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One Harry Potter, Please (If Possible, Seduced and Ready)

CHAPTER TWELVE

There was one particular memory that pushed to the forefront of Draco's mind. It had happened in his second year at the Auror Academy during duelling practice. Draco had always had trouble with Defensive Spells as he didn't pay much attention to them at school, and that day hadn't been any different. His instructor had jokingly suggested that if his spell failed he should just grab his duelling partner by the balls. Everyone had laughed and Draco had laughed with them, even though he hadn't found it funny. His duelling partner at the time was a handsome, dark-haired man who liked to tease and smile at Draco cockily, and the thought of grabbing him by his balls had made Draco feel strange. He had lost the duel, never considering the possibility of touching his opponent in such a way, because somehow that action would likely have backfired. Looking back on it now, that had probably been a good decision.

Draco was much too flustered now that his hand rested against Potter's crotch. Draco had grabbed him there to distract the idiot and stop him from explaining how this was a one off and he would have slept with anyone who came his way because he was a crazy sex obsessed bastard. Draco was possessed with a sudden urge to explore the bulge in Potter's trousers, to caress and trail his fingers over the rough fabric, to cup and squeeze, and to touch the heated skin beneath. The touch had affected Draco much more than Potter, apparently, because Potter obviously had more pressing matters to attend to. His hands grabbed Draco's shirt and he was trying futilely to rip the fabric apart. Honestly, Draco didn't know if Potter was used to ripping fabrics apart but his shirt was made of quality material and Potter was fighting a lost battle. Draco would have told him as much but his mouth was otherwise occupied by returning Potter's hot open-mouth kisses.

Draco tried to summon some courage and squeeze the hardness under his hand, but his arm was frozen and it refused to budge. Giving up, Draco released Potter and gripped the hands that wrestled with his shirt.

Potter whined and mumbled something incomprehensible against Draco's lips, but he clearly didn't intend to detach his mouth from Draco's.

"Let me," Draco murmured and reached for the buttons of his shirt.

Potter pulled back and Draco quickly looked down, not wanting to meet Potter's gaze. Potter's looks, full of desire and lust, unsettled Draco, and he feared that if he looked at Potter now he would not be able to keep his hands steady. He unbuttoned his shirt with deft fingers, but didn't manage to take it off since Potter all but lunged at him, his palms pressing against the newly exposed skin of Draco's chest.

Draco shuddered and moaned, then scowled, annoyed he had made such a sound and that a simple touch like this made him shiver, but Potter had already proven that his touch was magical so these reactions weren't Draco's fault. Draco had expected that the feelings Potter's caress aroused would cease to be so intense the more Potter touched him, but instead the feelings had only intensified.

Potter made a sudden movement and in the next second he was on the floor, kneeling between Draco's legs. Startled, Draco forgot he didn't want to look at Potter and he found himself staring down at lustful green eyes. As expected, Draco's whole body shook and the last of his composure shattered.

Others, women, and even a few men, had looked at Draco with appreciation, but no one had ever looked at him like this. Potter's gaze raked over Draco's chest and face with such reverence and hunger, Draco felt his skin grow hot. It was almost too much to bear. It was almost terrifying to be on the receiving end of such powerful desire. Mercifully, Potter rose up a little and reached out to lightly touch the back of Draco's head, and Draco had to withstand just a few more seconds of that hot stare before Potter closed his eyes and kissed him again.

How was it possible that every new kiss surprised Draco so much? Potter kissed him differently every time, hungrily when Draco expected him to be slow and slowly when Draco expected him to be rough. This kiss was a strange mix of unhurried exploration and slow-burning intensity. It was a lingering, gentle kiss with Potter tilting his head backwards, his lips pliant and soft, and yet Draco was the one trapped, captured by the gentle pressure of Potter's hand on his head and by Potter's tongue that moved sensually against his. Potter asserted control effortlessly, without any aggression or demand, but by making Draco feel helpless in the face of so much tenderness.

It was both torture and bliss when Potter finally released him. Torture because Draco missed Potter's lips the moment they moved away from his, and bliss because Potter hadn't stopped his gentle assault, now sliding his lips against the skin of Draco's neck. Draco closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe. The branding touch of Potter's mouth was maddening. Potter trailed his tongue and lips over every part of Draco's skin he could reach, occasionally sinking his teeth into the flesh, teasing Draco with measured bites that never became painful but every one of them made Draco hiss and shudder and tilt his head further to give Potter better access. Even the slide of fabric of his shirt felt nice against Draco's sensitive skin when Potter lowered it to reveal Draco's shoulders, then grazed his teeth over the new, unexplored parts of Draco's body.

