Archive of Our Own

Draco had no idea how he ended up here. Here being The Three Broomsticks on a crisp Saturday night, surrounded by Gryffindor’s and nursing far too much alcohol. Draco was a bit sloshed, he had to admit, and already recalling how Pansy had begged him to come with her was becoming hazy. He did remember that her reason for needing to go was because Ginerva would be there, and that she needed moral support. How the seventh year managed to sneak out past her curfew and not get caught was beyond Draco, but he found that he didn’t care enough to question it.

He didn’t care about anything, really, because Potter was there. When Potter was around, Draco’s world seemed to zero directly onto him, tunnelling everything else to nothing. When Draco and Pansy first showed up, Potter looked uncomfortable in his own skin and was uncharacteristically quiet. Draco couldn’t tell if that was due to his own presence or if Potter was just… like that now. Considering his disinterest in food during mealtimes and his lack of socialisation with his friends in the eighth year common room, Draco had a sick inkling that it was the latter. Because, yes, Draco had been watching.

Now, though, with a couple fingers of whisky and numerous shots of firewhisky under his belt, he was loose lipped and giggly. Potter was a giggly drunk. Draco doesn’t think he’d ever heard Potter giggle before, and now that he had, he feared he would go to the ends of the earth to hear it again.

Draco had it bad.

In his seven years of knowing and bickering with Potter, he’d always known there was more than bitter vitriol that fuelled his near obsession with the boy. Over the years, they always hovered around each other, spitting nasty remarks that made something other than fury settle underneath Draco’s skin.

Potter was a force to be reckoned with, with wild raven locks and eyes such a brilliant shade of green that Draco swore he’s only seen in paintings before. He was pants with Potions, but Draco had to admit that his affinity for Defence Against the Dark Arts was unmatched. He was sharp witted, with an even sharper tongue, and his tendency to sacrifice himself for others was something that drove Draco absolutely barmy. Idiotic Gryffindor, his lack of self preservation was going to get him killed someday.

And, he hated to admit it, but Draco couldn’t imagine a world without Potter. In the aftermath of the war, Potter had testified for Draco and his mother at their trials. Afterwards, once the new term started, Potter and Draco made an awkward truce. Both of them were too exhausted, too battle worn to indulge in the petty school rivalry of their past.

Without irritation fueling their every interaction, the underlying feelings Draco always worked so hard to keep under wraps were bubbling dangerously close to the surface. Especially now, when Potter’s knees were knocking against Draco’s, messy curls falling against the rim of his glasses as he laughed at something the Weasel said.

“Close your mouth, darling.” Pansy’s voice snapped him out of his stupor. “You’re going to drool.”

Draco’s lips pursed together tightly, and he sent her a sideways glare. “I was not drooling.”

Pansy’s lips curled into a smirk. “I never said you were.” She tapped her fingers against the sticky wooden table that everyone huddled around, her manicured nails clacking quietly. “Why don’t you talk to him?”

“Why don’t you mind your business?” Draco hissed back.

Pansy rolled her eyes before turning her attention back to Ginerva. That’s more like it.

For a long moment, Draco sat there stiffly, leg bouncing under the table indiscreetly. He took in his unlikely company, watching as they laughed and joked like there wasn’t a care in the world. Being on the right side of the war must do wonders for one’s psyche.

“You alright?”

Draco nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Potter’s voice. He turned to face him, breath catching at the sight of him. His cheeks were flushed, physical proof of the alcohol coursing through his veins, and Draco was so close that he could count the faint freckles that dotted his nose.

Draco nodded slowly. “Yeah, just a bit loud.”

Potter’s following laughter caught him off guard, the sound airy and charming. “They’re all a bit rowdy, aren’t they?”

Draco snorted. “You’re one to talk,” he retorted, but it didn’t hold the same bite that it would’ve in the past.

Potter shrugged, a tenative smile pulling at his lips. “You should try having some fun, sometime. It’ll loosen you up a bit.”

“I have fun, thank you very much.”

“Like what? What do poncy gits like you do for fun?” Potter’s smile twisted into a sneer, though, like Draco, it held no malice.

Draco isn’t sure what came over him. He was sure Potter was straight, but he couldn’t stop himself from leaning into his personal space, voice dropping low when he said, “I can think of a few things.”

