FIC: A Proper Fit (Harry/Draco) NC-17
Nov. 27th, 2009 08:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
marguerite_26I wrote a fic that is neither dark, nor angsty, nor terribly kinky, and is not even a rare pair. Go me! :D Voila! My promised Harry/Draco PWP Rom-Com.
Title: A Proper Fit
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: Harry goes in for a robe fitting and once again finds Draco Malfoy. The results are a bit different this time.
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): infidelity
Word Count: 4300
Author's Notes: I originally posted part of this for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pushdragon's Anything goes - except the epilogue Drabble Fest. For a year now, I've wanted to go back and fiddle with it and put in the scenes I had cut to make it fit into a comment. :D
stellamoon, this is for you. A very belated b-day present and maybe a little early Christmas present and a 'sorry you never get to enjoy my fic anymore because I keep writing from your squick list.' ♥ I loves you muchly.
Thank you tofaithwood who smacked this fic upside the head and forced some sense into it and to melusinahp for the beta.
A Proper Fit
Harry burst into Madam Malkin's in a flurry of awkward limbs and very little grace. "Sorry I'm late!" he announced to the empty shop.
Fuck.
It was possible Madam Malkin had already left, assuming his lateness was simply a no-show. Ginny was going to kill him. It seemed that he could do nothing right these days: the flowers he liked were boring, the ring plain, the china pattern old-fashioned… So he had let Ginny pick everything, and then she complained he wasn't doing his part. And she was right. He'd tried to catch her enthusiasm, but just the thought of the wedding made him feel smothered.
He hoped after the wedding he would find himself again. Somewhere buried inside of him was Harry, the one that used to smile and laugh with his friends. The one that rushed into the Gryffindor common room and pulled Ginny into his arms and just knew it was meant to be. Right now, he was starting to fondly remember when life was nothing but tents and horcruxes and the constant threat of death. Being Undesirable Number One had at least felt like his destiny. He just couldn't see his Happily Ever After on the path he was walking down. Any road signs along the way weren't anything he'd wanted to read.
“Hello?" Harry called out, half-hoping he’d be able to walk back out and grab a pint. Ron was down the street checking in on George. They were always up for a pint. Or four. His excuse took form in his head, followed by the image of Ginny's stony gaze and pinched lips. The guilt sat heavy in his chest, pressing in on him. "Madam Malkin? Are you still here?”
“Back here,” responded a deep male voice.
Harry pushed aside the heavy curtain to the backroom.
Standing on a dais, in perfectly tailored, navy robes was Draco Malfoy. It had been years since Harry had seen him. Draco and Narcissa had slunk off to France the day after Harry’s testimony had assured their freedom.
The time away from England’s political unrest had suited Malfoy, it seemed. He was no longer a lanky teenager with hollowed cheeks and bloodshot eyes. Malfoy was undoubtedly a man, with a strong jaw and broad shoulders. A man that could wear formal robes and make them look good. Harry glanced down at the Weasley jumper, threadbare denims and ratty trainers he’d chosen that morning, and blushed.
“Potter.”
Malfoy had lost his spoilt, childish whine on the Continent, as well. His voice was smooth and deep and it made Harry's throat go dry.
“Potter, you're staring.”
He certainly was. And he couldn’t stop. Not when Malfoy’s words were teasing and not, for once, mocking him. Someone, somewhere, had flipped his world upside down. That would certainly explain the odd twisting of his stomach.
Malfoy reached for the collar of his robes and slipped a sliver button through the top hole, and then another and another. The churning in Harry's belly sunk lower and morphed into a kind of heat that Harry couldn't name, didn't want to name. He was getting married. To a girl. Malfoy slipped the robe off his shoulders and hung it on a nearby hook. He turned and popped the first few buttons of the silky cream shirt he wore beneath. His fingers hesitated on the fourth button. He leaned forward as if to share a secret and whispered, “Still staring.”
Harry blinked.
Malfoy’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “You haven’t changed much at all. I find it oddly comforting. A nice welcome home.”
“What are you doing?”
“I start a new job at Gringotts tomorrow. I need new robes. The French style is a little less traditional than Britain’s.” Malfoy's gaze drifted off before he snorted to himself and slipped another button free.
“But what are you doing?” Harry waved his hand towards the patch of Malfoy's exposed chest.
“I don’t like this shade.” Malfoy nodded to the shirt he was removing. “I think a proper white is more appropriate.” He tugged the shirt from his trousers, and the shirt gapped wide.
Harry caught sight of a perfect pink nipple and whimpered - in a manly complaint of unexpected nakedness of the not-female variety, of course. Considering he was staring at a man stripping, the nakedness wasn't so very unexpected, but that was beside the point.
Harry jumped as a curtain to his left swung open, its rings scraping against the rod. He tore his eyes away from Malfoy's flat stomach and hoped he wasn't blushing.
“Oh good, you are finally here.” Madam Malkin staggered into the room, her arms straining beneath a stack of clothing taller than she was.
“Sorry, I’m late,” Harry responded sheepishly and bit his lip.
Madam Malkin dropped the teetering pile onto a large table and turned to Harry. “No worries. I’ve brought out several styles to start with. We’ll select the trousers and shirt first and then work on the dress robes.”
In his peripheral vision, Harry caught Malfoy peeling his shirt off his shoulders. A trickle of sweat dripped down Harry's temple.
Harry looked between the pile of clothes and Madam Malkin. “Um, where do I change?”
“Right here, dear. No need to be shy! Only you and Mr Malfoy booked in for this afternoon so the shop is all locked up. The two biggest weddings of the year and only a week apart! Circe, the work we've got for the next week is enough to make me run short of Calming Drafts." She dove back through the curtain, shaking her head.
