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The rainbow booth was tiny, too tiny for two grown men, the café almost empty, typical Monday morning in London. Nonetheless, they did not hesitate to take those narrow seats, their knees instantly knocking against each other under the wooden table. Harry didn’t pull away, wanting to feel more of Draco’s warmth seep through two layers of jeans. Nor did Draco.
They looked at each other, until Draco cleared his throat in that uncertain way that had Harry’s Auror instincts take over.
Harry licked his lips before speaking. “Let’s order some tea,” he said, knowing none of them drank coffee. Moreover, it was a weirdly chilly July, better to have a hot beverage than iced soda.
“Of course,” Draco replied, eyes zeroing in on Harry’s tongue before turning towards the waitress that had just appeared by their booth.
Silence joined and they welcomed it, a third companion, not chasing it away even when their order arrived. They both kept their focus on their own cup of steaming tea but Harry occasionally glanced at Draco, tense, focused on running a finger around the orange rim of his saucer.
The minty aroma in the air did not soothe anyone’s nerves.
“Sorry,” Harry groaned, his shoulders slouching, no real space to put his elbows on the table. “This feels like being fifteen again…”
Draco didn't waste the opportunity to tease, but also to lie. “Were you always this awkward as teen? I must have forgotten...”
Harry rolled his eyes, secretly pleased that Draco was starting to lose his stiffness. “Well, it’s not every day that you find out how much you might have in common with the archenemy of your teen years…”
“Potter!” Draco gasped. “Voldemort did not attempt to kill you all those years for me to be your archenemy!”
Harry shrugged. “He was not really that important....”
“Not important?” Draco wrinkled his nose. “Thanks Merlin he thought he was, the last thing I needed was for him to try to kill me because bullying Potty was a privilege of his..."
Harry laughed at Draco’s dramatics, before speaking. “Then I take it back, thanks Merlin he had no idea the power you had over me…” he confessed.
The words had Draco freeze. He diverted his eyes to the outdoors, suddenly more interested in the people walking past the windows.
Harry let him take his time, focusing on the tea in his hands. He had never held a more eccentric porcelain cup, purple, embellished with tiny yellow squids. The question was on the tip of his tongue, to ask how and why Draco knew of a muggle café that made the Burrow look almost plain.
Only when he felt those grey eyes watch him again, Harry returned Draco’s attention.
Draco, who had lost his mind for almost two days now. “Did I really have it? Power over you?” he asked slowly, tentative.
“As if you don’t know… “ Harry whispered, holding Draco’s gaze.
Draco wanted to snap. Of course he didn’t know. How could he. Despite the overlap of people in their life, there had been only silence between them, before he ran to France, after he returned, always.
But not today. Not after both their worlds had shifted, almost completely flipped, not even forty eight hours before.
“Didn’t expect you to be part of the scene…” Draco said.
Harry straightened. If Draco wanted to get to the point, he would comply.
“It was a surprise for me too.”
“How?”
“Well, I thought you pure-bloo—“
“No,” Draco stopped him. “I mean— how did you you find yourself in this world...”
“Right,” Harry chuckled. “Short fling, years ago, took me to a private party. Felt I could fit and I did, like a glove. And you?”
Draco smirked. “Why do you think every pure-blood family has a dungeon in their homes?”
The dumbfounded look that appeared on Harry’s face had Draco laugh.
“I’m kidding Potter, I’m kidding…”
Harry joined the laughter, his heart ready to burst. It was the first time they were laughing together, since they have known each other.
“You sure there's no truth there? Must be tough, to grow up in a world so controlled…” he said, once they had calmed down.
“Sex is certainly an extraordinary place where to let it go, but very few dare to cultivate this proclivity…”
“But you do?”
Draco ignored Harry’s question, as if them there together was not the answer, and asked instead. “Since when are you member of the club?”
The club, La Cage Décadente, the most exclusive BDSM club of London, muggle London, the place they had least expected for their worlds to crash into each other.
“Since it opened…” Harry replied smug.
Draco raised his left eyebrow in that cocky way that Harry had always noticed in school, often wondering if little Draco had learned it from his criminal father. What a surprise, to find years later Andromeda and Narcissa had the same habit, a well established habit that belonged to the Blacks. It could mean many things. Surprise. Teasing. But also approval, as suggested by the slight bow Draco did with his head. “Excellent taste, Potter” he said.
Harry smiled. “And you?”
“Since it opened,” but when Harry made a confused face, Draco added, “the original, the one in Paris, nine years ago. Actually, I may have been the one to suggest the owner to make it a franchise…”
Harry whistled, impressed. “Right on time to return to London, what a planner...”
Draco shrugged, hiding his surprise. He didn’t expect Harry to know what he was up to, in such details, the past decade. After all, even his parents learned about his return six months in, followed by six months of drama and communication exclusively via Andromeda. It had been a strange year of transition, and the day Draco had learned his father would rather speak to his sister in law than him, was the day he realised apologies were due.
“Brewing for the mastery, brewing for the shop, a wizard needs what he needs…” Draco conceded.
“And a Slytherin will get what a Slytherin wants, eh” Harry muttered, knowing this very well.
For the past eleven years, since the war, Harry had always known. Where Draco was, what he was doing. Not only because his Auror job allowed him to keep tabs on Draco, but also because Narcissa and Andromeda had rekindled their sisterhood, and Harry was too involved with Teddy to miss news regarding the youngest Malfoy, especially before the great escape. The great escape that came barely a year after the war. A mastery in potions had been Narcissa’s words, words Harry did not believe at all. The realization that Draco joined Andy and Teddy only when Harry was not around had been a hard hit. He hadn't expected any thanks, but neither avoidance. And when he pettily decided to visit Andromeda every time he knew Draco would be there, it took barely a month for the man to flee to the old continent, as if no mastery would have accepted him in Britain, after the Malfoys had donated half their vaults, some of the deepest among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, for war reparations.
