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“Come here often?”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, James wants to hit his head against the library desk. What the fuck is he thinking? Come here often? Wherever he is, Albus is laughing at his abysmal social skills, he just knows it.
The man’s stopped whatever he was doing to look up and stare at him incredulously. “Excuse me?”
James tries out a smile. “Sorry, just—do you work here?” Almost as though he knows how badly James is cocking this up, Draco’s voice pops into his head, no less clear than if he had been standing next to him. Auror Potter, what the fuck do you think you’re playing at?
Sorry, he tries to reply mentally. He’d never quite mastered the hang of replying using Legilimency. James throws in a wink at the man, based on a haphazard guess. The man looks at him with a little less suspicion than he had before, but it’s still nowhere near what he needs. He needs total and complete trust, and he needs it fast.
“Yes, I do. Are you looking for something in particular?”
“Ah, I-yes.” James fumbles, head hurting with all the spitfire instructions Draco was dictating in his mind: James, I am moving toward the back archives, do NOT let him see me! and Talk to him or I will hex you with no hesitation.
The man is waiting for his response, so James clears his throat and says, “A book?”
—
He doesn’t quite know how he’s managed it, especially after telling a librarian that he wants to find a book.. while in a fucking library. But he’s got the man up and moving away from the desk, which is all he needs.
But.. James doesn’t know what to do now. Distract the librarian, Draco had hissed as they’d walked into the dreary library, I don’t care how you do it. We need to keep him occupied for ten minutes.
Ten minutes? What was he supposed to do here, chit-chat about the weather? But Draco had simply shaken his head and pushed him towards the man… the man who was currently standing in front of him, licking his lower lip lasciviously.
Ten minutes. James’ head spun with the implications. How hadn’t he thought of that?
The man steps closer. He’s rather attractive actually, curly dark hair spilling messily in all directions, brown eyes wide with barely concealed lust. But as he steps closer and kisses James, a hand bunched in James’ hair— all James can think about, rather hysterically, is the fact that he and Albus apparently have the same taste in men.
It’s nice, of course it is. James hasn’t gotten laid in a long time, and definitely not in the last six months. It’s hardly any wonder that he can feel his cock start to harden under the thick denim of his jeans, especially not when there’s an attractive man rubbing up against him seductively.
It’s just not— no. James breaks away for air, mind spinning with thoughts he’d rather not pay attention to. He can’t think of Draco like that, can’t imagine that it’s Draco standing there, hand pressed to James’ crotch. That Draco’s the one unbuttoning his jeans, pulling down the zipper with a smirk, tongue darting out to lick at the head of James’ cock through his pants.
“... you want it, don’t you?”
James blinks and opens his eyes. The pressure on his cock is the same, but it’s not Draco’s chiseled face that greets him. Dark curls and dark eyes— nothing like the man he wants, a voice inside James whispers— looking up at him with heat, holding his gaze as he places another kittenish lick to the head of James’ cock.
If he can’t have what he truly wants… “Yes,” he whispers hoarsely, “yes.”
As though he’d been waiting for that permission from James, he pulls down James’ pants and immediately goes down on him, fluttering his eyes closed, burying his nose into the hair at James’ crotch. His mouth is a wet, wet suction around him, and James lets his head thunk back onto the bookshelves behind him, winding a firm hand into the dark hair.
It’s a playful seduction, if the teasing nips of teeth and chaste sucks to the head of his cock are any indication. He has dark and lively eyes, dancing with mischief as he goes down on James again and again, but James can only see—
Draco. Who is now standing in front of him, eyes hooded and the beginning of a smirk playing against his lips. James blinks, once, twice— and the figure doesn’t disappear. Draco Malfoy is standing there, watching James getting sucked off by another bloke at his feet.
It shouldn’t make James harder, his cock twitching imperceptibly as the man moans around it. It shouldn’t make him let out a startled gasp (of surprise or pleasure, he doesn’t know). And it definitely shouldn’t make a shot of pure arousal run down his spine at the heated look Draco slants at him, index finger held up to his lips as if in a wordless shh.