Harry stared after her, mentally willing her to return and proclaim, "Only joking! There's a private room back here where you can undress in peace."
No such thing happened.
Harry’s cheeks heated as he toed off his trainers and tugged his jumper over his head. He didn't want to look over and see if Malfoy was watching him. He knew he was thin. Even with a couple years of Auror training, he was small. No exercise or diet would make up for the years of being malnourished by the Dursleys. He snuck a peek at Malfoy.
Malfoy looked him over, unabashed, his eyes trailing Harry's unimpressive shoulders down to his narrow hips. Humiliation burned Harry's cheeks until Malfoy smiled, a slow spread of lips into an appreciative grin.
Harry's hands shook as he reached for the button of his trousers. His cock twitched and he stopped undoing his zip. This was not happening. He was getting married in four days. “I’m getting married. In four days,” he repeated out loud.
"I know," Malfoy said and Harry heard: I don't care.
The unspoken words made his breath catch. He fumbled through the pile, looking for a shirt to hide any tenting of his trousers. "So you’re getting married, too?" Harry croaked.
Malfoy cleared his throat and moved to stand beside Harry. "Yes, the twenty-fifth." He picked a shirt from the pile and handed it to Harry. His eyes swept Harry again. “Go with the ivory shirt. It’s better with your skin tone.” Malfoy flushed.
Harry stared at the shirt as if he'd never seen one before. What was wrong with him? Fuck, he was hard. From talking to Malfoy. Harry pressed the shirt to his crotch.
Malfoy's eyes flickered to the odd placement of the shirt and he took a step closer. “I’m a little surprised. You don't look like you're getting married.”
Harry squirmed, at a loss where to look with Malfoy so close and so… shirtless. His eyes dropped to Malfoy’s trousers and the clear outline of an erection there. The temperature in the room seemed to flare and Harry would have tugged at his collar, if he'd had one on.
“All ready for the wedding, then?” Malfoy practically purred.
“God, no,” Harry blurted out; Malfoy chuckled. “I mean, I guess so.” Merlin, he was still looking at Malfoy's crotch and just couldn't seem to stop. Malfoy was far too close. Harry could smell the sharp tang of his cologne. It smelled like some ancient forbidden fruit that might steal your soul if you bit into it.
Getting dressed became paramount to getting the situation under control. His head was starting feel foggy. Harry fumbled to get his arms into the sleeves, but then Malfoy was there, tugging the shirt over his shoulders. As Malfoy pulled the shirt across his chest, the knuckles of Malfoy's thumbs grazed Harry's taut nipples. Harry arched into the touch, and something like 'ungh' gurgled at the back of his throat as pleasure rippled through his body. He remembered too late that he should be wriggling away.
In the next second, Malfoy pulled him forward by the collar, pressing their lips together. Harry's repeated 'ungh' was swallowed by Malfoy's light, teasing pecks. They were just enough to moisten Harry's lips and leave a faint taste of mint. The kisses stopped long enough for Harry to realise his eyes were closed. He opened them and Malfoy was right there looking at him, waiting. A flicker of panic caught and held him.
Fuck it," Malfoy whispered and he was on Harry again, his hand buried in Harry's hair, angling Harry closer.
Malfoy's tongue traced Harry's bottom lip and it seemed to wake up the rest of Harry's body to what was happening. His mind fortunately remained dormant, but his breathing quickened and his skin tingled. He parted his lips and keened as Draco – and when had he become Draco? – slipped his tongue in. Draco's tongue slid along Harry's, wet and warm and tempting, coaxing Harry to open wider and join into the kiss.
Somehow, Harry's hand found its way to Draco's hair. It was soft and fine and slipped between his fingers like silk. Harry moaned into Draco's mouth.
"You're delicious, Potter," Draco hummed and moved his hips just so and Harry felt a hard length rub against his cock. It was then that his brain kick-started, and there was a moment of perfect clarity. He'd never felt quite so alive. Nothing else, in his drudgery of a life with its exhilarating triumphs and crushing failures had made his skin tingle with sensation. This, this was worth living for.
Malfoy rocked again and Harry gasped and grabbed Malfoy's hips. They kept on, crashing their bodies together like it was a competition. It was hot and hard and rough and – God – nothing like any of the under the covers fumblings with Ginny. There, he was lost as to what to do, afraid for what was too much, not enough, not pleasing. He'd been paralysed with indecision. Here, there was no place for worry. His head was spinning from overwhelming need.
"You're shaking, Potter. Just… feel," Draco whispered. His hot breath tickled Harry's ear, sending his desire shooting even higher.
Harry let his head fall to Draco's shoulder. It smelled of Draco's cologne and tasted like sweat and sex on his tongue when he lapped at the concave above Draco's collarbone.
So close. So close.
Draco reached down and squeezed Harry's arse, pressing them impossibly closer, and Harry's world exploded.
"Fuck." Harry choked and his entire body shook through the force of his orgasm. He trembled through the aftershocks, clinging to Draco. Then Draco's rhythm faltered and he came with a grunt. They stood in each other's arms until their sweat cooled.
Draco chuckled. "Pity you're getting married. I could be tempted to do that again sometime."
"Bugger!" Harry pushed Draco away and jumped backward. The cold, sticky feeling in his pants made him wince.
Harry rubbed his hand over his face and tried to clear his head. His thoughts were sluggish; words like cheater and betrayal and epiphany floated about in his head but couldn't take form. When Harry looked up, Malfoy waved his wand at his crotch, then slipped on a robe. It was grey, almost silver, with an unusual cut and an elaborate corded rope twisting around the torso. French. It looked erotic, somehow.
