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It’d snowed on the first day of January and the endless fields rushing past the windows of the Hogwarts Express lie still and silent and gleaming faintly in the thin winter sunlight seeping through the heavy swath of grey clouds that wraps the sky as snugly as the snow does the earth. Christmas at the Burrow was an achingly bittersweet affair without Fred, but they all got through it, and there was still warmth and love and laughter as always, and Harry’s left feeling very much reassured that one thing, at least, will never change. Now he’s on his way back to Hogwarts on the first Saturday of the new year, and it’s pretty okay, so far. He and Ron have lapsed into a companionable sort of silence, and Hermione went off to track down a cup of tea for herself, and in just a few short hours Harry might see Malfoy again.
He sighs at the thought of Malfoy and his breath makes a patch of fog on the window that quickly draws in on itself and disappears. Harry watches more snow-covered fields fly past.
“Harry,” Ron says softly, catching his attention.
Harry turns away from the window, blinking away the black and purple spots that dance before his eyes after staring at the snow for too long. “What?”
Ron takes a deep breath. “Not that it’s any of my business, but I think you should tell her.”
“Tell who what?” Harry asks with a frown.
“Hermione,” Ron says. His eyes dart to the window and back to Harry. “About Malfoy.”
It’s a topic they’ve managed to avoid for the entire length of Christmas break, much to Harry’s relief. He should have known it wouldn’t last forever. He sighs again.
“Really,” Ron continues, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. “Not that it’s any of my business and I’d really love to keep it that way. But this is Hermione we’re talking about, mate. She’s got it half figured out already. It’ll be easier if you just tell her.”
Before Harry has a chance to respond to that, the door to their compartment slides open and Hermione steps inside, balancing a cup of tea in one hand while she closes the door behind herself with the other. She settles down beside Ron and takes a sip, and Ron stares at Harry and raises his eyebrows expectantly.
Harry considers ignoring him, but Ron’s right. Hermione’s his best friend, and the smartest witch he’s ever known. He can’t keep sneaking around forever without her figuring it out. It’ll be easier to just get it out there now, that way they can all get back to pretending that it’s not happening.
“I’ve sort of been seeing someone,” Harry says in a rush, and Ron gives him an encouraging nod.
Hermione looks up at him. “You’ve got a boyfriend?” she asks, breaking into a delighted smile, and Harry has no idea why people in relationships always seem so eager to see everyone else happily paired off too.
“No,” Harry says quickly. “God no. We’re just, um. Well. We’re mostly just…” He trails off, helpless. It was easier to tell Ron, they’re both blokes and this sort of thing comes up from time to time. But he’s never talked about sex with Hermione. It’s more awkward than he thought it’d be.
“Shagging,” Ron mutters to the window. “They’re just shagging.”
“Yeah,” Harry says, shooting Ron a grateful glance. “That.”
“Oh,” Hermione says, her smile fading as her brows draw together in concern. “You haven’t picked things up with Goldstein, have you?”
“No, absolutely not,” Harry assures her. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be so desperate for a shag that he’ll go back to Goldstein.
“Good,” Hermione tells him and tucks a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “After what he did to you…” She shakes her head. “So who is it?”
Harry sucks in a deep breath. “Draco Malfoy.”
This whole awkward conversation is suddenly worth it when Hermione’s mouth drops open in shock and her eyebrows go winging up nearly to her hairline. It’s not often he can surprise her like this. “Malfoy? You’re shagging Malfoy?” Her voice rises to something approaching a screech.
“Erm,” Harry says. “Yes?”
“I…” she begins and trails off, her eyes going vague in that way that means she’s sifting through her mental catalogues. “Well,” she says, blinking, then again, “Well. All right.” She nods once, then looks at him curiously. “Are you… looking for it to become something more than just…?”
Harry shakes his head so hard he nearly dislodges his glasses. “No, absolutely not. He’s obnoxious and arrogant and still kind of a bastard.” He nudges his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Malfoy’s an ass,” he adds emphatically.
“Hear, hear,” Ron puts in.
