Author's Note:

This was written a few years ago for the Pushed Up Against the Wall Contest over at the harry_draco livejournal com. It won first place! I'm still baffled by that. :)






"You're going to have to quit doing that."

"Doing what?"

Draco looked at Harry sternly. His blue-gray eyes narrowed behind a pair of oval frames, always a warning that he meant business. A few locks of white-gold hair draped in front of the glasses, making him look either bedraggled or sexy, depending on how one viewed it. In his right hand was a mug of coffee, in the other was this morning's copy of The Daily Prophet.

They sat across from each other at the breakfast table, dressed only in boxers. Meals at Malfoy Manor were now much more casual, due primarily to the absence of Lucius and Narcissa. During their lordship over the mansion, they'd forced Draco to don formal attire at every mealtime. Draco had often suffered shirts so stiffly pressed, he wondered if the house elves regularly used Pretrificus Totalus on them.

"Don't play dumb with me, Harry. You know perfectly well what you're doing." Draco told him in a deliberately calm, impassive voice. He tried to appear nonchalant as he propped the paper up on the table and resumed reading it.

Harry's lips curved into the naughty smile of one who knew they were misbehaving and was loving every minute of doing so. He picked up his glass of orange juice and took a deep swig of it, letting every bit of his tongue caress the liquid in his mouth. Then he swallowed it, in the most time-consuming way possible. Each muscle along his neck pushed the orange juice down his esophagus as if it were part of a line of dominoes falling in slow motion, flexing one after another in a steady rhythm.

Draco noticed. In fact, Draco had noticed the last six times Harry had done this, including the time he had simply licked the rim of the glass, not tasting any of the cold drink inside it.

"Actually, Draco, I haven't the faintest idea." Harry said, still grinning. "Would you care to enlighten me?"

The blond forced his gaze back to the newspaper. He wouldn't answer. He wouldn't be swept into that innocent tone. He wouldn't be cajoled by those bottle green eyes that could melt his entire body into a pile of gooey lust. Uh-uh. No way. Not a chance.

Harry recognized the tactic. Draco often used it when he thought Harry was only carelessly teasing him, not meaning to go on mercilessly until Draco begged him to either a) quit or b) shag him into a near comatose state. Too bad this time he was wrong.

Underneath the table, one of Harry's bare feet skated back and forth across the floor. The ceramic tiles felt surprisingly warm against his skin. Now…thought Harry, what to do next? What would drive him crazy?

Harry's foot began to absentmindedly slither closer to Draco's legs.

What would make him completely randy?

So close, in fact, that Harry's toes soon touched Draco's.

Ah…sweet inspiration.

Just as Draco began to wonder what the hell Harry was playing at, Harry's foot wrapped around the back of Draco's ankle. It moved up and down, massaging his Achilles' tendon softly but surely.

One message blared loudly through Draco's mind. Fuck! He was determined to put a stop to this, while he still could.

"Harry," he began warningly, not glancing up from the Prophet, "You know we can't-"

"Can't what?" interrupted Harry. His foot slid higher up Draco leg, his toes now continuing their massage on Draco's calf.

Draco's hand shook momentarily, making the top corners of the paper flutter. "Can't do this. It was your idea in the first place."

"Now Draco," Harry said sweetly, his foot now gliding languidly from Draco's calf to his ankle and back again, "this is hardly prohibited in our little agreement."

"You know very well that this will lead to what is prohibited." snapped Draco.

"Oh come now. Can't a man touch his fiancée without making a federal case of it?" asked Harry in that oh-so-guiltless tone. It was the same timbre he used to deny that he hogged the sheets at night.

"Not when he and his fiancée have agreed to stop touching."

Harry laughed and his toes moved to graze the inside of Draco's thigh. "But that's not what we've agreed at all."

Draco dropped the newspaper onto the table for fear it would betray just how much he was trembling. He arched one sculpted eyebrow and replied, "Oh really?"

Harry nodded, his foot moving up to rest in between Draco's legs, on the front edge of his chair.

"So…If I wanted to…I could throw you onto this table right this second and bugger you to my heart's content?"

Harry laughed again. "Well, of course not! Buggering is out of the question for the next week."

"Right. So you can't touch me." Draco told him triumphantly, Smug-Malfoy-Grin #382TM on his face. He decided that that one was perfect for just this moment. #381 was a bit too seductive and #383 wasn't quite condescending enough to do the job. Yes…#382 was perfect.

"Oh, I can touch you. Touching is well within the limits of the arrangement." Harry explained, a smirk on his face as well. "As long as I don't shove my prick into your arse, I'm not breaking any rules."

He said all this the way someone would say, "The Cannons are having a good season, that's true. Did you happen to catch the game last Friday?"

"Conversely," he continued in the same offhand expression, "as long as you don't shove your prick into my arse, you're not breaking the rules either."

Draco was speechless. This was not the first time Harry had spoken so coolly about sex, but Draco had never gotten used to it. Perhaps Gryffindors could talk candidly about these things, but Slytherins just didn't handle such subjects that way; it wasn't in their character. They preferred the sly, beat-around-the-bush approach. Requires more effort, maybe, but that method usually didn't leave the company too flabbergasted to respond. Slytherins don't like dealing with the awkward silences that follow.