James can hardly think with the onslaught of sensations plaguing him. The man at his feet, looking up at him with cherry red lips stretched wide around his cock; Draco’s grey eyes smouldering as they bore into James’ own. And then, Draco tips a hand up—the one that’s not tracing the smirk playing across his lips—to tap the watch on his hand. Ten minutes, Draco had said. And it’s been almost—nine and a half minutes, James can make out as he squints, since James had dragged the man into this corner of the dusty library. He has thirty seconds to get the fuck out of here, before the charm Draco cast in the archives activates.
As the hands on the clock tick in rhythm with the beat of his heart, James feels a trickle of sweat run down the nape of his neck. He bunches his hands in the man’s hair, fingertips scratching lightly against his scalp. The wet suction of his mouth around James’ cock makes an obscene slurping sound, especially in the silence of the corner of the library he’d been dragged to. He can’t—he’s not going to last—
Draco holds up a hand, long fingers counting down the seconds. Five, four, three…
And perhaps it’s the sly edge Draco’s smirk has gained, or maybe it’s the way the man at his feet twists his hand just right. Or maybe James has just reached the line he hadn’t dared to even touch for the last six months and he can’t help but cross it without any regard for how it’s going to affect his future partnership with Draco. It’s too late, anyway, too late to pretend like this isn’t happening and he locks eyes with Draco as he comes, feeling defiant and daring and more like a Gryffindor than his Hufflepuff background would have him muster.
And to see Draco’s eyes widen infinitesimally when James opens his mouth on a gasp and tips his head back again as his body cools down from the rush of orgasm—James has to suppress a smirk of his own.
When he opens his eyes again, the man is standing up and is frantically rubbing a hand at the bulge in his own trousers— and Draco’s gone, slipped away like a shadow. It feels like a dream, like James has been so hung up on his Auror partner that his subconscious decided to create a whole scenario involving him (because God knows James can’t even have a wank anymore without imagining Draco’s slanted grey eyes watching him, his thin lips curved up lasciviously as he rubs the not insubstantial bulge in his perfectly pressed slacks) even while getting off with someone else.
But it’s not going to happen. It’s never going to happen because Draco is forty-five to James’ twenty-three, and while Draco might be the fittest older man James has ever seen (the fittest man he’s ever seen, period) he’s surely got his own pick of lovers. Partners who are older and more experienced than James, partners who aren’t halfway to being in love with the man.
And isn’t that exactly the problem he’d been trying to avoid, ever since he got assigned to be partners with Draco? To fall in love with a man who could never see him as more than Harry Potter’s son, who would never want James in the way he yearned for?
To hell with that.
James takes a decisive step to the man, bunches a hand in his hair and kisses him deeply, feeling the taste of his own bitterness in his mouth and licking it away, replacing the hand that’s pressed at the man’s crotch with his own, catching the stifled gasps and stuttered moans with his own mouth, the only sounds escaping their quiet corner of the room that of the whisper of cloth brushed against cloth.
And when the man falters, hips jerking erratically against James’ own, James finally releases him, slowly moving back, leaving a soft kiss against his cheek.
While the man mutters something about ducking into the small bathroom to clean up, James takes his leave with a wink, a smile and saunters out of the library without another look back. It’s a good thing, he thinks. He shouldn’t be so hung up over someone who won’t love him back the way he wants. Maybe, after this case is wrapped up, he’ll go out, have a drink. Find someone fit, shag their brains out.
And then maybe, maybe he’ll finally get over Draco.
—
Just as James walks out of the library, he’s accosted, arm gripped tightly as whoever it is starts dragging him off to the nearest alley. It’s dark out, which isn’t unusual for London in the winter, but strangely James doesn’t feel the need to defend himself.
