AN: A little HPDM drabble-ish thing. Pretend that they're like twenty-something and still fighting Voldemort. A little bit odd and a little bit smutty. M to be safe.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Harry Potter glanced up wearily as the door to his holding room slid open. Malfoy. Merlin. Just when he had thought things couldn't get any worse. He scowled halfheartedly.
Malfoy was smirking at him, closing the heavy door behind him and leaning against the wall. He looked immaculately put together, dressed in grays and blacks and subdued greens. His hair was slicked back neatly, and he was holding a plain silver goblet in one hand.
"Hullo, Potter. Fancy seeing you here." Malfoy waved an air airily at the small, cold room, with its molding stone walls and lone flickering lantern. "I never thought I'd have the great Harry Potter as a houseguest."
Harry glared at him. "Yeah. It's just like the Malfoys to have a torture chamber in their house, isn't it?"
Malfoy's expression sharpened, and his eyes narrowed. "Silly, stupid Potter," he drawled as he sauntered over to Harry. "Even clapped in chains, you don't know when to hold your tongue." His gaze racked over Harry's form, from his arms chained either side above his head, to his legs, which were lightly spread and shackled a few inches above the ground. "The Dark Lord has afforded me some time to chat with you…for old times sake." He smirked lazily again and took a drag from the goblet, emptying it before allowing it to clatter to the floor.
"Did he now?" replied Harry lowly. "Right then. At least after this I'll be prepared for whatever torture lies ahead."
Malfoy ground out a laugh. He had grown more self-possessed over the years, more distant—more like his father, realized Harry.
"Oh no, Potter. This will be mere child's play compared to what the Dark Lord has planned for you." He reached up and grabbed Harry's chin roughly with one thin hand. At this close proximity, Harry could see Malfoy's eyes burning with intense hate, a hate they had shared over the years. It gave him comfort, the familiar emotion of it.
Harry allowed himself a bitter grin of his own. Malfoy could never completely freeze over. His anger burned hot, like Harry's.
"Give it up, Malfoy. You can't intimidate me. You'll never be as cruel as Voldemort—or even dear old Dad."
The crack in Malfoy's composure grew. "Don't tell me what I can and cannot do, Potter," he sneered into Harry's ear, and suddenly Harry's vision was limited to Malfoy's pale eyes, their bright flashes of anger and dark blond eyelashes.
And then he couldn't see at all, he could only feel a mouth crushing against his, a startlingly insistent pressure.
With a sudden shock to his pulse Harry realized it was Malfoy—it was Malfoy's mouth. Malfoy was kissing him, and it was utterly disgusting but Harry found himself parting his lips all the same. Malfoy's tongue was curling around his, quick and unpredictable, and his hands were tangled in Harry's hair, running down Harry's chest, and Harry was involuntarily straining against the chains holding him back, aching to bury his own hands in Malfoy's perfectly coiffed hair, to slip them under the loose folds of his white shirt…
But try as he might he could not loosen his restraints, and oh Merlin, Malfoy's hand was running lower and lower until it was—it was on his groin, skimming over the zipper of his worn blue jeans until it was right between his legs, lightly cupping his package. The hand squeezed. Harry groaned, and Malfoy hissed lowly through his teeth.
Then, without warning, Malfoy pulled back. Harry's eyes snapped open at the loss of contact. He glared at Malfoy, who, to Harry's immense satisfaction, was looking just as breathless as Harry felt.
"W-what the fuck, Malfoy?" He wasn't sure if he was referring to the sudden kiss or Malfoy's equally sudden stop to said kiss. Either way, he now found himself with a rather sizable…er…problem. Damn it, and his hands were chained, too!
Malfoy stared at him. Strands of his silvery-blond hair had fallen loose and were now hanging over his eyes, obscuring Harry's view of them. His cheeks were tinted pink. Without answering, he leaned in and pressed his lips against Harry's once more.
This time the kiss was slower, having lost its tinge of desperation. Malfoy's mouth was warm and light, lending the moment an odd quality of softness. Harry shivered.
Again, it was Malfoy who pulled away first, only to lightly kiss his way to Harry's ear and begin nibbling on the sensitive skin there.
"By the way, Potter," he murmured as Harry's mind began to fog over. "That was Veritaserum I was drinking."
Harry's eyes widened.
"Not that this isn't fun, but," giving Harry's neck one last soft kiss, Malfoy stepped back, "would you mind listing all the members of the Order of the Phoenix and their whereabouts?"