,” Andre said, his voice shaking with rage. “You coward!”
They’d only just emerged from Harry’s fireplace. Harry stepped backward in the face of the hurricane that was Andre’s fury.
Harry held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Look, Andre...”
“My name is not Andre; it’s Robert!”
“Look, Robert. I know I fucked up. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? That’s all you can say? And why are you saying it to me when you should be saying it to Draco!”
Harry walked over to the couch and fell onto it. He scrubbed his face with his palms.
“I... I don’t know why... it’s just that... well, it’s just that he’s... that he’s more deformed than I’d even imagined. I was shocked and froze for a minute, but I would have continued if he hadn’t freaked out.”
Andre/Robert shook his head. “I can’t believe I thought this was a good idea. I guess I just thought you were ready...”
“So did I!”
Andre/Robert sat down on the other end of the couch and put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
“What a fucking mess,” he said. His voice sounded tired and defeated. Harry knew how he felt. “Now what?”
Harry had no idea.
He hadn’t seen Malfoy for nearly a month when he walked into the café and saw him sitting at the same table he always used to sit at. He was drinking a cup of tea and reading the Prophet. He didn’t lower the paper when Harry sat down across from him.
“Fuck off, Potter,” he said, turning a page.
“I don’t want to fuck off,” Harry replied. “I want to fuck you.”
The remark had the desired effect. Malfoy folded his paper and put it down. His expression was withering.
“I think I remember kicking you out of my flat,” he said. “I don’t want to see you again, let alone fuck you.”
Harry took a deep breath and said what he’d wanted to say ever since that disastrous night.
“I miss you,” he said, his voice wavering. He’d promised himself to lay it all out on the table no matter how difficult it was for him. “I miss you so much that it’s hard to get up in the mornings and even harder to fall asleep at night. I want to be with you more than anything. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my whole life. I’m in love with you, Draco. I want to make you happy – in every way. I can’t imagine being with anyone except you, and I don’t want to. Please give us another chance.”
Draco’s expression didn’t change. “Are you finished?” he asked.
Harry sighed. “Yeah.”
“Good, because I was about to get ill any moment.”
Harry turned his head as though Draco had just slapped him. He hadn’t known what to expect, but he hadn’t expected this much loathing. He was angry and hurt in equal measures.
“I still don’t know what I did.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Draco replied. “I still don’t want to go back to... to whatever it was we were doing. Now excuse me, I’ve got to get to work.” He picked up his paper and tucked it under his arm.
“Tomorrow’s Beltane,” Harry blurted out. “Have you made a wish yet?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “That’s children’s nonsense. You’d know that if you hadn’t been raised by Muggles.”
“I don’t give a shit,” Harry replied. “All I want to know is if you’ve made a wish.”
This time it was Draco who looked away.
“Well, I have,” Harry said.
“Bully for you.”
Harry ignored him. “I wished you’d come over to my flat and let me make you dinner...”
“Not bloody likely!”
Harry continued to ignore him. “If you care about me even the tiniest bit, you’ll be there. Tonight, eight o’clock.”
Before Draco could answer, Harry got up and walked briskly out the door.
He made sure that whatever it was he cooked could simmer for a long time before it burned or turned to shit. Beef stew in a slow cooker fit the bill nicely. It wasn’t fancy, but it was the only thing he could think of. After putting the lid on the cooker, he went to the bedroom, took off his jeans, covered a plug with lube and shoved it deep in his arse.
Eight o’clock came and went as did half past eight. He poured himself a glass of wine and turned on the telly. Nine o’clock also passed. He poured himself another glass and changed the channel to a football match and started flipping through his new Quidditch magazine. He refused to believe Draco wouldn’t come. He was prepared to wait until he had to go to work in the morning.
At ten minutes past ten o’clock, Draco stepped out of the fireplace.
“Hi,” Harry said.
“I’m not going to apologise for being late,” Draco said. “So don’t expect me to.”
“Okay,” Harry replied.
Draco looked everywhere except at him.
“Your flat could use some decorating by someone other than a fifth year student.”
Harry bit back a grin. He’d expected some comment along those lines.
“Let me take your coat.” He stood up from the sofa. When he drew near him, Draco stepped back. “I don’t bite,” Harry said. “If I did, you would’ve figured it out while we were practically living together.”
Draco bit his lip and didn’t reply.
Harry took his coat from him. “Sit anywhere you wish,” he said. “Want a glass of wine? Hermione helped me choose it so it shouldn’t be too bad.”
Draco sat down in an armchair and crossed both his arms and his legs. Harry couldn’t help but notice, though, that he was dressed elegantly.
“I hope you like beef stew,” Harry said, returned from the kitchen.
