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A Dragon in Snake Clothing

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The music was loud.

“Alright there, mate?!”

Sweat dripped down slick skin.

“Do you want another drink?”

There were so many thrumming bodies surging around them it was hard to see where one male ended and another began.

“I said do you want another drink!”

And, much to Harry Potter’s displeasure, his friends had dragged him out with one specific goal in mind.

“What about that guy, Harry?”

To find him a date for Valentine’s Day.

Harry swung his gaze in the direction that Hermione was pointing and felt his mouth twist into a grimace. He shook his head rather adamantly at her, only slightly put-out when she pouted.

“Come on, Harry, you’re not even trying!” Ron said accusingly. “Don’t make me have Charlie drag you over to some random guy—you know I will!”

He groaned. Charlie had acquired a personal interest in making sure Harry was… well looked after… come Valentine’s Day. The bloody tenacious red-head was so damned determined to hook Harry up that he’d willingly left his dragons for an entire week in order to be the ultimate wing-man.

“It’s what you do for an adopted brother,” Charlie had said with a smirk. “You’re the only one left without a partner.”

You’re still single too, you know.”

“Yeah but I’m not looking.” Charlie’s smirk had grown wider. “Perks of being ace, my friend. Besides, you’re getting on in years, you know?”

“I’m only twenty-five!”

And now they were here, two days before the fourteenth of February, in a popular wizarding gay club and rifling through every single male who just happened to be present.

“Is there anyone here that is catching your eye?” Hermione asked, swirling her drink absentmindedly.

“Not really,” Harry replied honestly.

“Well… why don’t you join Charlie on the dance floor?”

Harry gave her a bland look. “Mione, you know I don’t dance.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Two words, Hermione, Yule Ball,” Ron remarked with a cheeky grin. “Harry has no coordination whatsoever—aside from quidditch that is.”

“Exactly,” Harry agreed, nodding. “With little-to-no coordination I’m obviously terrible at sex; it’s probably the reason I keep having so many flings.”

“Probably just a flail of limbs.”

“No rhythm to speak of.”

“Sloppy kisser too, no doubt.”

“Not to mention my atrocious memory when it comes to remembering names.”

“Maybe you should start making them wear nametags?”

“Why not number them while I’m at it.”

Harry and Ron guffawed with laughter much to Hermione’s displeasure.

Honestly, Harry, it’s no wonder you can’t find a date if you’re not even going to be serious about this!”

Smiling patiently, Harry downed a mouthful of his obscenely fruity cocktail Charlie had insisted on getting him. “Mione, we’re in the one place where finding a ‘Mr Right’ is far and few between. Guys come here for anonymous sex and one-night stands. I should know, I’m practically a veteran.”

“You won’t know until you try,” the female replied persistently. “Ooh, looks like Charlie may have found someone.”

Harry swung his head around. True enough Charlie Weasley, with his arm slung comfortably around the shoulders of a young male with chestnut coloured hair, was crossing the dance floor towards them and gesturing madly at their table. The brunet couldn’t help but brace himself warily.

“Harry,” Charlie beamed, “meet Eli.”

Wow,” Eli breathed, eyes wide as they flicked up to his forehead. “Harry Potter!”

Harry groaned inwardly. Another starry-eyed fan…

Charlie seemed to miss the unimpressed look on Harry’s face because he was quick to push the young man he’d brought over closer to him, smiling charmingly. To Harry’s utter horror, Eli sidled nice and close to his side, staring up at him with astonished blue eyes.

“I’ve always wanted to meet you, Harry,” Eli said earnestly.

A smug smile had appeared on Charlie’s face. “You know…” he began innocently enough, “it’s a tad loud in here, hardly the place to really get to know one another…”

Eli immediately brightened.

“Why don’t the two of you head off somewhere quieter? Like the Black Stump? You like that place don’t you, Harry?”

The Black Stump was one of Harry’s favourite wizarding bars. It wasn’t like the club—not at all. It was small, intimate, and best of all, quiet. He frequented it at least once a week, enjoying a drink or two with a friend to help him wind down from the stresses of work and his, typically, inconsistently erratic love life.