Draco Malfoy had been a coward in school, and a coward out of school, much to Harry’s pain.
“I’m surprised we never met,” Draco said, breaking Harry’s reverie and pretending to not have heard his bitchy tone.
“Same” Harry replied instantly.
There was no reason to be subtle anymore, and Harry let his eyes roam over the man in front of him. Draco, prim and proper, despite the holes in his jeans and the open buttons, three, of his champagne shirt, his hair wrapped in a loose bun, the only messy detail, obviously planned. He was breathtaking, almost as much as he had been two days before.
Two days before. Saturday. But not Harry’s regular one, one to pull and enjoy life, or rather, forget what he yearned for. He didn’t go to the club that often anymore, but it was a special occasion, one he couldn’t nor wanted to miss it.
What he didn’t miss was the white blond hair either, near the bar of the main dance floor of the club, where Harry had gone at the end of his performance. A white cascade, reaching the mid back of a shirtless body, parading the toned perfection of a statue. While the hair had been the one to get his attention, once his eyes landed on the buttocks, there they stayed. Round, firm, exactly what Harry liked.
Harry was still far from the bar, the crowded and hysteric dance floor in between, but it didn’t stop him from studying that unknown man, the way the hair moved, hips tilted, shoulder blades flexed. Until he caught the side profile and his heart stopped. Because that man was Malfoy. Draco in his mind since the war had ended. Draco in a muggle club, all that pale skin exposed for everyone to see.
Draco, who must have felt his magic, or his stare, because he suddenly turned around and froze, his eyes instantly landing on the one and only Harry Potter.
For five years, since Draco had returned to London, when they would run into each other they would just nod politely and move on. Never a word, never a handshake, never a touch.
That night, the opposite happened. They didn’t nod in recognition. Instead they both joined the dance floor, from opposite sides, and slowly, oh so slowly, one song and dancing partner at the time, they moved around, spiraling towards each other, observing, admiring openly what before was admired only from the shadows.
The inevitable finally in motion. Thanks also to the right amount of alcohol to finally loosen the restrains of almost two decades.
It felt glorious, for Harry, to see and feel Draco, and his magic, coming closer. Gorgeous Draco, under the strobe lights, his skin glowing under the flashing, his long hair finally free, unlike the usual braid Harry had always seen him sport. Black silken slacks clad Draco’s narrow hips, only one jewel on his toned body: a golden long necklace, which emphasized his long neck and ended with two rings piercing his nipples, centered on toned pecs. Harry exhaled loudly, as he noticed the detail, the urge to touch and twist those pretty pink pierced nipples instant. But it was not time for touching. It was time for admiring. The same way Draco did, letting his eyes absorb every detail of the man in front of him. A man in the prime of his life. Harry knew it was not a night to pull someone to his second— special— home, but it was a night to show the community what he had to offer. His thick thighs were wrapped in black leather, low on the hips, enough to emphasize his Adonis belt, but hide the start of his happy trail. The black mesh of his long shirt had no real purpose, could not hide his strong arms nor his chiseled abs, and especially not the multitude of scars covering his body. Nor he wanted to hide them. Every dancing partner that had recognized him from the show had nodded their availability, everyone had loved his mastery.
Draco and Harry danced, until they were finally in front of each other, just the two of them, somewhere in the middle of the floor, everyone else around them forgotten.
Breaths mingled. Bodies swayed together, and despite being in front of an Auror, Draco did not hesitate to flick his fingers and have the mesh shirt vanish, an act that had Harry lunge forwards until their naked skin, wet with sweat, could kiss, the way they didn’t dare. When their chest brushed against each other, Harry trembled. Yes, Draco was an inch taller, but it was all in the neck and the forehead. The cold metal of Draco’s piercings brushed against Harry's nipples, suddenly sore for they pebbled too quickly. Eager to feel more, Harry grabbed Draco’ waist so hard that he knew the next morning red bruised would have been still there, but he didn’t care, he wanted to feel him closer. Let those mark be proof this was not just a dream.
Both could not hide their arousal, but none of them dared to grind.
It was not a night for pulling, not just for Harry but for Draco as well. It was the annual summer party to welcome new members, to mingle, to get to know each other again. It was a night for the words, not for the game. All the dark rooms were locked, all the stages were opened exclusively for showcasing what performance was allowed, which was the main reason Harry was there, him and his red silk ropes.
And yet. They didn’t dare to speak. They didn’t dare the whisper each other’s name. They simply danced, rubbing their chests, smelling the sweat on each other’s neck, but the mouths never tasted what both wanted. It didn’t matter. Taste could be satisfied another time. For this had been the first night, and first time in eleven years, they dared to touch, they dared to inhale each other’s skin and breath.
Control, it was something both mastered, and that night control was tightly exercised.
At the end of their dance they left alone, each on its own, each thinking of the other, and most importantly, both knowing that something had changed, the door had been opened and there was no going back.
The next day, a majestic eagle owl was perched outside of Draco's window. He recognized it immediately, the same owl he had often seen deliver mail at Andy's or Luna's place. Mail from Harry Potter. Draco didn’t dare to unfold the note for a while. His mind had played infinite possibilities all night, possibilities that had always felt like impossible dreams. But once awake, the presence of Potter's owl seemed grim. Such haste could not be a good sign and Draco did not want his fantasies to shutter, in less than a day. But the hesitance lasted short. He was an adult. If he could handle the one and only Lucius Malfoy, he could handle whatever life threw at him.