Malfoy's eyes were closed off, his expression blank. "You'll want to cast a Cleaning Charm before Madam Malkin comes back." He leaned and sniffed, making his point.
Harry cursed and reached for his wand.
With the scrape of a curtain being drawn, Harry fumbled with his wand and dropped it. It rolled to rest against Draco's high-polished boot.
Draco bent to retrieve it, the fine shimmer of his robe highlighting the graceful movement. As he handed it back to Harry, their hands brushed and he whispered to himself, "Merlin," and looked away before Harry could catch his meaning.
"Well!" Madam Malkin burst into the room with another pile of clothes. "How have we done so far, gentlemen? Come to any decisions?"
Draco's eyes crinkled with mirth and not a little malice. "I don't know, Potter, have you made any decisions?"
Harry's mind went blank, lost in the heavy innuendo and not quite able to grasp at any answer.
"Well, you'd better decide quick." Draco arched a brow. "Only. Four. Days."
Something caught in Harry's throat as the weight of the words hit him. God, Ginny. He was supposed to marry Ginny. In four days.
Harry stared at the floor.
"Looks like I'm done here, then," Draco announced.
"What?" Harry's head shot up fast enough to send a twinge of pain down his neck.
Draco ignored him, but the tiny downturn of his lips spoke volumes. "I have a few last minute items to double check and I'll owl over the details tomorrow," he told Madam Malkin.
"Fine, fine. No later than tomorrow." Madam Malkin shooed him off and turned to Harry.
Harry stood, mouth open and his protest still on the tip of his tongue when Draco slipped out of the room without a backward glance. A confusing rush of emotions ran through Harry. He ought to be grateful Draco had walked out, no strings, no blackmail, having just given Harry the most intense orgasm of his life. He should be drowning in guilt for cheating on Ginny. He felt neither. Instead, he stared at the empty spot in which Draco had last stood, and regret clutched his heart and squeezed. It felt like Draco let him glimpse a whole other world, just long enough to know the world he'd been living in paled in comparison, and then shut the door in his face.
"Mr Potter!" Madam Malkin placed a hand on his shoulder.
Harry recoiled from the touch.
"Young man, were you reliving a favourite Quidditch match or something? I asked you a question!"
"Oh. Sorry. What was it?"
"Is this the shirt you are going with? We'll need to move onto trousers. Your fiancée has already sent me the colour scheme of the bridesmaid dresses, the flowers, the tablecloths. Circe! Such details!" Madam Malkin started piling trousers of various shades of purple into Harry's arms. "In my day, you fell in love and you got married! You didn't write thirty centimetres of parchment about how to make a wedding something out of The Toadstool Tales."
Harry tried to think of what colour the bridesmaid dresses were. Or the tablecloths? The flowers? He hadn't cared; it was Ginny's wedding after all. And that's exactly what it felt like: Ginny's wedding. He thought of himself in twenty years, lying beside his wife and hating her a little for something she had no control over, living a lie. It wasn't fair to himself. It wasn't fair to Ginny.
The prospect of that future weighed down on him, disappointment for a life he hadn't yet lived.
It struck him like a slap in the face – he had to go. Harry tossed the pile of clothes back onto the table and wrestled out of the ivory shirt that he'd never managed to button. "I have to go." Harry pulled his jumper over his head and winced as his glasses caught.
"But, Mr Potter! Your robes! There won't be time!"
"I just have to go." Harry reached for his trainers and his heart skipped a beat. Inside the shoe was a black box of Muggle matches. The green embossed writing read: SAVOY. His mind raced as he slipped the box into his pocket. "I'm sorry. I have some place I need to be."
It didn't take him long. It was on The Strand, he remembered, and not a far jog from Diagon. He clutched the stitch just below his ribs and caught his breath. He didn't pause long enough to reconsider. He took out the matchbox and flipped it over; etched into the back was 809. He marched through the old hotel's massive front doors and headed for the elevator. As the elevator doors opened on the eighth floor, he hoped to God he was right about this. He knocked twice, directly below the wrought iron nine.
The door swung open, and something in Draco's brash grin melted Harry's nerves.
"Potter." Draco held his arm out to the room. "Do come in."
Harry walked past the threshold and tossed the matchbox up and Draco snatched it out of the air. "You dropped something."
"I did." Draco ran his fingers over the etched room number and it disappeared. "How good of you to bring it by."
The suite was large: sitting area to one side with a sofa and a couple of chairs and an enormous king-size bed on the other. The décor was striking in soft cream tones and black-painted wood.
Draco went to the wet bar. "Would you like a drink? Only Muggle options, my apologies." Not waiting for an answer, he selected a bottle of scotch and two glasses.
"I'm not marrying Ginny."
Scotch splashed onto the counter.
"I just… I'm gay," Harry blurted out and it sounded ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. Yet so damn perfect. He felt better than he had in years. He'd been suffocating for so long.
"Yes, I gathered that." Draco Vanished the spill and finished pouring the drinks. He walked over to Harry and handed him a glass.
Harry downed the drink and put the empty glass down on a leather coaster. Draco took a sip, then looked to Harry.
Harry scratched at the back of his neck. In those rare times he'd slipped and let his mind wander into those most secret fantasies, he'd thought that it would be hopelessly complicated and awkward, that being with Ginny was the only way. Now he wanted to make this work. Somehow. He stopped agonising over how to make it perfect and blurted out, "Can we get to the kissing now?"
"Eloquent as always, Potter." Draco's chuckle was cut off by Harry's lips. And it wasn't hard at all; it was easy. So ridiculously simple, like breathing, like it should be. The sounds of smacking lips and panting filled the room.