“Oh, can we, Harry?” Eli begged, biting his lip endearingly. “I’d love to get to know you.”

Hermione and Ron were both nodding vigorously behind Eli’s back, staring at Harry with identical threatening expressions. Harry suppressed a sigh. It wouldn’t hurt to give it a go…

“Yeah, alright,” he said finally, offering a small smile. He felt a little better about the situation with the prospect of going to the Black Stump, it didn’t seem as daunting if they went to place he was happy and familiar with.

“I’ll go grab my cloak!” Eli said excitedly. “I’ll meet you at the entrance?”

“Sure.”

The young man bounded away from a grin, leaving Harry to three impudent smirks.

“Don’t even,” he interjected quickly, pointing at each of them in turn. “This means nothing. I promised you I’d give it a go and I am.”

“Of course, Harry,” Hermione replied, her smirk morphing into a gentle smile. “I hope, for your sake, that everything works out.”

Charlie winked at him. “And if it doesn’t, no harm done. We’ll simply… have to try again.”

Harry snorted. “You’re never allowed to set me up with someone ever again.”

The red-head chuckled, eyeing him with deviously. “We’ll see.”

 

 

A quick side-along apparition later found Harry and Eli in the shadows of an alleyway a few doors down from the bar. Despite the unknown aspects surrounding his newfound date, Harry was glad to be out of the club. As much fun as it had been back in the day when he hadn’t cared much, he couldn’t help but feel detached from the thrumming atmosphere he had, once upon a time, thrust himself into.

Everything the club represented was so artificial; so impersonal. A constant flow of anonymous sex.

And Harry was so tired.

He was tired of the flings, of the one-night stands that did nothing but further his desire for something more. He wanted to wake up to the same face every morning, share a sleepy kiss, make a ridiculous mess in the kitchen as they attempted pancakes. Hell, Harry would even settle for a cheesy date full of beach walks and photo-booth pictures if it meant that the guy he was with didn’t become just another face in the crowd.

Maybe Eli could be that guy.

The young man was currently vibrating with excitement as they stepped down the snow-covered pavement. His blue eyes were often on Harry’s face, staring at him in wonder as if he really couldn’t believe Harry-Fucking-Potter was taking him on an impromptu date.

I’m sure he’ll calm down once we get talking… Harry thought, trying desperately to make light of the situation. He reached out for the door and pushed it open, a wondrous warmth greeting them as they stepped inside the Black Stump. Almost instantly, Harry could feel the tension draining out of his muscles; the familiar scent of fine spirits and cedar wood drew him in with a welcoming embrace. The two of them removed their cloaks and Harry did his customary sweep of the patrons inside.

And did a double-take. Despite the shadows that cloaked the room in a welcoming allure of mystery, it certainly did not hide the unique shine of platinum hair that instantly captured Harry’s attention.

Draco Malfoy.

The male was reclining elegantly in one of the booths, long legs crossed at the knee, with a pleasant smile directed to the female sitting opposite him. Pansy Parkinson.

Harry found himself staring—he couldn’t help it. Malfoy looked ridiculously alluring, dressed as he was in black pressed pants, navy button up shirt with his sleeves rolled to the elbow, and a black waist coat with a dark-grey tie.

Fucking hell…

It wasn’t uncommon for he and Malfoy to bump into one another during day-to-day life. After Harry had spoken on Malfoy and his mother’s behalf during the trials after the war, the two of them had decided on a tentative truce and parted ways. Ever since, whenever they were within social distance, pleasantries were exchanged and simple, meticulous conversations were sometimes had. Nothing more had happened between them, despite how much Harry secretly wished it would.

The bastard was gorgeous after all.

Swallowing a sigh, Harry forced his gaze away from the delectable blond and gestured for Eli to follow him. He did not lead Eli to his usual spot but instead acquired two stools near the bar, thinking that perhaps if the night was a bust, he could get stinking drunk instead. As they draped their cloaks over the back of their stools, he signalled the bartender who practically sped to take his order and Harry turned to his… date.