Potter tried to pull Draco's shirt completely away, but Draco didn't let him. He buried his hands into Potter's thick hair, marvelling at the texture of the dark strands. It wasn't silky, nor coarse, but it felt wonderful and he let it slide between his fingers. Draco even liked the gentle tickling of that hair when it brushed against his chest and shoulders. He opened his eyes to look down, and a feeling that he couldn't identify rushed through him at the sight of that dark head cradled in his hands. The wild tousled locks were ink-black, as dark as hair could be, contrasting heavily with the pale skin of Draco's hands, and beneath it, Potter's skin was warm. Draco wanted to bury his face into those locks and press kisses against the warmth.

But Potter moved lower, his tongue circling one of Draco's nipples before he grazed it with his teeth and pulled it into his mouth, sucking gently but persistently. Draco's toes curled and a low hiss escaped his lips as his hands moved of their own accord, sliding down Potter's back and then moving upwards again, effectively pulling Potter's body closer. The movement shoved Potter's shirt up, revealing the pale skin of his spine, and Draco quickly reached down to press his palms against the heated skin, surprised when Potter gave a muffled moan and curved his spine, sucking harder on Draco's nipples. Amazed by this reaction, Draco trailed his hands over Potter's sides and ribs, pushing them beneath Potter's shirt, not daring to touch lower where the waistband of Potter's jeans hugged Potter's jutting hips. Humming softly in approval, Potter slid his own hands over Draco's back as though in reciprocation of Draco's touch. He abandoned Draco's nipples, now hard and almost painfully sensitive, and moved his mouth upwards pressing sloppy, hot kisses over Draco's collarbone, throat and chin, then he stopped, his lips hovering in front of Draco's mouth.

Draco found himself staring at Potter's eyes again, forgetting that it always had a negative effect on his nerves. Potter seemed dazed now, completely lost, and Draco had a silly urge to ask him ludicrous question such as "What year it is?" to see if Potter would know the answer or not.

"You taste so good," Potter said and Draco's throat constricted. Potter didn't say it in a breathy, lusty tone and it didn't even sound like a compliment. It sounded like an apology, as though Potter felt guilty and he wanted Draco to know that his kissing assault was a natural reaction to Draco's taste.

Draco wanted to tell him that there was nothing to apologise for, but Potter kissed him again and Draco lost the thread of his thoughts. Fortunately, his hands were still working even though his brain was not. They struggled to take off Potter's shirt, which was impossible while their tongues were intertwined, but Potter took the hint and moved away to let Draco pull the shirt over his head. Draco had no time to appreciate the view of Potter's chest, all smoothness and hard lines, because Potter pressed his lips back to his while still struggling to free his arms of the shirt. The moment his arms were freed, Potter reached down, fumbling with the button of Draco's trousers.

Draco had no idea how long this kiss lasted, as the occasional brushes of Potter's knuckles against Draco's cock were very distracting, but Potter's fingers fumbled and fumbled and yet he made no progress with the button and Draco was growing impatient.

He pushed Potter gently away to unfasten the damn button himself, but he froze when he unwittingly looked up and not down. Potter's glasses must have fallen away when he took off his shirt and Draco was completely taken aback at the sight of Potter's face. He looked oddly naked without his glasses. His eyes were stripped of their protection, revealing too much emotion; pain and desire were mixed in that unfocused gaze and something else, something powerful that Draco didn't know how to name. Panicking, though he wasn't sure why it affected him so much, Draco scanned the floor, quickly located Potter's glasses, snatched them, and handed them to the man kneeling before him. Potter blinked at him, then squinted and took the proffered glasses before returning them to his nose. He looked at Draco again, his gaze dark and troubled, and there was still something else in his eyes, an emotion Draco couldn't stand to see even though he had no idea what it was.

"We should take off our clothes," Draco heard himself say and winced at the coarseness of his voice.

The moment he said that, Potter's expression cleared and he smiled brilliantly, clearly relieved. "Oh. All right," he breathed, immediately reaching for the zipper of his own jeans.

"Um. Shoes first?" Draco suggested, bemused.

"Oh. Right," Potter said again, nearly falling as he twisted to sit on the floor to take off his shoes.

Potter's nervousness made Draco feel a little better. He had no problem with buttons and laces, unlike Potter, who only managed to take his shoes and socks off before Draco waited on the edge of the bed, already naked and beginning to feel cold.

Potter fought with his zipper valiantly for a full minute, but then he caught sight of Draco's nude body and he apparently gave up. He knelt again and crawled towards Draco, his gaze focused on Draco's hard cock. Instinctively, Draco tried to press his knees together; the desire in Potter's expression was too intense again, but Potter was faster and Draco's legs only managed to capture Potter's body between them.