Harry picked up the carafe next to him and asked, "More coffee, Drake?"

When Draco didn't answer, Harry filled his mug anyway. "If you can't stand even just our feet touching without wanting to shag me, I don't know how you will get through the next week." he told him, stretching his toes forward just far enough to brush the tent of Draco's boxers.

This made Draco speak, and speak quickly.

"Harry James Potter!" he exclaimed.

Harry giggled. When Draco used his full name, it made him seem rather more a father than a lover, and after all their exploits in bedroom, the thought of Draco as his parent was too hilarious for words.

"Yes?" Harry answered.

"Stop that!"

"Stop what?"

"Oh for the love of magic!" Draco cried.

Harry's foot grazed his crotch for a second time.

"Stop that!"

"Why Draco, you look a bit…flushed." Harry told him with a grin.

It was true. Draco's cheeks were getting redder by the second. He shifted in his chair, feeling, and looking, like a one of the three little pigs, cornered by The Big Bad Wolf. But of course, Draco wouldn't know that, having not read many of the bedtime stories that Muggles told their children so they wouldn't have to resort to sleeping pills.

Harry's toes curled around Draco's crotch, rubbing the silk fabric up and down against his erection. Draco gulped, the heady friction engulfing him in waves.

Harry noticed with amusement the effect he was having on the blond. His foot continued to move relentlessly over Draco's erection, making him harder by the second. "Fuck," Draco hissed as the heel of Harry's foot touched him.

"Not till Saturday."

"Damn you." Draco shot with all the venom he could muster.

Harry smiled at him happily.

"What are you trying to do?!" demanded the blond. "Get me hard and keep me that way until the wedding?"

Harry stood up from the table, positively oozing satisfaction.

"Why not?"


"Draco! I'm home!"

"I'm back here, love!"

"Where at?!"

"Back here!"

Harry sighed, dropping his briefcase onto the floor next to the doorway he'd just walked through. Today's Quidditch practice had been trying, to say the least. Chasing snitch after snitch after snitch and failing to catch most of them wasn't a particularly gratifying end to one's day. But then, Harry was used to a lack of gratification in his life, sexual and otherwise. Shrugging off his robes, he walked through the foyer, wondering where his Draco could be.

Draco was in fact, devising a plan of revenge. Harry had infuriated him the day before, getting him hornier than a teenager in Azkaban and then walking away. How dare he! Pride wouldn't allow Draco to wank off that night; he couldn't give Harry the satisfaction. But today would be very different: Harry would be the one with a hard-on the size of Sweden. Payback's a bitch.

Harry strolled off in the direction Draco's voice had come from, towards the west wing of the Manor. After about twenty paces, Harry heard soft music. A breathy, choppy voice was singing over the strong beat of snare drums. It was vaguely familiar… Following the sound, Harry was led to the parlour, where he met a very interesting sight indeed.

All the couches, chairs, ottomans, and tables were gone. Hanging from the ceiling, a sphere the size of a quaffle was spinning slowly, glowing orange and (in Harry's mind) resembling a disco ball. The parlour's rich emerald green carpet was replaced by shining hardwood floors. The walls were literally shaking with the noise of an ungodly amount of blaring speakers. There were nearly a hundred scattered throughout the room! There were huge subwoofers and tiny tweeters and various other amplifiers that Harry couldn't begin guess the name of. And then there was Draco.

He was dancing, and quite well too. His steps fell in precise time with the beat, carrying him from one end of the room to the next. His arms where raised above his head, a wide smile spread supremely across his face, his eyes closed. His hips were undulating in such a way that Harry felt should be punishable by law. He was just pondering the proper way to go about writing such a law when Draco opened his mouth and began to sing.

"Billie Jean,
Is not my lover,
She's just a girl,
Who claims that,
I am the one,
But the kid is not my son."

His voice was startlingly on-key. While it wasn't exceptionally beautiful, Draco could undeniably carry a tune.

"You're listening to Michael Jackson?" Harry blurted out incredulously.

Draco whipped around, his eyes flying open. His gaze came to rest on Harry, who was still standing in the doorway. Draco beamed at him and said, "Hello, love. You're home rather late." He walked to a nearby speaker, where his wand lay innocently, and picked it up. With a flick of his wrist, the thunderous noise became quiet, muted background music. "Who did you say this is? Psycho Jackson?"

"Michael Jackson." Harry corrected him.

"Right, Michael Jackson. I turned on your ladio-"


"Oh, yeah…whatever. Anyway, I turned it on and a song came on. It sounded okay, so I conjured up a few more speakers," - Harry thought this was a considerable understatement- "It was this bloke, and all the music I've heard since has been by him. He's not half-bad."

Harry was torn between laughing and smacking his fiancée in the head.

Harry, like most other children brought up in Muggle houses, had spent most of his life hearing about Michael Jackson: King of Pop. Harry had often heard his songs, on the few occasions the Dursleys had allowed him to listen to the radio with them. He'd thought they were pretty good, but the Dursleys were never particularly interested in talking about the music. They preferred to gossip about the various scandals the pop star was tangled in. One of their favorite pastimes was making jokes about the "Lost Boys of Neverland".