They writhed against each other and Harry ached for more. "I am most definitely gay."
Draco's hand slipped beneath Harry's jumper, exploring with soft touches and scratching with blunt nails. "Glad you figured that out in time." Draco found a nipple and rolled it between his finger and thumb.
Harry keened as a line of pleasure shot directly to his balls. He was not going to come in his pants again. "Too many clothes." He tugged at Draco's fancy French collar and cursed the ornate buttons that seemed impossibly big for the hole.
Draco tugged Harry's jumper up and off, then thankfully stopped to help Harry free a few of those damn French buttons. "What about you?" Harry leaned in for another kiss, distracting Draco from his task. It was well worth it when Draco sucked gently on his tongue.
"Hmmm?" Draco fumbled with Harry's zipper.
The buttons on Draco's collar were the hardest. Harry flew through the rest with deft fingers, soaking in every new inch of skin revealed. "Did you know?"
"Yes, well." Draco nibbled on his neck, licking and sucking and probably leaving marks. And then – there – Draco got the zipper down and Harry's denims slipped off his hips. "I've known for a long time I liked dick."
"But you're getting married?"
Draco dropped to the floor and Harry's pants and denims were pushed to his knees. Harry stared down at the top of Draco's head and thanked whatever control he had garnered in the last few years that he didn't come right then, squirting onto Draco's aristocratic nose without even being touched.
Draco licked the tip of Harry's cock – a tiny lap at the glistening slit – then the evil fucking bastard stood up. "Parents' idea." He finished off the job Harry had abandoned and threw his robes across the sofa and stripped off his trousers and pants. "I had no reason to disagree," he added with a shrug. He was gorgeous, defined muscles and a spattering of fine hair that led to a thick patch of dark blond curls and a pale pink cock.
Harry bent to tug at his pants and socks, half to hide his thin body and half because it felt absurd to stand there with his pants around his knees, with Draco naked and proud.
Draco walked over to the bed and opened the drawer of the bedside table. He pulled out a small tube. Harry's throat went dry. He hadn't really thought this through. He went and sat on the bed, eyes on his hands clenched in his lap. He could do this. He wanted this. But he had to know. "And now? Do you have reason to disagree with your parents?" Harry could hear the cap of the lube being twisted off and his gut clenched and cock twitched. He wouldn't stop this, wouldn't change his mind. But he needed to know. His world was on hold while behind him Draco squirted out the lube and did something that made the filthiest sounds. Harry refused to look up from his lap until Draco stood directly in front on him and he felt the heat of Draco's body on his chilled skin. With a gentle shove to Harry's shoulder, Draco urged him onto his back. Draco's slick hand closed around Harry's cock and he gasped, hating how much he wanted this, wanted Draco even when he didn't have his answer. "And now?" Harry breathed.
Draco gave Harry's cock a firm squeeze and crawled onto the bed. "Now? I've got one." He kissed the tip of Harry's nose and straddled Harry's waist. With one hand on Harry's chest, he reached back and positioned Harry's cock at his entrance.
Harry's eyes widened.
"You're bloody gorgeous, Potter." Draco shook his head as if he could hardly believe it, then said it again, "Bloody gorgeous."
Draco started to press himself down and Harry catalogued every sensation: the cool crisp sheets below his flushed skin, the pressure of Draco's weight on his chest, and finally the delicious slide of Draco's tight hole slowly relaxing and letting the head of his cock slip past.
"Fuck!" Harry threw his head back and met with a plush down duvet.
Draco took his time, and Harry rubbed his trembling legs as he sank down in tiny, earth-shattering pumps. "Ready?"
When Harry thought, maybe, he wasn't going to lose his load, he nodded.
Draco lifted himself up and sank again, slowly a couple times, but when Harry urged him on with a thrust upward, Draco held nothing back. They crashed together with grunts and the dirty slick sound of slapping flesh. Whatever was going to happen in the next few weeks and months, this was worth it.
He was so close again. He wanted to warn Draco. Harry saw a wet, sticky drop form, then watched pre-come stretch from the tip of Draco's cock to the hair below Harry's navel. He wrapped his fingers around Draco's cock and Draco gasped, his rhythm faltering.
"Tight and fast, Potter." The commanding tone brought Harry that much closer to the edge.
It was the first cock besides his own that Harry held, which felt ludicrous, given the circumstances, but he made an attempt at 'tight' and 'fast', taking directions from Draco's reaction. He found a pace that set Draco's face twisting in pleasure and he felt his own orgasm build. A half dozen strokes and Draco's cock pulsed in his hand. A long string of pearly come decorated Harry's chest.
Harry thrust up, once, twice and buried himself as deep as he could, his entire body taut in the exertion of releasing his orgasm.
They lay in a mess of sweat and wet kisses and listened to the noises of London floating up from the street below. They talked and laughed, touched and explored each other until the sunlight dimmed and the breeze from the window cooled. Harry stood and dressed. Sitting at the small desk beside the bed, he grabbed a piece of stationary and a SAVOY pen and wrote his sincerest apologies.
Draco watched from the sofa, his sex-mussed hair falling over one eye. He gnawed at his thumb, pensive, and waited until Harry set down the pen. Then he dragged Harry back to bed and reminded him how it was all worth it.
~o~
The next day the Daily Prophet ran a special nooner addition, consisting of three articles:
POTTER BREAKS ENGAGEMENT 3 DAYS BEFORE WEDDING (page 1, column 1)
MALFOY-GREENGRASS WEDDING CALLED OFF IN MUTUAL AGREEMENT (page 1, column 2)
MADAM MALKIN EXCLUSIVE: WHAT YOU CAN SEE FROM BEHIND A CURTAIN (page 1, column 3)
~fin
Be sure to check outstellamoon's Draco portrait: Pensive for a look at my inspiration. ♥
Title: A Proper Fit
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: Harry goes in for a robe fitting and once again finds Draco Malfoy. The results are a bit different this time.