Potter spluttered, his cheeks heating further; this time clearly not because of the glass of whisky he was dangling between his fingers. So, a little bent, at least? “Oh? Do you fancy elaborating?”

Draco almost choked on his own saliva. He flirted with Potter on a whim. He blamed the alcohol settled in his gut. Now, though… did Potter just flirt back? He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I can show you, if you’d like.”

Potter’s pupils dilated, the endless green of his irises becoming swallowed by dark depths. He licked his lips, and Draco was hopeless in the way his gaze followed the pink flick of his tongue. Then, Potter turned to the Weasel, shoving him with an elbow.

“Ron, move. I need the loo.”

“Oi, watch it. You could crack a rib with that move,” he complained, though he stood and stepped out of the way to allow Potter to shuffle out of the booth.

Potter stood, fiddling with the hem of his too large jumper as he faced Draco. He tilted his head not so subtly towards the loo before scurrying off. Draco gulped, throwing back the last of his whisky and then slamming the empty glass on the table. Everyone was too engulfed within their own conversations to notice the bang of glass except Pansy, whom of which sent a knowing smirk in Draco’s direction.

Before Weasley could sit back down, Draco jumped to his feet, nearly tripping over himself as he stood. “I need to go… fix my hair,” he said to a glaring Weasley.

“Yeah, whatever.” He waved Draco off with a flippant hand, and Draco didn’t wait to dash off to the loo in what he hoped looked like a casual stroll to the naked eye.

Standing in front of the worn door, Draco almost chickened out. The temptation to book it out of the pub was overwhelming, but then he’d have to deal with the aftermath of standing up Potter when he’d had the chance to possibly hook up with him. He doesn’t think he could ever forgive himself if he didn’t capitalise on this opportunity. Steeling himself with a deep breath, he pushed his way inside.

Potter was leaning against the sink counter, hands stuffed in his pockets with his attention turned towards the floor. Draco could see that his lip was pulled between his teeth, chewing on it absentmindedly.

“Hey,” Draco started, breaking the silence. He stood awkwardly near the doorway, too far away from Potter but at the same time, way too close.

Potter’s head shot up. He stood up straight and pulled his hands out of pockets. “Hey,” he repeated, taking a step closer to Draco.

“This is a bit mad, is it not?” Draco joked, desperate to break the palpable tension between them.

Potter shrugged and chuckled. “Maybe.”

Draco wasn’t sure who closed the distance between them. One moment, they were standing a tables length apart, and the next, Draco’s arms were around Potter’s waist and his were in his hair. Their lips crashed together with an intensity that was almost uncomfortable, Draco angling Potter’s head up in a desperate attempt to deepen it.

Potter slotted his body against Draco’s, the lean but firm line of his frame fitting perfectly against his own. He tilted his head, tugged at Draco’s locks, and then his tongue was in his mouth. Draco groaned and knocked a knee against Potter’s, fitting his thigh between his legs and pushing up against his already straining cock. Potter gasped, his head tossing back when Draco pressed up again.

Draco took this opportunity to duck his head lower. He mouthed at the line of Potter’s neck, focusing on the underside of his jaw when a full body shiver wracked through him when Draco’s lips brushed against it. He sucked at the spot with the intent of leaving a mark, enjoying the way Potter tugged at his hair desperately above him.

“Malfoy,” he gasped, and Draco broke away to admire his handiwork.

“What do you want?” Draco asked. He was briefly shocked by coarse tone his voice had taken on, but the way Potter’s chest heaved and his eyelashes fluttered distracted him from it quickly.

“Let me suck you,” was Potter’s response.

Draco groaned his approval, and he allowed Potter to manoeuvre the both of them into a cramped stall. He ended up with his back against the wooden stall door, his wool jumper skewed as Potter dropped to his knees. Draco thought he may have died and gone to heaven, because the sight of Potter looking up at him from under his dark lashes could not be real.

Potter practically ripped his glasses off and shoved them into Draco’s abdomen. “Hold these for me,” he demanded, wiggling them until Draco took them and folded them into the collar of his jumper.

“Have you ever done this before?” Draco asked, breathless as Potter struggled with the buttons of his trousers.

Potter shook his head wildly. “No.” He successfully got the buttons undone and wasted no time dropping the offending item of clothing down to Draco’s ankles. “I’ll figure it out,” he said quietly, leaning in to lick a hot stripe against the bulge still hidden in Draco’s pants.