"Draco, Michael Jackson is famous worldwide. He's like, like the number one popular music singer ever."

"Well, I've never heard of him." Draco said as he turned the music up once again, resuming his own personal disco.

"That's because he's a Muggle!" Harry shouted, fighting to be heard over the deafening melody.

Draco shrugged in mid-pelvic thrust and continued moving to the beat.

"I mean, I think he's Muggle." Harry murmured to himself. "Hmmm…"

His musings were abruptly ended, though, by Draco's shirt flying across the room and landing on top of his head. Harry ripped the shirt off and glared at Draco. "What the hell did you do that for?!" he shouted.

Draco grinned at him impishly. He clenched his right hand into a fist and flexed a bicep.

Harry was not amused.

So, naturally, Draco continued. He crossed both arms over his chest flexed again, still perfectly on time with the beat. Harry threw the shirt back at him. "Show off." he muttered.

Draco grinned once more. He nodded his head on every beat of the drum, snapping his fingers. Dressed now only in baggy blue jeans that hung low on his hips, Draco looked for all the world like a high-priced rent boy.

And Harry really had to get off this train of thought. He felt the first stirrings of arousal in his groin, which Draco was bound to see eventually. Dammit, why did I take off my robes?!

Draco started shaking his hips like the Hawaiian dancers in grass skirts Harry had seen on his first trip to America. He got faster and faster until Harry was sure there was magic involved somehow.

Bewitching Draco to dance…dancing without a shirt…pole dancing without a shirt…

Harry really should get off of that line of notions, too.

Draco looked over his shoulder and threw a quick wink to Harry. Salazar's salamanders, he could dance. His knees were bent, his arse dipping low, barely a foot from the ground. As Draco slowly moved to the music, the jeans he wore fell just a bit farther down his hips. Just as Harry moaned wantonly, Draco hopped up. He duplicated the movements over and over again, dropping lower each time, grinding up and down against an invisible partner. It left Harry with the crazy urge to join him on the floor.

Harry knew he should walk away from this risky display. He was trying to avoid these sexual urges dammit, and he had paperwork to finish besides. But he found he couldn't tear his eyes from Draco's form. He looked absolutely gorgeous there on the floor, stepping and swaying like he was having the time of his life.

Harry walked over to a large speaker and took a seat. So much for avoiding sexual urges; he feared for the crotch seam of his trousers, he was getting so hard.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Harry sit down. Well, as long as he's watching, better make it worthwhile. He knew exactly what he could do to give Harry a permanent hard-on…

Draco lowered himself face down on the cool hardwood flooring. His tucked his forehead into the crook of his elbow, effectively hiding his face. With his other arm, his fist pounded on the ground. Once…twice…on the third hit, his hips crashed down along with his fist. He was humping the floor in time with the thumps of his hand.

Harry thought it was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen.

After a time, Draco got up and turned down the music and walked over to Harry. He pulled his hair into a short ponytail (one absurdly elegant for all the dancing he'd been doing) as he went.

"It's really hot in here, isn't it?" he asked mischievously when he reached Harry. He noticed that several beads of sweat dotted his forehead.

"I hope you know," said Harry, "this means war."


"Draco? Could you give me a little room here, please?"

"Oh, of course, Your Highness. Is there anything else you'll be requiring this evening?"

"Hmmm…I would enjoy a good romp with one of my humble servants."

"I'm terribly sorry. The humble servants are under a contract that expressly forbids romping, Your Highness."

Harry laughed cheerfully. He stood in the largest bedroom in the Manor, hands on his hips, watching Draco saunter to a window seat.

"You know," Draco said, crawling into the bay window, "other people would rather shag their fiancé than send them to a far corner of the room, wanting to exercise." He said the last word as if it were one of Bertie Bott's Terribly Flavored Beans.

Harry walked to one of the walk-in closets and reached to the top shelf, retrieving a rolled up exercise mat and bringing it out. "Other people aren't Puddlemere United's star seeker." he told Draco matter-of-factly, unfurling the mat at the foot of he and Draco's enormous double bed.

Draco eyed what Harry was wearing (a sleeveless white shirt and baggy black sweatpants) and the item he had just brought out. "Harry…please tell me you're not going to do what I think you're going to do." the blond said, getting as close to begging as Malfoys could without being forced to vomit. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

Harry stood up and turned to Draco. "Of course I am."

Draco rolled his eyes, determined not to let Harry know how he was going to be tortured by this. He looked out the window. A clear night sky greeted him, the moon bright and far above the horizon.

"You don't mind, do you?" asked Harry politely. What he was going to do was anything but polite, for Draco at any rate.

"No." sniffed Draco. "Go ahead." I just won't look. Ha.

Harry smiled happily and moved to stand on the mat. He raised both his arms above head, stretching his fingertips as far as he could towards the ceiling, humming with satisfaction.

Draco didn't turn his gaze from the window panes. He knew full well that Harry would be trying to tease him, but he was resolute: he wouldn't show his discomfort, not in the slightest bit.

Harry placed his feet shoulder-width apart and bent almost in half to touch his toes. A tiny grin played across his face. He knew Draco would try to feign a lack of interest in his exercising, but that would only make a challenge out of tempting him. Harry had always found a challenge, especially where Draco was concerned, appealing. He leisurely straightened up again.