“Frankly, I’m not hungry,” Draco said. “Plus I don’t like beef stew. Stew of any kind is for commoners.”
Harry would’ve wanted to hex him except for the fact he was clearly terribly anxious. The cloth of his expensive shirt was dark under his armpits.
“Well, I can make something else,” Harry replied.
“I said I'm not hungry.”
Draco took the glass Harry offered him and took a huge uncouth gulp. Harry bit his cheek to keep himself from laughing. Draco was such a git.
“Okay,” Harry replied. He sat down on the couch. “So what do you think the chances are for the Holyhead Harpies...?”
Draco stood abruptly, causing Harry to do so as well.
“Where’s the fucking bedroom?”
Harry gawked at him. “Excuse me?”
“The bedroom, Potter. Have you gone deaf?”
Harry shook his head and stood up. “Down that hall,” he said pointing.
Draco started to leave, but when he realised Harry wasn’t following him, he stopped and turned around with a glare.
“Are you coming with me or not?”
Harry didn’t answer; he just followed Draco to the bedroom. As soon as he was through the door, Draco grabbed him and started kissing him as though Harry was food and he was a starving man.
“Don’t say anything,” he whispered against Harry’s mouth.
Draco’s fingers fumbled with the buttons of Harry’s shirt and the fly of his jeans, making him swear and making Harry have to stop himself from giggling nervously. Draco then started unbuttoning his own shirt. When Harry tried to help, Draco swatted his hands away. Harry began kissing his neck and shoulders and gently pinching his nipples. Draco gasped just as he always used to when they’d been together. Harry put his arms around him and stroked his back in a way he hoped was soothing. It must’ve been because Draco began to relax in his embrace.
“Take off your pants,” he said. “I want to suck you.”
Harry took a deep breath. “No. I want to suck you for a change,” he said.
Draco’s eyes went wide, and Harry could feel his body go rigid in his arms. “Please,” he whispered. “Please let me, Draco.”
Draco shook his head vehemently and pushed him away. “I don’t want to,” he said firmly. “I’m going home.”
“Why?” Harry asked softly even though, of course, he knew the answer.
Draco’s lip curled into a sneer. “Because I don’t want your filthy half-blood spit all over me.”
Harry inhaled through his nose and gritted his teeth. He’d expected a fight, but not this kind of fight.
“Draco,” he said as calmly as he could, “I’ve been kissing you. You have my ‘filthy half-blood spit’ in your mouth which I’d think would be infinitely worse.”
Draco didn’t respond. How could he? He just stood there with his chest heaving. “I’m going home,” he said at last.
“Okay,” Harry said. “But not until I’ve sucked your cock.”
Draco was trembling, and the look in his eyes slowly turned from loathing to terror. Harry reached for his shoulder, but he shied away.
“Please let me,” he said. “If you hate it, we can stop. I promise.”
Draco began shaking his head, slowly at first and then faster. He’d backed himself up against the wall. There were tears in his eyes. He’d moved his hands to cover his groin as though Harry was about to kick him in the crotch.
“I don’t want to do this.”
“Then why are you doing it? I said I wanted to go home.”
“How about this? How about you stay and let me make you come, and if you hate it and never want to see me again, I’ll leave you alone? I promise.”
“You don’t understand... you don’t want to do this. Trust me.”
Harry could barely hear him. “No,” he said. “Trust me.”
Slowly, he knelt down on the floor, holding Draco’s gaze with his the whole time. Even more slowly, Harry moved Draco’s hands aside, unbuckled his belt and opened his trousers.
“Trust me,” he whispered. “Trust me, Draco.”
He was shocked that Draco let him go so far. He was even more shocked when Draco squeezed his eyes shut and let Harry pull his trousers and pants down to the middle of his thighs.
There it was again. That tiny little prick.
Without a moment’s pause, Harry seized Draco’s hips and sucked it into his mouth.
Draco cried out and his whole body shuddered. He struggled to pull away, but Harry tightened his grip and held him still. He looked up at Draco’s face. His eyes were still squeezed shut, and tears slid down his cheeks. He choked back a sob.
Harry pulled back and gave the tip of Draco’s prick a lingering kiss. “Draco,” he said. “Look at me.”
Draco slowly opened his eyes. They swam with tears of obvious shame and humiliation.
“Watch me,” Harry said, and he sucked Draco’s little prick back in his mouth. Draco choked on another sob.
“Just cut it out, Potter,” he said. “Leave me alone!”
Harry pulled off again. “I don’t want to leave you alone,” he said. “What I want to do is make you come.”
Draco covered his face with his hands. “It’s never going to happen,” he said through his fingers, “so just stop trying. You’re making a fool of both of us.”
Harry kissed the tip of Draco’s prick again. “I want you to fuck me,” he whispered.
