Author's Note: Having dipped my toe into the pool of Slash, I subsequently decided to leap straight into the deep end and drown myself to see if I could sink or swim. For those that enjoyed Draco's Escort Service, please be warned that this story is not as tame. Not hardly. In fact, I need to go immerse myself in ice cold water, now. Holy water. Wait, that might be a bad idea…

Draco and Harry's Escort Service

Chapter One

Draco stared out the window pensively, even though he could barely see through the collection of droplets that covered the glass and streamed in endless rivulets to accumulate on the sill.

Helluva view Potter has from here, he thought wryly, gazing out at the monotonous series of grey, rain-washed rooftops spread out in a bland vista until they disappeared into the misty cloud cover that currently blanketed London. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, was fairly gloomy for all that Potter had decorated it nicely. Rain hammered on the window with a sudden gust of wind, obscuring even that meager view.

Draco sighed and rested his forehead against the glass. His breath intermittently fogged the pane. Behind him, Potter turned a page with a quiet rustle. Draco scowled at the sound. Harry and his never-ending research. Draco seldom had the patience to sit in front of countless books and scrolls for long. He far preferred to be outside battling horrific dangers. Indoors, he had far too much to think, especially while lounging in Harry Potter's bedroom while Harry sat at the desk.

He felt Potter's eyes on him as if called by the thought, but Harry made no comment. Draco grinned ruefully, knowing Potter didn't dare speak. In Malfoy's current mood, they would get into an immediate row and Harry knew where Draco's rows usually ended up.

Draco's throat went dry at the thought, though he refrained from casting a glance at the bed. He scowled in annoyance. He should never have taken the job to escort Harry to Hogwarts three months ago. Potter's insistence on a side trip to destroy Voldemort's last relic had led to a series of luckless events and culminated in their current state of affairs. Malfoy's mind backtracked to that fateful night in the forest when he had been forced to save Harry's life with a kiss. The fairy had warned him: All gifts have a price. I wonder if you will have the strength to pay for yours. Draco had not understood her words at the time, but they were crystal clear now. The price was the fateful attachment that had bound him to Potter since that moment.

He sighed, wishing he could go back to that night and undo everything. Potter could rot in Faerie and Draco would have his life back. A life without Harry's damned green eyes haunting his every thought. A life without Potter's satin skin and perfect kissable lips—

Draco cursed himself when his body responded to the familiar path his thoughts trod. He pushed himself away from the window and headed for the door.

"I'm going out," he snapped. He sensed Potter's surprise.

"In this weather? You hate London."

"I need a drink," Malfoy replied, silently daring Harry to mention they had liquor in the parlour as well as the kitchen.


His hand froze on the knob. Harry never called him that, except… except in the throes of mindless passion. Draco shut his eyes.

"Don't go," Harry continued and Draco's heart did a slow flip.

He swore and turned the knob savagely. The door slammed against the wall with the force of the opening and Draco stalked out, trying to flee his demons.

His demons caught him before he reached the head of the stairs in the form of Harry's five-fingered grip on his shoulder. He spun Draco around to face him.

"Malfoy," Harry demanded. "Talk to me."

Draco examined him through half-lidded eyes. Potter wasn't so special. His glasses were sliding down his nose again and his hair was an atrocious mess from yanking on it while he read—an unconscious habit that Malfoy wished to hell he didn't find endearing. God, he knew if he had to do it over again, he'd do it all the same, save Harry's life and everything that came after, just to be here. He backed away to lean against the wall, ostensibly to affect a bored mien, but in reality to escape Harry's touch. Potter's hand fell away.

"Look, I know it's hard for you to be trapped in here, but no one is traveling in this weather. We'll be back to work in a few days, at worst. In the meantime, can you please stop acting like a brooding beast and help me try and find some useful information?"

Malfoy glared. Potter's pet project was to try and undo whatever Voldemort had done to make travel by Apparition impossibly dangerous.

"You do know if you fix Apparition that we'll be out of a job," Malfoy had informed him, but Potter had laughed.

"You'll never be out of a job. You enjoy battling Dark magic too much and there is enough of that out there to keep you busy for a lifetime. Besides, it's the right thing to do."

You'll never be out of a job. You, not we. Those words had penetrated deeper into Malfoy's psyche than he would ever admit. As if Potter had already set him free… or cut him loose. On top of that, Potter and his "right thing to do" had caused Draco an endless amount of torment. At the moment, Malfoy felt the "right thing to do" was to drag Harry back into the bedroom… something Potter had to have known when he followed Draco out here.