The warmth returned with Potter, as did the familiar tingling sensation when Potter tentatively touched Draco's thighs, his gaze still fixed obsessively on Draco's cock. Finally, Potter tore his gaze away and looked up. Draco surprised himself by knowing exactly what to expect. He nodded even before Potter asked, the plea clear on Potter's face. Something tugged on Draco's heart as Potter smiled widely and bent his neck. What a strange man he was. Draco was used to Potter never asking for anything from anyone, but here he was asking Draco’s permission for something like this.

Potter wrapped one of his hands around the base of Draco's cock, the touch making Draco grip the sheets and clench his teeth to stop himself from making embarrassing sounds, but then Potter stuck out his tongue and gave the head of Draco's cock one firm lick. Air escaped through Draco's clenched teeth, producing an odd hissing sound.

"Mmm," Potter said, sounding pleased, and Draco sighed in relief, not aware he had been worried that Potter might change his mind and declare Draco didn't taste so well after all.

It occurred to Draco that all his fantasies had centered around Harry Potter sucking his cock, but Draco had never dared to go further, not even in his mind. He used to tell himself that that was normal because, clearly, all he wanted was to get Potter on his knees and shove his cock into his mouth in order to humiliate him. He had never expected that Potter would not see it as humiliation. He had never imagined this particular expression on Potter's face. Never thought that Potter would do this willingly, eagerly, that he would plead with Draco to let him suck his cock as though Draco was doing him a favour.

Draco hissed again when Potter closed his eyes and took Draco's cock into his mouth, his tongue swirling and lips stretching around the head as he hummed quietly. He looked as though he thoroughly enjoyed it, and despite the incomparable sensation of Potter's warm mouth surrounding his cock, it was the utter reverence on Potter's face that pulled choked, needy sounds from Draco's mouth. The whimpers he fought desperately to rein in spilled past his lips in a rush.

Emboldened, Potter took Draco's cock deeper into his mouth and sucked lightly, too lightly, the feeling maddening as Draco tried to stop himself from begging Potter to speed up, to suck harder. Potter did both, no begging required, or maybe Draco ignored the moment when he had whined incoherently and said Harry's name — a lot.

Even though Potter did incredible things with his mouth and tongue, Draco surprised himself with his ability to focus on the strangest details, but so many things fascinated him. Like Potter's eyes, not firmly shut but half-open, eyelashes fluttering every time Potter pulled him in, and eyelids closing as he moved his mouth back, applying suction; his cheeks hollowed, reddening a little more every time he did so. He opened his eyes again as his tongue swirled over the head of Draco's cock, the tip shiny with precome and Harry's spit, and then he would repeat the whole enthralling process again. Then there was the feeling of Harry's hand wrapped around the base of Draco's cock; Potter didn't move his hand at all, but his thumb kept stroking the sensitive vein on the underside, the touch light and inconsequential, but Draco could feel it acutely. Potter's other hand was on Draco's thigh, his fingertips sliding over Draco's sweaty skin, as though Potter was trying to soothe him with his caress though Draco had no idea why Potter would think Draco was upset.

Unconsciously, Draco pressed the underside of his bared left forearm to his thigh and reached out to place his hand over Potter's, stopping the slow caress, though he wasn't sure where the sudden urge to hold Potter's hand came from. Potter moaned around his mouthful, intertwining their fingers, and then he took Draco's cock even deeper, flattening his tongue against the underside. He pulled back, sucking hard, and then suddenly, he looked up. That was all it took, even though Draco wasn't aware he had been so close. His orgasm took him by surprise, building rapidly, the pleasure hanging just out of reach before Draco could even consider controlling himself. He said Potter's name to warn him, but Potter didn't budge. His eyes darkened and then fluttered close as he tightened the grip of their hands, as though to tell Draco that it was all right. But Draco was past caring, his vision turned white and his body convulsed, as he spilled himself down Potter's throat, shuddering violently.

After his vision cleared, shivers still raked through his body and weakness settled in his limbs; Draco saw Potter pull away. Potter looked at Draco, then swallowed and licked his lips, and Draco shuddered again.

Potter kept staring, eyes wide, lips wet and parted, looking as though he expected something.

Draco frowned, not knowing what Potter wanted him to do or say. Confused, he decided to tell the truth. "That was amazing," he whispered, breathless.

It was the right thing to say. Potter smiled an impossibly wide smile, making Draco grin in return. Honestly, all this time he had wondered what he should do to make Potter smile like this; had he known that he would be rewarded with a dimpled smile if he let Potter suck his cock, he'd have found a way to suggest it sooner.