Except, apparently, them seated in front of each other, drinking tea, their knees touching, as if old acquaintances.
It was awkward. And embarrassing. But happening.
“I’m also surprised we’re here,” Draco confessed, swallowing.
Harry tilted his head, his confused gaze landing on the bob of the pale throat. “What do you mean?”
“Want to learn if we really fit? Wasn’t what I expected… I actually thought you changed your mind, that sleep cleared your head, that you regre—” Draco stalled, as he saw Harry’s expression darken, before adding hastily, “doesn't mean I did. I didn’t. I didn't change my mind, it was just…”
“Fear...” Harry offered in understanding.
Draco nodded, and lowered his gaze, taking a first sip of his tea, and whispering against the cup. “It's us...”
Harry copied him and reached for his tea. “Us...”
They let the silence linger once again, before Harry spoke.
“I don’t think even magic can create something— what we have. Or could have. Us...” he said.
Draco’s blank expression didn’t change so Harry kept talking.
“Don’t you want to know? If this could work? We’ve known each other for so many years…” but the begging tone suddenly shifted, and Harry chuckled softly and voiced his thought. “Huh, Malfoy, I’ve actually known you longer than Ron and everyone else, haven’t I… except Hagrid...”
Harry’s sincerity felt like a slap and Draco realized there was no need to pretend anymore, to hide every emotion he had felt for the man in front of him since they’ve met the first time at Madam Malkin’s. He let his lips curled, and Harry’s expression instantly brightened.
“Did you bring it, Potter? Your kinks list?”
“I did something better,” Harry said triumphant, detaching the buckle of his belt. His touch instantly transfigured the raven steel to a galleon, but made of glass.
“You did not!" Draco cracked up, his arms hitting the table.
Both men flinched as tea spilled from both cups, and Harry gripped the wooden corners to stop the shaking. They also bowed in apologies towards the waitress at the counter, before she could march over and scold them.
“Potter!” Draco hissed, head still low, “we’re in a muggle establishment, are you nuts?! I thought Aurors were supposed to follow the law…”
“Oh, relax,” Harry cooed, and started playing with the magic coin, a must for every member of the only BDSM club of wizarding Britain. He tried it, when it opened three years ago, The Boudoir, but it lasted very short. Different expectations once everyone knew who he was. And also, the person he hoped he would have met in the club opened by Pansy Parkinson never showed up. Nonetheless Harry kept the coin, knowing very well who must have inspired the ingenious trick.
But when Draco’s expression stayed tight, Harry yielded. “Fine, I can place some wards around.”
Draco recollected himself and gestured towards Harry, who touched the wand in the holster wrapped around his forearm, under his best shirt, fine linen dyed forest green, the one Hermione taught him to wear whenever he wanted to impress. And he did want that, to impress Draco more than ever.
Feeling a wave of magic engulf their booth, Draco finally relaxed, and returned his attention to the coin in Harry’s hand. “Didn’t know you were a habitue of Pansy’s club...”
“You didn’t?” Harry asked, too surprised to correct Draco’s assumption.
“Of course I didn’t,” he replied affronted.
“I though she must—“
“Potter, she didn’t open the club alone, she did it with Blaise and if there’s one thing Mrs. Zabini excels at, are laws and regulations to protect anonymity. Pansy cannot share any information about the clients of the club, even if the DMLE demanded...”
“I see…”
Draco narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “You thought she told me… Potter, she doesn’t know, no one, absolutely no one knows of my—of this— why would you think—”
“You’re still the best of the best friends, your little trio” Harry interrupted and held up the glass coin. “Didn’t you make this? I mean, once I learned who owned the club and saw the coin, I assumed you had your hands in it as well…”
“Merlin no, it was just a favor...” Draco scoffed. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and took few breaths, before returning his attention to Harry’s green eyes. “Can you imagine? Selling potions is already difficult, the last thing I need is the Prophet printing about me running a sex club…. What did Lord Voldemort teach Draco Malfoy? Ropes or chains? Find out on page 3” he mimicked a shrill voice.
Harry snorted. “Oh, cut it out, it’s been ele—“
“Eleven years, I know,” Draco said, now serious. “But some things are just simpler that way, and everything concerning my sexual life requires that simpler way...”
Harry nodded in understanding and didn’t push, grateful that Draco didn’t dig deeper into his thoughts regarding the club. “So no magic on your kinks list?”
“No Potter, no magic on my kink list,” Draco smirked. He was tempted to snatch the coin from Harry’s fingers, but chose to command him instead. “Don’t be afraid, just start the galleon”
Harry licked his lips and placed the coin in the middle of the table. A gentle tap, and a sensual low voice spoke in their ears.
“Sexual preference and scene preference”
They stared at each other, both waiting for the other to reply.
“You asked to be here, what are you waiting for?” Draco huffed impatient.
“Do Gryffindors have to always pave the wa— fine, fine,” Harry raised his hands in surrender, seeing Draco’s deadpan expression. “Gay, preference for topping, but I don’t mind change. However, I’m strictly a dom.”
“Senior Auror with his whole team, not enough control for you?” Draco teased.
“It’s not the same,” Harry replied sober.
“Of course, you want control because they trust you because of what you can give them not because you’re the Saviour. Let me guess, you favor the muggle community over the magic one...”
It warmed Harry's heart how quickly Draco got it. Of course he would. “Correct”, he nodded. “And you?”
“Gender, bedroom, the scene... I find ways to enjoy them all...”
