Archive of Our Own ^beta

Harry glanced around as he sipped his drink. Or rather, pretended he was sipping his drink. He was on duty, after all. And honestly, he never drank something served to him by an unfamiliar bartender. Alastor Moody had it right — constant vigilance was essential when you were an Auror.

Although, it was slowly becoming clear Harry was wasting his time.

They'd been watching the pub on the other end of Knockturn for weeks, trying to find the person who was selling a new drug that was making people sick, but the source remained elusive.

Though, whoever was selling it wasn't here either. Unlike the other pub, this one was an old, dusty place, with quiet music and a handful of wizards. It had an air of some old gentlemen's club that had gone to ruin. The place filled up a bit in the last hour, but it was past midnight, so it wouldn't get any livelier than this. Worse, half the people here looked suspicious. Unfamiliar faces, obscuring charms, hoods pulled down too low. And the ones who didn't look suspicious, well… Harry glanced at his own reflection in the window. A dark-brown haired man with hazel eyes looked back at him.

He wasn't on Polyjuice. The surveillance team had reported this pub was heavily protected with all kinds of enchantments. They said it would counter the effects of the Polyjuice, as that potion was too well known, which meant countermeasures had been developed and were easy to implement. No, Harry needed something simple enough to slip through the cracks, like the obscuring charms some people here used, but those were too obvious. Something subtle but effective was his best bet. Harry had spent an hour with the Ministry's Veiling experts as they worked their magic to alter his appearance.

Harry was impressed by the results. He felt like himself, because they only messed with the most obvious, visible features. They obscured his scar, lightened up his hair, even made it a little less wild. There was a little brown in his eyes, his face was a bit broader, cheekbones sharper, lips a little thinner. His vision was temporarily improved by magical contact lenses, which Harry hated because they made his eyes itchy after a while, but for short-term use they were a godsend. The Veilers altered his voice too, gave him a slightly higher pitch. The final results were stellar. Harry would never recognise himself, but he didn't feel as awkward and uncomfortable the way he always felt when he went through a whole body transformation.

A lot of effort for nothing. Harry glanced around again. He had heard this was a gay bar, though honestly he had seen more gay couples in the other place. People here seemed to prefer discretion. He had a distinct feeling this bar catered to the old, rich pure-blood clientele. He was glad he had never come here; he'd been tempted a few times. Wizarding gay scene was slim.

But well, he wasn't here to get laid. He likely wasn't here to catch any criminals, either. There wasn't enough mingling. A few people were alone, possibly waiting for someone to catch their interest, and those who had coupled up, eventually went upstairs. There was no one here who spoke to more than one person. And no one approached Harry. Which was interesting because he thought the Veilers made him more attractive, a bit younger-looking too. Smoothed down some roughness caused by the Auror life.

As though summoned by his thoughts, a man finally approached him. He slipped onto a barstool right next to Harry. One of those who had their hood pulled down very low, so Harry couldn't see his face.

"Waiting for someone?" the man asked.

His voice sounded familiar. "Um, no, no one in particular."

"Hm." The man spun on the stool and turned towards Harry. He pulled his hood down.

It was lucky that Harry was so shocked he couldn't even react. At least he thought he hadn't. He looked away and pretended to take another sip of his drink, giving himself time to school his features into some semblance of polite inquisitiveness rather than shock.

But goddamn, that was Draco Malfoy. So very unmistakably him, though Harry hadn't seen him in years. Three years perhaps. More? He heard Malfoy was abroad, travelling, spending his gold. Becoming… handsome, apparently. Fuck. Was he always this handsome? Harry could only remember extreme paleness and scowls when he thought of him.

Harry glanced back at Malfoy for a better look. And yes, there was no denying it. He was fucking gorgeous. Those pale eyes of his were a striking feature, jaw and cheeks tight, skin smooth, haircut fashionable, the strands uneven so they fell around his face in orderly disorder. He was smiling like he knew something Harry didn't. Harry resisted the urge to check his appearance in the window. The Charms should last for three hours, and he got here half an hour ago. There was no danger yet. Malfoy couldn't possibly recognise him.