When Hermione just regards him in thoughtful silence, Harry sighs and continues, “I mean, maybe, eventually we could have tried for something more, if he’d stayed like he was at the beginning of the school year.” It might’ve happened, Harry thinks, because Malfoy’s actually fairly likeable so long as he keeps his mouth shut. “But he’s gone right back to how he was before the War. I’m sure you’ve noticed how he acts in class now.”
“I have,” Hermione says slowly. “But, see… that’s the interesting thing about it.”
“What is?” Harry asks her.
Hermione’s mouth tugs down into a small frown, like it does when she’s trying to work through a complex arithmancy equation. “Well, I have other classes with him and he’s not like that. He’s very quiet, just keeps his head down and does his work and doesn’t make trouble for anyone,” Hermione says, her voice slow and thoughtful. She watches Harry contemplatively for a moment before she adds, “He only acts out in front of you.”
****
Harry rushes downstairs on Sunday morning, one hand hovering over the banister as he takes the stairs a little faster than he should and the other tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie. He’s running late this morning, and Ron and Hermione went down to breakfast ahead of him. He skips the last four steps, sailing through the air and landing with a loud thump that sends a faint ache from his ankles to his knees.
A mild Stinging Hex catches him a moment later, and for a moment Harry considers not responding to it. Ron will wonder where he is and then be horrified when he figures it out. But Hermione will probably make him a plate for later because she’s wonderfully practical like that. And it has been two weeks, after all.
After waiting for a pair of chatting Ravenclaws to disappear into the Great Hall, Harry slips into the small room just beside it.
“There are other ways to get my attention, you know,” he snaps at Malfoy, his eagerness to get him alone after two long weeks of going without more than overwhelmed by irritation at the fact that Malfoy apparently feels that a Stinging Hex is a perfectly good way to summon him for whatever debauchery he’s got planned this time. Harry can only hope he’s forgotten about the Imperius thing.
“But they’re not nearly this satisfying,” Malfoy says with a faint smirk. He flicks his wand at the door and locks it, then casts another warding spell over that. “I do have to admit, I rather miss hexing you.” He heaves a theatrically put-upon sigh, like not hexing Harry is the worst thing that could happen to him. Like he didn’t just hex Harry not two minutes earlier.
“What about being hexed by me? Do you miss that too?” Harry asks. “Because I’m more than happy to remind you what it’s like.” Fuck, but Malfoy’s infuriating.
“Oh,” Malfoy says with a sly smile. “You’re not going to want to hex me after this.” He shoves Harry against the wall and sinks to his knees, hands reaching for Harry’s trousers.
“What are you doing?” Harry asks, staring down at him.
Malfoy pauses with his hands on Harry’s belt buckle. “I’ve heard you’re going to be an Auror. If you can’t add up the clues to figure out what I’m doing, perhaps that’s not the career for you.”
Harry’s mouth is suddenly dry and he swallows hard as Malfoy unbuckles his belt. It looks like Malfoy’s about to blow him, but that can’t be right because Harry had asked him to do it once, their second or third time together, and Malfoy had just sneered at him and informed him that Malfoys don’t suck cock in that snobbish way of his, and Harry hadn’t asked again. But now Malfoy’s on his knees in front of Harry, nimble fingers busily working open the buttons of his fly.
“Are you going to suck me?” he asks a moment later even though he knows it’s a stupid question, but this is happening so fast and it’s entirely not what he expected. He thought he’d suck Malfoy’s cock like before, or swap handjobs, or maybe they’d even have a quick shag. He didn’t think Malfoy would be willing to get down on his knees for Harry, but here he is.
Malfoy jerks his trousers and underpants down in one rough motion. “Five points to Gryffindor,” he says an instant before he swallows down Harry’s half-hard prick.
“Oh my god,” Harry gasps out as Malfoy sucks hard at his cock while his tongue swipes over the sensitive head. He shudders, his hips bucking helplessly forward. “Oh fuck. Malfoy. Fuck.”