“You have no preference?”
“Well, on the scene I do. I love to put naughty men in their place, no matter if tops or bottoms, but I love as much women who know how to put me in mine,” he spoke suggestive.
Harry stared at him. Men and women. Switch. “You must be a therapist’s dream, you know that...”
“Oh don’t start,” Draco chuckled. “The mind healer I was assigned to after the war was muggle born. I’ve learned more about Freud than anyone should know,” he added dryly.
“You know what Hermione did after the war? Forced me to listen to her talking three hours how Ginny and I were not right for each other, and that I should not look for my“— he put the next word in air-quote —“mother in the women that I date...”
“No!” Draco exclaimed, not scandalized enough to hide his excitement. “And did it work?”
Harry grimaced. “Never dated a woman again...”
They stared at each other, before breaking into a loud laughter that slowly died down. And Harry’s heart skipped yet another beat, as Draco dried a tear from the corner of his eye.
“A switch eh…” he whispered.
“Gay because of Granger, eh…” Draco retorted.
“Bisexual, really? So greedy... ”
Draco snorted. Last time he had read the Prophet had been before the war, and yet, news of Potter’s coming out had reached his ears. Inevitable when you babysit the same toddler, even on different shifts. “You can’t tell me this is actually a surprise…”
“Andy and your mom complain half the time that you’re yet to marry, and that Teddy needs cousins, but Luna has mentioned men so I’ve just assumed you were still in the closet…”
“Merlin, are the women in my life incapable of minding their own business?” Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes.
“Jokes aside, really, why only women? Why not a man?”
Draco studied Harry before replied, the way the tension in his hands holding the purple cup didn't match the calm expression on his face. “I’ve never trusted a man enough...” Draco said at last.
Harry exhaled slowly, considering carefully his next words. “So... only a woman can make you feel safe enough to—“ he faltered, unsure what he wanted to ask. If Draco liked to cry, if Draco liked to beg, if he knew the feeling of letting himself go, really go.
“Potter, a muggle woman will never... never hurt me in ways I—“ feeling the words escaped him, Draco groaned, and run flat hands over the edge of the table, as if his touch could smooth further the already smooth wood.
Dread was a rare companion of his these days. But how to explain to Potter what it mean to be raised by Lucius Malfoy, a loving father when he was a child, sure, but a Malfoy first and foremost. How to explain what it meant to have the Dark Lord linger in front of his bedroom, not for lust, but because it was the only way to punish his parents. How to explain that it was his mother who protected him from the Death Eaters, not his father, too busy spiraling over a life of wrong choices to notice the danger surrounding his son. How to explain that every single man that mattered in his life had failed him. Even Harry himself.
“He has saved the world, but not me, not intentionally, not because he wanted to save me, not because it was me, Draco, someone important for him… he saved everyone but me, nothing but another insignificant and childish villain of his story...” Draco had whispered to his therapist after months of empty words when it came to his feeling for Harry Potter. The confession that opened the door to his slow recovery. Only for Potter to ruin it all, when he start showing up at Andy’s when Draco was there, disrupting the little bubble of peace his aunt had helped him create for himself.
There were many things Draco could explain, but a muggle café on a Monday morning was not the place.
When the silence turned from amicable to eerie, Draco spoke again. ”To find someone with whom certain fears are nonexistent, that is already an incredible deal of— that's freedom... for me. And men, I’ve always felt more natural with submissive men...”
Harry nodded in understanding, but he needed to know. “Do you think that could change?”
For you? Perhaps, was on the tip of Draco’s tongue, but the sudden realization gave him an immediate whiplash so he lied, his eyes holding Harry’s scrutinizing gaze. “I doubt it.”
Harry nodded again and let it go. “How come you’re not married?”
“And make Lucius happy? Merlin no,” Draco snorted, grateful for the change of topic.
“It doesn’t have to be a woman, you know that…”
“Men, women, unfortunately Lucius has entered his sage phase, not even a muggle would upset him now, no, a wedding would make him too happy, can’t do…”
“What about me,” Harry offered, pointing at himself, with a mischievous grin. “Pretty sure Draco Potter would have his head explode...”
Draco huffed, embarrassed for the heat he felt spread on his face. “We don’t even know if we’re compatible and you’re already proposing marriage, Potter...”
Harry smiled, and dared. He shifted in his seat, and slipped a hand under the table, pretending to scratch his knee. “I could consider it, you know...”
“What, marry me?” Draco asked distracted, feeling Harry’s knuckles accidentally caress his skin through the holes of his jeans.
“Sub for a man I trust enough, a man that could make me... feel in very specific ways.”
Draco felt his own breath in his throat, and licked his lips.
Harry noticed it. His hand did not linger underneath the table and he returned to his tea cup, right after touching the coin again.
“Relationship preference.”
This time there was no hesitation and both spoke at the same.
“Exclusive—”
“Open—”
Startled by the respective answers, they stared at each other.
“I don’t mean— Potter I…“ Draco said with a faltering voice shaken by Harry’s growing wariness. “I enjoy threesomes. I enjoy a mistress who loves to see me punish another sub, dominate him for her. And I do enjoy two subs at the same time. But it’s not a hard kink. I don’t mind exclusive— monogamy— I don’t mind monogamy.”
“OK,” Harry breathed, swallowing loudly, as Draco did the same, the bob of his Adam’s apple impossible to hide, on such a slender and long neck. “OK. Good. Because I don’t share. At all. Never. Not even just for the eyes.”
“You’ve never done a public scene?”
“I have,” Harry confirmed, “I’m the best rope artists at the club, the one running the Shibari show at every welcome party of the past few years, but…”
“But?”