Draco continued to stare out the window, clearly illustrating indifference to the show Harry was putting on.

But Harry could tell Draco was deliberately avoiding him. He spread his legs as far apart as possible, which was very close to a perfect split. His hands gripped his ankles and he brought his chest to the floor. Feeling tendons and muscles protest the pressure of the stretch, he groaned once more.

Draco could choose not to look at Harry, but he couldn't stop from hearing him. His moans filtered through the air obnoxiously, sending the blood flowing through Draco's veins steadily down to his groin. Draco flirted with the idea of hitting Harry with a silencing charm, but he decided it would only serve to show the Gryffindor how much he was bothered.

Draco's forehead fell to his knees, blond hair tumbling down around him like a curtain. His eyes clinched shut tightly, seeing little stars burst in brilliant colors. Ignore him…just ignore him…

You see, Draco was a Malfoy, born and raised. He held all the rights and privileges therein. (Which, at the moment, only entitled him to a trivial number of galleons at Gringotts, suspicious glances from strangers everywhere he went, and derogatory comments in Daily Prophet. Oh, and the Manor of course.) And being a Malfoy, regardless of public opinion of the name, meant being proud. Draco had been taught since infancy that everything stemmed from pride: home, heritage, station, lifestyle, and certainly wealth. So he didn't dare display yearning or dependence or any other sign of humility.

But, consider for a moment if he was born under another name, say….Weasley. If he was christened Draco Weasley, he would now be on his knees with those huge, glistening, imploring eyes often seen on juvenile Labradors, begging Harry to forget the whole sordid arrangement and to shag him senseless right there on the carpet.

As it was, Draco just sat in the window seat as Harry continued his stretches. He'd now let go of his ankles and straightened up again. He crossed his legs at the knee and brought his hand behind him, palm against the floor. Using it as leverage, Harry twisted his torso almost 180 degrees and hummed yet again.

Draco couldn't refrain from taking a glance at Harry's body, and he instantly regretted it. The moment his eyes glimpsed the firm, stretched physique, more desire bubbled to the surface, desire which he was supposed to be suppressing. Thankfully, his current position hid his arousal adequately.

Draco quickly looked out the window again as Harry turned back around. Harry smiled inwardly; he had seen the sudden jerk of Draco's head. I knew he couldn't resist…Harry thought to himself smugly. He's taken the bait, now it's time to set the hook…

He fought to keep the mirth out of his voice as he asked Draco, "What's so interesting out there? You've been staring out that window for the last ten minutes."

"Oh, er, nothing." Draco replied rather shakily. "Just the moon. It, uh, looks quite big tonight."

Harry burst out laughing at that statement. "Quite big indeed." he choked out through the cackles of glee.

Draco turned around angrily to face Harry, his eyes icy blue, his cheeks flaming. Damn him.

And to add the finishing touch, Harry moved to lay face up on the mat, placed his palms and feet against the floor and arched his spine into a flawless back bend.

"I'm going to bed." Draco announced. He jumped off the window seat, marched to the four-poster, and climbed into it.

"'Night." Harry told him. He raised one arm, and, suspended on only three limbs, blew him a kiss. It wasn't sent in exactly the right direction, though, since Harry's head was upside down at the time.

Draco grunted in response. Damn him…him and his bloody exercising…it's not like he couldn't just skive off today…he's not going to play Quidditch for the next two weeks anyway…

Draco's strategy was to sleep away the images of Harry's training. But it was foiled, by candles of all things. They were spread brightly lit around the bedroom, keeping him wide awake. He was tempted to simply wave them out, but then Harry would be left in the dark. Draco was irritated with him for the games he was playing, but even so, he couldn't bring himself to be so blatantly cold.

Harry fell back on the mat with a soft thump. He felt content with the result his little trick had had on Draco. He stood up and yawned, very falsely and very obviously.

"Humph," muttered Draco, turning on his side so that his back faced Harry.

Picking up a nearby dumbbell, Harry took a seat on one corner of the bed. Had Draco not immediately jerked his foot to the right, Harry would have sat on his ankle. Draco knew that feeling any part of Harry's bum, even with something so mundane as a foot, would be perilous for him. Resting one elbow on his knee, Harry began the ritual bicep curls.

Draco tried vainly to fall asleep. Breathe in…breath out…breathe in…breathe out… he thought to himself. It was difficult to keep this up for long though, as Harry kept making those maddening grunts and moans as he worked. Draco counted many heartbeats before Harry put the weight down again.

Thinking about what was he going to do next, Harry's face broke into a grin. "Drake?" he asked softly.

Without bothering to turn around, Draco asked petulantly, "What?"


Harry tore his tank off and flung it at the Slytherin, seamlessly recreating Draco's act yesterday.

"Bastard." growled Draco. He chucked the shirt straight into the fireplace in the corner of the room, which, thankfully, wasn't lit.

"Love you too." Harry replied sweetly.

Draco pulled the covers over himself angrily. "Bloody Gryffindors and their bloody tricks…" he grumbled while pummeling his pillow.