“Fuck, Potter.” Draco’s hands flew to Potter’s curls, his fingers tangling in the surprisingly soft mop.

Potter hummed against his length, the vibrations sending a shiver up Draco’s spine. Potter hooked his fingers in the waistband of Draco’s pants and pulled them down, his cock coming free and nearly smacking Potter on the cheek.

He seemed a bit more hesitant now, a hand coming to grasp the base uncertainly. He stroked once, his eyes flicking up to meet Draco’s.

“Just do what you’d like to have done to yourself,” Draco encouraged, using the grip in his hair to edge his face closer to his already leaking cock. He was desperate.

After another moments hesitation, Potter leaned forward, experimentally curling his tongue around the head. Draco resisted the urge to thrust into the wet heat of Potter’s mouth, his thighs nearly trembling with restraint. “Good boy,” he murmured, and Potter outright moaned, his eyelids fluttering. Draco filed that away for later.

Emboldened by Draco’s praise, Potter parted his lips and closed them around the tip, sucking gently. Draco gasped, his head tipping back.

Potter slowly began to push more of Draco’s length into his mouth, careful to avoid choking. “Watch the teeth, love—,” Draco wanted to hex himself from letting the petname slip out, but Potter’s following near whimper diminished the wish. “Yes, just like that,” he hissed, hips twitching when Potter suctioned his cheeks just right.

It didn’t take long for Potter to get the hang of things, he was a quick learner when it came to the art of sucking cock. He bobbed his head back and forth, one hand braced on Draco’s hip while the other worked the parts that he couldn’t yet reach with his mouth. Draco was doing a phenomenal job of controlling himself, that was until his deft fingers slipped down to toy with his balls. Draco’s hips jerked forward, and Potter had to immediately pull away with tears springing up in the corner of his eyes, coughing into the crook of his arm.

“Sorry,” Draco apologised, stroking his fingers through Potter’s curls.

Potter composed himself and shook his head. “Do it again.” His voice was hoarse, and Draco felt a surge of gross pride that he was the one to do that to Potter.

“What?” Draco asked dumbly.

“Do it again,” Potter repeated firmly.

Draco paused. “…Are you sure?”

Potter’s eyebrows knitted together. “I said, do it again.”

“Bratty Gryffindor,” he responded, even as he guided Potter’s head back to his cock.

Potter’s lips, now swollen and shiny with spit, parted willingly. Draco tightened his grip on Potter’s curls to the point where it must have been painful, but Potter only whined, his eyes falling shut. He pulled Potter onto his prick tentatively at first before thrusting his hips into the warm heat of his mouth. This time, Potter didn’t choke.

He set a steady pace after this, canting his hips rhythmically while he watched the way Potter’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. He liked this. Draco moaned and sped up. Potter was so pliant, so easy; Draco could feel his balls drawing tighter to his body. He was already close, dangerously so.

“Fuck, Potter. I’m gonna—,” he broke off with a drawn out moan when Potter dragged his tongue against the underside of his length on the up take. He tightened his hold on Draco’s hips for leverage and his eyes blinked blearily up at him, his gaze hazy with arousal.

Draco cursed under his breath, and it only took a couple more thrusts until he was coming embarrassingly hard down Potter’s throat. He was holding Potter flush against his body, hips jerking erratically as he rode out his high. Potter looked as though he were on the verge of choking, but he did his best to relax his throat and take what Draco was giving him. Draco released his hold on Potter when it felt like he could breathe again.

Potter sat back on his heels, panting loudly. There was a bit of spend leaking from the corner of his mouth. Draco wanted to devour him.

“Potter, come here,” Draco requested, slipping his arms under the crook of Potter’s shoulders and helping him to his feet. Potter leaned against Draco, legs clearly unsteady.

“Please,” he panted, his breath washing over Draco’s neck in a warm puff.

Draco undid Potter’s jeans quickly and shoved his hand under, bypassing his pants to wrap his fingers around his length. Potter’s knees buckled, and Draco wrapped an arm around his waist to help support him. Potter moaned so prettily as Draco tugged him off, his body trembling against his like a wayward wind could blow him away.

“Come on, Potter,” Draco whispered, turning his head so his lips brushed against the shell of Potter’s ear as he spoke. “Come for me.”