“But this is different. Non-monogamy is a hard limit, sorry. And I know— Merlin, I can imagine how hot you must look while you’re dominate other men, but the limits I would have, the barriers, it would be too complicated, not worth it. No. Not in our case.”
Draco wanted to ask why, how, what did this whole rambling mean. But his heart was one beat from jumping out of his chest, and he feared he was not ready for the answer that could bring unwanted hope.
Instead, he reached and tapped the glass coin.
“Bondage”
“Is it a requirement for you?” Draco asked immediately, thinking of the scenes Harry must have done.
“You don’t like it, don’t you?” Harry asked, but he already knew the answer. The fact they never met and that Draco didn't know about his red ropes was a clear sign of where his interest didn’t lie.
Draco dropped his gaze, studying his cup, orange, sporting blue sunflowers, twin to Harry’s equally weird one.
They sat in silence until Harry bumped their knees and pasted on the most reassuring smile he could, as invite.
“It’s not a hard limit of mine, but I’ve never met anyone, man or woman, who I would trust to have me bound like a sausage and to be fair, I’m not sure I would want to look like one either” Draco said, before grimacing for voicing his thoughts aloud.
“What the heck, am I talking with Draco Malfoy or a virginal priestess?” Harry chortled.
Draco shrugged, suddenly more pale, and averted his eyes.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Harry said meekly, bowing his head in apology. “You’re entitled to your likes and dislikes, and if you want to call my passion for ropes sausage-binding, please do, no offense taken...”
“Sure,” Draco replied, still sheepish.
For awhile, they both chose to study the details of the tiles embedded in the wood of the table, a mosaic of yellow, blue, purple and orange. But when they caught each other stealing glances, the air immediately shifted. It was sweeter to smile together than bask in misery.
"Tell me then, what do you like?” Harry asked, hoping Draco would pick on the real question behind the voiced one.
And Draco did not disappoint.
“I like to be collared.”
Harry nodded, waiting for Draco to continue.
Draco smirked, not missing the hungry spark in Harry’s eyes. “I like to hold my breath, to have the blood going to my head restrained. I like it when I’m not pale like a ghost anymore…”
Harry inhaled sharply, the picture of a soft flush spreading from Draco’s face down his chest causing his jeans to feel suddenly too tight. He shifted, readjusting his position, hoping that Draco would not notice. But Draco did. Draco felt the paleness on his own cheeks slowly surrender to what he knew would be a scarlet flush, but his confidence didn’t falter.
“I like to kneel, Potter,” he whispered, eyes drawn to Harry’s nipples, hard, impossible to hide even by the linen of this shirt. “And crawl. I like humiliation and pain. Especially pain. One that leaves marks.”
It was almost imperceptible, but Draco didn't miss the contraction of Harry's jaw.
“Not permanent marks, Potter, not those even magic cannot heal... Only those that will have me struggle sitting for a day or two, perhaps a week, if my mistress is particularly skilled… It’s cathartic… “ he confessed, scrolling his shoulders.
“I understand,” Harry said, careful.
His body was still feeling hot, the picture of Draco at his mercy front and center in his mind. But the thought of angry marks on the pale back he had admired the other day at the club was turning his blood cold. He had always felt guilty, towards his subs, when he forgot how strong his hands could be, when purple bruises would flourish under his fingertips. That was his measure of control. He was hard but he wanted to be soft, the way he failed to be with Draco on Saturday.
“Could you do that? Punish me the way I ache for?” Draco asked and then bit his lip, before speaking the next words. “But also, could you accept it? Because it's the same punishment I like to inflict to my subs and also why I select subs who have the same kinks. In an out, when you know all the sides of a kink, that’s when you know best which buttons to push and control.”
“I don’t know,” Harry sighed, running his hand through his messy locks, “I don’t know what I can actually accept—never really thought about that, I love teasing, and I love rough sex, don’t get me wrong, but the worst tool in my box are ropes and feathers and the only soreness I like is that of a good hard fucking…”
“So you have never imagined yourself using something different? Like whips? Floggers? Something that leaves more than a bruise?” Draco asked, his voice suddenly cold, calculating.
Harry had never spanked anyone before. The abuse of his childhood was something he did not want to elaborate not digest. “There are things I’ve never discussed even with my mind healer. Thing I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to speak of...” he said, running his fingers over the words Umbridge had left on his skin forever.
“Ropes leave bruises… but not scars… ” Draco whispered, unnerved by how quickly Harry’s expression had darkened.
Harry’s eyes landed on the perch of skin exposed by the open neck of Draco's shirt. “There were no scars on your chest...”
Draco slowly run his hands over invisible scars that once existed, a memory of past times. “Not now…”
“Now?
“Anymore…”
“You had them removed,” Harry whispered, scared by the weird disappointment Draco's action conjured in his guts.
Draco frowned. “Yes. I didn’t want to look at myself in the mirror every day and remember that you hated me to the point of wanting me dead...”
Suddenly, Harry’s hand moved across the small table and gripped Draco’s arm. He didn’t know, if he wanted to soothe Draco’s no longer broken heart, or his own.
“Draco… I have never— never…”
“Potter.” The ice in Draco’s voice hit Harry like a cold shower.
He flinched and dropped Draco’s arm as if burned, and grabbed his purple cup instead, mortified for touching him fiercely without permission.
“Potter,” Draco recalled his attention.
Harry raised his gaze. “Yes?”
“We’re not here to dwell on the past, not today at least, but to understand if this”— Draco gestured between the two of them— “can happen.”