Malfoy shoves Harry back against the wall, his thumbs pressing just above Harry’s hipbones while his fingers curl around the sides of Harry’s arse. Harry does his best to keep still, but Malfoy’s really fucking good at this. He gasps again as Malfoy drags the pointed tip of his tongue along the underside of Harry’s prick as he pulls back just far enough to flick his tongue over the head before sliding all the way back down until his nose brushes the dark curls at the base, and Harry’s glad he ended up taking the shower he’d briefly considered skipping this morning. He’s relieved that all Malfoy will smell is soap, which makes no sense because Harry loves the smell of Malfoy’s sweat.
Harry reaches down to slide one hand into Malfoy’s hair, and Malfoy pulls off his cock immediately, rocking back on his heels to look up at Harry. “Touch my hair again and I’ll bite it off, Potter, I swear I will.”
Harry’s momentarily baffled, because Malfoy has never had a problem with having his hair touched before. Most of the time he seems to like it. “What?”
“Do you have any idea how long it takes me to get my hair like this?” Malfoy sniffs with the faintest curl of his lip, and Harry knows the answer to that from too many nights watching Malfoy primp in the Prefect’s bathroom. “I’ve no desire to let you make me look like I’ve just been mauled by something feral.”
And it takes Harry a moment from there before it clicks, Malfoy not wanting Harry to mess up his hair, and why he the locked door this time. Malfoy doesn’t want to be caught at this. Apparently it’s one thing for Harry to get caught sucking him, but entirely another for them to get caught with Malfoy doing the sucking. For an instant he wants to point out Malfoy’s ridiculous double standard, but Harry also really wants Malfoy to finish what he started so he keeps his mouth shut.
Malfoy eyes Harry for a moment longer, and Harry nods at him. Satisfied, Malfoy leans forward, his hands sliding around to cup Harry’s arse as he latches his mouth onto Harry’s prick again and slides down its length with an agonizing slowness that Harry feels right down to his toes.
With Malfoy’s hair a shining temptation that Harry’s not allowed to reach for (because he’s pretty sure Malfoy is enough of a bastard to actually bite him) Harry doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands. He folds them over his chest, unfolds them and drops them to his sides and clenches them into fists, then raises them again, and finally jams them into the pocket of his hoodie and clasps them together. Malfoy’s forehead bumps against his knuckles and Harry tries to be satisfied with that small connection even with a layer of fabric between them. He really wants to touch Malfoy’s hair, knot his fingers in it and hold him still and fuck his face. Maybe next time, if he dangles the promise of rimming like a carrot. He thinks Malfoy might go for a trade like that.
And then Malfoy swirls his tongue over the tip of Harry’s prick and sucks hard, and Harry forgets about everything except this, the near-unbearable pressure of Malfoy’s hot mouth, his pink lips pursed around Harry’s shaft, that clever tongue. Malfoy’s going at him with a determined sort of enthusiasm that makes Harry’s knees tremble. He’s not graceful or elegant in his sucking, and he’s not all that careful with his teeth, but Harry finds that he even likes that.
Not that he likes pain or being bitten or anything like that. But every light scrape of teeth over his sensitive prick reminds him that it’s Malfoy doing this, Malfoy with his sharp edges and razored smirks and acid words. It’s Malfoy here, kneeling on the cold stone floor with his hot mouth on Harry’s cock. Malfoy, with his eyes squeezed shut and brow furrowed in concentration, with his cheeks hollowed out as he sucks, with those long elegant fingers of his digging into Harry’s arse. And fuck, that just makes this so much better.
Later, he might be embarrassed at how quickly he comes, but right now it’s too much and before he knows it he’s babbling out a warning, but Malfoy doesn’t pull away. He swallows Harry’s cock down as far as it’ll go, until Harry can feel Malfoy’s throat working around the head and he can’t hold back any longer, and he comes with a strange and garbled sound that a distant corner of his brain is sort of embarrassed by.
He slumps against the wall, breathless and boneless and sated, his skin buzzing faintly from the force of his orgasm. He thinks he should probably pull his trousers up, but he can’t quite bring himself to do it. He’s still trying to remember his own name, never mind how to make his hands work.
Malfoy stands up and licks his lips. “Did you know,” he asks mildly as he straightens his robes, “that sometimes when you come you sound like a hippogriff in heat?”