Potter bloody whined, his body curling towards Draco as he tipped over the edge. He came with a near silent cry, spilling into Draco’s hand as he scrabbled at his arms for leverage. Potter slumped against Draco afterwards, his chest heaving as he came down.

“Merlin,” Potter whispered, pushing himself to stand straight.

He looked properly fucked out, and they’d barely done anything. Draco couldn’t help but wonder how Potter would look sprawled underneath him, back arching as Draco curled his fingers just right.

Fuck.

“That was,” Draco started. He clamped his mouth shut afterwards, fearful that he’d say too much.

Potter nodded slowly, taking his glasses from where they were folded on Draco’s collar. “Yeah,” he supplied as he slipped the frames back onto his face.

Draco couldn’t remember how the interaction ended, because he ran. He ignored Pansy’s gaze searing into his back as he stumbled out of the pub and into the crisp night, the streets of Hogsmeade lit with lamps and lively with people strolling down the streets. Draco ignored it all as he made a beeline back to his dorm.

The next couple of days, Draco made exceptional efforts to avoid Potter. It felt like sixth year all over again, but this time without the fear of a crazed megalomaniac breathing down the back of his neck. It seemed that whatever corridor Draco walked through, Potter was only a couple of steps behind. It was impressive, almost, the extent of Potter’s stalker-ish behaviours.

For one, the Slytherins had double DADA with the Gryffindors. When it was time to pack up and leave, Draco noticed the sluggish way that Potter was gathering his things, almost as though he was trying to catch him alone. His gaze met Draco’s, and Draco ran. Again.

He didn’t miss the blooming bruise nearly hidden by the line of his jaw, though. Potter hadn’t healed it.

Draco grit his teeth and kept walking.

At another point, Draco was shuffling out of the Great Hall after breakfast. He hadn’t seen the familiar flash of messy dark hair or the glint of his round frames in the Hall, so he figured he was safe. That was until he pushed the doors open and caught sight of Potter, leaned up against the cold stone wall of the corridor. His head snapped up at the creak of the hinges shifting, and his eyes flickered with an indecipherable emotion when he recognised Draco.

“Malfoy,” he’d said, pushing himself off the wall and starting towards Draco.

“No, Potter,” Draco snipped back, setting off with long strides and the sole intention of losing the stubborn Gryffindor.

“Malfoy, wait!” Potter called, breaking into a jog behind him.

Draco spun around on his heel, and Potter skidded to a stop so that they didn’t collide. “Will you stop following me around like a lost puppy?” His words came off sharper than intended, but they did the job of making Potter visibly flinch.

Potter’s upper lip twitched. “Git,” he spat before he turned around and stalked back the way he came.

Draco could only rub a tired hand over his face and groan. He was such a bloody idiot. He’d spent so many years obsessing over any modicum of attention Potter would give him, even if said attention was always warped by sneers and sharp insults. He often intentionally set Potter off, back in the day, because it meant those unbelievably green eyes would be set on him and no one else.

Now, it seemed like the tables had turned, and Potter was the one hopelessly chasing after Draco. And here Draco was, throwing away chance after chance.

At the end of the day, Draco was a Slytherin, and self preservation would always be important to him. The idea that Potter could be seeking him out  only to reject him was too real of a fear for Draco, so ignoring him was easier.

It got to the point where Pansy eventually cornered him in the eighth year common room over a week later, forcing him to sit in an armchair while she gracefully sat on the arm. “What has gotten into you lately?” She asked, crossing one ankle over the other.

Draco rolled his eyes and planted his elbow on the free arm, supporting his cheek with his palm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied.

“Don’t you dare lie to me, Draco.” Pansy knew. Pansy always knew. “Did something happen between you and Potter?”

Draco sat up straight at this, his eyes wildly flying around the common room to make sure no one heard. There were a couple of students in one corner having a joint study session, while a couple more sat by the fireplace, sharing a pile of pastries they’d probably nicked from the kitchens. Nobody seemed aware of Pansy and him, thank Salazar.

Just in case, though, he took out his wand and flicked it, silently casting a muffliato surrounding the two of them. Pansy’s eyes widened, and her lips curved up into a knowing grin. “I knew it! Potter came out of the loo looking like a disaster. Well, more of a disaster than usual.”