“Of course. You like pain, give and receive, I don’t. It’s something that will require further discussion,” he nodded and focused on the coin once again, waiting for Draco to take the next step.
Draco sighed, and tapped the coin.
“Role play”
“Yes” they both replied and then grinned like silly teenagers, their expression open and eager once again.
“So we do have something in common,” Draco laughed.
“Please, one doesn’t even need to bask in the BDSM world to enjoy some role play…”
“Really?”
“Did you not have favorite wank fantasies when we were student?” Harry asked, unfazed.
“Perhaps I did…”
“Favorite crime scene? The Quidditch pitch? Or the library?”
“You’re oddly specific Potter...”
“Does this really sound new to you?” Harry deadpanned.
“No,” Draco replied.
A pregnant pause followed, as Harry studied Draco’s sharp grey eyes. And understood. It had never been about anyone else but them.
“Which year did it start?” he whispered.
“Fifth year” Draco replied, voice thick with emotions.
“For me sixth year,” Harry revealed, encouraged by Draco’s confession.
“Sixth? Draco repeated mortified, and covered his face with both hands. “What the fuck Potter! At my worst?!”
Harry flushed, his throat suddenly raw and dry.
“What do you do when you realize you want to save the boy you’ve hated for years? And not because it’s the right thing to do, but because you want him for yourself? Because you hate that someone else got his attention, even it’s at the expenses of his life? But it doesn’t work, and it just gets worse, but you can’t do anything because the whole fucking Wizarding world expects you to save them when the only fucking thing I wanted was to ask him why, why couldn’t he ask for help...” Harry had whispered in tears to his mind healer, few months after Draco had run to Paris. He didn’t want to go to one, but after being sent home for excessive violence, eleven times within three weeks during their Auror training, Ron had put his foot down. He had to heal, understand and accept that some things could change, while other couldn’t, and move on.
And Harry moved on. With his life. But never with his heart.
“Do you still have it?" Harry asked.
“The tie?”
Harry nodding with a smile. Of course, of course this boy, now man, understood him like no one else.
“Yes, Potter, I still have it,” Draco smirked. “And you?”
“Yes.”
“Ever used it in your scenes?”
Harry shook his head. “No. I kept it for something— special I thought… maybe I could have one day...”
Draco’s heart skipped a beat. Harry Potter was going to be the death of him. How could he have been so blind? Years of running away from a sick obsession, and here he was, in front of the man he thought he could never have but apparently was just as obsessed as he was.
“And now you think you will?” Draco asked hesitant, too afraid to blink and wake up from a dream.
“Yes,” Harry replied firmly, that same hungry spark back in his eyes. “I’m finally positive my daydreams might come true...”
Draco sucked in a deep breath, tempted to reach out, to touch Harry, to feel him, not just with his knees, but with his hands, to remember this was real. They were real, they knew as they kept staring at each other, taking in every details of their expression, every wrinkle, every blemish of youth.
Then a crushing sound came from the kitchens of the café, and the spell was broken.
“Right,” Harry said, and touched the coin again.
“Age play”
“Nope—“ Harry popped the p.
“Merlin no—“ Draco said at the same time, making a face.
Harry hummed, satisfied. “Our interests are increasing…”
“Yes, our interest and our age,” Draco rolled his eyes.
“Hey! Talk for yourself, I’m still 28!”
“Mmm, for what? Two more weeks? The clock is ticking Potter, you blink and next thing you know you’ll be 30…” Draco smiled sly.
“You’ll be thirty before me…” Harry muttered under his breath.
“Sure kiddo,” Draco mocked him, before touching the coin once again.
“Body hair”
“None” Harry said gleeful.
“Of course” Draco replied as if the answer was obvious.
But apparently not.
They looked at each other, eyes wide.
No one spoke for a whole minute, until Draco lifted his left eyebrow and Harry knew it was the questioning lift. He sighed, licked his lips, observed Draco holding his breath. He took his bloody time.
“Potter?” Draco prompted him impatient.
“I love oral”, Harry replied resigned. “A lot. Especially giving oral. And it’s just easier, you know…”
Harry mimicked removing a hair from his tongue, and Draco made a disgusted face.
“Potter, everyone loves oral,” he said patronizing, “ and your hair issue, that says more about your skills.”
“Skills?” Harry deadpanned. “That’s the best you can come up with Malfoy? Skills?”
“Do you prefer me to comment on your"— Draco gestured towards Harry with condescension —"youthful enthusiasm?”
Harry snorted. “So what’s next? Are we gonna give grade each other skills? Winner chooses the next scene?”
“I don’t know… at best, I can keep it very short, shorter than—my normal, but certainly not zero, and if that’s a huge handicap for you, we already know who’ll be the winner…” Draco shrugged, nonchalant.
Harry smiled. He had always known that Draco was not going to be a sweet walk in the park, but a constant battle of pull and push, of teasing and laughter and mean tones, adrenaline and frustration, milk and honey. And he wanted it all. The idea of Draco, for him to taste, to take and to keep, not even a forest of body hair could stop him. And he said so.
“Malfoy, you could grow the fur of a werewolf tomorrow, and it would still not be a deal breaker…”
Draco rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide the coy smile that Harry’s words had summoned.
“Next,” he said, gesturing with his hand for Harry to move.
“Water sports”
“Water sports?” Draco repeated unamused, before sighing and rubbing his forehead. “Something’s obviously wrong with the charm, I told Pansy it should adapt the questions according to the answers, not random chit chat.”
“You don’t like water sports” Harry stated.
Draco stilled, and returned his full attention to Harry. “You do?”
“Yes.”