"I was waiting for someone," Malfoy said. "I do believe I've been stood up."

Harry found that hard to believe. Either this was a line, or it was some sort of blind date, and whomever Malfoy was supposed to meet didn't know what was waiting for him.

God, where did that thought come from? It was still Malfoy. A spoiled, rich snob with a questionable past. How did Malfoy's smile make him forget that? Harry didn't hate him or anything. That was ancient history. Long forgotten since the moment Harry had witnessed Malfoy's terror when he'd been forced to cause people unimaginable pain. But... it was Malfoy.

"Um," Harry managed, suddenly tongue-tied. He had this irrational fear Malfoy would recognise him if Harry talked too much. Pick up on it by the way Harry spoke. But even if he did recognise him, so what? Harry was on an Auror mission; he wasn't here to…

No, actually, this was the problem. If Malfoy recognised him, he would think Harry was here because he was hiding. Even if Harry threw caution to the wind and tried to claim he was here on a secret assignment, Malfoy would think Harry was lying. That he was embarrassed because Malfoy found him in a gay bar. And that thought alone made Harry angry. The idea that Malfoy would think Harry was a coward. Which Harry wasn't. He simply liked to keep his private life private.

"You look like you wandered in," Malfoy said, still smiling. Apparently, the fact Harry couldn't put two words together and make conversation hadn't deterred him. He must have been desperate for sex, or he found this charmed look of Harry's very attractive.

"I sort of did, yeah," Harry said, aware he sounded shy. Young. Uncertain. He hadn't planned on it, but that was, in fact, a brilliant strategy. It would fool Malfoy better. And Harry might finally get a chance to investigate. He didn't think Malfoy was selling drugs; he was so rich — why would he? But he could have been a buyer. Easily. Maybe he was drugged right now, and that was why he seemed so relaxed. "This place isn't quite what I expected," Harry added, sticking to half-truths; that was always wise when undercover.

"Hm." Malfoy nodded. "A bit too quiet for you? Weekends are livelier. You should stop by then." His lips curved, and he leaned in a bit. "If you're on the prowl. On workdays, even Fridays, people who come here have predetermined plans."

What an odd feeling it was, being flirted with by Draco Malfoy. He was good at it. It wasn't about what he was saying, but the way he was saying it, in that smooth, soft tone, leaning in conspiratorially. Oh, he was a player, that was clear.

"I've noticed some stragglers," Harry couldn't help saying. Not everyone was paired up.

"Regulars," Malfoy said. "Here to drink. And hope." His gaze swept the room. "Anyone you like?"

Harry didn't have to look around and examine the solitary patrons. They were old or drunk or both. "They'd have better luck at the other place."

"This is more private. Full service, too. Nice clean room upstairs. A few charms on the entrance."

"Yeah."

Malfoy must have loved the charms too. They ensured discretion. One couldn't discuss anything they learned here with others. Unfortunate for the investigation, but that was a bridge Harry would cross if he found something worth the bother.

First he had to try to gather some information. "I was thinking about stopping by tomorrow," he said, offhand, "but I heard we're in for some terrible weather. Thunderstorms and hail."

Malfoy's smile slipped. Just like that, as though someone wiped it off. "I heard no such thing." He promptly got up.

Harry blinked. "Wait. Where are you going? What just happened?"

Malfoy gave him a long look. "You just told me what you're after. Means I can't help you."

"What—" Harry stopped himself. Feigning innocence wouldn't get him far. All right, then. He hadn't been subtle, but he hadn't expected this reaction. It was extremely suspicious a mere mention of it would make Malfoy leave. "I— I'm sorry," Harry said, stammering on purpose. "I just… I heard about the Red Hail. I thought maybe you know something. Like, where I could get some."

"I gathered as much," Malfoy said coldly. It was actually unbelievable how cold he was now. He looked more like the Malfoy who Harry remembered from school. "Like I said, I can't help you."

