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It was all teeth and tongues. There was nothing gentle in the way Draco’s hands left imprints on Potter’s skin. Even with shirts discarded and trousers opened, the encounter felt like a natural continuation of their argument.
Draco wondered at how he got here, Potter pinned beneath him, back scraping on the cobblestones behind them, hand wrapped firmly around the other man’s cock.
Ten minutes before, they were exchanging insults. Now they were taking each other apart in a different manner.
Draco moaned as Potter ground against him, hands gripping tight on Draco’s arse, shallow breaths against his neck. Draco marveled at the fact that he was able to make Potter come undone beneath him.
Five years from the war, Draco’s obsession with the Boy-Who-Lived had only intensified. It was hard for it not to, with Potter’s face plastered everywhere.
Potter was the Ministry darling, star Auror, poster boy for the righteous.
And oh, how Draco reveled in wrecking him. Potter was close now, Draco could feel it in his movements, and Draco was determined to make him come first, to destroy the facade of iron control Potter showed the world.
Potter let out one gasping shudder as Draco stroked him hard, and suddenly the man was coming thunderously. Draco was powerless to stop his own orgasm as it ripped through him like a wave.
He’d barely recovered before Potter tensed at his side, and shrugged Draco away.
Potter’s eyes were wide and disbelieving, as if he was shocked at the events between them, as if he was scandalized by it.
“I’m not gay.”
“I don’t care much about labels Potter; you shag whomever you want.”
“But… I don’t…” Potter rasped out, a tone of panic in his eyes. “We shouldn’t have done this.”
Draco didn’t even have time to think of a retort before the crack of apparition rang through the alleyway, Potter’s shirt left discarded on the ground.
Draco attempted to swallow down the cold, familiar sensation of rejection.
Let Potter try to run. Draco knew better than anyone how much mutual obsession always drew them back towards each other.
----
The refractions from a thousand disco lights greeted Draco as he stepped out on the stage. The Twisted Serpent was packed tonight, the gathered crowd eager, energy pulsating, all eyes on Draco as he prepared to strip. Draco found heady delight having them in his thrall. He felt alive here in a way he never had as a proper Pureblood heir. He felt free of demands and expectations, even as the mark on his arm reminded him of the consequences of choices made when he lived for the approval of others.
Draco moved like a serpent across the stage when something familiar made his magic thrum. His eyes were drawn to the source; a rather nondescript bloke. Nothing about his appearance made him stand out, but his magic crackled with an intensity that Draco had only sensed a few times before.
Draco briefly locked eyes with the man before breaking free of his gaze and returning fully to his performance. It was only a moment of connection, with someone else’s eyes shining out from a borrowed face, but Draco knew with certainty that Harry Potter sat here in his club, watching his show.
Potter had begun showing up about two weeks ago, each time with a different appearance.
The first time was several months after their Diagon Alley encounter. Draco had felt him, rather than seen him, in the crowd. Potter should have known that he couldn’t disguise himself that way. Draco had been able to identify him through invisibility cloaks, stinging hexes and raging infernos. It didn’t matter the face, Draco knew that aura.
He just didn’t know why he was feeling it in his club, from a stranger’s eyes on his body. That first time, he’d nearly lost his footing, lost his place. As he stumbled to regain his composure and finish his performance, he resolved that he would confront Potter the second it was over.
But by the time Draco got off the stage, Potter was nowhere to be seen.
In the subsequent days Draco half expected Potter to lead an Auror raid on the club, or alert the press to his unsavory career. To his surprise, no aurors or reporters showed up. But some nights later, another unfamiliar face was sitting near the stage, badly hiding Potter’s magic. This time he was close enough for Draco to see the hunger in his eyes. Whatever Potter was up to, it was personal. The forces that kept drawing them together since age eleven were stronger than ever.
Draco got bolder after that. The next time he came down from the stage and let himself get close enough to touch. The flash of green in otherwise brown eyes told Draco everything he needed to know to continue this tightrope dance between them.
After the third time, Draco did some digging.
Potter, it seemed, had quit playing the puppet in everyone else's show since their first tryst. Draco found all the Prophet articles from then to now and started piecing together a puzzle from the life Potter seemed determined to shatter.
And when Potter shattered something, even the pieces glistened.
It began with a blow up at a ministry function, Potter abandoning the arm candy the ministry thought their hero should dally with.
Then it was decking fellow Auror Zacharias Smith, for apparently making homophobic slurs.
Lastly, it was Potter’s very public resignation after a high profile arrest botched by politics and backhand dealings.
Now the entire wizarding world was ripe with speculation on Potter’s fall from grace and his whereabouts.
Draco smirked, he knew perfectly well where Potter was. It seemed that the Golden Boy decided he was no longer living his life by others' rules.
--
Draco grinned as he stepped again onto the stage, feeling Potter’s magic under yet another borrowed face.
Draco was done with this cat and mouse game; Potter looking, staring, wanting and never making a move. Draco made eye contact, and Potter’s gaze never wavered from his own. The rest of the performance was for Potter and he alone.
Afterwards, Draco summoned one of the stage hands, offering to do a private dance for one of the patrons.
It was time to call Potter’s bluff.
When Draco walked in, the man before him seemed nervous, hesitant in a way Potter never was when wearing his own face.
How Potter thought he could fool Draco, he would never understand. The air practically sizzled with magic, or maybe Draco was just so attuned to this particular magic that it was all he could feel.
“Listen, I didn’t ask for this. The bouncer just brought me here. I…”
‘I know. I asked for this,” Draco purred, hiding his smile as he watched Potter swallow hard. He relaxed his stance though, and Draco took the opportunity to prowl forward.
He wasted no time. Straddling Potter's lap, he ground their cocks together, pulling him into a kiss that was as hungry as it was sensual. The face he was kissing was different, but Potter's grip on his arse was exactly the same.
There were no other words, just bodies moving against each other as Potter once again blossomed and submitted under Draco’s touch. Still teeth and tongues, somehow it felt more intimate this time, with this pretense of anonymity between them removing any inhibitions.
But that wouldn’t do. Draco wanted Potter to know exactly what this was. That this was no nameless tryst, but something heavy and personal.
Potter was close and Draco was not far behind. Both hurling quickly to the edge, sweat forming on their brows.
Just as he felt Potter tense, orgasm imminent, Drcao uttered the words, “I want you to come for me wearing your own face.”
Potter let out one last gasping shudder, the glamour dissolving just as the orgasm overtook him. Their faces and bodies so close, that the second Draco saw Potter's eyes turn to vibrant green, his own orgasm gripped him, powerful and altering.
Potter’s true face finally between them, Draco let himself have one moment of tenderness as he ran his hands gently down Potter’s flank before climbing from his lap.
“If you want a repeat of that performance, you know where to find me Potter.”
With a crack of apparition, Draco was gone, shirt left discarded on the floor under the light of the glittering disco ball.