He’d know that hand anywhere: pale and gorgeous, blue veins creating a map across his skin, the silver signet of the Malfoy ring adorning his middle finger.
Draco shoves him up against the wall, grey eyes glinting with fervour. “I don’t recall that being part of the plan.”
James smiles. He knows how to handle people who’re pissed off, he’s done that his whole life with Albus. “You said keep him distracted for ten minutes.” He shrugs. “I was just following orders. If I happened to distract him with my cock down his throat, I really don’t see what—”
Draco growls, cutting him off mid sentence. “And I don’t suppose you thought about how that might blow our cover?”
James shrugs again. “I don’t see how it would ruin anything.” And because he can, he adds a shit-eating grin and says, “Besides, I wasn’t going to blow anything. I was the one who got blown.”
Draco growls again, his expression darkening further with James’ flippant response. “And I suppose you think that’s funny, don’t you?” He suddenly turns away to slam a hand against the brick wall. “Dammit, James, the man is probably involved! Even if he just works there, he’s bound to have seen something going on, and that makes him a suspect, regardless.”
“And?” Draco’s annoyance is rubbing off on James. “All we did was get each other off, it’s not like I went around telling him that we’re wizards here to uncover an illegal business selling Dark artifacts!”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Draco says, eyes blazing with anger. “You can’t do that while on an active mission!”
James scoffs. “Please. Honeypot missions are still very much in style. I just—took it a little further.” Honestly, where was this argument even going? If Draco was going to keep yelling at him in riddles, James would far prefer it to be back in office, where he’d be at least marginally more comfortable.
Draco let out an exasperated sound under his breath and leant closer to James, pressing the length of his body into James’s own. “Maybe I should rephrase it. You,” he says exaggeratedly, pointing a bony finger into the middle of James’ chest, “can’t do that on an active mission, with anyone who is not me.”
And—oh. Oh.
James almost can’t suppress the wide grin that wants to stretch across his face, but he manages. “Are you saying I have to get permission from you next time, Sir?”
“No,” Draco says low, slate grey eyes pinning James to the wall. “I’m saying that you shouldn’t do anything that requires permission to be granted.” His voice takes on a lethal edge, words dripping like honey from his tongue. “Unless, of course, it’s me.”
This time, James does grin. It’s short-lived, however, because those perfect lips, the ones that James has been dreaming about ever since he got assigned to be partners with Draco (and even long before that, if he’s being honest) are finally on his own.
Draco kisses him with single-minded intent, nipping and nibbling at James’ bottom lip until he opens his mouth on a gasp. “I- Draco, I- nghh!” James can hardly talk, not when Draco is finally claiming him, pushing him into the wall, his entire body covering James from top to toe. He curves a hand over James’ neck, slipping another hand around his waist and leaves teasing kisses up his jaw; down to his throat.
“Tell me, James,” he says, voice vibrating with equal parts smugness and lust, as he adds a hint of teeth on the bruise forming at the base of James’ neck, “Did he kiss you like this? Did he touch you like this?”
“Draco.” It’s the only word he can let out at the moment, too lost in the sensation of Draco fucking Malfoy kissing him, touching him, taking him and marking him up as though he were Draco’s property. And then Draco caresses the side of his hip, yanking out James’ shirt from where it’s tucked into his trousers and slipping a hand onto the skin underneath.
Draco’s fingernails drag against the soft skin there, and James fucking keens, mind short-circuiting from just how unbelievably good this feels. He’s just gotten a blowjob, for Christ’s sake! He’s twenty-fucking-three now, he shouldn’t be this far gone just by some snogging and groping.
He needs to take back some of the control. So he grips Draco by the waist, and flips them around hard, Draco’s back slamming into the concrete. James is about to apologize, immediately contrite, when he catches sight of the way Draco’s fringe now hangs in his face, loose from the way James has been pulling at it. James’ breath hitches. His apology dies away in his throat, and James can’t control his urge—he just knows that he wants this, wants it right now.