"Okay." It occurred to Harry then that Malfoy had good reason to avoid anyone and anything illegal. He certainly had a record. A toe out of line, and he'd be in big trouble. His reaction wasn't necessarily suspicious; it made sense. Harry was now sorry he had scared him like this. "I mean, you don't have to leave," he said, just to say something.

"Oh, but I must. People who are after the Red Hail aren't to my taste. They're easy pickings. I prefer a challenge."

Harry winced and looked away. God. Now that was properly cold. Malfoy not only dismissed him, he made sure to insult him too.

Maybe Malfoy regretted it because he stepped closer. He sounded somewhat kinder when he said, "See that bloke in the corner?"

The unexpected question made Harry look around. The guy in the corner was an old, greasy-haired drunk. "He's the one selling?"

Malfoy huffed. "No. Not selling, not using. He's waiting. He's quite rich, you know, so you'd think he'd have no trouble finding lovers, but he's stingy and has— ah, a reputation… Blokes stay clear of him. So, he sits there, every evening, waiting for pretty, young boys like yourself to stumble inside, red hailed enough to find him desirable. Because that's what the drug does to you. Gets you randy. Clouds your judgement and your vision. You take it, you're likely to fall down on your knees for anyone who asks. Even him."

"Oh." Harry heard the drug was powerful, but he hadn't realised it could mess with one's perception this much.

"Is that what you're after?" Malfoy asked. "Because he might have some. I doubt he'd never tried to slip it into someone's drink."

God, Harry should arrest that guy. But he needed curse-breakers to dismantle the protection on this place.

"It's not what I'm after," Harry said, a bit distracted. He couldn't discuss anything he had heard here with anyone, but he could still arrange a raid. The other Aurors would listen to him if he said it must be done. And if this guy had Red Hail on him, then he could lead them to the dealer. Malfoy might have solved the case for him with this information.

"Good. I wouldn't recommend it." Malfoy turned to leave.

"Hey, wait!" Harry said, and Malfoy turned, one blond eyebrow raised.

But Harry didn't know what to say. Why had he called Malfoy back? He got some intel from him, and judging by Malfoy's aversion to the drug, he was unlikely to know more about it. And Malfoy had lost interest in him, which… Why should Harry care?

Admittedly, he was weirdly insulted by Malfoy's sudden rejection, but that made no sense as Harry wasn't even Harry at the moment, and if he was, then Malfoy would have never approached him in the first place.

"Thanks," was all Harry could say. And he was thankful for the intel, but he was even more thankful that Malfoy had decided to warn some naive stranger about the drug's effects. He wasn't particularly kind about it, but he was effective.

"Sure." Malfoy was staring at him. He must have been deliberating because, eventually, he said, "Well, if you're not interested in Red Hail anymore, I have a room booked upstairs."

Oh God. That was not what Harry was after. He liked those few moments when Malfoy was flirting with him. It was strange and oddly thrilling, but he had no plans to go upstairs and have sex with him. And good Lord, was Malfoy forward. And shameless. He booked a room for some other bloke, the one who stood him up, basically confessed as much, and he now expected a complete stranger to follow him upstairs just because he offered. He even made it sound like he was doing Harry a favour.

Harry must have hesitated for too long, or his expression betrayed some of his disbelief, because Malfoy shook his head. "Maybe some other time, then."

"No, wait!"

All right, Harry was certifiable. What was he doing? Did he want to go upstairs with Malfoy? Just because he was handsome now, and he flirted with Harry for two seconds?

Well, no, it wasn't just that. It was a goddamn thrill. Because Malfoy had no idea who Harry was. It was such a strange opportunity. This would be Harry's little secret. No trouble, no consequences. A chance to see how his old school rival behaved in the sack.

Draco Malfoy. Harry had never even considered it before. And now… He was curious. Kind of excited too. And well, he kind of wanted to get laid. It had been a while. Malfoy, though…

Harry bit his bottom lip and stood up. "I'd like that," he said, because he was easy-pickings, apparently.