Draco didn’t offer her the courtesy of a verbal response, only scoffing and sending her a mean side-eye.

“So, what happened?”

Draco knew Pansy wouldn’t drop it until he admitted the truth, so he decided to rip the bandage off in one go. “We snogged.”

Pansy leaned in, her eyebrows raising. “And?”

“He sucked me off.”

Pansy gasped, her manicured hand coming to cover her mouth. “Oh, it’s even better than I thought.”

“Shut up, Pans.”

“Never.” Pansy examined her nails, doing a piss poor attempt at feigning nonchalance. “I thought you’d be acting like the cat that got the cream after something like that.”

Draco shrugged. “I ran away after.”

Pansy gawked before schooling her expression. “Draco, my dear. You are such an idiot.”

Draco’s own expression turned scandalised and he readied a retort, but Pansy continued speaking before he could even open her mouth. “You’re coming to The Three Broomsticks with me this Friday.”

“Why?”

“Because, I said so.” Pansy slipped from her spot on the arm, straightening out her robes. “I’ll see you at eight in the evening. Don’t be late.”

With that, she was off. Draco groaned and flicked his wand once more to dispel the silencing charm. Slumping into his seat, he accepted his defeat.

The days followed in a blur. Draco noticed that Potter wasn’t constantly two steps behind him now. It seemed he’d finally given up, which was probably for the best.

He arrived at the pub at eight, as Pansy demanded. Draco walked inside, scanning the room for her. It didn’t take long for his eyes to catch on her, and she waved him over when they made eye contact. Though, when he approached, he realised with a sinking feeling that Pansy wasn’t alone.

Green eyes, round glasses, wild curls, and the unmistakable scar on his forehead. Potter.

Potter looked at Draco and waved shyly, smiling in a way that looked more similar to a grimace.

Draco grasped Pansy’s arm desperately, leaning down to whisper near her face. “What were you thinking?”

Pansy only smiled in that infuriating way of hers. “Oh, I haven’t the slightest clue of what you’re on about.” She cast a quick tempus and her eyes flared in an overly theatrical manner. “It totally slipped my mind that I have somewhere to be! So sorry for bringing you out here for nothing, Potter, but hopefully my darling Draco will be sufficient company.”

“Er, alright,” Potter responded.

Pansy pushed herself to stand and placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Have fun,” she whispered before turning on her heel and taking the path Draco had minutes before.

Before she could escape, Draco grasped her arm. She faced him with an exasperated look. “What. The fuck,” was all Draco could get out.

Pansy rolled her eyes and steered Draco around, shoving him towards the table Potter was still occupying. “Go, or else I’ll hex your hair off.”

“You’re evil,” Draco muttered under his breath.

“Whatever you say.” One last shove, and Pansy was off.

Draco had half a mind to follow her out of the pub and leave Potter behind, but the near hopeful look he was sporting made him hesitate. Draco heaved a sigh and sat down across from Potter, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

“Hello,” Draco greeted stiffly.

Potter’s eyebrow twitched. “You know, you could’ve just told me you didn’t like it instead of running off. I’ve been trying to catch you for days.”

Draco blinked. “Didn’t like it? No, it was… great.”

“Then why’d you leave?” Potter leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. Draco wanted to climb over the table and ravish him.

“I didn’t—“ Draco cut himself off, wringing his hands together to steady himself. “Potter. You drive me crazy.”

Potter made a face, but his shoulders dropped. “I thought that was established years ago?”

Fuck. Is he really about to bare his heart in the middle of a run down pub? Draco pursed his lips together. “Can we talk somewhere more private?”

Potter fixed his typically terrible posture, his mind working so obviously that Draco could practically hear his thoughts. “Er, yeah.” He stood up slowly. “We can go to my room?”

Draco nearly choked on air. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

The two of them made the tense and awkward walk back to the castle. Draco’s hands were stuffed in his pockets, and Potter’s arms were crossed close to his chest as though he were cold. His jumper did look quite thin. Draco wondered what Potter would say he if offered his coat. He didn’t offer it.

They made it to the eighth year quarters after what felt like forever, and it was Potter that muttered the password to let the both of them in. Potter silently led Draco upstairs, past his dorm, and came to a stop in front of the door that must have been his own.

“Make yourself at home, I guess,” Potter said as he took off his worn trainers, sitting down on the edge of his bed cautiously.