He slides down, knees hitting the knobbly tiles beneath. Above him, Draco’s gone completely still. But he still hasn’t pushed back the blond curls framing his face, and James sees that as a victory. “Draco,” he says urgently, “Please. Please, oh god, please let me suck your cock.”
Draco jerks his head forward the tiniest bit, the barest acceptance, and James surges forward, burying his face into the bulge tenting the fabric of Draco’s trousers. He smells masculine, like musk and cologne and that particular scent of richexpensiverich that James is now hardwired to recognise from miles away.
He’s thought of this too many times to count, daydreaming during office hours, wondering if Draco would slap him or kiss him if James walked over to his desk and asked Draco to fuck him. If perhaps he begged, Draco would allow James to suck him off under his desk. If Draco could ever reciprocate the same interest in him.
And now, when he has everything he’s ever wanted, he wants to savour it.
Perhaps Draco realises that too, because he drags James up the hook of his collar and presses a bruising kiss into his mouth, nothing like the controlled chaos of their first kiss. “Later,” he pants, tugging gently at James’ earlobe with his teeth, “Later, I’ll let you take your time. Make me come now, James.”
And then he grabs a fistful of James’ hair in his hand and forces him back on his knees, unzipping his trousers and pulling his cock out. James can’t help but stare, riveted by the gorgeous length in front of him, the flushed pink head and the glistening drop of precome on the slit. And really, who is James to ignore such a lovely sight?
He leans and licks the tips, suckling softly at the head as he laps away the precome, salty-sweet on his tongue. James wants to groan. Trust Draco to be the one man who not only tastes bearable, but also fucking good. He jerks when he feels Draco’s hands winding in his hair, but soon relaxes, letting the hands guide him in, deeper and deeper, until his nose is almost buried in the thatch of blond curls at the base of Draco’s cock.
“Fuck,” he hears Draco curse above him, “fuck, James, I knew you’d be so good, so lovely. Look at you, stuffed full of my cock.” James moans, and Draco hisses at the vibration. “Pretty pink lips like yours were made for sucking cock, James. I’ve imagined it so many times. Just shoving my cock down your throat when you can’t keep your mouth shut.”
Oh God. James is in heaven. Except for the sensation in his head that feels like some sort of insistent buzzing—wait.
Hold on a minute. That’s Legilimency. Except that—
Draco is the one opening his mind to James, allowing James to probe at the shimmering memories—no, fantasies at the forefront. Draco is allowing him to witness private fantasies. James’ heart soars. It’s a heady privilege, especially because he knows Draco’s never allowed anyone in before, has never trusted them to respect his privacy.
Well. It’s heady for one reason at first. The second quickly becomes apparent.
James feels faint with the onslaught of dizzying images flashing through his mind: James mouthing off, Draco dragging him to a supply cupboard and feeding him his cock to make him shut up; James messing up while interviewing suspects because he always gives away key information and Draco disciplining him; Draco making him warm his cock for hours while he finishes up writing case reports because God knows James has no aptitude for them.
Draco hums, evidently pleased at James’ reaction. “You see? This has been a long time coming.”
That’s it, James thinks. He pulls off Draco’s cock for a moment, looking up at him in the same way he’d looked at him while in the library. Draco looks back steadily, eyes giving nothing away. And just when James is about to crack, to look back down—Draco lets his eyes soften, the hand curled firmly in his hair relaxing its grip.
It’s an answer and a question all at once, because all James wants to know is if Draco wants him the way James does. If he’s doing this to punish James or because he wants to.
But Draco lets his defenses down with him. He lets James see him vulnerable, shows him his injuries from when they go out in the field. He’s let down the barriers of his mind to allow James to witness private memories. And really—what more can James ask for?
So he smiles up at Draco, albeit a little shakily, and proceeds to devour his cock, going as far as he can, until he reaches the base. Above him, Draco lets a punched-out groan escape him, hands hanging slack at his side. “James, that’s—oh God, James.” When James chances another look up, Draco’s looking right back at him, lips bitten and hair mussed.