Draco’s eyes widened in surprise, and a mortified silence stretched between them as they stared at each other.
Annoyed, Draco started tapped his fingers on the wood, considering how to proceed, Harry’s rigid stance a clear signal that he was not going to speak first this time.
“OK, so you like water sports… could you elaborate?” he asked, with the most polite tone he could muster.
Harry shrugged. “It’s not a must, but I love it when my subs lose it completely…”
Draco hummed in understanding. “Seems like we have very different feelings about what it means for a sub to lose it…”
“Seems like we do,” Harry agreed.
“Are you disappointed?”
“Just surprised. You enjoy breathplay and way more dangerous kinks, this one is harmless in comparison…”
Harry’s expression was open and accepting once again, and Draco instantly deflated, ashamed for this aggressive and judging tone, unwarranted especially in a kink discussion. He touched his cup, but the tea was not warm anymore.
“Should I tap the coin?” Harry asked, not insensitive to Draco’s obvious misery.
Draco smiled apologetic.
“Edging”
Draco closed his eyes and breathed. When he opened them again, Harry was looking at him, unperturbed. He didn't need to guess Draco's answer.
“Yes, Malfoy, I love edging very much. It’s one of my favorite ways to exercise control…” he said with confidence, before shifting forward and touching both cups, suddenly warm and steaming again.
Draco was enjoying these displayed of wandless magic. Vanishing clothes was nothing in comparison to temperature control. Fully aware that Harry’s fingers were still lingering on both cups, Draco reached out for his, their fingers brushing.
“I did give it a try... when I joined the club in Paris,” he started his tale. He didn’t want Harry to think he was just another puritan in the wrong place just because of one weird kink. “She was fantastic, helped me understand myself more than any mind healer ever could, my role model for the dom I’ve become…”
“….But?”
Draco shook his head. “Edging was too much….Awful— not cathartic at all… I’ve never felt more lost after a scene… and she stopped, she understood, she did—“
Harry wanted to reach out and squeeze Draco’s hands, to tell him that he was different, that no one in the world could understand him more than Harry himself, and that Harry knew the same was true the other way around, that between the two them they could dismantle every barrier, every limit. But he didn’t do any of that. He let Draco take his time, gather his lost confidence.
“I think we can say I bask in pain... but suffer the lack of reward...” Draco whispered vulnerable, no regrets.
Vulnerability is for the weak, Draco, and Malfoys are never weak, Lucius had often said to little Draco, a mindset adult Draco still failed to control. But today, in front of this Harry, who was not hiding all the desire he was feeling, Draco tamed his old Malfoy demons and let himself be seen. And Harry did see him.
“Thank you, for being honest… and real…” Harry said.
Draco shrugged, as if it hadn’t been the hardest think he had done in a while, as if his throat didn’t feel raw like he had just spent hours screaming.
He took a sip of tea, before speaking again. “I don’t think I want to do any more questions…”
Harry agreed and transfigured the glass coin one more time.
It was a lot to take in.
The whole talk, the questions, their compatibility, their differences.
“I would say many rather than few… we’re certainly not a match made in heaven, Potter…” Draco trailed off.
No wonder they had never met, the system of La Cage Décadente would have never paired them.
It didn’t really matter. Not to Harry. For the first time in eleven years, all his daydreams seemed possible. The desire he had seen in Draco’s eyes the past Saturday was not a mirage. It was still there, in broad daylight, in front of him, in those grey eyes he dreamed of even when he thought it was hate. Draco was there, in front of him. He had not run, to Paris nor anywhere else. He had received Harry’s owl and not even a day later showed up at the least Malfoyish café of muggle London.
Draco Malfoy had finally let Harry capture him, like magnets, first on that dance floor, and now in this booth. It was inevitable. They were inevitable. And Harry was not going to waste the opportunity. After all, even his Friday beer-mates had quickly taken notice of his preferences.
“Why do you always pick idiots who look and behave like a Malfoy,” Dean had asked, several times during those distant years Draco was in France, and every man Harry had taken on a date had been a pleasure for the eyes but a challenge for everything else.
“Do we need to?” Harry asked bravely.
Draco raised his eyes, noticing the pleading look in those green eyes that him had obsessed since the age of eleven.
“Do we?” Draco breathed.
Harry swallowed. “I love the club—but it’s not a must for me, in a relationship... Is it? For you?”
Draco shook his head again. “No...”
“I—I would like to give this a try… us, give us a try...” Harry said.
“Harry…”
The heartbreak in Draco’s voice that had Harry instantly still, the joy of hearing Draco whisper his name instantly vanished.
Draco lowered his gaze, and took several breaths. He cleared his throat, before returning his attention to Harry.
“The other night was the first time in over a decade that we have shared more than five minutes together… in a safe space, that is nothing like wizarding Britain… you can’t tell me that just because some of our kinks might overlap you want a relationship…” the darkening of Harry’s expression didn’t stop Draco. “Sex, I understand, but a relationship? We know nothing about each other...”
“Draco…” Harry said hesitant, but as the name rolled out of his lips and Draco’s eyes twitched, courage returned and he leaned forward. “We know the ugly of each other the way no one else does, I bet not even our mind healers... We cannot do just sex, it’s us, it has always been us, sex alone will no—“
“You don’t know me, and I don’t know you,” Draco interrupted skeptical.