Harry smiled. He rubbed his palms together briskly, the friction burning pleasantly into his skin. This next trick would require careful concentration. He did a couple of squats to warm up his thighs. No sense in breaking something…again. He grabbed his wand from the dresser next to him and whispered a spell. Within an instant, an iron bar appeared at his feet, two fifty pound weights attached at either end of it.

"Draco…" Harry choked out.

"What?" snapped Draco, his head buried under the sheets.

"You might want to see this."

"Harry, you could conjure a purple hippogriff riding a broom," Draco said, coming up from under the blankets, "and I still…wouldn't…"

Harry was holding the one-hundred pound bar above his head, his knees bent and spread apart, arse bent low to the ground. Harry was well aware his muscles were quivering and shaking under the strain, but the unchecked desire in Draco's eyes was worth the trouble. After five more grueling seconds of exertion, Harry released the weight.

Draco shot out of bed, seizing the comforter and a pillow. He stormed out of the room, breathing heavily.

Harry paused, wondering exactly what had just happened. Then he heard Draco's fiery yell from far across the Manor:

"I'm sleeping on the couch!"


"What are you doing?!"

"I'm taking a shower, of course."

"But…I'm taking a shower now!"

"So? We'll be conserving water."

Harry stood with a washcloth in his hands, everything from the waist up covered in soap suds, staring at his betrothed with a mixture of horror and shock. Draco had climbed into the mist and steam of the shower. Inside the shower. With him.

Draco took one look at him and laughed. "Honestly, dear, it's not as though you haven't seen me naked before."

With a polite, "Excuse me," he stepped in front of Harry and took a bottle of shampoo from the shelf on the shower wall. Draco flipped the top open and raised the bottle to his nose. He inhaled and sighed happily. This was Harry's shampoo, which smelled of lavender. Draco figured if he couldn't have his lover's body, he could at least indulge in his scent. He poured a dollop of the shampoo onto his palm and spread it over his hair.

Harry watched as Draco worked the stuff into a bubbly lather, kneading it into his scalp, his eyes closing slowly. He vaguely registered how much Draco seemed to enjoy washing his hair with shampoo that wasn't his, but afterwards he became much more engrossed in the way his boyfriend's biceps flexed in the same rhythm as his finger's undulations. Much more fascinating were the groans that escaped Draco's mouth. That's just what he sounds like when he-

"Harry? Could you scoot over a bit? You're taking all the water."

Hmmm…so he was.

Harry shuffled to the far end of the tub, giving Draco room to stand under the spray. The water poured onto the top of his head, running over his long blonde locks and sending the bubbles of shampoo down his back. As more water coursed along, the bubbles rolled smoothly to his arse. God, that incredible arse. So muscled, so sculpted. Why, it was almost like the statue of David was parked in the shower with Harry. Excepting the erection, of course.

Not that Harry was so bad himself. Quite the contrary, actually. Playing Quidditch for more than half his life had given him quite an attractive (Draco would call it magnificent) body. Kicking off from the ground over and over had supplied Harry with strong and well-defined calves. Reaching out for a snitch an impossible distance away allotted him shapely triceps and shoulders. And naturally, the endless practices stripped every ounce of fat from his frame, leaving muscles tightly encased in skin. Indeed, the only person equal to Harry in appearance was Draco himself.

Draco turned around and faced Harry. "You can, like, continue with whatever it was you were doing before I came in here."

"Oh, uh, yeah…sure…" Harry replied while he took the soap (which, incidentally, was the same scent as his shampoo) from the dish. He scrubbed the towel against it, creating rich, thick foam. Then he proceeded to very self-consciously wash his lower body.

Draco looked on intently; it wasn't as though he had any alternative in what he could do now, since Harry had possession of the soap. But he would most definitely have chosen this anyway, if given the choice. He suppressed a moan as Harry's hand towel skirted over his groin.Ohhh…God he looks good…hang on, you're supposed to be making him randy! Control yourself! Only three more days…just three more days…and then you can-

"Drake? D'you need this?" interrupted Harry's voice, the bar of soap held in his outstretched hand. Draco was a bit disappointed the question referred only to soap.

Harry grinned as if he knew exactly that. He returned to his original position under the shower spray to rinse off the lather as Draco scrubbed his shoulders with the soap. Mustn't look… Harry thought to himself. Don't look…focus…three days until the wedding…stop it!Only three more days without that body…that perfect prick…don't look!

As the water washed the suds from his body, Harry found himself looking.

Draco, on the other hand, was exercising every grain of Malfoy self-control he possessed (and some that he'd channeled from his father) to concentrate only on washing himself. He turned away from Harry and faced the shower wall. The tiles on it were made of a glossy, brilliant porcelain. They were much like everything else inside Malfoy Manor: white. White was the color of purity, and if there was one thing Malfoys valued, it was purity. Draco found one particular tile interesting. One of its corners was chipped off, making it look like the tooth of a person who had recently come off worse in a fight. Draco focused on that tile. He needed something to give attention to, something that wasn't Harry. Concentrate on anything but Harry. Anything but Harry… It became a mantra inside his head.

All of a sudden, Harry's soft voice broke through: "Need me to scrub your back?"

"Yes." Draco heard himself half-moan, half-whine. Wait! What am I doing?! What happened to the mantra?!