Harry sighs and can’t bring himself to care overly much that Malfoy’s being an ass again. “Did you know that you talk about hippogriffs an awful lot after sex?” he asks in a drowsier imitation of Malfoy’s careless tone. “Something you’d like to tell me?”
“Hardly,” Malfoy scoffs and flicks a withering glare at Harry before he turns to the door and begins to undo his locking and warding spells.
“Hey, don’t you want me to take care of you?” Harry asks. He tugs his trousers back up his hips but doesn’t fasten them. Malfoy seems to be getting ready to leave even though he hasn’t come, and they’ve never ended an encounter with one of them left unsatisfied.
“That’s not necessary,” Malfoy says, opening the door. He pauses and tosses over his shoulder, “But I think I’ll be taking a bath tonight.” He slips out and is gone.
The invitation is clear, and Harry’s a little worried about the implications of all this. Malfoy just sucked him off without getting anything in return, which doesn’t bode especially well for what might happen later tonight. Harry really hopes Malfoy’s forgotten about the Imperius thing.
Harry takes a few minutes to put himself back together, refastening his trousers and buckling his belt. He finds a small smear of come on the bottom hem of his hoodie and he spells it clean. He leaves the room and walks the short distance to the entrance of the Great Hall. Inside, he finds Malfoy settled at the Slytherin table, sandwiched between Goyle and Parkinson, calmly buttering a slice of toast. He looks up and catches Harry’s eye, and his mouth twitches up into a faint smirk. Harry looks away and heads over to where Ron and Hermione have saved him a seat.
“There you are,” Ron says as he scoots over to make space. “I was wondering where you were.”
“Sorry,” Harry says as he piles bacon and scrambled eggs onto his plate. Hermione slides a cup of tea down the table to him, and he grins at her. “Thanks.”
She smiles at him, then says, “Hurry and eat, people are planning to go flying in a little bit and I assume you’ll want to go too.”
“Right,” Ron says, and launches into a rambling monologue of who’s going and whether they’ll have enough to play a game of Quidditch and if so, what positions everyone should take.
But Harry’s not really listening. Instead, he nibbles at his bacon and eggs and tries not to be too obvious about watching as Malfoy raises his teacup to his lips and takes a swallow, and it’s hard to believe that those lips now pressed to the rim of his teacup are the same ones that were wrapped around Harry’s cock not five minutes ago. Beside him, Parkinson says something that makes Malfoy laugh, and he turns to her and says something that makes her pull an exasperated face. Malfoy says something else and takes a neat bite of his slice of toast.
It seems ridiculous that Malfoy can be acting like it’s just any other ordinary boring Sunday morning, one where he didn’t just suck Harry Potter’s cock and swallow down every drop. But there he is, sitting across the room at the Slytherin table, laughing and talking and adding sips of tea and bites of toast to the come in his stomach like it’s nothing, and it’s driving Harry utterly mad.
Maybe that’s what Malfoy wanted. Maybe he knew the effect an unreciprocated blowjob would have on Harry and this is just the latest attempt to push Harry beyond the limits of his self-control. He doesn’t know why Malfoy seems to like that as much as he does, and sort of wishes he’d let it go already, because he’s Malfoy and deliberately riling Harry really isn’t necessary. He drives Harry mad even when he’s not actively trying to.
Across the room, Malfoy catches him watching and runs the tip of his tongue over the curve of his lower lip, and Harry can feel himself flushing as he ducks his head and looks away.
Harry’s pretty sure that today’s going to drag by. He can’t wait for tonight.
He really really hopes Malfoy’s forgotten about the Imperius thing.
****
When Harry makes his way down to the Prefect’s bath during the dinner hour that night, he finds that Malfoy’s already been there long enough to fill the tub. He’s currently lounging in it amid heaps of bubbles, and Harry quickly locks and wards the door before he strips off his clothes and gets in with him.
“Took you long enough,” Malfoy says.
“What was the blowjob for this morning?” Harry asks. They might as well get it out of the way now, what Malfoy’s after. Otherwise he’ll probably try to spring it on Harry mid-shag, like he did before.
Malfoy shrugs. “Didn’t you enjoy it?”