God, even in his mind the word sounded cumbersome.

“What would you like to drink, Eli?”

“Whatever you’re drinking, Harry,” he replied immediately.

A faint frown appeared on Harry’s brow. “Firewhiskey?”

Eli drew his bottom lip into his mouth but nodded anyway, eager to please.

“Er—alright then.” Harry turned back to the bartender with whom he shared a similar look and lifted two fingers.

“Two firewhiskeys it is then,” the dark man replied, flicking his wrist elegantly. Two tumblers landed on the wooden benchtop and skidded to a halt before them. A healthy amount of firewhiskey was poured into each.

“Thank you, Khari.” Harry placed an abundance of coins into the bartender’s hand and took their drinks, passing one to Eli.

“Enjoy your evening, Mr Potter,” Khari said with a gentle smile.

Eli gaped.

“I bet you get recognised everywhere,” he exclaimed in an almost-whisper.

Harry uttered a noncommittal noise. “I suppose.”

“I want you to tell me everything about you, Harry, about everything that happened,” Eli begged earnestly. “I’ve read it all, of course, but I want to hear you say it.”

Harry stifled a groan and downed a mouthful of his firewhiskey. “I’d rather not,” he replied, keeping his tone as light as he could make it. “Why don’t you tell me about you?”

“Oh, my life is boring,” Eli remarked. He had yet to even look down at his drink let alone take a sip. He insisted on holding it tightly within his palms. “Not like yours I bet.”

“My life isn’t as glamorous as the Daily Prophet makes it out to be, you know.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

I bet you do… Harry thought tiredly. They’d only been here for ten minutes and Eli was already doing his head in with the hero worship. I’m beginning to feel that this was a mistake…

Perhaps, if he indulged Eli a little, it would make him more comfortable to speak with Harry on a more personal level? It was either that or call an end to their date which, as much as Harry was keen on that idea, having Malfoy witness the entire ordeal made it less appealing. He risked a quick glance in the blond’s direction as Eli stared in disdain at his drink, stiffing at the contents tentatively. Malfoy was alone for time being, taking a sip from a clear goblet that looked to hold red wine. Harry wondered where Parkinson had gone—probably the bathroom or something.

What I wouldn’t give to walk over there right now and ravish Malfoy to a point that he forgets his own name…

“What was You-Know-Who like?”

Harry’s head snapped around, green eyes filled with surprise. “Excuse me?”

“You-Know-Who, Harry,” Eli pressed. “What was he like? Fearsome of course, but to have such power—”

“Voldemort was a ruthless, murdering tyrant,” Harry grunted sharply, ignoring Eli’s wince. “I’d rather not spend our time talking about him.”

“Alright, sorry, yeah that was a bit dense of me,” the young man said quickly. “Can I ask you about other stuff?”

“Depends on the stuff.”

Harry was happy to answer the less intrusive questions Eli flung his way as it kept the young man amused and the situation less awkward. Time was ticking by slowly, but at least it was ticking by. Harry had ordered and downed two more firewhiskeys in the time Eli slowly sipped his to completion, declining another when Harry offered.

“No, no, it’s alright,” Eli said. “I actually have something… else in mind.”

“Oh?” Harry hummed, turning his head to catch Khari’s eye, “what were you after?” He froze when he felt a heated palm press firmly on his jean-clad thigh and he turned his head back, not enjoying the fervent look Eli was now giving him.

“You.”

For an easy fuck, there was no one better. Harry knew this. And it was painfully obvious that Eli did too. But that was not what this evening was supposed to be about. Harry didn’t want another fling—especially with someone as hero-obsessed as his date was turning out to be.

“No, Eli,” Harry murmured. “Unfortunately, I don’t find myself much in the mood.”

A playful leer appeared on the young man’s face. His hand began to move unabashedly up his thigh. Harry’s fingers were instantly around his wrist, tight and restrictive.

“I said no.”

Eli man pouted. “I just want to make you feel good, Harry,” he purred. “You deserve it, you know… after everything you did for us…”

Harry was beginning to feel sick. “That’s not what I want, Eli,” he bit out. “And if this is all that this is, then I want you to leave.”

