Chapter Text
“But… what…?” Harry’s questions are stopped short by Malfoy’s hand rubbing his crotch and then by Malfoy turning around, pressing his arse to it instead, and… moving. “Oh God, what the fuck?”
“Spell… bad… Hit me… didn’t see… Oh…” Malfoy grips the outsides of Harry’s thighs, his pert arse rubbing Harry erect through his jeans.
They’re outside a bloody market, for fuck’s sake. He hasn’t even seen Malfoy in… weeks. It’s not like they talk. They’re not friends. This is the last thing he expected when he left his flat for a cantaloupe. A cantaloupe.
Harry thrusts Malfoy away from himself, which is difficult to do since, while his mind is reeling, his body has gotten very much on board with whatever this is.
“No, please,” Malfoy cries. He turns toward Harry again, and there are tears sticking his eyelashes together. His cheeks are a mottled rose-pink. He’s perspiring. He bites his lip, moving into Harry’s space again. “I don’t want to, Potter. I need to. I need you to.” His face fits against Harry’s neck, and he starts kissing him there in entreaty. He moves so that his hard cock presses to Harry’s through their clothes.
Harry tries not to groan, but… he groans. Then, “Wait, you’ve been hit with a spell?”
“Mm-hmm,” between his sucking at Harry’s neck, biting and kissing so that he’s absolutely going to leave a bruise.
“Malfoy.” Harry uses all the willpower he has left to move him back again. “Someone cast a… lust spell on you?”
“More than… lust,” Draco gets out.
“A s-sex spell?”
Drugged eyes, bashful, longing. He nods.
Harry pulls his wand. “Finite.”
And now Malfoy looks simultaneously like he wants to fuck Harry and like he thinks Harry’s the stupidest person alive. “Already… tried… dumbass.” He doesn’t invade Harry’s space again, but now it looks like he’s in pain. Pain that’s increasing by the moment.
“Oh shit,” Harry says, then, against his better judgement, “Come here.”
Malfoy moves into the circle of Harry’s arms, presses up against him, moans with that small relief. “I need it,” he says. “Please, Potter, I need it.”
Harry looks around himself, like someone will be there to save him, to save them both. But of course there’s not. It’s a crowd of Muggles, going into and coming out of the market and looking at them like they’re doing some very irritating performance art.
Harry sighs, rubbing Malfoy’s back because he’s not sure what else to do. He’s nineteen. He’s never actually… He’s only recently come to the realisation that he’s not exactly straight. The rubbing up against him that Malfoy has already done is more than Harry’s got around to doing with another boy, ever.
Malfoy wraps his leg around Harry’s, desperately trying for friction. He makes a soft noise. But it’s when his fingers go to unbutton his own shirt that Harry jolts out of his reverie. “Oh God, wait,” he says. “Okay. Okay. I’m going to Apparate. Hold on.” Harry closes his eyes. “Merlin,” he whispers, and then he side-alongs them back to his flat.
And maybe he is the stupidest person alive, except that it’s only instinct to offer a houseguest tea.
“No, I don’t want any tea,” Malfoy moans, hands gripping Harry’s waist. Then his arse.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, it’s just…”
“Potter,” Draco moans. “I’ll die if I don’t.”
“You’re not going to die,” Harry tells him reflexively. He’s still racking his brain for any other solution, but…
Malfoy has stepped back to disrobe, and quickly at that.
“Um… do you think if you just…” Harry makes the universal hand signal for wanking off.
Malfoy shakes his head.
“Okay,” Harry says, breathless. “Okay. Do you know any other spells to try?”
“Don’t want a spell,” Malfoy says as he drops his shirt to the floor and stands there bare-torsoed. (And bloody beautiful. When did he get like this? Lithe and just a little bit muscled and tall and fit?) He takes his trousers and underwear down, shucks his shoes. Then he’s standing there naked except for his socks, and Harry feels a bunch of things all at once.
Malfoy’s body is… pleasing. It’s not that he wouldn’t have sex with it; he would. But it’s Malfoy’s. This dickhead kicked him in the face and broke his nose, among other things.
But then there’s the abject yearning on Malfoy’s face. Harry doesn’t want to be moved by it, but he is. It’s like watching him hang from that toppling tower of kindling that the Room of Hidden Things was about to become. Harry couldn’t not reach out a hand for him then. He doesn’t think he can turn away now either.
And then there are the socks, still on Malfoy’s long feet. Navy blue socks to go with the navy blue trousers that now sit in a pile on Harry’s floor. It’s the socks, when all is said and done… that turn Malfoy into… into Draco.
And Merlin help him, Harry’s going to fuck him.
“Do you want to do this in the bedroom?” he asks stupidly, jerking his thumb in that direction.
Malfoy shakes his head no. “Need you,” he says quietly but with all the force of a Stunner to the chest. Malfoy moves back into Harry’s space, cups Harry’s erection and begins to massage it. “Right here,” he says. “Fuck me right here.”
Then he wraps his hand behind Harry’s head and pulls him down… down to the floor with him.
So he’s going to have sex with Draco Malfoy on the living room rug Hermione helped him pick out for his new place. That’s great.
His cock—his very hard cock—really does consider this a proper plan, and Harry starts undressing with Malfoy’s help. Malfoy tugs his t-shirt up and off, and then his eyes go wide, his blushing skin even pinker, and his hands smooth up Harry’s chest—the hair and new, thicker muscles there—over his shoulders, as Harry sets to work on his jeans as quickly as possible.