“Well, yeah, but…” Harry trails off, watching him closely. “Don’t you want anything for it?”
Malfoy’s smile is slow and predatory. “What are you offering?”
Harry’s not going to play that game. “What do you want?”
“Why do I have to want anything?” Malfoy returns, still eyeing Harry like Buckbeak eyeing a dead ferret, and fuck, Malfoy’s really getting to him if Harry’s thinking about hippogriffs while naked. “Perhaps the pleasure of making you fall apart was enough for me.”
Harry just stares at him, and Malfoy shrugs and looks away. He’s still not entirely convinced that Malfoy doesn’t want something from him. But he’s willing to let it go, for now. “We should talk,” he says instead.
“Really?” Malfoy asks, looking back at Harry and raising one imperious brow. “You want to ruin this with talking?”
“Not a lot, just. You remember the first time we shagged? And how we agreed to, um, reevaluate our arrangement after Christmas?”
“Ah yes,” Malfoy sighs, and he seems a little disappointed. “That. Well. It’s working for me and I’ve no desire to change it. Do you?”
“Yeah. Well, mostly.” He pauses and steels his nerves. “I was thinking maybe we could continue this, except maybe we could be, erm, exclusive about it?”
Malfoy doesn’t quite laugh aloud, but it seems to be a near thing. “What, you want to be my boyfriend? Hearts and flowers and holding hands and all that?” he asks with one eyebrow curved into a skeptical arch. “I didn’t think that was really your thing.”
“I just don’t want you fucking anyone else,” Harry huffs, irritated that he’s letting Malfoy get to him like this.
Malfoy snorts. “You really are thick, aren’t you?” he asks with an amused shake of his head.
Harry feels left out of the joke. “What?”
“Potter,” Malfoy says, slow and even like he’s talking to an idiot. He’s good at that voice, but then again he’s probably had plenty of opportunity to practice it on Crabbe and Goyle. “You are the only one I’m fucking.” He pauses and rolls his eyes. “It’s not as if I’ve got many options here at school, you know. Just you and Goldstein, and I’d rather pull out my own fingernails than shag that tosser. Honestly, I really don’t know how you managed to ignore his appalling personality long enough to get off with him.”
“Same way I manage to ignore yours, I guess,” Harry tells him. He doesn’t mention that things with Goldstein were fine at first. It’s not as if they did much talking. And with his eyes closed, one arse is pretty much the same as the next.
Something hard flashes in Malfoy’s eyes. “Don’t lie, Potter, you like when I say awful things to you. I get to you like no one else does.”
His voice holds a hint of the same odd possessiveness that Harry saw in his eyes at the Hufflepuff party. Is this what it’s really about? Could Malfoy really be jealous? It seems strange, but it makes an odd sort of makes sense, how Malfoy constantly provokes him. At first, Harry had assumed that Malfoy did it to see how far he could push Harry before he lost control. But what if he’s really doing it to reassure himself that no one else can get Harry worked up the way he can? Suddenly Hermione’s observation makes a lot more sense.
“Erm,” he says. “You’re the only one I’m fucking, too.” He’s pretty sure he sounds more awkward than reassuring, and the amusement that sparks in Malfoy’s eyes only confirms it.
“Oh, I know that already. If you want sex while you’re here at Hogwarts, you haven’t got a choice but to come to me for it.” He smirks. “I’ve got you right where I want you, Potter. I can do whatever I want to you, and you’ve got no choice but to take it.”
He sounds so smug that Harry wants to make him sorry for laughing at him. And suddenly Harry doesn’t see rimming as the carrot to entice Malfoy into sucking his cock again. No, it’s the stick he’s going to use to beat that insufferable smirk off the stupid git’s face.
He hauls Malfoy up, shoves him so he’s bent over the rim of the tub and pushes him down.
Malfoy flinches away from the cold tile floor with a small yelp. “Potter, what the fuck are you—“
Harry shuts him up by prying Malfoy’s cheeks apart and licking his arsehole. He tastes like bathwater and soap, and Malfoy’s back arches and he spreads his thighs as Harry licks and licks. He waits until Malfoy starts whining before he stiffens his tongue and presses it against Malfoy’s opening. He’s rewarded with a sharp cry.
