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It had begun three weeks before, when Harry and he became dormmates. McGonagall was very interested in inter-house cooperation, so all eighth-years were housed away from their friends.
Draco was struggling to adapt to his new living arrangements. Merlin, but Harry was obnoxious. He was every part the Gryffindor git that Draco had been expecting.
Harry was noisy. He snored. He sang loudly and out of tune and didn’t care who heard him. Harry was impulsive. Draco had caught him hiding Pygmy Puffs, pilfered from the Potions Lab.
Harry was untidy. He balled up his socks when he took them off and he threw them across the room. He ate Cauldron Cakes in his bed, played the Wireless too loudly and borrowed Draco’s textbooks without asking. It simply wasn’t the way things were done in the Slytherin dungeon.
Worst of all, Harry had no shame. Not a spot or a jot. The Chosen One was obviously very comfortable in his body, for it seemed to be naked far more often that it was clothed. The man was an exhibitionist. A naturist.
The very thought of Harry’s hirsute physique made Draco’s cheeks flame. He’d been taught modesty, but it was very clear that Harry lacked that virtue entirely. The wild-haired wizard could often be found lounging on the covers of his bed wearing only the skimpiest pair of burgundy boxer shorts. When he got out of the shower, he walked to his bed entirely starkers, his manhood dangling there for Draco’s viewing pleasure. Harry was obnoxious. Harry was sexy. This whole dorm sharing malarky was a complete and utter disaster.
As a direct result of Harry’s audacious nudity, Draco was randy every moment of the day, a situation that had left him preoccupied and inattentive. He couldn’t focus on his lessons. He’d nearly fallen off his broomstick twice, and even Pansy was tiring of his complaints. He couldn’t sleep and his erection was an almost constant companion.
The only cure, as far as Draco knew, was wanking. He took himself in hand, every opportunity that came his way, and lay back, nestled on his bedsheets. Draco liked to imagine that it was Harry’s big Seeker’s hand that was stroking his cock and not his own. It was only when Draco moved to lay on his side that the wizard noticed something unexpected.
Resting on the very edge of his quilt cover were the burgundy boxer shorts that Harry wore so often. Merlin, but they were only a few centimetres from his pillow. The scruffy prat must have chucked them when he’d taken them off. So uncouth! Draco’s first thought was to shove them off his bed with a disgusted huff. His second was to Evanesco them with a quick swipe of his wand. That would serve Harry right.
In the end, Draco did neither. He darted out a hand and grabbed hold of the boxers, enveloping them in his fist. He used his other hand to stroke his prick even faster. Fuck, but that felt nice. Draco’s prick was hard as diamonds and was very soon smeared in slick precome. He was so turned on that he thought he’d vibrate out of his skin.
Baling the boxers up, Draco rubbed the soft cotton across his chest, fantasising about Harry’s defined muscles and the thick treasure trail of hair that led to his cock. That was the moment a naughty idea flew into his brain. What if he had a quick sniff, just so he knew the way the wizard smelt? It was an outrageously erotic idea and his cock jumped in agreement.
Of course, Draco’s luck never held. The very second that Draco burrowed his nose into the material, the door to the door flew open and Harry strode into the room.
A small part of Draco’s soul curdled and died, and he sat bolt upright, simultaneously trying to fling the accursed boxers across the room whilst trying to cover up his stiffy with his other hand.
It was of no benefit. Harry Potter, because he was the luckiest swine in the whole of the world, had already seen everything. Draco cursed himself for not casting a Notice-Me-Not spell, but it was too late. Draco’s cheeks burned. He’d never been so embarrassed before, not ever in his life.
“Bloody hell, Draco,” Harry said, slack jawed and incredulous. He stood in the doorway, his ridiculous hair stood up in every direction, Muggle joggers hanging low on his hips. “What the- Were those my boxers? Were you-“
Draco felt the last tendrils of composure leave him. “Yes,” he snapped, “for your information I was trying to have a crafty wank! It’s not my fault that you had to come stomping in here like some great oaf and ruin it completely! I’ll have you know that your filthy boxers were on my bed. It’s enough to make any sane wizard go spare!”
Draco’s words died on his tongue. His attempt at sounding outraged wasn’t convincing, even to his own ears. Besides, his traitorous prick still stood to attention, not caring whatsoever for Draco’s mortification.
Harry didn’t reply. Instead, he dropped his school bag and locked the door with a Colloportus. In two strides he stood at Draco’s bedside.
“You’re an awful fibber,” Harry said. “Admit it, Draco. You were smelling them!” With that, Harry jumped on the bed, and on top of Draco. “I'd never reckoned a man as straight-laced as you could be so deviant. I like it.”
The two of them had never been so close. Draco could feel the heat of Harry’s body. His green eyes flashed with amusement and his plush lips were so close that Draco could easily have closed the space between them, and stolen the kiss he had wanted for so long.
The next thing that happened came as a complete surprise to Draco. Harry crawled down over his body, and gently sucked the head of Draco’s cock into his mouth.
Draco took a deep breath, willing himself not to orgasm immediately. He twisted his fingers into Harry’s hair, and when he looked down, Harry was staring back at him.
Draco threw his head back on the pillow. “Was this your plan all along? Go around naked until I’m a broken man? You must have known what it does to me!”
Harry smiled around Draco’s prick and then he set to work pleasuring him. He slid his mouth up and down slowly, teasing Draco’s foreskin with a dexterous tongue. Harry swirled his lips over the glans, playing with the slit before he moved down to suck Draco’s balls into his mouth.
It was all too much and too fantastic, and Draco ejaculated into Harry’s mouth in record time. The next thing Draco knew, Harry was kissing him. It was every bit as good as Draco’s hottest daydreams and the bitter flavour of his own climax was a potent aphrodisiac. His cock already felt ready for round two.
Harry broke their kisses eventually. “There might have been a bit of a plan,” he admitted, nuzzling Draco’s jaw. “There happens to be a large dose of Slytherin slyness hidden within this perfect Gryffindor exterior. I had to break down your ice reserve somehow.” He raised an eyebrow. “Seems I managed it. Is that your thing then? A secret scent kink?”
Draco buried his face in Harry’s shoulder. “More like a secret Harry kink,” he confessed, laughing.