Draco dropped his hands. He had an unreadable expression on his face.
“Potter,” he said. “You are a fucking arsehole...”
Harry grinned up at him. “No, I’m not,” he replied. “Not yet at least.”
“I can’t believe you,” Draco spat. “You are... you are... I don’t even have words for how much I hate you right now!”
“Draco, look. I have a plug up my arse. I’ve been planning on having you fuck me all day. I already knew about you. Andre told me. I don’t give a shit. You have a dick, Malfoy. Use it!”
To Harry’s surprise, Draco pushed his trousers and pants down and kicked them into a corner.
“Then strip and get on the bed and spread open that rosy pink arse of yours, Potter.”
Still shocked by Draco’s apparent change in mood, Harry did as he was told. His mind had barely caught up with the situation when Draco roughly pulled the plug from his arse and spread apart his buttocks as far as he could.
“I hope you realise I can see inside your rectum, Potter. Your hole is gaping and sloppy wet. If it could speak it would be begging to be fucked.”
“Well, then do it,” Harry gasped. “Fuck me, Malfoy.”
He felt Draco’s trembling fingers fumble against his hole, and then there was something hard in his arse. He could tell from Draco’s hitched moan that it wasn’t the plug. Draco’s little prick barely reached past the rim of his opening, but that hardly mattered. That was where he was most sensitive anyway.
Draco stayed still for a long time. He held onto Harry’s hips tightly, clearly afraid to move and risk losing the shallow penetration he’d managed to achieve. Harry pushed back into his hands. His own cock had filled completely.
“Are you going to move?” he whispered.
Draco’s only response was a strangled “yup, yeah, okay.”
He began pressing his pelvis against Harry’s arse over and over. After nearly every push, he pulled out too far and had to fumble to insert his cock again, but it didn’t matter. Harry’s sphincter was being massaged constantly each time the head caught. He was hard and leaking and barely had to touch himself before he was coming in spurts that felt wrenched from his gut. He cried out, his body shuddering.
“Oh, fuck!” Draco said, his voice full of what could only be called awe. “You just fucking came, Potter!”
Harry laughed breathlessly. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I did.”
Draco responded to his words by pressing harder and faster. He whimpered every time he popped out and had to struggle to insert his prick again, but Harry could tell that by this point, popping out felt as good as popping in again.
“I’m going to come,” Draco said raggedly. Harry pushed back as hard as he could and felt Draco’s little prick go deeper than it had yet, and then suddenly there was wetness everywhere, all over his balls and hole and the crack of his arse. Draco pushed hard one last time and shot the rest of his load just barely inside Harry’s rectum. Harry could feel him throbbing, and he squeezed his arsehole tightly, holding Draco’s prick snugly until Draco couldn’t take the sensation any longer and pulled out with a wet pop, almost like a cork from the neck of a bottle.
They both flopped down on the mattress side by side and lay there panting. After a minute, Draco sat up and Accioed his pants. Harry caught them before he could.
“Don’t,” Harry said, balling them up and sticking them under a pillow.
Draco blushed and looked away from Harry’s eyes. “So, Andre or Robert or whatever the fuck his name is told you?”
“Yeah,” Harry said. It wasn’t a total lie.
“Awhile ago. Before you and I split up.”
Draco was quiet for a moment. “You’ve known all this time,” he said.
“And you still wanted me.”
“How could I not? You’re bloody gorgeous...”
“It’s all fancy packaging...”
“That is one of the stupidest things I’ve heard you say.”
“I could always Obliviate you.”
“You could try.”
“Is that a challenge?”
Harry smiled and reached for him. After a moment, Draco moved close enough for Harry to put his arms around him.
“Just so we’re clear,” Draco said. “I don’t need your charity, so if that was a pity-fuck...”
“It was definitely not a ‘pity-fuck.’ It’s kind of hard to pity you when you’re calling me a ‘filthy half-blood.’”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that.”
“No you’re not.”
Draco propped himself up on an elbow and looked into Harry’s eyes. “I’ve dreamed of fucking you,” he said matter-of-factly. “Although not with . . . that, of course.”
He gestured with obvious loathing at his groin.
“In your dreams you’re hung like a horse?”
“Something like that.”
Harry reached down to touch Draco’s prick, but Draco slapped his hand. Hard.
“Don’t make me have to ward my dick.”
Harry rolled his eyes.
“Not a joke, Potter. I’m quite serious.”
“I want to touch you,” Harry said. “Let me.”
With obvious reluctance, Draco rolled onto his back. Harry immediately reached down and cupped his cock. It was so small and soft that Harry felt a weird desire to protect it as though it was some kind of orphaned baby woodland creature. The skin was silky, and the slit was still wet. When Harry smeared the wetness around with his finger, Draco moaned and his little prick began to harden. Harry watched it twitch and swell, and his own cock responded in kind.