Carefully, he works a finger into Malfoy’s arse, stroking slowly in and out as he laps firmly at where the puckered rim stretches around him. Malfoy’s writhing shamelessly by now, so swept away by pleasure that he’s babbling out nonsense, moaning and breathless, clawing at the floor. Harry adds a second finger and continues to lick around and between them. He pulls back to see how Malfoy’s body stretches around his fingers, the rim of his arsehole red and shiny with saliva.
Leaning in again, Harry goes back to licking him, reveling in the increasingly desperate sounds coming from Malfoy, and now he gets what Malfoy was saying about taking pleasure in making Harry fall apart earlier. It’s intoxicating, making Malfoy tremble and come apart like this. Perfect Malfoy, with his perfectly pressed robes and perfectly combed hair, with his sharp words and sharper glares, now bent over the edge of a bathtub, letting Harry lick his arse and writhing and moaning for it like he’ll die if Harry stops.
He pulls his two fingers out almost all the way and presses back in with three. He loves the way he can feel Malfoy’s body submitting to him, slowly loosening around him. He can’t resist reaching down to stroke his cock. He’s already so hard and he feels only a little less desperate than Malfoy sounds.
But Harry can’t stroke himself for very long. Soon, Malfoy’s thrashing so hard against him that Harry needs both hands to hold him down, fingers digging into his hips and keeping him pressed against the tile floor. Harry puts his mouth right on Malfoy’s hole and sucks lightly, his tongue flicking over the ring of muscle just to feel it spasm and flutter against him. Eventually Malfoy stops writhing enough that Harry risks letting go with one hand and pushing three fingers into him again, and he thinks that the feel of Malfoy’s arse opening and stretching around him is the best thing he’s ever felt, be it with his fingers or his cock or his tongue. He’ll take Malfoy any way he can get. He pulls back again to see his fingers in Malfoy’s arse, reddened flesh stretched wide around him, resisting slightly as he pushes in, clinging faintly as he pulls back out, but so wanton and open and ready.
“God, Malfoy,” Harry breathes. “I bet I could fuck you just like this.”
“Do it, then,” Malfoy says. He pushes back sharply, using his backside to shove Harry back enough that he can kneel on the ledge that runs around the inside of the tub, knees spread wide, hands braced on the rim of the tub. The water covers him to his tailbone, bubbles lapping softly against his spine.
Harry comes up behind him and rubs his cock along Malfoy’s bum beneath the surface of the water. “It’s not going to work without lube, will it?”
“I can take it,” Malfoy insists.
Still, Harry hesitates. “Are you sure? I just don’t want to hurt you.”
Malfoy aims an exasperated look over his shoulder and rocks back so Harry’s cock slides over his arse. “Come off it, Potter, you’re not exactly hung like a centaur.”
Harry scowls at him. His prick’s a perfectly respectable size, thanks very much, and anyhow even a centaur would probably seem small in comparison to that giant purple thing Malfoy likes to fuck himself with. “You’ve never complained about it before,” he says instead.
“My only complaint about it right now is that it’s not in me,” Malfoy says, rocking back again like he can force Harry to fuck him.
Well, if he insists. Harry uses one hand to hold Malfoy still and grasps his prick with his other hand to hold it straight. He rubs the tip along the cleft of Malfoy’s arse until the head catches on the loosened rim of Malfoy’s arsehole, and presses slowly forward. For a moment he doesn’t think this is going to work, but then he feels Malfoy’s body give way and the first inch slides in all at once. He freezes as Malfoy whimpers and his body clenches tight around the tip of Harry’s prick.
“Does it hurt?” he asks when Malfoy sighs and relaxes a fraction.
“Yeah,” Malfoy says. “But in a good way. Keep going.”
Harry's not quite convinced. “Maybe we should—”
“Potter,” Malfoy snaps. “If you stop now, I’m going to make you sorry. Very, very sorry.”
“Okay,” Harry says, and then again, “Okay.”