“Like… here? Like this?” Harry asks once he’s successfully wrestled his jeans and underwear and everything, including his socks, off. Merciful fuck, he’s naked and hovering over a naked Malfoy. They’re naked. They’re face to face. Surely Malfoy would rather not look at him while he does this, but… Malfoy nods and spreads his legs. Harry can’t bloody believe he’s going to be having sex in a moment.
He resists the pull of desire he feels at Malfoy splayed out like this for him. “What about… er, foreplay?”
“Potter, I’m already there.” His eyes plead with Harry.
Harry nods, swallows. “I… I’ve never.”
One look into Malfoy’s eyes and the mute shake of Malfoy’s head tells him he hasn’t either. But then Malfoy picks up Harry’s wand from where it’s just lying there on the floor next to him, and he conjures some lube into his hand. His eyes are boring into Harry’s even as he reaches down between his own legs. He gasps.
“Oh my God,” Harry murmurs looking down to see Malfoy’s slick finger penetrating himself. Malfoy casts again, a little pool of oil into his palm, and then he’s taking Harry’s cock and pumping it in his wet fist. “God,” Harry cries.
Malfoy nods at him, the light in his eyes eager but also desperate, afraid. It’s not a happy light. It’s feverish. Harry leans down, replaces Malfoy’s hand with his own, and nudges at Malfoy’s arsehole.
Malfoy’s breathing becomes panting. He lifts his legs for it, bites his lip. Harry grunts, pushes, slips off. “Fuck, hold on.”
“Potter…” Malfoy keens. He holds his own knees in his hands, watching Harry try to breach him.
Then… It goes in, slick and satisfying, with a wet sound. It feels so good. Harry pursues that good feeling and thrusts.
“Oh!” Malfoy cries out, clamping down. His eyes squeeze shut and then go wide, his gaze flown to Harry’s face.
Harry blinks down at him, the crown of his cock throbbing inside the tight ring of muscle. They look at each other, like this, and then Malfoy groans softly. He wraps himself around Harry—legs, arms. His hand finds Harry’s arse, squeezes it hard, and then pushes, urging Harry to fuck further in.
Harry does. And they both make a sound, separate sounds but, uncomfortably, together. “Oh shit,” Harry marvels, halfway in. “Can I… do it now?”
Malfoy’s hand makes a fist in his hair. He nods. Harry doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he follows the need of his body and plunges in and out over and over. He feels Malfoy’s stocking feet against his arse, Malfoy’s body opening for him, clutching onto him. Harry is fucking another boy. He and Malfoy are fucking. It’s too much. He goes faster, planting his hands on the floor and rutting down, down, down, deep into Malfoy’s body. He’s not going to last. It’s better than he ever imagined. And the sounds Malfoy makes are because of him, because of what Harry’s doing to him. He realises they’re not just sounds; they’re words.
“Fuck me. Potter, fuck, you’re so… Yes, please, fuck me like that. Just like that.” And Malfoy’s hand is on his cock, stroking quick, like he knows what to do to get himself off.
“I’m going to come,” Harry gets out just before it hits him like no orgasm ever has before, and he’s crying out as he empties into Malfoy’s arse, pumping it in. Malfoy’s mouth opens, his breath coming fast, and then he spills, his semen shooting over his belly. Harry thrusts deeply into him, watching it, grinds there, his mind reeling at how that gets another ribbon of come from Malfoy, another groan of pleasure.
Harry drops to his forearms, panting in Malfoy’s face. Malfoy’s fingers loosen in his hair, slip down onto the back of his neck. Their bodies press together, sticky and hot.
“Are you…? How was that?”
Dazed, Malfoy meets his eyes. He blinks, nods.
“Did that… work?” Harry’s dick is still throbbing, only starting to go a little soft.
“I…” Malfoy says and then frowns, checking inwardly. “I… yes. I don’t feel it anymore.”
They look at each other, coming down from it. And then Malfoy’s face goes red. He drops his gaze. “Could you pull out, please?”
“Oh. Sorry, yeah.” Harry slips out of him, and Malfoy immediately turns over and starts gathering up his clothes.
Harry feels too stupid to move. He flops to his back and breathes up at the ceiling, very aware of Malfoy moving briskly through the space, dressing again. Once Malfoy is in his trousers and struggling into his shirt, Harry sits up and leans his back against the sofa. “It’s all gone then? You’re okay? You’re sure?”
“Yes, Potter, it’s gone. You don’t get to have another go,” Malfoy says primly.
“I didn’t mean…”
“I know what you meant,” Malfoy allows, but he won’t look at Harry. He’s too busy trying to leave.
“Do you know who…?”
“I told you, I didn’t see them. They may have had red hair.”
Harry’s body tightens at the words, and now he wishes he were dressed too. “I hope you’re not insinuating that—”
“I’m not,” Malfoy says. “You asked if I knew, I told you I didn’t, I said they might have had red hair. That’s it.” He wipes quickly at his cheek, and it’s only now that Harry realises he’s… crying. Not a lot, only a little, but…
“Did I hurt you?”
Malfoy rolls his damp eyes. “You’re well-endowed—colour me impressed, Potter—but no. Do you have Floo powder?”
“In that jar.” Harry points.
Malfoy’s gaze lifts to him now, just for a moment. He looks at Harry’s naked body briefly, his thoughts, while he does it, perfectly concealed. He flicks his gaze to Harry’s face, just for a moment, then away, and says, “Thank you.”
Then he throws some powder down, steps into the flames, and with eyes cast down and a tremble to his voice, he speaks an address and then swirls away.