Harry was momentarily surprised at the fervency of Draco's response. He had expected a lecture on how they should keep physical contact to a minimum, with the phrase "this was your idea" spoken more than once. He took a tentative step towards Draco.

Harry reached for the towel hanging on the shower head and hesitated.

Oh, to feel that skin again…after so long…

He opted to take the bar of soap from Draco and work it into a lather with his palms and fingers instead. He returned the soap to its dish, then his hands found their way to Draco's shoulders. Using the pads of his fingertips, Harry gently scrubbed tiny circles. He felt muscles flex under his hands as Draco rolled his neck left, then right, almost acting like Harry was paid masseuse and this was a long-scheduled session at the local health spa.

Harry's skilled hands skated down, sweeping over each vertebrate of Draco's spine. Just before he reached the small of Draco's back, his palms flew apart and up, coming to rest at the shoulders once more.

And so it went: wash shoulders, wash spinal column, wash shoulder blades, repeat. Each time Harry came to his shoulders again, a sigh escaped Draco's mouth.

Which, of course, made it more and more difficult for Harry to concentrate on washing. Each time he touched the dip in Draco's back, his hands lingered a bit longer before moving back up. On Harry's fourth round on Draco's back, the heel of his palm actually grazed the cleft of his lover's arse. Draco's head fell back and onto Harry's shoulder with a moan.

Hearing that moan tossed even more scraps of focus from Harry's brain. Instead of simply washing, he began to trace the valleys and mountains of Draco's muscles and bones. What were at first only the caresses of scrubbing and scouring now became invisible tattoos, swirling lines and whorls, symbolizing love and lust.

Harry desperately wanted more than a shower.

And judging by his whimpers, so did the body he bathed.

"Draco…" murmured Harry. He wrapped one arm around Draco's waist and the other across his chest. Before he could stop himself, he lowered his head down to the body in front of him, pressing a kiss to the junction of Draco's neck and shoulder. Luckily, he hit an area not covered in soap.

In some part of his mind-the part that wasn't directly wired to libido-Draco knew it wouldn't be wise to continue. Just get out of here right now…get a grip on yourself…

But just then, Harry rocked his pelvis against his backside. Bloody hell.

And just like that, Draco melted. He turned in Harry's embrace and looked into the clouded-with-desire green eyes of his lover. Draco wasn't sure who moved first, but the next thing he knew, Harry's lips were touching his. This was the first open-mouthed kiss the couple had shared in the last four days. They hadn't trusted themselves to retain their willpower in the middle of a full-out snog, and for good reason.

The kiss was like the unlocking of pearly gates that guarded the heavenly passion of love-making. With the battling of tongues, the caressing of lips, and the chorus of licentious moans, it became an invocation to the gods above, an introduction of pleasures to come.

Harry wound his fingers through Draco's freshly-washed hair. The strands felt like silk, smooth and slick with warm water. Draco moaned throatily and Harry smiled against his lips. Draco's arms surrounded his fiancée's hips. His fingertips caressed Harry's skin delicately, like a butterfly's wings caressing the petals of a rose.

Harry pulled his mouth away, but he didn't remove his hands from Draco's hair. He whispered, "You are so beautiful. Merlin, so beautiful…" before attaching his mouth Draco's left ear lobe and sucking greedily. Draco tilted his head towards his right shoulder, increasing the availability of skin. Harry's tongue slithered so fervent and scorching over his skin, Draco could have sworn it was lined with fire.

His whole body was throbbing. Every heartbeat pounded through him, his veins positively pulsing with want. He felt like a circuit: he could feel every drop of blood coursing fiercely from his heart to his tips of his fingers to his toes.

Draco threw his hips forward and his arousal met Harry's. Then he pulled away and did it again, and again. Harry met his every movement; their bodies were completely in sync. When Draco arched back, Harry crashed ahead. One thrust was so powerful, Harry couldn't help but sink his teeth down onto the shell of Draco's ear. Draco whimpered when Harry did this, realizing this wouldn't last long.

His hands slid between Harry's body and his own, each catching a nipple between thumb and forefinger. Draco squeezed both at once, eliciting groans and whines from Harry, who became, if possible, even harder. All the while, their hips continued their hot blooded dance. Draco couldn't take it any longer.

"Harry…God, I've waited so long…take me…" he murmured against Harry's neck. "Take me…"

Harry jumped back to the present with the force of a lighting bolt, removing his lips from Draco's skin. "No…no…we have to…have to stop…" He took a step back and closed his eyes, knowing that if he looked at his lover's naked body, he would lose all hope of self-control. "Draco…we've got to stop. We made a promise-I got carried away-"

Draco slumped against the shower wall, out of the path of water sprinkling over him. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "But…Harry, the wedding is in the three days anyway…"

"All the more reason to hold out; it's just a bit longer." Harry said, though he sounded more lustful than resolute. His took several slow and deep, calming breaths.

Draco sighed and looked through the fog and vapor at Harry's blurry form. "You're right." he said dejectedly. "It's just that…it's so tempting…every time I see you…" He didn't need to finish the sentence. Harry knew what he meant.