Malfoy's smile transformed into a familiar smirk. Oh, he loved Harry's hesitation. A little challenge for him, which he had won.

"Come on, then," Malfoy said, and Harry followed him upstairs in a disbelieving daze. Was he really doing this? He checked his appearance in a foggy glass wall separating the bar from the upper levels. The charms held, and he had time.

Malfoy led him to a nice room at the end of the first-floor corridor. Not lavish, not big, and the furniture looked worn, but it was clean and cosy. The bed was reasonably sized, covered with a soft-looking, colourful comforter. A dozen lit candles floated near the ceiling, the only source of light, amusingly reminding Harry of Hogwarts.

Malfoy wasted no time. He wrapped his arms around Harry's waist from behind and pressed a kiss below Harry's ear.

"Changed your mind yet?" he murmured.

God, how nervous and unsure Harry must have seemed for Malfoy to give him this many chances to flee. And it wasn't like Harry had never done this before. He'd hooked up with Muggle men he barely knew in the fucking loo. Granted, it was only twice, years ago, when he was… exploring, and before he decided that just wasn't for him. He'd been more focused on finding a connection since then, which wasn't easy. A resolute decision and yet here he was. At least it wasn't the loo.

"I tend to stick to my decisions once I make them," Harry said stubbornly, because that was still true. This was an exception. A mad, exciting exception.

"Let's get you out of these clothes, then."

Malfoy's voice was low and seductive; Harry doubted anyone said no to him when he spoke to them like this. He turned Harry around, deft fingers unbuttoning Harry's shirt, pulling it out of Harry's trousers, slipping it down Harry's shoulders.

It was strange to be treated like this. Malfoy was so slow, so careful, as though unwrapping a fragile present. And then he leaned in and kissed Harry's lips, and all of Harry's hesitation vanished. Malfoy could kiss. Not gently, not carefully; he pushed close, got Harry to lean back his head, did his best to own Harry's mouth, his hands still unwrapping Harry's body, sliding the trousers down past Harry's hips. He grabbed a handful of Harry's arse and squeezed.

Harry gasped because that was unexpectedly rough, and sudden lust threw him into a frenzy. He attacked Malfoy's clothes, wrestling off his cloak, tugging on Malfoy's shirt, desperate to reach skin.

Malfoy was still kissing him, his hot mouth moving down to Harry's throat, hands still massaging Harry's arse.

The sound of fabric ripping made them both freeze.

Malfoy raised his head. "That's an expensive shirt."

"Uf." Harry examined the hole he'd made near the shirt's hem with his fingertips. "It shouldn't rip so easily then."

Malfoy's lips twitched. "It's just as easy to fix it," he said and pushed Harry backwards, hard enough to make him fall down to the bed.

Harry was still catching the breath that got knocked out of his lungs when Malfoy yanked Harry's trousers and underwear off him. He was temporarily hampered by Harry's boots, but he got rid of those in seconds too.

And then Harry was lying down completely naked, waiting for Malfoy to undress, his legs spread, because Malfoy had grabbed Harry's ankles and arranged them like that, and his cock unbearably hard, because he had never been this turned on in his life.

Malfoy looked expensive and polished when dressed; undressed, he looked a bit wild. Maybe because of his tousled hair, or the clear desire in his eyes, or his flushed cock, jutting out, head glistening, his blond pubes an unusual sight for Harry. There was something especially gorgeous about it.

"I want to suck you off," Harry said, surprising himself with this burning need to get Malfoy's cock in his mouth. For some reason, Harry imagined he would love the taste of him. And Malfoy's cock was so thick; he imagined himself choking on it.

"I want your arse," Malfoy countered, climbing up on the bed, approaching on his knees, hands on Harry's thighs, pushing them up.

And Harry's body obeyed, his legs spreading wider, bending at the knees. God, yes, he wanted Malfoy inside him. He wanted—

Malfoy had his wand out, pointing it at Harry.