Draco stood frozen until Potter raised a brow, promptly following to toe off his shoes before sitting down next to Potter. It took him an unnecessarily extended amount of time to gather his thoughts before he started talking. “It wasn’t that I didn’t like it, Potter. It was that I liked it too much.” Draco refused to look at Potter as he spoke, gaze focused on the clenched fists in his lap.

“…I don’t understand.”

Draco scoffed. “Of course you don’t, you’ve never been the observational type.”

Potter was silent, and for a moment, Draco thought he was about to get kicked out. “Why don’t you explain it to me, then?”

Draco dared to look at Potter, and he was surprised to note the flushed look his cheeks had taken on. “I want more,” he admitted, swiping his tongue over his lips anxiously.

“That’s all?”

Draco gawked. “What do you mean, that’s all?”

Potter shrugged. “Well, don’t you think I liked it too? Why else would I have been desperate to talk to you?”

“I thought you were going to tell me it was a mistake.” Draco felt a bit ashamed at how fast he could jump to conclusions, but he wasn’t going to damage his already splintered pride by admitting it aloud.

Potter barked a laugh, shocking Draco out of his brief daze. “I can see how you’d think that, given our… history.”

“Right.” Draco wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.

“I guess… what I’m trying to say is,” Potter cut himself off with a shaky breath. “I wouldn’t be opposed. To doing that again, I mean.”

Potter’s confession set Draco’s face ablaze, and he could feel the warmth creeping down the back of his neck. “We probably shouldn’t,” Draco responded, though his voice was weak. “If this gets out, if people find out you’ve slept with me of all people—“

“I don’t care what other people think,” Potter cut him off sharply. He lifted a hand to cup Draco’s cheek, the rough pad of his thumb swiping against the sharp line of his cheekbone gently. “I’m tired of others telling me what I’m supposed to do, what I have to do. This is my own decision.”

Draco shook his head, bemused. He couldn’t believe this was real. “You’re barmy.”

“Maybe. You want me too, though. Right?” Potter was leaning so close to Draco that their noses were nearly bumping together. His hand had dropped to his shoulder, the touch searing even through his layers of clothing.

“I thought I’ve made that quite clear.”

“Not really, with how you kept running off.”

Draco snorted. “Sorry for calling you a lost puppy.”

“Apology accepted.”

And then, they were kissing. Kissing Potter without alcohol dulling the senses was possibly the most addictive thing Draco had ever experienced. Every nerve was alight, and Potter was so warm, so soft. Draco slipped his hand to the nape of Potter’s neck, using his new leverage to angle his head. Draco squeezed gently, and Potter whimpered.

Draco guided Potter down slowly, helping him shuffle up the bed until his head was framed by pillows. He climbed on top of him and took off his glasses carefully, folding them and placing them on the nightstand before turning his attention back to the living angel beneath him.

“Malfoy,” Potter breathed.

“I’ve got you,” Draco assured, as he rolled his hips down against Potter’s.

Potter let out a breathy moan, his arms sliding around Draco’s shoulders and the lower half of his body canting up to meet him. Draco pressed down again and reconnected their lips, swallowing the little sounds Potter was making as he settled into a steady rhythm.

Potter began to grow visibly desperate, his blunt fingernails clawing at Draco’s shoulders while his head fell back away from the kiss, swollen lips parted as he panted uncontrollably. “Malfoy, please,” he begged, though Draco was unsure he even knew what he was asking for.

Without slowing the pace of his hips, Draco trailed his lips to Potter’s ear, kissing the earlobe before pulling it between his teeth. “What do you want, Potter?” He whispered, biting back a moan when Potter wrapped his legs around Draco’s waist and used his new position to pull him down harshly.

“I- Merlin, fuck,” Potter gasped when Draco dipped his head lower, taking it upon himself to suck a new mark against the length of his neck.

“Words, darling,” Draco murmured, and he was rewarded with a full body shudder from Potter. The near reverential way he was treating Potter was definitely giving too much away on his end, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“Inside,” Potter started. “I want you inside.”

Draco groaned, dropping his forehead against Potter’s collarbone. His hips stuttered to a stop, fearful that he’d come in his pants like an overexcited teenager. Which, he supposed, he still technically was.

“Is that a yes?” Potter asked, his voice dripping with a tone of trepidation that Draco wasn’t used to having directed towards him.