Potter tried to free his hand and, realising he was holding it captive, Draco quickly released it. He watched with avid attention as Potter stood and then surprised them both by unbuttoning the button of his jeans at first try. Potter's hips and strong thighs were quickly revealed, and Draco spared them an appreciative glance before he fixed his gaze on Potter's cock.

Completely naked, Potter stood still, his cock hard and long with pearly moisture gathered on the head. Draco waited patiently for the negative emotions to kick in. This was another man's cock and it was entirely too close to Draco's face, so close Draco could feel the heady scent of Potter's arousal. Shouldn't he feel disgusted, especially if Potter expected Draco to reciprocate the favour? But disgust simply refused to show itself. On the contrary, Draco's mouth watered and he found himself contemplating how it would feel to reach out and take Potter's cock into his mouth. The thought was appealing, not revolting.

Sweet Merlin, how could he have lived this long and not known that he would find the thought of having someone's cock in his mouth exciting? Had he truly been lying to himself, as Potter had suggested earlier this evening? Had he been missing out?

Well, he was here now and maybe it was time to find out what else he liked.

Draco reached out and wrapped his hand around the warm flesh of Potter's cock, marvelling at the velvety feel of skin and heat as though he had never touched his own cock like this before. But the feeling was incomparable, more so because Potter made a weak, broken sound and grabbed Draco's wrist, his cock twitching in Draco's hand.

"Don't," Potter rasped. "I can't . . . I want . . . Fuck." Potter shivered and grabbed Draco tighter, forcing his hand away.

Draco bit his lip, trying to calm down, desperate not to show he was suddenly terrified. Of course. Potter had said he wanted to fuck his date into the mattress. He wanted to push his cock into a place Draco considered much too private for such an endeavour.

Potter's cock stopped looking appealing; instead, it seemed threatening, and enormous. Which was why Draco had to look away and make the same mistake he had been making the whole evening. He looked at Potter's face and almost groaned aloud, knowing he'd let Potter do whatever he wished to him. Potter had that look again, the pleading look full of emotion and question, that made Draco feel powerless to defy him.

Sighing, Draco nodded and scooted backwards on the bed. This wouldn't kill him. He hoped. He had lived through worse, surely?

Potter didn't smile as Draco expected he would, he just looked more nervous. And hungry.

"I need lube," Potter mumbled. "You have any?"

Draco shook his head. Sometimes he would buy it for wanking, but sometimes he didn't. It wasn't his top priority. Maybe they couldn't do it now. Draco wouldn't have anything against more blowjobs.

But apparently lube was Potter's top priority.

"I think I have some in my coat pocket," he said, then turned and rushed away toward the closet.

Of course, Potter was the kind of guy that carried lube in his coat pocket. He came to the dated prepared. Though the thought unsettled Draco, his spirits lifted as he watched Potter fiddling through Draco's closet, looking for his coat. Draco thanked Merlin for Potter's nervousness that made him drop the lube after he had found it, so he had to bend down to get it.

Potter's arse was surprisingly lovely. Round and pert and shaped to perfection. Potter's stupid clothes always obscured the view, the loosely fitting denim making it seem like Potter had no arse to speak of. Draco frowned, displeased with his thoughts. He shouldn't have known that, technically. He shouldn't have been aware that Potter's jeans usually hid his fine arse. Did it mean that Draco had been looking?

"What?" Potter asked, already near the bed, holding a tube in his hand. He sounded worried and he looked worried, chewing on his bottom lip.

Realising he'd been staring at Potter's nude body a little too intently, Draco cleared his throat, chastising himself inwardly.

"I was just thinking . . ." Draco couldn't help smiling a little. "This whole time, I was admiring the wrong set of cheeks and dimples."

Potter blinked and then blushed, nonetheless looking relieved. He climbed on the bed, sat on his heels, and cocked his head. "This whole time?"

Fuck.

"This evening, I mean," Draco said quickly.

Potter stared at him, his gaze hypnotic, searching Draco's face for something.

Unable to bear it anymore, Draco asked, "Should I turn around?"

Potter shook off his daze and licked his lips again, reminding Draco where those lips had been earlier. He shivered and looked down at his hands.

"If you want," Potter said, sounding reluctant.

Draco figured Potter would have preferred a different position, but Draco couldn't do this if he had to stare at Potter's face as he . . . did things to him.

"Yeah," he said and made to turn, but suddenly Potter was right there next to him.

"Wait," Potter said and then grabbed Draco's chin and kissed him.

Draco tasted both Potter and himself on Potter's lips, the mix of their joined taste sending a new wave of arousal through his body, making his spent cock twitch boldly. He grabbed a fistful of Potter's hair just in case Potter decided to end the kiss before Draco had his fill.

They parted after some time, breathing heavily.

Potter looked dazed as he murmured, "I'll be careful."