“All of what?” Eli asked innocently, tilting his head to the side in, what he probably thought, was an attractive manner. “Don’t you want me to make you feel good, Harry?”

He still hadn’t removed his hand from Harry’s thigh.

“No, I don’t think I do, actually,” the brunet replied. He pushed away at the wrist he was holding and Eli finally took the hint, withdrawing his hand.

But the young man was not to be deterred as it turned out.

“Go on, Harry,” he urged, inching bit by bit off his stool. His knees brushed against Harry’s. “What does it matter? I can be another notch in your belt and you’d know I’d make it good. I’ve seen you taking other guys home and you have no idea how much I wanted to be them, how much I’d love to be beneath you, the Great Harry Potter—”

“That’s enough,” Harry snapped, his control finally shattering. “I tried to be nice, Eli, but you’ve pushed me too far. We’re done with this, alright? Now just go.”

Eli blinked. “But—”

“I do believe he told you to run along, darling,” a smooth voice interrupted, “and I recommend that you do so… while you still retain whatever dignity you have left.”

Eli was turning a petulant frown towards whoever it was that had spoken, when his face dramatically paled. He slipped off the stool immediately.

“There’s a good boy,” the voice crooned.

Harry could practically hear the derisive sneer that he knew was currently on Malfoy’s face. He watched, relieved, as Eli conceded surrender and snatched his cloak from the back of the chair. With a final sulky glare, Eli turned away and left the bar.

“I don’t even want to know the look you were giving him to almost make the poor boy wet his pants, Malfoy.”

The blond male chuckled indulgently as he slid himself gracefully into the recently vacated stool, offering a Harry a mischievous smirk.

“What, no thank you? No grovelling at my well-polished shoes? I’m wounded, Potter.”

“Well, after that remark, certainly not.”

“You ungrateful sod.”

“Arrogant ass.”

“You could, at the very least, offer to buy me a drink, Potter.”

Harry, actually more than happy to do so, suddenly found himself frowning as his head quirked to look to the side. “Aren’t you here with Parkinson?” he asked.

“Pansy left an hour ago,” Malfoy said, silver eyes glinting impishly. “I’ve been enjoying the show ever since.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised,” he replied, signalling Khari. “What are you drinking?”

“Anything you’re not.”

Harry was slightly amazed by the relieved smile he felt quirking his lips. “Noticed that, did you?”

“Potter, the entire bar noticed.”

“Don’t know what he was expecting to happen by pretending to enjoy the same drink I do.”

“Manipulation tactic, Potter. A poor one but a tactic nonetheless. I’ll have my usual, Khari.”

“Same for me, thank you, Khari.”

While their drinks were prepared, Malfoy slid back off the stool, staring at Harry expectantly.

“Come join me in the booth, Potter, I’m afraid my arse cannot take such hard wood. Well, at least not in this form.”

Harry almost choked, staring up at the ex-Slytherin in open astonishment who simply smirked and turned, returning to the booth and allowing Harry ample time to ogle his backside.

“There we are, Mr Potter.”

Harry swung back around, smiling sheepishly. “Thank you, Khari,” he said, paying the man.

“It is my pleasure, Mr Potter,” Khari responded. “And if it is not to bold of me, I daresay your new date is much more… appropriate.”

“Oh, he’s not—that is—we went to school together is all,” Harry babbled. His cheeks started to warm and Khari smile indulgently.

“Of course, Mr Potter.”

Flinging his cloak over his arm, Harry grabbed his glass and Malfoy’s goblet and turned away from the bar, his eyes quickly landing on blond hair; a beacon in the shadows. He handed over the wine and dropped his cloak into the spare chair opposite the booth before joining Malfoy on the soft, red velvet cushion with a grateful sigh. Definitely better than those hardwood stools.

“So a tactic, hmm?” Harry inquired, eyeing the blond over the rim of his whiskey tumbler.