Draco swallowed his uncertainty with an open mouthed kiss, only breaking away once he needed to breathe. “Salazar, yes,” he agreed.

Potter’s lips curved into a shy smile, and with an indeterminate wave of his hand, their clothes were gone. Potter was burning hot, and Draco had to withhold the urge to kiss every new spot of exposed skin. “Show off.” Draco eventually settled for a light insult, hoping that it would mask just how desperate he was.

Potter only hummed, letting his thighs fall open so Draco could slot between them easily. Draco began to kiss his way down Potter’s lean form, pausing at a particularly nasty scar set in the middle of his chest before continuing lower. “Summon my wand for me?” Draco requested between gentle presses of his lips. “No clue where you’ve sent it off to.”

Potter chuckled and wordlessly accio’ed his wand, their fingers brushing against each other for an extended period of time as he handed it to Draco. Draco rolled the slim polished wood between his fingertips as he settled down near the lower half of Potter’s body, aiming his wand towards Potter’s arse and murmuring the typical cleansing and protection spells under his breath.

Potter’s body twisted slightly, the sudden tingle of Draco’s magic clearly catching him off guard. Draco hummed and conjured a dollop of lube, warming it between his fingers before he dropped his wand to the side. He lifted Potter’s leg with a hand hooked underneath his knee, pressing a kiss to the side of it as he teased his index finger against his entrance.

Potter gasped, and the leg that Draco wasn’t holding onto fell open further. “Please,” he begged, and Draco acquiesced immediately.

Draco teasingly circled his fingertip around his rim once before pressing inside, breaching Potter to the second knuckle. Potter let out a shuddering breath, his hips wiggling as though trying to suck more of his finger inside. “Have you done this to yourself before?” Draco asked as he slowly began to work his finger in and out, allowing Potter to adjust to the most likely minimal stretch.

Potter flushed further than he’d been this entire encounter, the colour seeping down his neck and towards his chest. He nodded minutely. “Yeah,” he admitted, gasping when Draco rewarded him with a sharp nip to his inner thigh.

“When?” Draco lined up a second finger, watching Potter as he pressed back inside. He made for such a vision, back arched with his eyebrows pinched, teetering between the edge of pain and pleasure.

“Malfoy, I can’t—,” his body seized when Draco curled his fingers up, finding the sensitive nub that left Potter trembling.

“Tell me.” Draco crooked his fingers again, pressing against his prostate firmly. Potter practically sobbed, his hips bearing down towards Draco’s digits while his head pressed back into the pillows.

“After- After the loo.” Potter’s voice was weak and breathy. “I came back here and—“

“What did you think about?” Draco added a third finger. Potter moaned, low and pretty, his hands digging into the sheets for purchase.

“You,” Potter admitted. “Wished it were you instead of myself.”

Draco’s breath caught in his throat, and he groaned once his lungs started working again. “Fuck, Potter.” He leaned over Potter, pressing his thigh to his chest. He dropped his forehead against Potter’s chest, increasing the pace of his fingers until Potter was a writhing incoherent mess beneath him.

Suddenly, Potter reached down and clasped Draco’s wrist with shaky fingers, setting him with a hazy but determined stare. “I’m not coming before you fuck me,” he said, and Draco himself nearly came on the spot.

“You’re such a demanding thing.” Draco slipped his fingers out of Potter and sat back on his heels, using the leftover lube to slick up his cock. Potter watched his movements with rapt attention, eyes squinting ever so slightly as though trying to get a clearer image of Draco’s prick. “Hold your legs for me, would you?”

Potter nodded and hooked his hands underneath his knees, holding up near his chest. Draco’s prick jerked in his palm at the sight. Draco leaned over Potter, holding himself up with a forearm next to his face. With his other hand, he lined himself up, and the first press inside had his eyes squeezing shut and stars bursting behind his eyelids.

Potter gasped and clenched around the intrusion, chest heaving with laboured breaths. Draco cursed quietly, willing himself not to tip over immediately. Potter was so tight, so warm, his walls hugging his length like a vice. “Relax for me, love. Let me in.” Draco nosed at Potter’s neck as he spoke, his breath washing over the blooming bruise he’d left earlier.