A soothing feeling washed over Draco, but he wasn't willing to show that he was relieved, so he rolled his eyes and said, "I'm not some delicate girl, Potter."

Potter laughed with genuine humour. "I know," he said, his eyes twinkling. "I wouldn't be here if you were."

Draco grumbled, and as he turned around he thought he heard Potter add pensively, "I think."

Before he could ponder Potter's words further, Potter grabbed a pillow and attempted to shove it beneath Draco.

"Here," he said and Draco automatically raised his hips, although he regretted his acceptance at once. As he lowered his head to the bed, he realised that his arse was now raised high, exposed to Potter's lustful eyes.

This was the most embarrassing position he had ever been made to endure, Draco thought miserably. But then, an image flashed into his mind, an image of himself kneeling down in the mud before a man with dark robes and red eyes. Shuddering, he pushed the thought away and decided that perhaps this wasn't as embarrassing as it originally seemed.

Potter pressed his palms to Draco's back, the touch soothing in its innocence. But the hands moved lower, tracing the curve of Draco's arse and then caressing his thighs before returning slowly to his back again. Draco knew what Potter was doing, knew he was trying to calm Draco down and he was incredibly grateful, though he did not plan to tell Potter that.

Potter continued his caressing, focusing more and more on Draco's buttocks, until his hands just stayed there, kneading, and then he spread Draco's arse cheeks apart.

Draco shut his eyes, determined not to react in any way. He almost missed Potter's quiet, "Could you spread your legs a little?"

Draco's fists clenched and he did as bid, spreading his legs a lot, not little, not wanting Potter to ask the question again. Ridiculously, he remembered wondering if Potter ordered his bed mates around and said things like, "Please spread your legs," in that maddeningly polite but commanding tone of his. But Potter sounded hesitant and unsure now, which was fortunate because Draco feared that if Potter tried to command him Draco would have to turn around and punch him, and he really didn't want to do that.

Something warm and wet touched his left buttock and Draco nearly jumped out of his skin, but then he realised that Potter had simply pressed his lips and tongue to his arse. Which caused another turmoil of emotions in Draco, but these emotions were pleasant and none of them were fear. But fear showed its ugly head when Potter's gentle and pleasant kisses steadily turned more localised.

"What are you doing?" Draco gasped and lifted his head, making sure that his tone of voice told Potter that his current actions were out of limits.

Potter retreated immediately and mumbled, "Sorry." He kneaded Draco's buttocks soothingly and Draco relaxed, lowering his head back onto the pillow, only to lift it back up again as Potter's slick finger brushed over the crease of Draco's arse. Miffed that he couldn't complain about this part unless he wanted to stop the whole thing altogether--which he didn't--Draco gritted his teeth and tried to think about something else.

As Potter's finger circled Draco's entrance, his touch pleasant but frightening, Draco catalogued the ingredients used to make Veritaserum. Potter pushed his finger inside slowly, the feeling odd and beginning to rapidly feel even odder.

Add seven Jobberknoll feathers and armadillo bile to a silver pot and leave the pot in a cool, dark place for three days, Draco recited as Potter pushed deeper and left his finger there, not moving. Draco remained still and silent, ignoring the slight pain and waiting, not knowing what to expect next. Potter pulled out, only to push back in as slowly as the first time, but much deeper.

Add water and powdered moonstoon and let it shimmer for half an hour, Draco thought frantically.

Merlin, Potter had gigantic fingers. That was the real problem. He wondered if Potter would let him shrink his fingers. And his cock.

"Relax," Potter whispered. He must have leaned closer because Draco could feel Potter's hot breath over his skin. That was nice, calming. Potter breathed hotly again and said, "Please."

Damn the man. Why couldn't he boss Draco around? Then Draco could get mad and they'd have a fight and all this would be over. Why did he insist on using a tone that made Draco feel powerless and forced him to do Potter's bidding?

Draco did relax, at least a little, enough to make the pain lessen, but Potter ruined everything by adding another gigantic finger, clearly determined to rip Draco in half.

Add lacewing flies and essence of belladonna and stir.

"Fuck," Draco growled.

Potter was caressing Draco's shivery, sweaty thighs, his touch gentle, but his fingers merciless pushed deeper. Oddly, even though it burned every time Potter pushed in and dragged his fingers almost completely out, Draco began to feel a little better. One particular spot within him seemed to enjoy Potter's ministrations. Draco raised his head, if only to avoid suffocation, and concentrated on that feeling. Relief washed over him every time Potter touched that magical spot. Relief turned into genuine pleasure and Draco pushed back experientially, thinking that perhaps this wasn't so bad after all.