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): infidelity
Word Count: 4300
Author's Notes: I originally posted part of this for
pushdragon's Anything goes - except the epilogue Drabble Fest. For a year now, I've wanted to go back and fiddle with it and put in the scenes I had cut to make it fit into a comment. :D stellamoon, this is for you. A very belated b-day present and maybe a little early Christmas present and a 'sorry you never get to enjoy my fic anymore because I keep writing from your squick list.' ♥ I loves you muchly. Thank you to
faithwood who smacked this fic upside the head and forced some sense into it and to melusinahp for the beta. A Proper Fit
Harry burst into Madam Malkin's in a flurry of awkward limbs and very little grace. "Sorry I'm late!" he announced to the empty shop.
Fuck.
It was possible Madam Malkin had already left, assuming his lateness was simply a no-show. Ginny was going to kill him. It seemed that he could do nothing right these days: the flowers he liked were boring, the ring plain, the china pattern old-fashioned… So he had let Ginny pick everything, and then she complained he wasn't doing his part. And she was right. He'd tried to catch her enthusiasm, but just the thought of the wedding made him feel smothered.
He hoped after the wedding he would find himself again. Somewhere buried inside of him was Harry, the one that used to smile and laugh with his friends. The one that rushed into the Gryffindor common room and pulled Ginny into his arms and just knew it was meant to be. Right now, he was starting to fondly remember when life was nothing but tents and horcruxes and the constant threat of death. Being Undesirable Number One had at least felt like his destiny. He just couldn't see his Happily Ever After on the path he was walking down. Any road signs along the way weren't anything he'd wanted to read.
“Hello?" Harry called out, half-hoping he’d be able to walk back out and grab a pint. Ron was down the street checking in on George. They were always up for a pint. Or four. His excuse took form in his head, followed by the image of Ginny's stony gaze and pinched lips. The guilt sat heavy in his chest, pressing in on him. "Madam Malkin? Are you still here?”
“Back here,” responded a deep male voice.
Harry pushed aside the heavy curtain to the backroom.
Standing on a dais, in perfectly tailored, navy robes was Draco Malfoy. It had been years since Harry had seen him. Draco and Narcissa had slunk off to France the day after Harry’s testimony had assured their freedom.
The time away from England’s political unrest had suited Malfoy, it seemed. He was no longer a lanky teenager with hollowed cheeks and bloodshot eyes. Malfoy was undoubtedly a man, with a strong jaw and broad shoulders. A man that could wear formal robes and make them look good. Harry glanced down at the Weasley jumper, threadbare denims and ratty trainers he’d chosen that morning, and blushed.
“Potter.”
Malfoy had lost his spoilt, childish whine on the Continent, as well. His voice was smooth and deep and it made Harry's throat go dry.
“Potter, you're staring.”
He certainly was. And he couldn’t stop. Not when Malfoy’s words were teasing and not, for once, mocking him. Someone, somewhere, had flipped his world upside down. That would certainly explain the odd twisting of his stomach.
Malfoy reached for the collar of his robes and slipped a sliver button through the top hole, and then another and another. The churning in Harry's belly sunk lower and morphed into a kind of heat that Harry couldn't name, didn't want to name. He was getting married. To a girl. Malfoy slipped the robe off his shoulders and hung it on a nearby hook. He turned and popped the first few buttons of the silky cream shirt he wore beneath. His fingers hesitated on the fourth button. He leaned forward as if to share a secret and whispered, “Still staring.”
Harry blinked.
Malfoy’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “You haven’t changed much at all. I find it oddly comforting. A nice welcome home.”
“What are you doing?”
“I start a new job at Gringotts tomorrow. I need new robes. The French style is a little less traditional than Britain’s.” Malfoy's gaze drifted off before he snorted to himself and slipped another button free.
“But what are you doing?” Harry waved his hand towards the patch of Malfoy's exposed chest.
“I don’t like this shade.” Malfoy nodded to the shirt he was removing. “I think a proper white is more appropriate.” He tugged the shirt from his trousers, and the shirt gapped wide.
Harry caught sight of a perfect pink nipple and whimpered - in a manly complaint of unexpected nakedness of the not-female variety, of course. Considering he was staring at a man stripping, the nakedness wasn't so very unexpected, but that was beside the point.
Harry jumped as a curtain to his left swung open, its rings scraping against the rod. He tore his eyes away from Malfoy's flat stomach and hoped he wasn't blushing.
“Oh good, you are finally here.” Madam Malkin staggered into the room, her arms straining beneath a stack of clothing taller than she was.
“Sorry, I’m late,” Harry responded sheepishly and bit his lip.
Madam Malkin dropped the teetering pile onto a large table and turned to Harry. “No worries. I’ve brought out several styles to start with. We’ll select the trousers and shirt first and then work on the dress robes.”
In his peripheral vision, Harry caught Malfoy peeling his shirt off his shoulders. A trickle of sweat dripped down Harry's temple.
Harry looked between the pile of clothes and Madam Malkin. “Um, where do I change?”
“Right here, dear. No need to be shy! Only you and Mr Malfoy booked in for this afternoon so the shop is all locked up. The two biggest weddings of the year and only a week apart! Circe, the work we've got for the next week is enough to make me run short of Calming Drafts." She dove back through the curtain, shaking her head.
Harry stared after her, mentally willing her to return and proclaim, "Only joking! There's a private room back here where you can undress in peace."