In one terrifying moment, Harry's mind cleared. What the hell was he doing? Lying here, exposed and eager, at Malfoy's mercy, his own wand somewhere on the floor in his trousers' back pocket. What a stupid thing he had done. Malfoy could curse him, take his wand, leave Harry here defenceless. He could—

All Malfoy did was cast the usual charms. Hygiene, protection, lube, quick and perfunctory, and then he tossed his wand aside, so it rolled off the bed. He wasn't worried at all.

He got closer, knees pushing at Harry's thighs as he bent down low, looming over Harry, hands on either side of Harry's head. Harry looked up at him. Good God, he wanted Malfoy to fuck him so desperately he was prepared to beg for it.

"Not to keep harping on the same thing," Malfoy said, "but you look terribly concerned."

But Harry wasn't concerned, not anymore. He was shocked by his own behaviour, his own desires. Clearly, he wasn't hiding it well.

"I'm not. I—" He tried to stick to some semblance of truth. "It's been a while since I did this, that's all."

"I see." Malfoy didn't offer words of comfort to reassure him, but he lowered on his elbows and kissed Harry's lips, and that did soothe Harry's nerves. Not only that, the kiss made him dizzy. A kiss hadn't made him dizzy since he was a young teen.

But then Malfoy pulled away and frowned down at him. He stared for so long, with so much intensity, Harry could no longer bear it.

"What?" he asked.

"You didn't tell me your name." Malfoy's voice was even lower now.

"Does it matter?" Harry was honestly surprised Malfoy had asked. It seemed to Harry they had wordlessly agreed not to share names.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," Malfoy said, surprising Harry again. He was still staring down at him, expectant. Maybe he thought Harry had recognised him and that was the source of Harry's reluctance.

"All right," Harry said, determined not to offer his name. He had one picked out, a whole backstory to go with it, but he didn't feel like lying more than necessary.

Malfoy cocked his head, the corner of his lips twitching. "All right, then," he said and kissed Harry again.

It was a heated kiss, made even better when Malfoy's hand sneaked low, and he pushed a finger into Harry's hole. It slid in easier than Harry thought it would. It had been a while, but he was so aroused, so eager for Malfoy to push in.

Malfoy pulled away again to watch Harry's face as he fucked him slowly with two fingers. Harry wasn't prepared for this kind of attention, this much scrutiny, this careful prep.

He felt his cheeks heat up. He wished he could look away, somehow escape Malfoy's gaze, but he was mesmerised by Malfoy's pale eyes, so focused on Harry's face. There was hunger in his expression that was honestly a bit concerning, but it only turned Harry on even more.

"Enjoying yourself?" Malfoy asked.

Not even the obvious smugness in Malfoy's tone could stop Harry from panting out, "Yeah."

"I think you're ready for more."

"Yes. Yes," Harry agreed quickly, because he was absolutely ready. If Malfoy didn't stop what he was doing, Harry would come. He could feel it.

Malfoy pulled out his fingers, and Harry closed his eyes, waiting for that moment when— Oh, yes, he could feel it now. The hot, slick head of Malfoy's cock pressing against Harry's rim.

"Hey," Malfoy said and lightly bit on Harry's bottom lip.

Harry's eyes flew open in surprise. Malfoy was still staring.

"Yeah?" Malfoy murmured.

"Yeah," Harry said, mindless, unsure why Malfoy was asking again.

Harry sucked in a breath as Malfoy's cock breached him, stretching the rim painfully.

"Hey," Malfoy said and stopped.

Harry realised he had closed his eyes again.

With difficulty, Harry kept them open, confused and aroused. He had no idea why Malfoy insisted on watching him. But that was clearly what he wanted — hold Harry's gaze as he pushed in. That hunger in his expression was still there.

Malfoy's cock slid in slowly, and Harry winced and grimaced and hissed, and he doubted that was a pretty sight, but Malfoy's eyes were focused on Harry's face the whole time.

And Harry got dizzy again. Dizzy from this unexpected intimacy, the inescapable burn of Malfoy's cock and Malfoy's gaze.