“I’ve always kept tabs on you,” Harry replied. “I’ve always known what you’re up to, and not because I’m an Auror and not because I’ve spent a decade thinking you’re up to something, but because I’m bloody Harry and I’ve spent a decade thinking about you, you Draco, what you’re doing, wondering how are you feeling, hoping I was not the reason you run away to Paris…. But I know so much, I know about your potion shop, I know how much Teddy loves you and all the effort you’ve put to be in his life even from Paris, I know your mother is losing her mind because you turned twenty nine last month but you don’t want to date… I’ve always known because I want you, and the other night, that was the first time we were at the right place and at the right time. But we've always been the right people. For each other, always.... I’ve always seen you Draco, even if you were not in front of me. I cannot do just sex with you,” Harry spat the words, as if the thought itself was offensive. “Us having one or two common kinks is brilliant, but I want more than that, I want it all… don’t you?”
Draco was overwhelmed. Every word had shattered his heart. Because he had done the exact opposite.
“I don’t know who you are Harry. I stopped reading the Prophet since the war, I’ve shut down the conversation every time Andy or mother or Luna have tried to bring you up…I don’t know you…” Draco trailed off.
Andromeda had never stopped trying. He knew, Teddy had revealed, that Andy also talked about him to Harry all the time. Before Draco had run away to France, after his return. The two sisters had been deeply disappointed that the two most important men in Teddy’s life refused to share space. But it was not Harry. It had never been Harry’s choice. Draco had been the coward. And he still was, sitting in front of a man whose expression crumbled in hurt at every word Draco had spoken.
“I understand…” Harry said, voice thick, leaning back.
“No you don’t— it’s not— don’t draw the wrong conclusion…” Draco said, leaning forward this time.
“What’s the right one then?”
“Loin des yeux, loin du cœur... It’s French. It means far from the eyes far from the heart.”
Oh.
An emotional silence washed over them, as both men breathed and absorbed the respective confessions.
But there was no more hesitation in Harry. He reached out, slowly enough for Draco to deny him permission, but when the denial didn’t come, Harry touched Draco’s arm, feeling the bicep contract, as Harry squeezed his fingers around it.
“I want to date you, Draco Malfoy.”
“How? You live in London, Pot—Harry, you live here and I’m in Scotland, and I’m not meant for weekend flings…” Draco lamented.
Harry smiled, suddenly feeling light again. “It’s not in the news yet, but this month is my last as Auror.”
“What?”
“From September I’ll be the new DADA professor... I’m done with the Aurors… I was offered the position this spring, and with Teddy starting Hogwarts this autumn I couldn’t say no… and to be fair, their next step for me was head Auror, but I would rather teach kids the wonders of magic than sit behind a desk…”
“Harry...” Draco breathed.
“So we would actually be close…. I know you visit Pomona and Hagrid on a regular basis for ingredients, and I know Poppy comes to you when she needs more complex potions... Hogsmeade is literally a walk from the castle…” Harry said, smiling.
When McGonagall had reached out, it felt like a sign. He missed so much of Teddy’s life because of his job, but while that had been the driving decision, Harry accepted also for himself, for a hope that had refused to die for a decade. It was hard to open any door if Draco was on the other side of Britain. Trust the universe to act a month before he was ready to knock it down himself.
But Draco kept silent, and Harry’s heart sunk.
“Please say something… “ he begged with a weak voice. “Say you don’t want just sex...”
Draco’s heart was frozen in his chest. But when he opened his mouth, no word came out, so he shook his head instead, so strongly a wisp escaped his bun.
Not leaving Draco’s arm, Harry reached out with this other hand, gently touching the silky hair to tuck it behind the small pale ear, and he let his fingers linger on the warm skin.
Draco felt himself blush once again, but it didn’t matter anymore. He stayed still, but as he felt the heat of Harry’s hand lightly moving from his ear to his cheek, the caress delicate yet scorching, he craved for the same. He craved to feel Harry, so he grabbed Harry’s tense bicep, swiftly, his fingers pressing hard against the flesh clad in linen. And then, it was Harry who blushed, his darker skin unable to hide the flush.
Harry didn’t miss how Draco licked his lips.
He also licked his lips.
But then Draco spoke.
“We need to slow down… I don’t— even know if I would like kissing you, Harry... I can’t consider a rela—“ but he never finished.
As soon as the word kiss left his lips, Harry bent over the table and silenced him. His eyes were closed, but not Draco’s, wide open, stunned, the touch barely there, but enough to feel the warmth and softness of those plump lips he dreamed since ever, Harry’s hand resting tightly around the back of his neck, as if afraid Draco would panic and run.
As Harry moved back, Draco open his mouth ready to protest but he didn’t need it. Because as soon as Harry took a breath, he plunged back, this time kissing him the way he wanted, the way not only breaths mingled, but so did they tongues, and occasionally their teeth, as if they were two randy teenagers.
Had they been less intoxicated with joy and lust, they would have noticed the stares, for their kiss had be the most passionate for a Monday morning, that even the waitress at the counter stopped to watch, smirking.
But they didn’t notice.
Only when both needed to breath, they detached, but kept leaning over the small table.
They stared at each other, lips red, hands still grasping each other. Breaths were heavy.
“You were saying?” Harry teased.
Draco wasn't sure where his heart was anymore. Lost somewhere in his guts, or up his throat, ready to jump outside his mouth. He didn't know. He could only feel the heat where Harry was still holding to him
“OK...“
“OK?” Harry repeated, the most beautiful grin spreading on his face.
“OK,” Draco confirmed, still in awe.
“Every year wasted— I’ll make it up... To the both of us, I promise...”
Draco squeezed the back of Harry’s neck, dropping his forehead against Harry's and groaned, too shy to look at him.
“This must be the dumbest idea you’ve ever had, Potter...”
Harry bumped their noses, happy, like he had never been before.
“See? Told you we already know each other, Malfoy...”