“A weak one habitually utilised by desperate fools,” Malfoy replied, smiling blandly. “Used to establish a connection and to lower your guard. I’m surprised it didn’t work…”

“Fuck off, Malfoy,” Harry replied good-naturedly. “Although, I would be rather remiss to not question your own experiences seeing as you know that tactic so well.”

Malfoy tossed his head back and laughed. Harry stared at the graceful curve of his neck, suddenly ravenous to be able to taste the soft, pale skin.

“I had almost forgotten how fun you can be, Potter,” Malfoy commented, eyes shining with mirth. “You must be so pleased to have bumped into me this evening.” He sipped at his wine, his face the most relaxed Harry had ever seen it. “Tell me, Potter, why on earth were you out tonight with that imbecile in the first place?”

Harry groaned into his firewhiskey. “Forced to.”

Forced to?

“Friends wanted to find me someone for Valentine’s Day. They picked him.”

Malfoy snorted. “I think you need to procure new friends.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

The chemistry between them was oh so different from the chemistry he had experienced with Eli. Although, if Harry was honest with himself, there had never actually been chemistry with Eli in the first place. But this. Fuck, whatever this was, Harry absolutely thrived on it. It was familiar, antagonising, challenging, enjoyable, frustrating—

And perfect.

There was no way Harry was leaving tonight without at least seeing if this could go somewhere.

 

 

When Harry next checked his watch he was shocked to see it was already past midnight. He and Malfoy had been talking for four hours. Sitting across from him, Malfoy was arching his back off the back of the booth, stretching as he released a disgustingly attractive sigh.

Harry’s cock twitched.

“I suppose we best call it a night then, Potter,” Malfoy announced. “I am rather impressed we survived an evening without killing one another. We should do this again.”

Just ask him you idiot. Do it! Stop being such a coward—

Taking the chance, Harry blurted out his question.

“Do you have plans for Monday night?”

Malfoy quirked his blond head to the side slightly in thought. Then he smiled.

“Why, Potter, asking me out for Valentine’s Day?”

“Obviously, otherwise I would not have said Monday.”

“You do realise how ghastly going to a restaurant will be that evening, don’t you?”

“Well, I was thinking that maybe you’d like to come to my place and I’ll cook us something.”

Malfoy’s sleek eyebrows rose in mild surprise. “You cook?”

“Erm—yes?” Harry replied. “Why, you don’t?”

“Not usually, no,” Malfoy admitted easily. “House elves, Potter.”

“Oh.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, gazing at the blond. “So… would you like to?”

“I suppose I may be swayed to join you for dinner, Potter, seeing as you asked so nicely.” Malfoy’s tone was teasing, a refreshing change to the usual controlled civil tone he was used to hearing during their brief conversations. “Is there anything you would like for me to bring?”

“Uh, hmm, well I’m pretty useless when it comes to choosing wine,” Harry said, gesturing to Malfoy’s empty goblet. “Unless you’re happy with beer?”

Malfoy’s nose crinkled. “Beer does not suit my palate,” the ex-Slytherin said haughtily. “If you message me detailing what you intend to cook I shall provide a suitable wine.”

“Deal,” Harry grinned, his heart thumping happily.


 

Something straight forward and simple was what Harry had decided on for dinner. As promised, he’d sent Malfoy an owl that very morning, depicting the three-course meal Harry was planning: caprese salad as an entrée, beef tortellini with Harry’s personalised Napoli sauce for the main, and of course, treacle tart for dessert.

Harry had spent most of the day in a jubilant haze as he prepared the food and cleaned the apartment. It wasn’t until he was stepping out of the shower and considering what to wear did he begin to feel the first flutter of nerves.

Malfoy was coming over for dinner. Malfoy was coming over for dinner. On Valentine’s Day. For a date.

He smiled giddily at his slightly blurry reflection. Hell, even if nothing actually happened tonight at least Harry could be sure to plant the seed of interest. Malfoy may not even think of him in that way. Yet. Hopefully. Ugh!

Get it together you idiot…

Harry popped in his contact lenses, ruffled his hair to help it dry faster, and stepped into his bedroom where, thankfully, he had already lain out his clothing for the evening on the bed. Black button up, blue jeans, and black shoes. Simple but effective.