No such thing happened.
Harry’s cheeks heated as he toed off his trainers and tugged his jumper over his head. He didn't want to look over and see if Malfoy was watching him. He knew he was thin. Even with a couple years of Auror training, he was small. No exercise or diet would make up for the years of being malnourished by the Dursleys. He snuck a peek at Malfoy.
Malfoy looked him over, unabashed, his eyes trailing Harry's unimpressive shoulders down to his narrow hips. Humiliation burned Harry's cheeks until Malfoy smiled, a slow spread of lips into an appreciative grin.
Harry's hands shook as he reached for the button of his trousers. His cock twitched and he stopped undoing his zip. This was not happening. He was getting married in four days. “I’m getting married. In four days,” he repeated out loud.
"I know," Malfoy said and Harry heard: I don't care.
The unspoken words made his breath catch. He fumbled through the pile, looking for a shirt to hide any tenting of his trousers. "So you’re getting married, too?" Harry croaked.
Malfoy cleared his throat and moved to stand beside Harry. "Yes, the twenty-fifth." He picked a shirt from the pile and handed it to Harry. His eyes swept Harry again. “Go with the ivory shirt. It’s better with your skin tone.” Malfoy flushed.
Harry stared at the shirt as if he'd never seen one before. What was wrong with him? Fuck, he was hard. From talking to Malfoy. Harry pressed the shirt to his crotch.
Malfoy's eyes flickered to the odd placement of the shirt and he took a step closer. “I’m a little surprised. You don't look like you're getting married.”
Harry squirmed, at a loss where to look with Malfoy so close and so… shirtless. His eyes dropped to Malfoy’s trousers and the clear outline of an erection there. The temperature in the room seemed to flare and Harry would have tugged at his collar, if he'd had one on.
“All ready for the wedding, then?” Malfoy practically purred.
“God, no,” Harry blurted out; Malfoy chuckled. “I mean, I guess so.” Merlin, he was still looking at Malfoy's crotch and just couldn't seem to stop. Malfoy was far too close. Harry could smell the sharp tang of his cologne. It smelled like some ancient forbidden fruit that might steal your soul if you bit into it.
Getting dressed became paramount to getting the situation under control. His head was starting feel foggy. Harry fumbled to get his arms into the sleeves, but then Malfoy was there, tugging the shirt over his shoulders. As Malfoy pulled the shirt across his chest, the knuckles of Malfoy's thumbs grazed Harry's taut nipples. Harry arched into the touch, and something like 'ungh' gurgled at the back of his throat as pleasure rippled through his body. He remembered too late that he should be wriggling away.
In the next second, Malfoy pulled him forward by the collar, pressing their lips together. Harry's repeated 'ungh' was swallowed by Malfoy's light, teasing pecks. They were just enough to moisten Harry's lips and leave a faint taste of mint. The kisses stopped long enough for Harry to realise his eyes were closed. He opened them and Malfoy was right there looking at him, waiting. A flicker of panic caught and held him.
Fuck it," Malfoy whispered and he was on Harry again, his hand buried in Harry's hair, angling Harry closer.
Malfoy's tongue traced Harry's bottom lip and it seemed to wake up the rest of Harry's body to what was happening. His mind fortunately remained dormant, but his breathing quickened and his skin tingled. He parted his lips and keened as Draco – and when had he become Draco? – slipped his tongue in. Draco's tongue slid along Harry's, wet and warm and tempting, coaxing Harry to open wider and join into the kiss.
Somehow, Harry's hand found its way to Draco's hair. It was soft and fine and slipped between his fingers like silk. Harry moaned into Draco's mouth.
"You're delicious, Potter," Draco hummed and moved his hips just so and Harry felt a hard length rub against his cock. It was then that his brain kick-started, and there was a moment of perfect clarity. He'd never felt quite so alive. Nothing else, in his drudgery of a life with its exhilarating triumphs and crushing failures had made his skin tingle with sensation. This, this was worth living for.
Malfoy rocked again and Harry gasped and grabbed Malfoy's hips. They kept on, crashing their bodies together like it was a competition. It was hot and hard and rough and – God – nothing like any of the under the covers fumblings with Ginny. There, he was lost as to what to do, afraid for what was too much, not enough, not pleasing. He'd been paralysed with indecision. Here, there was no place for worry. His head was spinning from overwhelming need.
"You're shaking, Potter. Just… feel," Draco whispered. His hot breath tickled Harry's ear, sending his desire shooting even higher.
Harry let his head fall to Draco's shoulder. It smelled of Draco's cologne and tasted like sweat and sex on his tongue when he lapped at the concave above Draco's collarbone.
So close. So close.
Draco reached down and squeezed Harry's arse, pressing them impossibly closer, and Harry's world exploded.
"Fuck." Harry choked and his entire body shook through the force of his orgasm. He trembled through the aftershocks, clinging to Draco. Then Draco's rhythm faltered and he came with a grunt. They stood in each other's arms until their sweat cooled.
Draco chuckled. "Pity you're getting married. I could be tempted to do that again sometime."
"Bugger!" Harry pushed Draco away and jumped backward. The cold, sticky feeling in his pants made him wince.
Harry rubbed his hand over his face and tried to clear his head. His thoughts were sluggish; words like cheater and betrayal and epiphany floated about in his head but couldn't take form. When Harry looked up, Malfoy waved his wand at his crotch, then slipped on a robe. It was grey, almost silver, with an unusual cut and an elaborate corded rope twisting around the torso. French. It looked erotic, somehow.
Malfoy's eyes were closed off, his expression blank. "You'll want to cast a Cleaning Charm before Madam Malkin comes back." He leaned and sniffed, making his point.