“I want to watch it spurt,” Harry whispered against Draco’s ear, making him shiver. Draco’s eyes were squeezed tight – probably so he didn’t have to look at himself – but he nodded.
Harry could only wrap his thumb and two fingers around Draco’s prick or else it disappeared in his hand, and he didn’t want that. He wanted to watch it go through every stage that a normal prick would go through. It was hardening and changing from a soft pink to a deep red. A drop of precome formed on the tip, and Harry used it to lubricate Draco’s entire cock. One drop was all that was needed. He tore his eyes away for a moment to look at Draco’s face. He was breathing heavily, and his skin bore a sheen of sweat. He bent his knees and spread his legs as a splotchy flush formed in his cheeks and slowly expanded to his throat and chest. Clearly, his prick gave him pleasure despite its size.
Harry watched another drop of precome emerge from the slit in the now purple head. He used it to wet the pad of his thumb. He couldn’t remember ever being so turned on by giving a hand-job. He grabbed his own cock with his free hand and began to stroke it.
Draco was thrusting now. His balls had drawn up tight against his body, and his tiny prick slipped up and down in Harry’s fingers, making the slit open and close as it leaked clear fluid. Harry tightened his grip on both his and Draco’s cocks and sped up his strokes. Draco’s breathing was fast and shallow.
“I’m going to come,” he moaned.
Harry stopped wanking himself and turned all his attention to Draco’s hard angry-looking nub. Draco was thrusting fast, but he was losing his rhythm. All at once his little cock exploded, and shot strand after strand of come straight up in the air, which then fell, splattering everywhere. He seemed to come forever, and his whole prick convulsed in Harry’s fingers. Harry milked every last drop out of it until Draco shuddered with agonised sensitivity, and then rose to his knees and began wanking furiously. After watching Draco’s little prick explode like it had, it didn’t take Harry long before he, too, was coming. He pointed his cock at Draco’s and ejaculated all over it. It was hard to look away, but Harry wanted to see Draco’s face. His expression was awed, and his gaze was fixated on their pricks. Harry wondered if this was the first time Draco had ever watched himself ejaculate.
As Draco slowly softened again, Harry felt his fierce protectiveness return. That little prick was his now, and he was going to take care of it. He was going to cup it and rub it and suck it and make it come as often as Draco could stand it. He stroked the slick head gently as though he was petting the head of a baby bird that had fallen from its nest.
“Are you ever going to look at my face again, Potter?”
“Maybe not,” Harry replied. “Your cock doesn’t sneer at me.”
“If it could, it would.”
Harry laughed and shook his head. “No it wouldn’t. It’s nicer than you. Plus, I think it likes me.” He released Draco’s prick reluctantly. All their shagging had made him hungry. Hopefully the beef stew hadn’t burned. He had a feeling Draco would eat some too, commoner fare or not.
Draco pulled him close.
They were dancing beside Ron and Pansy who were dipping each other like the drunken berks they were. Draco was hard from rubbing his tiny cock against Harry’s all evening. Harry was hard too. Anytime he even thought of Draco’s little prick, he got an aching erection. Tonight was no exception.
“We fucked twice before we left the house,” Draco whispered in his ear.
“And we’ll fuck another two times when we get back home again.”
Harry could feel Draco’s laugh rather than hear it. The music was too loud.
“You’re a slut for cock, Potter.”
“Only yours,” Harry replied seriously. And he was serious. If a spell was invented tomorrow that could enlarge penises, he’d do everything he could to prevent Draco from using it. He couldn’t imagine loving a new prick more than he loved Draco’s as it was. He couldn’t keep his hands and mouth off of it.
Harry wriggled his hips, pressing himself as tight against Draco’s rock hard nub as he could. He’d made Draco come like this before, and he wanted to again. Draco groaned and rested his forehead against Harry’s. Harry was just about to suggest they go to the loo so he could suck Draco to orgasm when a couple bumped into them. Harry turned to tell them to watch where they were going but stopped when he realised one of the men was Andre. He grinned at Harry over his “date’s” shoulder.
“Congratulations,” he whispered loud enough for Draco to hear him too.
They both grinned at him.
“But may I suggest you two get a room? You’re giving everyone in the club wet pussies and hard-ons.”
Harry rolled his eyes, but Draco winked at him.
“Good,” he said haughtily.
Andre smiled with genuine happiness before he danced away with his besotted partner. Harry turned his attention back to Draco and kissed him.
“About that room,” he said against Draco’s ear making him shiver and his little prick throb. “It’s not such a bad idea.”