He neatened his facial hair, somewhat tamed his wildly curling mop, and slapped on some cologne. Checking his watch, his heart thumped as he realised that Malfoy would be arriving in twenty minutes. He left the bedroom, ducked into the kitchen to make sure the table was set properly and the food was ready, and then quickly did a final sweep of the lounge room.

With three minutes to spare, Harry looked around with a faint smile.

Then his fireplace roared and the smile fell, his lips pressed together nervously, watching as Malfoy’s tall, graceful frame exited the hearth in a flash of green flames.

“Right on time,” Harry said, forcing a welcoming smile on his face.

“Yes, well, I prefer to not keep people waiting,” Malfoy replied, gazing around the lounge room in speculation. His silver eyes snapped back to Harry’s face, a single eyebrow raised. “No rose bouquet, Potter? I’m heartbroken.”

A cheeky smirk tugged at Harry’s lips. “Hmm, I would have taken you to be more of an oriental lily kind of man.”

Draco blinked. “…that is rather astute of you, Potter.”

Harry gaped. “No way.”

“Tell anyone and you’re a dead man,” Malfoy sneered, thrusting the two bottles of wine he held into Harry’s arms and moving past him.

Harry grinned. He allowed Malfoy to his own devices as he dropped the bottles off onto the dinner table, stopping briefly for one last check on the food. When he returned to the lounge room, his eyes landed on Malfoy’s blond head, which was bent at an odd angle. In fact, his entire figure was bent over, and it took Harry a moment to realise what Malfoy was looking at.

“I see you’ve met my albino Burmese python.”

A soft sigh fell from the blond’s lips. “And who is this gorgeous creature?” Malfoy murmured, gazing longingly in the large terrarium Harry had set up along the wall.

“Peaches.”

Malfoy turned to stare at him scrutinisingly. Harry winced.

“Teddy named him.”

“Oh.”

“He refused to answer to anything else,” Harry continued, joining Malfoy beside the tank. “Isn’t that right, Peaches? You were quite pleased when Teddy named you.

It was an admirable name from Master’s little ward,” Peaches hissed back, tongue flickering. “Who is your shiny friend, Master?

Draco Malfoy, an old friend from school. He has come to join me for dinner.”

Peaches turned his handsome head in Malfoy’s direction. Draco practically crooned.

“And here I thought the whole Slytherin thing was a gambit,” Harry sniggered.

“Shut up, Potter,” Malfoy replied, “and allow me to appreciate such a glorious specimen.”

“I promise you can hold him after dinner if you’re a good boy.”

The blond, still enraptured by the serpent, simply hummed in agreement. Harry laughed softly and tugged gently on Malfoy’s arm.

“Come on, you ponce, there will be plenty of time to look at snakes later.”

“Oh, indeed?” The smirk was back in Malfoy’s voice as he followed Harry into the kitchen. “What sort of snakes were you thinking of, Potter?”

 

 

Dinner was, surprisingly, a really nice affair. Malfoy even complimented Harry on his culinary skills. They had kept the conversation relatively tame, sticking to topics they both shared a mutual interest in, with the occasional jest or jab at the others expense. Just for old times.

By the time they had settled on the couch in Harry’s living room with the second bottle of wine, Harry was sure he was head over heels for the damn, utterly beautiful but horribly irritating, man.

“Indulge me, Potter,” Malfoy queried, “why were your friends so desperate to hook you up for Valentine’s?”

Harry exhaled. “Because I asked them to,” he admitted. The wine had loosened his tongue enough that he did not feel embarrassed about confessing. “I was getting sick and tired of the constant stream of bedwarmers. Anonymous sex is all well and good but it’s not something I wish to continue.”

“Muggle or wizard?”

“Most of the time they’re muggle,” Harry replied. “They don’t know who I am—it’s just easier. I’ve had a few flings with some wizards and while it’s nice to not have to hide my magic, it’s really fucking sad when you can tell they’re getting off purely because they’re buggering the Boy-Who-Lived.”