"Maybe…" Harry began hesitantly. "Maybe I should go and stay with Ron and Hermione…just until the wedding…to make it easier for us…"

Draco did not like the idea of Harry away from him, not in the least. But the last thirty minutes proved that something had to be done. They couldn't go on living together like this. Someone would break soon, no doubt about it, and then the last four days of chastity would be meaningless.

Draco looked down at the floor and frowned. "I suppose so…that was really close…"

Harry smiled apologetically. "I'll pack some clothes and go to Ron's this afternoon."

He reached out and took Draco's hand, which was lying limp at his side. "It's only for a few days."

Draco nodded and smiled at him half-heartedly. "Yeah…just a few days."


"Hermione, this isn't working."

"Hello, Harry. Nice to see you too."

"I'm serious. I can't keep this up."

"Can't keep what up?"

Harry dropped into the nearest seat, which happened to be a sofa facing the Hermione and Ron's front door. He ran a hand through his pitch black hair and shifted uncomfortably. This was not the sort of subject one habitually discussed with a married woman, even if shewas one of your best friends.

"This…deal with Draco."


Harry sighed. Better to just get it out now.

"Draco and I decided that we wouldn't…er…you know…"

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, looking politely puzzled.

Harry sighed exasperatedly. "Fuck, Hermione! Fuck! Bugger! What you and Ron did to get that baby!"

Hermione burst out laughing. She had to clutch the edge of an end table to keep from falling to the ground.

Ah yes. This was why you didn't talk to girls about this stuff.

"Merlin!" Harry cried. "Could you please try to be mature about this? It's hard enough without you having a fit over it."

Hermione took a few deep breaths between the snickers and straightened up. "Until when?"

"Until when what?"

It was Hermione's turn for a sigh. "You wouldn't have sex until when?"

"Until the wedding."

"Why on earth would you decide to do something like that?" Hermione asked, wearing an amused smile.

"Well, we figured it would make the, um, wedding night…better." Harry told her pointedly.

"Harry," Hermione said, shaking her head and laughing again. "you and Draco spend half the day locked inside, battling the horizontal wizard duel. How could you expect to stop now?" Her frank approach wasn't surprising. After all, she was a Gryffindor.

Harry ignored the question and said, "It's not going well."

"And by that you mean?"

"I mean," began Harry with forced patience, "that Draco keeps fucking around with me, he keeps…teasing me."

Hermione raised her eyebrows and said, "Teasing you." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah. Like just the other day, he practically did a strip tease in front of me! I walk into the parlor, and there he is, dancing to Michael sodding Jackson! But then, I haven't been exactly nice to him either." Harry laughed softly. "A couple of days ago, I did my Quidditch exercises in the bedroom. While he was trying to sleep."

Hermione frowned and quirked an eyebrow at him, which clearly said you know better than that.

"Yesterday," Harry continued, "yesterday we…came really close to breaking the agreement. He followed me into the shower, Hermione! I couldn't help it!" he said, almost indignant. "I mean, what did he expect? Coming in there naked and-"

"Harry," Hermione interrupted, "do I really need to hear this?"

"Sorry," Harry told her, blushing. "I just…would it be alright if I stayed here with you and Ron? Just until the wedding?"

"Harry, you know you can stay with us whenever you like." Hermione said warmly.

"Thanks Hermione." Harry said gratefully. "It would only be until Saturday."

"You're welcome here as long as you want. That is, if you can stand Jenna's wailing."

Harry smiled. "Where is she? I haven't seen her in a while."

"Actually, she's sleeping. I've finally gotten her to take a nap, and I don't fancy more ear-splitting screams, so if you wouldn't mind-"

Harry laughed, nodding. "I understand."

After a few moments of contemplative stares at the floor, he resumed the earlier subject. "It's just that, with Draco and I together…especially at night…I don't think I have the willpower…to resist him."

Hermione laughed. "Honestly. You act as if he's some kind of drug."

Harry looked down at the floor. "He is." he said thoughtfully. "Once you start…you can't quit."

Hermione shook her head, bushy hair swinging off her shoulders.

Harry looked up at her. "It's true!" he insisted.

"Whatever you say, Harry. Whatever you say."


Why, God? Why did I agree? It was a stupid, stupid thing to agree to. Why would Harry think up something like that? It's stupid! He's at the Weasleys, damn them. He should be here! With me!

It's not the same without him.

Draco lay on the bed he and Harry shared, his fingers laced behind his head. His legs were crossed at the ankle and stretched out in front of him, the world around him pitch black. No candles were lit, no moonlight shined through the window, which was ironic considering how many, many feelings he was alight with at the moment. So many in fact, that his heart felt like a giant hurricane, swirling and churning and raining with emotion.

First and foremost, Draco felt lonely. He hadn't been apart from Harry for more than a day since they moved in together. While he never took Harry for granted, Draco had come to regard him as something like magic, or the snake wallpaper on the second floor corridor: something that would remain no matter how many wars or unsticking charms took place.

But now, Harry was gone, all because of a stupid deal. Now, the Manor was quiet. Now, Draco lay in this bed alone.

No sex for a week…he thought derisively. Bollocks.