Harry cursed and reached for his wand.
With the scrape of a curtain being drawn, Harry fumbled with his wand and dropped it. It rolled to rest against Draco's high-polished boot.
Draco bent to retrieve it, the fine shimmer of his robe highlighting the graceful movement. As he handed it back to Harry, their hands brushed and he whispered to himself, "Merlin," and looked away before Harry could catch his meaning.
"Well!" Madam Malkin burst into the room with another pile of clothes. "How have we done so far, gentlemen? Come to any decisions?"
Draco's eyes crinkled with mirth and not a little malice. "I don't know, Potter, have you made any decisions?"
Harry's mind went blank, lost in the heavy innuendo and not quite able to grasp at any answer.
"Well, you'd better decide quick." Draco arched a brow. "Only. Four. Days."
Something caught in Harry's throat as the weight of the words hit him. God, Ginny. He was supposed to marry Ginny. In four days.
Harry stared at the floor.
"Looks like I'm done here, then," Draco announced.
"What?" Harry's head shot up fast enough to send a twinge of pain down his neck.
Draco ignored him, but the tiny downturn of his lips spoke volumes. "I have a few last minute items to double check and I'll owl over the details tomorrow," he told Madam Malkin.
"Fine, fine. No later than tomorrow." Madam Malkin shooed him off and turned to Harry.
Harry stood, mouth open and his protest still on the tip of his tongue when Draco slipped out of the room without a backward glance. A confusing rush of emotions ran through Harry. He ought to be grateful Draco had walked out, no strings, no blackmail, having just given Harry the most intense orgasm of his life. He should be drowning in guilt for cheating on Ginny. He felt neither. Instead, he stared at the empty spot in which Draco had last stood, and regret clutched his heart and squeezed. It felt like Draco let him glimpse a whole other world, just long enough to know the world he'd been living in paled in comparison, and then shut the door in his face.
"Mr Potter!" Madam Malkin placed a hand on his shoulder.
Harry recoiled from the touch.
"Young man, were you reliving a favourite Quidditch match or something? I asked you a question!"
"Oh. Sorry. What was it?"
"Is this the shirt you are going with? We'll need to move onto trousers. Your fiancée has already sent me the colour scheme of the bridesmaid dresses, the flowers, the tablecloths. Circe! Such details!" Madam Malkin started piling trousers of various shades of purple into Harry's arms. "In my day, you fell in love and you got married! You didn't write thirty centimetres of parchment about how to make a wedding something out of The Toadstool Tales."
Harry tried to think of what colour the bridesmaid dresses were. Or the tablecloths? The flowers? He hadn't cared; it was Ginny's wedding after all. And that's exactly what it felt like: Ginny's wedding. He thought of himself in twenty years, lying beside his wife and hating her a little for something she had no control over, living a lie. It wasn't fair to himself. It wasn't fair to Ginny.
The prospect of that future weighed down on him, disappointment for a life he hadn't yet lived.
It struck him like a slap in the face – he had to go. Harry tossed the pile of clothes back onto the table and wrestled out of the ivory shirt that he'd never managed to button. "I have to go." Harry pulled his jumper over his head and winced as his glasses caught.
"But, Mr Potter! Your robes! There won't be time!"
"I just have to go." Harry reached for his trainers and his heart skipped a beat. Inside the shoe was a black box of Muggle matches. The green embossed writing read: SAVOY. His mind raced as he slipped the box into his pocket. "I'm sorry. I have some place I need to be."
It didn't take him long. It was on The Strand, he remembered, and not a far jog from Diagon. He clutched the stitch just below his ribs and caught his breath. He didn't pause long enough to reconsider. He took out the matchbox and flipped it over; etched into the back was 809. He marched through the old hotel's massive front doors and headed for the elevator. As the elevator doors opened on the eighth floor, he hoped to God he was right about this. He knocked twice, directly below the wrought iron nine.
The door swung open, and something in Draco's brash grin melted Harry's nerves.
"Potter." Draco held his arm out to the room. "Do come in."
Harry walked past the threshold and tossed the matchbox up and Draco snatched it out of the air. "You dropped something."
"I did." Draco ran his fingers over the etched room number and it disappeared. "How good of you to bring it by."
The suite was large: sitting area to one side with a sofa and a couple of chairs and an enormous king-size bed on the other. The décor was striking in soft cream tones and black-painted wood.
Draco went to the wet bar. "Would you like a drink? Only Muggle options, my apologies." Not waiting for an answer, he selected a bottle of scotch and two glasses.
"I'm not marrying Ginny."
Scotch splashed onto the counter.
"I just… I'm gay," Harry blurted out and it sounded ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. Yet so damn perfect. He felt better than he had in years. He'd been suffocating for so long.
"Yes, I gathered that." Draco Vanished the spill and finished pouring the drinks. He walked over to Harry and handed him a glass.
Harry downed the drink and put the empty glass down on a leather coaster. Draco took a sip, then looked to Harry.
Harry scratched at the back of his neck. In those rare times he'd slipped and let his mind wander into those most secret fantasies, he'd thought that it would be hopelessly complicated and awkward, that being with Ginny was the only way. Now he wanted to make this work. Somehow. He stopped agonising over how to make it perfect and blurted out, "Can we get to the kissing now?"
"Eloquent as always, Potter." Draco's chuckle was cut off by Harry's lips. And it wasn't hard at all; it was easy. So ridiculously simple, like breathing, like it should be. The sounds of smacking lips and panting filled the room.
They writhed against each other and Harry ached for more. "I am most definitely gay."