Malfoy pushed all the way in, and Harry was panting, trying to adjust.

Fuck. That was deep, and thick. And it burned, and it hurt, and… It was getting better. And Harry had closed his eyes again. He forced them open, unsurprised this time when he found Malfoy staring. But Malfoy was flushed now, his gaze darker. He twitched his hips, and Harry gasped.

"Feels good?" Malfoy asked.

"Yeah." Harry couldn't help adding, "You really like asking questions."

"I like hearing answers. You know, like, 'Your cock feels magnificent, Draco Malfoy.'"

Harry laughed. What a strange moment for laughter. Was Malfoy like this with all his lovers?

"I can't say that with a straight face."

"Hm." Malfoy started thrusting, slow, shallow, deep. "How about now?"

Harry's gasps were broken, and then Malfoy rolled his hips, a nice little twist to his movements that had Harry moaning.

"Yeah. Yeah, it feels good," Harry managed.

"Magnificent," Malfoy insisted. He sped up, just a little, pulling out more, pushing in harder.

Fuck. That was… Malfoy was still staring.

"Brilliant," Harry said, half in defeat, half in rebellion.

Malfoy smiled. It was clearly enough because he sped up, still doing that gorgeous little twist with his hips, but he was thrusting in properly. Oh, he was good at it. Who would have thought?

Harry was so close, but he didn't want to come yet. He wanted more of this; he wanted it to last. Keeping still was impossible. He wrapped his legs around Malfoy's waist, pulling him closer, answering his thrusts.

But then Malfoy stopped and lifted up a bit, which made Harry panic and gasp out, "Wait!" terrified Malfoy had changed his mind or something, but one look at Malfoy's face convinced him that wasn't a concern. Malfoy was flushed all the way to the middle of his chest, his eyes seemingly dark, his hair a wild, white blond halo around his face. He reached for Harry's hands, and before Harry could even wonder what he meant to do, Malfoy grabbed Harry's wrists and pressed them down onto the pillow on each side of Harry's head.

Until that moment, Harry never knew this was something he'd like, but he fucking loved it. Especially when Malfoy rose up a bit, putting more weight on his hands, and started slamming in hard, so hard Harry's legs fell open, losing their purchase. He could no longer move, no longer answer Malfoy's thrusts, just accept he was getting the pounding of his life from Draco Malfoy.

Harry was completely undone. Not just by Malfoy's furious fucking that had the bed squeaking underneath them, but by Malfoy's determined focus on Harry's face. As though he didn't want to miss a single gasp, a single moan, a single wince he drew out of Harry.

There was no stopping Harry's orgasm. Even like this, with no chance to reach down and touch his cock, he could feel his whole body tightening up, the pleasure too sharp, too intense for him to keep quiet. He heard himself whimper and then gasp as he came, the release drawn out, intensifying with Malfoy's every thrust.

Malfoy wasn't far behind. He finally closed his eyes, panting as he came, his final thrusts almost too much to bear. He froze up after, head bent as he was catching his breath, still gripping Harry's wrists, leaning heavily on his hands.

Malfoy's grip actually hurt, Harry realised, belatedly. That would absolutely leave bruises. He shivered at the thought. He could imagine it now — hiding his wrists under long sleeves, taking a little peek at them whenever he felt like it and when no one else was looking.

God, what was wrong with him? Did he get Red Hailed? He hadn't eaten or drunk anything. And he didn't feel drugged. He felt… fucked. So well fucked. He needed this. He didn't know it before, but oh, he needed it.

Malfoy pulled out, released Harry's wrists, and rolled to the side to lie on his back next to Harry. With some difficulty, Harry straightened his legs and took a few deep breaths.

The best fuck of his life, and he wasn't even himself. And he was with—

Harry glanced sideways. He really let Draco Malfoy fuck him. Because yes, that was Draco Malfoy, sweaty, breathing heavily, forearm thrown over his eyes. Still unreasonably gorgeous.

Harry waited for that moment of clarity when the full realisation would hit him and fill him with regret and shame. He was waiting in vain. He didn't regret it. Not even a little.