But Potter clearly misinterpreted Draco's movement; he seemed to think it was encouragement for yet more violation. The third finger just plain hurt and Draco tried desperately to brew Veritaserum in his mind but he feared that he had only managed to brew mud.

Potter pulled out completely and Draco was ready to breathe out a sigh of relief, but instead he just felt empty. Great, Potter was turning him into a masochist. And now he would push his enormous cock inside him and possibly kill him. What a way to go.

"Draco?"

Draco gasped, unnerved because Potter's voice was much too close.

An arm sneaked under his body and encircled his waist, and Draco found himself turned to his side, his back pressed against a warm, hard chest. Potter's other hand was still caressing his arse, teasingly brushing over the much abused flesh of Draco's arsehole.

Was that it? Had Draco somehow missed the actual fucking? Maybe he had fallen asleep, or lost consciousness?

But that was clearly not the case because Potter grabbed Draco's hip and pressed his body even closer, and Potter's cock pushed snugly against the crease of Draco's arse. Potter was still hard, his skin still hot, and though it meant Draco had to prepare himself for more pain, he decided that this part was actually nice. Maybe they could just do this.

Potter leaned in and murmured against Draco's ear, "Are you okay?"

"Brilliant," Draco said promptly, carefully looking at his pillow because Potter kept leaning in even closer, trying to establish eye contact. Draco wasn't in the mood for that.

"Do you want to stop?" Potter sounded as though it pained him to say those words.

For a moment, Draco considered the possibility. He could offer to suck off Potter, for example, which sounded like an excellent idea. Although it was slightly disturbing to note that sucking off Potter currently occupied the number one place on Draco's to-do list.

Potter pressed a kiss near Draco's ear while his hand drew maddening circles over the skin of Draco's abdomen. "I mean it," Potter said, sounding much more convincing now. "If you changed your mind and this isn't something you want, then we'll stop."

Potter's hand on Draco's stomach curled into a fist as Potter's whole body went still. Draco could feel him dreading his decision.

Draco closed his eyes, wishing that Potter hadn't stopped to ask the question, because then maybe Draco would stop if it became too much, which it hadn't yet, but Potter's cock felt threatening against Draco's skin. But hearing Potter struggle to offer something he clearly didn't want to do made Draco want to give something in return. Which just wasn't like him, so Potter had clearly messed up Draco's mind.

Steeling himself, Draco looked over his shoulder, mentally preparing himself for the sight of those troubled green eyes. Potter didn't disappoint; his jaw was tight and he had an expression of a resolute man with the eyes of a puppy.

"Shouldn't you be fucking me by now, Potter?" Draco asked.

Potter's eyes widened, then darkened, and Draco felt a little better about his decision to continue. He moved to turn around again, but Potter's arm around his waist tightened.

"No. Like this," he said.

"Oh." Draco settled back, unable to find a sound argument against the position. He wasn't sure it would work, but Potter was gay and Draco supposed he knew these things.

"You'll be more relaxed," Potter promised and Draco believed him. It was relaxing. At least until Potter gripped Draco's thigh and made him lift his leg and bend it at the knee, which made Potter's cock press more intimately against Draco's arse; then it turned terrifying again.

Potter pressed another kiss near Draco's hairline and another to his shoulder, and then he moved a little away and reached down to position his cock, pressing the head against Draco's entrance.

"If it becomes too much, push out. If it's still too much, tell me," Potter instructed.

Draco experienced a moment of confusion, not really sure what he was so worried about. Potter would clearly stop without any drama if Draco asked him to, so it wasn't something that should trouble him. It made no sense that stopping scared him much more than continuing. Stopping would mean he didn't like this and Draco just couldn't understand why he wanted to like this so much.

Potter pushed in slowly, just a little, and then stopped. Which was fortunate because Draco would have had to murder him if he hadn't stopped. It hurt and it burned, but Potter kept still and the pain slowly ebbed away. Potter dragged his fingertips over Draco's raised leg and then grabbed Draco's thigh, supporting the leg's weight, and Draco relaxed even more. Potter showed no sign of movement and Draco grew agitated, so he pushed back, taking more of it in. Potter's choked gasp made the pain easier to bear so Draco pushed down even harder, fascinated by the odd feeling of fullness as well as the keening sounds coming from Potter's mouth. It hurt when Potter pushed in again, much deeper this time, but Draco remembered to push out and that really did help a little.

"Okay?" Potter said, almost whining, and then added, "Oh God. Draco, you're so —"

Potter finished that sentence, Draco was sure of it, but he didn't hear it. His mind lingered on the way Potter said his name — with much more reverence than when he called out for God.

"Move," Draco said, surprised to hear that the word sounded like a plea.