Draco gave in to the urge by stepping forward and cupping the back of Potter's head with one hand as he planted a savage kiss on Harry's lips. Draco wanted to hurt him; punish Harry for forcing him to feel this constant, overwhelming need that never seemed to be sated. His anger increased when he felt Harry stiffen.

It was always the same—Draco was the aggressor, battering down the walls of Harry's resistance and overwhelming his irritating sense of moral outrage until Harry broke under the weight of sheer desire and base animal need.

Regardless, Draco felt the same triumph—and relief—when Harry relaxed with a sigh of surrender. He was afraid that someday Harry would not give in, and that would be the end of it. Potter's right hand slid into Draco's hair and his left dragged Malfoy's shirt free of the waistband before slipping inside to sweep across Draco's ribs. He reached down and lifted Potter off his feet without breaking the kiss. He carried Harry back into his room.

Malfoy dropped him unceremoniously on the bed and paused to tear his own shirt off. His eyes dared Harry to get up, but Potter had that semi-glazed look in his eyes and his lips were half-parted, still wet from Malfoy's kiss. He wasn't going anywhere. Draco groaned at the sight and lowered himself to the bed, halting only to violently tear Harry's shirt open before he pressed his chest against Potter's and took Harry's lips again. He felt Potter sigh and felt a twinge of amusement. Malfoy was hard on shirts—there were buttons all over the room. The recollection eased his anger—he no longer had a desire to hurt Harry.

He tugged off Potter's glasses and tossed them to a corner of the bed. He buried his hands for a moment in Harry's so-soft hair and ran his tongue over the ridges on the roof of Harry's mouth—God, he tasted like heaven.

Potter's hands caressed Draco's bare back and gooseflesh erupted across Malfoy's skin. Harry shifted suddenly until his thighs cradled Draco's hips. Malfoy sucked in a breath, feeling Harry hot and hard beneath him.

Their clothes were an unwelcome barrier. Draco's mouth reluctantly left Harry's to travel lower, following his hands as they glided across Potter's chest and abdomen to the top of Harry's jeans.

Malfoy's tongue probed Potter's navel and Harry arched beneath him while his hands clenched almost painfully in Draco's hair. Malfoy chuckled—Harry's belly button was a sensitive zone that Draco never failed to use to his advantage.

He made swift work of sliding Potter's jeans over his hips and away. Without pausing, he dragged Harry's briefs off as well and then quickly wrapped a hand around Potter's throbbing shaft. Harry made a soft cry of delight and Draco languidly stroked his tongue up the length of the velvet rod and took the head into his mouth. Harry gasped and his hands gentled in Draco's hair—his fingertips barely skimmed Malfoy's temples.

Draco moved rhythmically, licking, stroking, sliding lips and tongue up and down in a building frenzy until Harry thrashed in mindless ecstasy and his breath came in harsh gasps. He sensed Potter's pending explosion and stopped, wickedly prolonging the torture. It worked.

"Oh God, Draco… please," Harry pleaded. Malfoy groaned. As much as he enjoyed bringing Potter to the point of begging, it was always a bittersweet torment. He relented, enveloping the hot sheath in wetness again, stroking until Harry cried out as the orgasm rocked through him.

Draco released him and licked a slow path back upwards until he lay on Harry's chest again. He liked to look into his eyes when they were still dazed and forest green with residual passion; before the guilt and recrimination returned. He was let down this time—Harry's eyes were closed. The shutters were already down, locking Draco out. He tried not to feel disappointment.

Potter's arms suddenly wrapped around him, halting Draco when he would have rolled away and left the room. Malfoy always gave, never received. He wasn't willing to ask for more than Potter would give and sated himself in private with the memory of driving Harry past control. Draco laid his head on Harry's chest for a moment with a sigh. Potter tried to speak, but had to clear his throat to try again. Draco put a hand up and pressed his fingers over Harry's lips.

"Shhhh," he said softly. Already the guilt was rolling over him in a wave—Potter could only make it worse. He couldn't ask Harry for what he really needed. It had little to do with sex.

He pulled away finally, without meeting Harry's eyes. He got to his feet and walked to the door. He glance back, to see that Harry had sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His dark head rested in his hands and his buttonless shirt hung on his frame. Draco's throat was suddenly tight.

"I'll be downstairs," he said hoarsely.