Potter did his best to relax, and slowly, Draco was able to inch himself inside. He didn’t stop until he was pressed in to the hilt, their breathless pants mingling together while Draco laid still, allowing Potter the time to adjust. “Full,” Potter whispered, and the word went straight to Draco’s ego and down to his aching cock.

“Yeah?” Draco goaded, rolling his hips in a circling motion. Potter’s lashes fluttered and his head fell to the side, exposing the long line of his neck.

“Mm,” was Potter’s response. “You can move, now,” he added after a moment.

Draco retracted his hips until only the head of his cock was sheathed inside before pushing them back forward, slow but firm. A drawn out moan was worked from Potter’s throat, and the sound emboldened Draco to begin fucking him earnestly. At first, he moved languidly, enjoying the way Potter squirmed and gasped beneath him. It didn’t take long for Draco to grow impatient, though, so within a minute he was snapping his hips at an unforgivable pace.

Potter let go of his legs and wrapped them around Draco’s waist instead, his ankles locking together to hold them in place. His hands scrabbled desperately at Draco’s back, nails dragging in ways that were sure to leave marks. Draco hoped they did.

“You feel so good, Potter,” Draco blurted, both arms framing Potter’s head while he ducked his head down to the crook of his neck. “You were made for this,” he added, and Potter arched his back and clenched in response.

The sounds he made were desperate and louder than Draco originally expected him to be in bed, but he found that he wouldn’t want to have him any other way. His moans carried a dulcet tone that Draco wanted to drown in, and his gasps and whimpers only made him want to take him apart further.

“Malfoy,” Potter sobbed, his hips jerking up to meet Draco’s thrusts desperately.

Draco moaned unabashedly, sinking his teeth into the meat of Potter’s shoulder. Potter’s fingers tangled into Draco’s hair, but he didn’t pull him away. “You’re taking me so well,” he praised.

Draco pushed himself a bit more upright and with a slight angle adjustment, his cock brushed against Potter’s prostate with every pump inside. Potter’s back arched off the bed, his body twisting as though he wanted to get away from the overwhelming pleasure or bury himself deeper in it. Draco was relentless, his eyebrows pinched as the coil in his abdomen grew tighter.

“Please, please, touch me.” Potter’s voice trembled and his gaze was unfocused. Draco could tell just by looking that he was close, only just on the precipice.

Draco gave into his desires easily, snaking his hand until his fingers found Potter’s weeping cock. He pumped it sloppily in time with his thrusts, pausing only to swipe his thumb over the head to gather the precome pooling over. Potter chanted his name like a prayer, his hands grasping at Draco uselessly.

“Come on, darling,” Draco encouraged, and that was all it took for Potter to lose it. His entire body tensed and his back arched off of the bed as he came, his lips parted on a cry that wouldn’t come. He looked unreal, eyelashes clumped together with unshed tears and his cheeks splotchy with a deep red.

The sight of Potter coming undone beneath him caused the coil in Draco to unravel at an impressive speed. He buried himself into the hilt one last time and came with a drawn out moan that broke in the middle, his face buried into Potter’s damp shoulder while he rode out his high. He doesn’t think he’d ever come so hard in his life before, his hips twitching while his entire body trembled with the effort of keeping himself upright.

After what felt like forever, he pulled out of Potter, unable to control his smirk when he whimpered at the loss. He placated Potter by brushing his lips against the corner of his mouth, and he was only mildly shocked when Potter tilted his head to connect their lips properly.

Draco rolled onto his back once he’d gotten his fair share of Potter’s irritatingly plump lips, chest heaving with the exertion from their activities. “How did Pans get you to meet up with her, anyway?” He asked, turning his head to properly look at Potter.

Potter shifted onto his side, his arms curled up by his chest. “She told me she could get you to talk to me.”

Draco raised a brow. “And you believed her?”

“You two are close, so I thought she must have her ways.” Potter shrugged with the shoulder not crammed into the now rumpled sheets. “I was right to put my faith in her, ‘cause look where it got me.”

Draco rolled his eyes, fearful that if he looked straight at Potter for too long it would reveal the true extent of the feelings he held for the Gryffindor. “Are you happy now?”

“Almost. I might need a couple more rounds until then.” Potter reached out a hand and began tracing patterns into Draco’s side.

“Merlin, Potter, give me a moment.”

“I’ve got time.”

Potter was, in fact, true to his word. He had plenty of time.