Potter did move, panting heavily, his hot breath caressing Draco's shoulder. He eased out and pushed back in, and Draco almost complained because it fucking hurt, but then Potter did it again and again, and that wonderful feeling Draco had experienced while Potter had his fingers up Draco's arse returned, and that made everything better. Potter's thrusts were slow, but deep; he pulled out almost completely and pushed back in until his balls were pressed to the skin of Draco's buttocks. The wet sounds Draco could hear when their bodies slapped together were embarrassing, but Draco couldn't concentrate on that. He was beginning to see the appeal of this. He had wondered why anyone would ever let someone breach them in such an intimate way. It was bloody odd, but nonetheless wondrous, the feel of Potter moving inside him, the heat and the uncomfortable burn and the pleasure that came with it, and the feel of Potter's body pressed to Draco's back as Potter gasped and breathed heavily, moving his hips, pushing in and filling Draco over and over again. Draco moved his hips as well, welcoming Potter's thrusts, and then, almost subconsciously, he reached behind to grip Potter's arse and pull him even closer, to make Potter push deeper even though that probably wasn't possible.

"Draco," Potter panted and Draco closed his eyes, waiting, hoping that Potter would say his name again. "Draco, I can't . . . I can't —"

Draco almost panicked, for a moment sure that Potter was backing out, that Draco had done something wrong, and Potter no longer wanted this. But then Potter groaned and shuddered violently; he thrust faster and the heat became unbearable. Draco's fingers dug into the flesh of Potter's arse, possibly leaving a bruise. And then Potter stopped suddenly, shuddering as Draco felt something sticky and wet and uncomfortable inside of him.

Ah. That was it. It was over. Draco took several deep breaths and released Potter's arse from his grasp, feeling oddly proud of himself. He had managed to do this after all, and he had not only survived but he had almost enjoyed it, and Potter had clearly enjoyed it a lot, so much he didn't last very long.

Potter pulled away carefully, but Draco still winced. He lay there with his breathing calming and his body cooling off while he waited for something, though he didn't know what. Then he realised that he had expected Potter would want to kiss him and give him one of those intense looks, maybe thank him or do something soppy like that, but Potter did no such thing.

Confused, Draco turned, wincing again as pain shot through his arse. Draco ignored it and focused on Potter, surprised to find the man staring at the ceiling. His eyes were unfocused and his jaw was clenched tight, as though he was angry about something.

"What's wrong?' Draco asked, worried that he had misinterpreted something. Maybe Potter had not enjoyed it after all.

But Potter closed his eyes for a moment and then looked at Draco, distress obvious in his expression. "I'm sorry," he said and Draco's hands clenched into fists. What the fuck was wrong with the man? Why did he apologise all the time? Draco promised himself that if Potter said he was sorry one more time, he would punch him.

"For what?" Draco asked through gritted teeth.

Potter shook his head and took a shuddering breath. "I couldn’t . . . you were just so . . . and I . . ." Potter inhaled again. "You didn't even —" He waved his hand in the direction of Draco's cock. Draco was half-hard, which was a feat, in his opinion. Perplexed, Draco tried to make sense of Potter's words. Did Potter expect him to have another orgasm? Draco was happy to be alive. Honestly.

Annoyed, Draco huffed and lay back, grumbling, "You're an idiot, Potter. This was my first time, what the fuck did you expect? I'd start shouting, 'Give it to me hard, baby?' I couldn't just — honestly."

Potter quickly rose up, his palm pressing against Draco's chest and his face hovering above him. "No, of course not. This is my failure," Potter mourned and Draco wished Potter had his glasses on his face.

"Failure?" Draco asked, displeased. It was a failure?

"I wanted to make it good for you, but I blew it."

Panic quickly replaced Draco's annoyance. Potter looked — sweet Merlin — Potter looked like he was about to fucking cry.

Not knowing what to say, Draco decided to make a joke. "You did blow it," he said and Potter looked away, hurt. "Fortunately, you blow very well," Draco finished, smiling a little when Potter blinked in confusion.

Draco sighed inwardly, relieved when Potter blushed, the corner of his mouth twitching. But Potter's expression turned serious too quickly.

"It gets better, you know," Potter said. "Once you get used to it. Maybe, maybe if we try again . . .?"

Maybe we could try again, Draco wanted to say, except he was worried that Potter meant right now. Draco couldn't do it now, he was in pain, but he didn’t know how Potter would react if Draco suggested another date.

Keep things light, Draco told himself and said, "This was nice." He reached out and grabbed the back of Potter's head, pulling him closer. "Want me to tell you a secret?" he asked and Potter nodded, his gaze flickering toward Draco's lips. "I think I'm a little bit," Draco paused dramatically, "gay."