Malfoy took a peek at him. "You still won't tell me your name?"

Harry shook his head. There was no point in telling Malfoy his fake name, and telling him his real one… Well, that would likely be a disaster. It was better if Malfoy never found out.

Oh. There was that regret Harry was waiting for. And he regretted the oddest thing, for different circumstances perhaps, where Harry was Harry.

But if Harry was Harry, then Malfoy wouldn't want him, and Harry would have to pretend he didn't want him either. It was just how it was. The past was too messy.

"All right," Malfoy said, with a sigh.

Did things get awkward now? Harry wasn't sure. He was quite comfortable, tired, sleepy. He might have dozed off. For a second, an hour, who knew?

Oh no. That was actually terrible. His time was limited. How much time had passed? He had no idea.

Carefully, he sat up. He thought Malfoy dozed off, but didn't look back to check, afraid the Veilers' charms had worn off by now. He grabbed his trousers. He had to sneak off—

Malfoy was on him in seconds, wrapping his arms around Harry's chest. "And where are you going?"

"Um, shower," Harry said. Now that Malfoy was awake, it seemed wiser to escape to the bathroom, check his appearance in the mirror and reapply the charms if necessary. He'd do it badly, but possibly good enough to fool Malfoy. All Harry had to do was dress quickly and leave. Besides, he needed a shower. He was sticky everywhere.

"Are you even a wizard?"

Harry tried to free himself. "I prefer showering to charms, that's all."

"Sure." Malfoy reached down and Summoned his wand from the floor. "But I'd prefer to keep you right here." He pressed a kiss to the side of Harry's cheek. "I'm not done with you."

Harry had taken advantage of the moment to get his watch from his trouser pocket and check the time. Oh, he had more than an hour left. He hadn't fallen asleep before.

Before Harry could react, Malfoy grabbed a fistful of his hair to pull his head back, so he could see Harry's face. There was no surprise in Malfoy's expression. The charms were still in place, then. It was terribly stupid of Harry to get that confirmation in this way, but apparently Malfoy had fucked him stupid and it was a wonder Harry could function at all.

Harry sighed and relaxed. If Malfoy wanted more, there was no reason to deny him. It was a bit pathetic how much it cheered Harry up to learn they had more time.

"Unless… you're in a hurry to get away from me," Malfoy said. That intense staring was back, and Harry's body was already conditioned to react to it. His cock twitched, his muscles tightened, and a hot flush spread through his skin, making him shiver.

Harry shook his head. "Definitely not." An hour was a lot of time. He could afford to stick around a bit longer.

"Good. Because I want your cock in my mouth."

"Oh. Yes," Harry said, positively inflamed by the idea.

Something about Harry's reaction seemed to have turned Malfoy feral. He was suddenly in a hurry. He cast badly-aimed and half-hearted Refreshing Charms, more interested in pushing Harry back on the bed, spreading Harry's legs and getting down between them. He took Harry's cock into his mouth, even though Harry wasn't hard yet. That wasn't a problem — he got Harry to full hardness with impressive speed. The problem was Malfoy kept staring up at Harry's face as he sucked him off. It was a shocking sight, and Harry couldn't tear his gaze away either. These moments would haunt his waking dreams forever.

Malfoy didn't finish him off with his mouth. He turned Harry around, got him on his hands and knees, and, blissfully, fucked him again. And he fucked him good. With steady, deep thrusts that kept Harry on the edge for a long time. He wasn't even sorry when Malfoy came, and he didn't. He could have wanked himself to completion, but he was too caught up in the rhythmic pounding of Malfoy's hips and the pleasure they ignited to focus on anything else.

A good decision, it turned out, because Malfoy got him to lie down on his back afterwards, and he stretched out beside him, lifting one of Harry's legs so he could reach his hole with his fingers. Maybe Malfoy was somehow trying not to make Harry come before, because he wanted this. He wanted Harry's face close, so he could watch it as he massaged Harry's prostate.