James allows himself to look smug (or as smug as he can, with a mouthful of cock) before releasing Draco’s cock and diving back in to suck it again. One thing he knows for sure—even if Draco intended for this to be a one-off, he’s going to make sure to ruin anyone else for Draco by sucking his brain out through his cock.
And he almost does succeed. Draco winds his hands back in James’ hair, a warning in his tugs to allow James to pull off. But James has waited far too long for this, spent too long dreaming about it for it to not happen now. And when Draco comes, hips stuttering as he fucks James’ mouth at a relentless pace, a low groan echoing in the alley—James swallows every last salty-sweet drop.
Pulling back, he balances on his haunches and licks his lips. He’s barely swiped his tongue across, when Draco drags him up yet again, to kiss him breathless.
“So good, James, you’re so fucking good.” Draco says, punctuating the words with a kiss on each patch of James’ skin that he can find.
“Draco.” It’s a plea, a prayer, something too intense for James to quite pinpoint—but right now, all he knows is that Draco’s hand is rubbing the bulge in James’ jeans and that he wants that sweet ache of release at Draco’s hand.
“Come on, James.” Draco whispers into his ear as James frots against his thigh. “Do this for me. Come for me, James. Come for me.”
And then James does, white spots overwhelming his vision for a second. He drops his head on Draco's shoulder, barely aware of Draco’s hushed praises, the so good and you’re so perfect, James and I want you more than I should.
When James is coherent, he moves back enough to see Draco’s face. “Was this a one-off? Are we going back to being partners who don’t shag each other’s brains out?”
Draco doesn’t give him an inch. He just stares back steadily. “What do you want it to be?” Careful, cautious. How is this the same man who fell apart under James’ mouth?
“Fucking hell, Draco!” James slams a fist on the wall next to him. To his credit, Draco doesn’t even blink an eye. “I want this to be more than just once. You know that, everyone knows that. Hell, I’d bet even my dad knows that I’m half in love with you!”
“Love is a big word, James. You can’t be sure.”
“Are you sure, Draco? Have you ever been sure? I know you’ve been trying to outrun your past—but have you ever stopped and realized that it’s already long gone?” James doesn’t know what he’s saying. All he knows is that the words are pouring out of him, like they’ll never stop.
“No one cares now, Draco! All everyone knows about you is that you’re the best damn Auror this department has ever seen, and even my dad would be hard-pressed to keep up with your closing rate.”
Draco’s losing his composure, and before he can say anything, James cuts in again. “You’re the best damn person I’ve ever met, Draco.” Soft, now. If Draco doesn’t know that this is a declaration of love, he’s not as smart as he likes to think he is. “Please don’t run away from me.”
To his surprise, Draco doesn’t yell at him. He doesn’t do anything, actually. He just heaves out a heavy sigh, and places a hand on James’ shoulder. “You’re young, James. You have time to find someone.”
Well. At least he tried.
“I’ve already found them. But they don’t want me—mmmff!” Draco’s pressed into him again, kissing him deeply, pulling James in closer by his belt loops. “Draco, I—”
“James Potter,” Draco growls, “for once in your life, please shut up.” He kisses him again before dropping his hands. “Listen to me. I do want this to be more, James. I’ve been watching you for just as long. But you have to know that this isn’t going to be easy.”
James cuts him off with a cheeky smile. “If I wanted it easy, I’d hardly have fallen in love with you.”
Draco shakes his head, a matching smile growing on his handsome face. “I’m going to have to put up with your nonsense for longer than just office hours now, aren’t I?”
“Come now, you love it.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Oi!”
—
(Albus has a field day when James tells him. Scorpius turns a shade of red that doesn’t belong on any palette, and Harry just ruffles his hair and says ruefully, “Who knew that one day I’d have to see both my sons falling love with the Malfoy’s?”)