Potter's lips twitched and he looked happier. He opened his mouth a little and Draco, fearing that Potter would start whining again, pulled him in and pressed their lips together.

The kiss was different again. Slow and sated, wet and sloppy and perfect. And bitter-sweet because Draco didn't know if this was the last time he would kiss Potter. Maybe Potter would get up and leave now, or maybe he would stay the night and disappear in the morning.

Potter trailed a line of soft kisses over Draco's jaw and neck and then he just stayed there, with his head buried in the crook of Draco's neck, sighing and sounding exhausted. Draco didn't dare to question Potter's sudden urge to snuggle; he had never thought that Potter was a snuggler, but after today it wasn't so surprising. He wrapped his arm around Potter's torso and pushed his hand into his tousled hair, breathing in Potter's scent.

Maybe he could suggest another date. Maybe they could meet again and experiment further. It would be strictly educational. They would just be occasional fuck-buddies. It wouldn't mean anything.

Potter pressed another kiss to Draco's neck and mumbled something that involved saying Draco's name. Draco's heart rate sped up and his arms tightened their hold on Potter as Draco determinedly continued his line of thought.

It wouldn't mean anything, he repeated determinedly. Potter would simply show him a few tricks so that Draco knew what to do if he ever had sex with some other man. Someone else, not Potter. The thought made Draco's fist in Potter's hair clench.

He didn't think he could do this with someone else. He didn't want to. He didn't want some girl, either. He just wanted . . .

Fuck.

Something was clawing at his insides, making it hard for Draco to breathe. Gripping Potter even tighter seemed like the most important thing in the world, so Draco gripped and held on, terrified of letting go.

Horrified, he felt moisture on his cheeks as thoughts swirled madly through his mind, trying desperately to make Draco draw a conclusion he didn't want to draw. He fought against the sudden rush of feelings but they were choking him, and Draco grabbed Potter's hair so hard it must have hurt, but Potter didn't complain; he had probably fallen asleep. Which meant Draco could keep him for the night.

And then he would have to let him go.

Draco closed his eyes, losing the battle against himself.

How could he have been so stupid? All this time he had been scrambling for Potter's attention, telling himself it didn't mean anything, telling himself everything would be fine if Potter would act just a little nicer, convincing himself that all he wanted was Potter's friendship. But what he got was this; he got Potter, seduced by another man and served to Draco on a silver platter, and now all Draco wanted was to take his order back.

He wished it had never happened, that he had never seen Potter like this, that he had never had him in his arms, that he had never had his bloody cock up his arse and his sad eyes staring at him the way they had. What he would do now? Now that he knew how things could be, how it felt to be the sole focus of Potter's attention, how it felt to have him. What the fuck would he do now that he knew that friendship wasn't enough? That fucking wasn't enough. That he wanted everything?

What were the odds that Potter would want something more?

Right on cue, Draco's arm began to burn, the underside of his left forearm pressed against Potter's skin. If Potter had stopped to think, if Draco hadn't been hiding his mark since his shirt fell away, Draco wondered whether Potter would still be here, letting the Dark Mark burn against the naked skin of his back.

It all came back to this, really. Marked for life, that was what the Dark Lord had told him; the Mark was there to stay, reminding Draco of what he could never have. With time, everybody might forget he had it, the public, the Ministry, but not the person Draco wanted to share his bed with. Potter only had to look at it once to remember why he had always disliked Draco. Or maybe he didn't even have to look at it. Even if, by some miracle, Potter decided to see if it could work between them, maybe turn into something more serious, one day he'd remember who Draco had been. He was Harry Potter, after all. Potter might befriend ex-Death Eaters, he might pity them, and he might even fuck them, but he wouldn't date them. Resentfully, Draco wondered if that was the reason he had convinced himself that all he wanted was Potter's friendship, because he knew he could never have more.

Sweet Merlin, why did it have to be Potter? The punishment was too cruel. He didn't deserve this. Potter's rejection had hurt before, but now, if Draco had to face it again — and realistically he would — it would rip him apart.

Draco trailed his hand down Potter's back, loosening the grip on his hair and listening to Potter's breathing. He tried to stop thinking, to clear his mind and forget everything he had found out about himself today. He was so good at repressing things, maybe he'd manage to repress this; maybe in the morning he wouldn't remember his misery.

He concentrated on the steady rhythm of Potter's heart and the slow rise and fall of his back, so intently he almost didn't hear a thing when the first spell hit the window. He heard the second one, however, because the window shattered and the glass splattered all over the floor.

Potter stirred in his arms and Draco sighed with a detached sense of resignation as he easily recognised the not-so-cheerful voice of Derek Hogan screaming Draco's name in the distance.

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TBC

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