And there was much to see. Because Harry was a shivering, squirming mess, determined to come again without touching his cock. It was so incredible before, he wanted it to happen again. But it took time. Malfoy kissed him, nibbled on Harry's bottom lip, his earlobe, kept saying things like, "That's it. That's it. You're doing great. Nearly there." And he encouraged Harry to move his hips, push down on Malfoy's fingers, pull them in deeper. And Harry did it, writhing on the bed, fisting that soft comforter beneath them, moaning, stuck on the edge, sweaty and exhausted, and compelled to hold Malfoy's gaze. God, he could do this for a long time, for as long as Malfoy wanted, but then Malfoy got rough, pressing in his fingers hard and fast, and that tipped Harry over the edge. That, as well as the fascination on Malfoy's face, like he was witnessing something incredible.

Malfoy tortured him even after Harry came, still moving his fingers, slowly, lightly, but it was too intense. Harry was torn between the urge to beg him to stop and beg him to never stop. He did neither, just kept squirming and moaning, accepting his fate.

By the time Malfoy finally stopped, Harry was a useless pile of fired up nerves. Shocked, but calm, staring at the burning candles overhead. Their light made his vision blur.

There was nothing he wanted more than to curl up and sleep, but he absolutely couldn't afford it. He doubted a full hour had gone by, but he wouldn't be shocked to discover it had. He needed to get up, clean up, and dress as fast as humanly possible, but he could barely move. There was no strength in his muscles, no coordination to his limbs, no real desire to leave this bed.

It turned out he worried in vain. Malfoy got up, went to the bathroom, returned quickly, and started gathering his clothes. Harry would have worried his charms had worn off, and Malfoy was angry and in a hurry to escape, but Malfoy kept glancing at him, always with a smile. But he was leaving. No matter how much he loved what he saw, how much he obviously enjoyed this, and how much effort he had put into satisfying Harry, this was done and he would leave. And likely very soon find someone else to fuck. Perhaps he had some kind of devious agenda to destroy as many lovers as he could. Because Harry was destroyed. He feared Malfoy had ruined sex for him. Where the hell would he find someone else who would fuck him exactly like this?

Yeah, this was why Harry hated casual sex. If it was bad, he'd always end up regretting it, and if it was good, he'd get attached. He got attached too easily as it was, and since this was not only good, but mind-blowing, the treacherous pull of attachment was trying to convince him to set up another date. Keep up the ruse. So what if it was Malfoy? They weren't the same people they once were back at school. Maybe, eventually…

"Hey," Malfoy said. He was fully dressed, standing by the bed. He grinned when Harry looked up at him and bent down to press a kiss to Harry's lips.

"I feel like you're being rude," Harry said. "Leaving me like this." A bit of a stupid thing to say since Harry needed Malfoy to leave quickly, and though he had just daydreamed about dating Malfoy, he was well-aware how complicated and unlikely that would have been.

"Rude, am I?" Malfoy grinned. He kissed Harry again, a string of soft, warm kisses. "Well, I apologise, most sincerely. But it's better if I leave now."

Harry forced himself to speak. "If you say so."

Malfoy took a few moments to stare down at him, because of course he did. "You know," he said at last. "This place was built hundreds of years ago. Few people know that, because it was so well-hidden in the past. But, see, that means the charms protecting this place are old and powerful. Not easy to take down, not easy to fool." He bent down to press another kiss to Harry's lips, and all of Harry's senses went haywire because a part of him guessed where Malfoy was going with this. A part of him remembered getting dizzy and thinking that was Malfoy's doing. But that was the moment the charms had begun to fade. "You should speak to the Ministry's Veiling experts," Malfoy whispered. "Next time, they should take that into account, and then maybe their charms won't wear off so quickly."

There was absolutely nothing Harry could do or say. What was there to do? What was there to say? Malfoy knew the whole time. Harry had no idea how to react.

Malfoy kissed his lips again, soundly. "See you around, Potter," he said and left.

Harry stared at the ceiling, frozen.

Well, fuck.