Malfoy snorted, a delightful smirk curling at his lips. “Haven’t considered using a glamour then, Potter?”

Harry looked at the blond with a frown. “What would be the point? I’m not in this for a fling, Malfoy. Using a glamour to hide who I am kind of defeats the point, doesn’t it? I wouldn’t want to have to use a glamour for the rest of my life.”

“Alright, alright, fair point,” Malfoy replied playfully. He raised his wine goblet and took a delicate sip, his silver eyes never once straying for Harry’s face. “And you were going to use tonight…”

“…to hopefully find someone a little more long term,” Harry confirmed with a nod.

“Hmm. What a shame you ended up with me.”

Harry felt his cheeks begin to colour. “You’re not so bad, Malfoy.”

“Not so bad?” There was a chink as the blond placed his glass on the coffee table beside Harry’s. “Thank you for the shining endorsement, you utter twat.”

A smile broke across the brunet’s face. Lifting his head, Harry felt his heart leap to his throat. Malfoy’s gaze was so very heated as he moved towards him on the couch.

“Erm—Malfoy?” He didn’t mean for the question to come out so timidly, but as the ex-Slytherin’s face drew exceptionally close to his, there was nothing but nervous butterflies left tingling in his stomach. Malfoy’s body was sliding elegantly between Harry’s thighs, his pale hands pushing on Harry’s shoulders until his torso hit the cushioned arm. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry as he stared up into molten silver. A tantalising smile was curling Malfoy’s lips.

“Was this not where you wanted the evening to head, Potter?”

Malfoy’s voice was low, husky, and definitely filled with promise. Harry shivered.

“I—well, yes?”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” Harry murmured, feeling suddenly breathless. “But, I didn’t—”

“Mmm?” Malfoy’s eyes were now focused on his lips.

“I didn’t realise that you wanted this too.”

“Then allow me to inform you otherwise.”

Harry was sure he made a noise, partway between a sigh and a strangled moan, and then he was lost, falling into the searing heat of Draco’s mouth. It was hard, brutal, and hot as fuck; Draco’s mouth seemed to completely dominate his and Harry was quite content to let him. His hands came to rest instinctively on Malfoy’s shifting back muscles, fingers digging in sync each time the blond sucked on his tongue.

Bliss.

The kiss began to calm, becoming almost tender, a twisting dance of tongues and soft gasps. Harry’s hand caressed the back of Draco’s neck, fingertips brushing the delicate blond strands as he cradled the male’s head—god, he never wanted to leave Draco’s mouth.

With a final lingering press of lips to his, Malfoy drew back slowly, allowing only a few inches between them.

“How’s that for not so bad?” he asked huskily.

The post make-out miasma was blathering praise. Harry willed his mouth to move. “Superb, exceptional, outstanding—nothing bad—only good.”

Draco chuckled as he kissed a reward on Harry’s lips. “Mmm, I really should thank Weasley then for arranging our date.”

Harry was practically purring in agreement when he suddenly jolted. “I—wait, what? Date? Weasley?”

Draco’s eyes glinted audaciously. “Charlie to be precise.”

Harry stared up at him in utter confusion. “But he—what was all that shit with Eli then?”

A wicked smile appeared on Malfoy’s face. “Part of the plan, Potter. Weasley was to find the most unsuitable male he could and convince you to go to the Black Stump where I, wonderful, considerate, evening-saving Draco Malfoy, would just happen to be.”

Harry’s mouth worked open and closed wordlessly as Malfoy’s words sunk in. “That git!

“Yes,” the blond purred, leaning down to trail his tongue along one of Harry’s neck tendons, “an atrocious git.”

“Both of you are a pair of fucking—oh f-fuck, do that again.”

Malfoy complied, and Harry felt himself arching up off the couch at the sensation of teeth scraping his skin roughly, a delicious moan falling from his lips.

“You’re both arseholes,” Harry panted.

Malfoy made an amused sound. “Good thing you like arseholes.” He bit into Harry’s neck. The brunet’s breath hitched.