He presses forward again, pushing inside a fraction at a time while Malfoy’s breath comes in gasps and moans, and Harry clenches his teeth and tries to keep himself from slamming all the way in.
When he’s fully inside and the cheeks of Malfoy’s arse press against his groin, Harry holds still to give him a little time to adjust, stroking his hands lightly over Malfoy’s back. Not even a minute later, Malfoy shifts, pressing himself against Harry, and Harry’s cock slips inside him just a little bit deeper. He holds Malfoy’s hips and very slowly draws nearly all the way out, and very slowly slides back in, again, and again.
It’s so different from the sex they’ve had before. Harry goes achingly slow for fear of hurting Malfoy, slow enough that the water barely sloshes around them, and god the friction is incredible. The sudsy bathwater gives just enough lubrication to make this possible, and the drag of Malfoy’s arse around every inch of his prick as he pulls out and pushes back in is so intense it’s almost agonizing. He’s not going to last long at all like this. Harry reaches around and grasps Malfoy’s cock, wanking him in long firm strokes that perfectly match his thrusts. Malfoy moans and his hands tighten around the rim of the bathtub.
Harry’s holding on by a thread by the time Malfoy finally gasps, “Oh, oh fuck, Potter…” and his arsehole spasms around Harry’s prick. An instant later, his cock pulses in Harry’s hand as his body clenches tight and the desperate way he gasps out Harry’s name sends him hurtling over the edge too. He comes hard, his hands tightening around Malfoy’s hips, his semen slicking Malfoy’s passage enough that Harry can finally thrust harder. He does a couple of times just because he can, then lets out a slow, shuddering breath and lets go of Malfoy.
Malfoy’s breath hisses between his teeth as Harry pulls out, then he turns around and settles down on the ledge of the bathtub, warm water and bubbles lapping over his shoulders. He tips his head back to rest on the rim and his eyes drift shut.
“Merlin,” Malfoy sighs, his voice drowsy and as warm as the bathwater. “I think I’m going to feel that for a week.”
“A whole week?” Harry asks. He settles down beside Malfoy, a little closer to him than he’d intended, but they’re not touching and he doesn’t move away.
“Hmm,” Malfoy murmurs with a smile, and reaches out under the water to give Harry’s softening cock a quick fondle. “I’m sure we’ll figure out something else to do while I recover.”
Malfoy looks beautiful like this, his expression open and relaxed, his voice warm and low and teasing, and Harry’s hit with such a pang of longing that he speaks without thinking. “Why can’t you be like this all the time?”
Malfoy slips a little lower in the water so the bubbles brush the underside of his chin and dampen the hair at the nape of his neck. He cracks one eye open. “What, just shagged?” He lets the lid slide shut again. “You’re certainly welcome to try.”
“No,” Harry says and hesitates for an instant before continuing. “I mean, nice.”
Both of Malfoy’s eyes open slowly and he regards Harry in silence for a few long seconds. Harry’s never noticed before what an odd shade of grey they are, so light they’re almost silver. Being pinned beneath Malfoy’s pale gaze at such a short range is more than a little unnerving. “I don’t think you’d know what to do with me if I were nice to you,” he says finally. “Just like I wouldn’t know what to do with you if you didn’t push me back. Besides,” Malfoy adds and lets his eyes fall closed again. “It’s not like it really matters. It’s not like we have a relationship.”
“Right,” Harry says and lets his eyes close too.
This is exactly what he wants, this thing with Malfoy. He doesn’t even like Malfoy, so he really couldn’t care less if Malfoy thinks he’s a freak, with his come eating and his ridiculous and thoroughly inappropriate thing for Malfoy’s Dark Mark. Which doesn’t seem to be an issue because it turns out that Malfoy’s just as kinky as he is, or at least willing to accommodate Harry’s kinkiness without making a big deal of it. They have an arrangement, one that involves a lot of orgasms and not very much talking, and it’s perfect just the way it is. Malfoy’s very attractive and he’s brilliant in bed, and Harry doesn’t need anything more than that. He doesn’t want a relationship, really he doesn’t, and certainly not a relationship with Malfoy of all people.
But for one moment, for just one instant, Harry can’t help but wonder what it might be like if he did.