Draco's hand slipped beneath Harry's jumper, exploring with soft touches and scratching with blunt nails. "Glad you figured that out in time." Draco found a nipple and rolled it between his finger and thumb.
Harry keened as a line of pleasure shot directly to his balls. He was not going to come in his pants again. "Too many clothes." He tugged at Draco's fancy French collar and cursed the ornate buttons that seemed impossibly big for the hole.
Draco tugged Harry's jumper up and off, then thankfully stopped to help Harry free a few of those damn French buttons. "What about you?" Harry leaned in for another kiss, distracting Draco from his task. It was well worth it when Draco sucked gently on his tongue.
"Hmmm?" Draco fumbled with Harry's zipper.
The buttons on Draco's collar were the hardest. Harry flew through the rest with deft fingers, soaking in every new inch of skin revealed. "Did you know?"
"Yes, well." Draco nibbled on his neck, licking and sucking and probably leaving marks. And then – there – Draco got the zipper down and Harry's denims slipped off his hips. "I've known for a long time I liked dick."
"But you're getting married?"
Draco dropped to the floor and Harry's pants and denims were pushed to his knees. Harry stared down at the top of Draco's head and thanked whatever control he had garnered in the last few years that he didn't come right then, squirting onto Draco's aristocratic nose without even being touched.
Draco licked the tip of Harry's cock – a tiny lap at the glistening slit – then the evil fucking bastard stood up. "Parents' idea." He finished off the job Harry had abandoned and threw his robes across the sofa and stripped off his trousers and pants. "I had no reason to disagree," he added with a shrug. He was gorgeous, defined muscles and a spattering of fine hair that led to a thick patch of dark blond curls and a pale pink cock.
Harry bent to tug at his pants and socks, half to hide his thin body and half because it felt absurd to stand there with his pants around his knees, with Draco naked and proud.
Draco walked over to the bed and opened the drawer of the bedside table. He pulled out a small tube. Harry's throat went dry. He hadn't really thought this through. He went and sat on the bed, eyes on his hands clenched in his lap. He could do this. He wanted this. But he had to know. "And now? Do you have reason to disagree with your parents?" Harry could hear the cap of the lube being twisted off and his gut clenched and cock twitched. He wouldn't stop this, wouldn't change his mind. But he needed to know. His world was on hold while behind him Draco squirted out the lube and did something that made the filthiest sounds. Harry refused to look up from his lap until Draco stood directly in front on him and he felt the heat of Draco's body on his chilled skin. With a gentle shove to Harry's shoulder, Draco urged him onto his back. Draco's slick hand closed around Harry's cock and he gasped, hating how much he wanted this, wanted Draco even when he didn't have his answer. "And now?" Harry breathed.
Draco gave Harry's cock a firm squeeze and crawled onto the bed. "Now? I've got one." He kissed the tip of Harry's nose and straddled Harry's waist. With one hand on Harry's chest, he reached back and positioned Harry's cock at his entrance.
Harry's eyes widened.
"You're bloody gorgeous, Potter." Draco shook his head as if he could hardly believe it, then said it again, "Bloody gorgeous."
Draco started to press himself down and Harry catalogued every sensation: the cool crisp sheets below his flushed skin, the pressure of Draco's weight on his chest, and finally the delicious slide of Draco's tight hole slowly relaxing and letting the head of his cock slip past.
"Fuck!" Harry threw his head back and met with a plush down duvet.
Draco took his time, and Harry rubbed his trembling legs as he sank down in tiny, earth-shattering pumps. "Ready?"
When Harry thought, maybe, he wasn't going to lose his load, he nodded.
Draco lifted himself up and sank again, slowly a couple times, but when Harry urged him on with a thrust upward, Draco held nothing back. They crashed together with grunts and the dirty slick sound of slapping flesh. Whatever was going to happen in the next few weeks and months, this was worth it.
He was so close again. He wanted to warn Draco. Harry saw a wet, sticky drop form, then watched pre-come stretch from the tip of Draco's cock to the hair below Harry's navel. He wrapped his fingers around Draco's cock and Draco gasped, his rhythm faltering.
"Tight and fast, Potter." The commanding tone brought Harry that much closer to the edge.
It was the first cock besides his own that Harry held, which felt ludicrous, given the circumstances, but he made an attempt at 'tight' and 'fast', taking directions from Draco's reaction. He found a pace that set Draco's face twisting in pleasure and he felt his own orgasm build. A half dozen strokes and Draco's cock pulsed in his hand. A long string of pearly come decorated Harry's chest.
Harry thrust up, once, twice and buried himself as deep as he could, his entire body taut in the exertion of releasing his orgasm.
They lay in a mess of sweat and wet kisses and listened to the noises of London floating up from the street below. They talked and laughed, touched and explored each other until the sunlight dimmed and the breeze from the window cooled. Harry stood and dressed. Sitting at the small desk beside the bed, he grabbed a piece of stationary and a SAVOY pen and wrote his sincerest apologies.
Draco watched from the sofa, his sex-mussed hair falling over one eye. He gnawed at his thumb, pensive, and waited until Harry set down the pen. Then he dragged Harry back to bed and reminded him how it was all worth it.
~o~
The next day the Daily Prophet ran a special nooner addition, consisting of three articles:
POTTER BREAKS ENGAGEMENT 3 DAYS BEFORE WEDDING (page 1, column 1)
MALFOY-GREENGRASS WEDDING CALLED OFF IN MUTUAL AGREEMENT (page 1, column 2)
MADAM MALKIN EXCLUSIVE: WHAT YOU CAN SEE FROM BEHIND A CURTAIN (page 1, column 3)
~fin
Be sure to check out
stellamoon's Draco portrait: Pensive for a look at my inspiration. ♥