“W-Wait—how do you even know Charlie?”

“Dragons,” Draco replied simply. “I adore the creatures and Charlie is the most talented dragon handler I know.”

“Oh.”

“Now shut up, Potter, I wish to have my wicked way with you.”

Time seemed to shift then. It began in a rush of blurred shapes, sounds, and smells; Draco’s moans and whimpers were like music to his ears. Clothes were discarded, articles of fabric thrown across the room. He barely remembered flipping them, Draco’s heated figure undulating beneath him, long fingers knotting in his dark hair as Harry’s lips marked the glorious pale skin of Malfoy’s chest. The fingers clenched tighter and tighter the further down Harry travelled with his mouth, tongue teasing, teeth nipping, and Draco moaning.

H-Harry—!

And then he was swallowing, his throat convulsing delectably around the thick cock, until his nose was nestled in blond curls. Malfoy was gasping, stammered pleas passing his trembling lips. Through the haze, Harry managed to gather enough coherency to cast a wandless, non-verbal lubrication spell, his right hand becoming exceptionally slick and soon, a slippery finger was sheathing itself inside Draco’s warmth.

Oh, f-fuck! Harry—Harry, please—” Draco’s back arched almost painfully, legs falling further apart. “H-Harry, I can’t—oh, gods, I’m going to come if you k-keep doing—” Another sharp intake of breath. “P-please, not yet… not yet… with you, Harry—I want to c-come with you inside me—

Draco’s eyes were pools of pure arousal, dark and glazed, as Harry looked up the length of his body, allowing the cock to slip from between his lips. The blond whimpered. He watched, transfixed, as Harry kept a sturdy pace with his finger while he moved back up towards him. Draco’s eyes fell to reddened and swollen lips.

Capturing Malfoy’s mouth with his, Harry pushed a second finger inside, swallowing Draco’s moan as he began to scissor the digits.

Time was speeding up again.

Fingers were moving, stretching, penetrating. And Draco was moaning, sobbing, begging for Harry to fuck him already.

Three fingers.

Four fingers.

And with one final whispered plea into Harry’s mouth, he complied, coating his impatiently aching cock with the remainder of the lubricant on his hand. Then he was moving, kissing Draco sweetly, pushing himself against Draco’s entrance.

And slid inside with one gentle, smooth stroke.

Time slowed. Stopped.

Harry could feel himself trembling, holding himself back so Draco could adjust, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

So good, so good, he feels so good… Draco…

A gentle hand was pressing on his neck, pulling him down. He opened his eyes.

Move,” Draco breathed, kissing him roughly.

Harry did.

His hips flexed, his thrusts working a rhythm that drew beautiful gasps from Draco’s throat. He quickened his pace every time his lover urged him, angling himself until he hit that spot just right.

With a furious cry, Draco came. His seed splashed against his pale chest in a series of glorious spurts, his body stretching in a display of pure ecstasy. And Harry, his cock now massaged by the convulsing muscles in Malfoy’s perfect arse, felt his orgasm rip through him, flooding the tight channel with come.

It wasn’t until his head was resting on his lover’s shoulder, a soothing finger tracing his lips, that Harry realised he had been moaning Draco’s name. He sucked gentle, open-mouth kisses on the damp skin of Draco’s neck, enjoying the feel of arms wrapping around him securely.

Harry felt his eyes close, content in Draco’s embrace as they both drifted in post orgasmic bliss.


 

One year later.

 

Something soft brushed against Harry’s mouth. For a moment, his sleep-addled brain was unable to recognise what it was exactly, until he felt it again, pressing more firmly. His lips curled into a smile as they parted, accepting the gently probing tongue with an exuberant, drowsy sigh.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”

“Mmm, Happy Valentine’s,” Harry replied sleepily, reaching out to pull the warm body lying beside him closer. A head came to rest on his chest and one of Harry’s hand immediately delved into the delicate strands as he angled his head to press a kiss to blond hair.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of pancake duty by acting all sweet, love.”

Another smile quirked at his lips, his body positively humming with delight.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Draco.”