Draco was also feeling anxious. The wedding was tomorrow. His wedding! The event in which he would display his love for Harry Potter for all the world to see. He wondered what his father would say if he were alive to witness it. Both Draco's parents had died five years ago, while Draco and Harry's relationship was still a close-guarded secret. Draco imagined Lucius Malfoy would disown him, at best, if he'd found out. At worst, he would throw a jet of green light Draco's way. That thought made his stomach lurch unpleasantly, so Draco turned away from it.

At the eye of the raging hurricane, Draco was feeling love. He'd never known a love so strong, strong enough that when he kissed Harry, he could hear the angels' trumpets sound. Strong enough that it made his Patronus take Harry's form. Strong enough that every pleasure, fear, joy, worry, delight, sorrow, and happiness, centered around one black-haired, green-eyed boy.

But at the bottom of it all, Draco was feeling horny. He considered his options. On the one hand, he could ignore the fire that burned dissolute in his groin, toss and turn until he fell asleep, then wake up with an ache and hunger for Harry that blazed all the brighter. Or he reach down underneath the waistband of his pants and jerk off like there was no tomorrow.

Somehow, the latter seemed much more appealing.

Draco pulled his hands out from under his head. He dragged a pillow over and laid his head atop it, uncrossing his legs. Then he ran a hand down from his neck to his navel, inching his way into his boxers. He wrapped his fingers around himself and began stroking gently.

To Draco, this always felt a bit immoral. His father had since puberty instilled in him the solid, plain truth that Malfoys didn't masturbate. Malfoys had women for this sort of thing. Malfoys would always have someone, a wife, a girlfriend, hell, a servant to satisfy these urges.

Well not this time, Father…not now.

And Draco needed it now. Being so starved for release, he was hard within seconds after he first touched himself. To a man Draco's age, in the prime of his life, five days without sex was agony. It was torture.

With his other hand, he reached up to his bare chest and tweaked a nipple, imagining it was Harry teasing him. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see green irises staring back at him.

He hadn't done this in years, wanking. Harry had long since taken over that aspect of his life, frequently and thoroughly. It reminded him of the long summers he spent at the Manor, in between his stays at Hogwarts, locked up in his room. He touched himself the same way, he bucked his hips the same way, he was breathless and panting the same way.

And just like all those years ago, he thought of Harry. The bed sheets smelled like him. With every inhale, Draco was reminded of it. They were rich and musky, yet slightly sweet. Harry's scent.

It made Draco's body was scream for more. Who was he to deny?

He was rubbing himself vigorously now. His hand flew over his balls, insistently tugging. Then he moved the head, purple and weeping, stroking roughly.

"Harry," he sighed, almost delirious with pleasure. "Oh, Harry…"

His thumb slid over the tiny slit at the tip. God, did it feel good.

"So good, Harry. So so good…"

That familiar, pleasurable, lustful energy was pulsing through him. His mind was cloudy with it. At this moment, Draco cared only about the incredible floating feeling that came just before release. He thought it was very like flying. Flying without a broomstick.

After taking a deep intake of breath, Draco screamed with ecstatic abandon, "Harry! Harry! HARRY!" Ropes of hot, thick cum shot onto the inside of his boxers.

When the aftershocks subsided, Draco noticed how sticky and altogether unpleasant it felt. He much preferred spilling his seed into Harry's mouth, or Harry's hand, or Harry himself.

He took off the soiled underwear and retrieved clean ones to put on. He only slept naked when Harry was sleeping with him.


The wedding itself was quick, very quick. That's how wizard weddings were, Harry found out. He had seen a few Muggle movies in which people got married and the ceremony had always seemed incredibly long, and dull. A priest/pastor/justice of the peace would recite an unbearably cliché speech that inevitably ended with "You may kiss the bride." Harry had always wondered why anyone would need permission in order to kiss the person they loved, especially on their wedding day.

Harry also wondered why Muggles made such a fuss of homosexual matrimony. Lawsuits and debates and constitutional amendments: rubbish. Love was love, wasn't it? All that bother over weddings that were likely to end in divorce anyway! According to Daily Prophet statistics, wizard marriages had a forty percent better chance of lasting. Probably due to the fact that wizard weddings held none of that bureaucracy.

A ritual at the Ministry of Magic was all that was needed for Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter to tie the knot, literally. Close friends and family had watched as a Ministry official preformed an unbreakable charm on their wands, the charm that tied two people's magic together. Any spells that Harry did would now use an equal share of magic from Draco's wand and from his own, and vice versa.

Draco thought the whole thing was rather meaningless in comparison to the love he and Harry shared. Harry thought its symbolism was beautiful.

But now the newlyweds were standing in the middle of a crowded room in the Leaky Cauldron, and there was only one thing on their minds.

"Congratulations Harry!" called Arthur Weasley as he ambled over to the pair, making quick apologies to the people he jostled as edged his way past them. "Congratulations Draco!"

"Thanks, Mr. Weasley." Harry answered for both of them.

Arthur Weasley's was the most recent of nearly a hundred salutations, all of them virtually identical. Considering the significant impact these greetings would have in his life, Harry couldn't help thinking about how his time could be better spent.

"If I'd heard six years ago that you two would marry," Mr. Weasley continued in his jaunty manner, "I would never have believed it. But now, I must say you do very well together."

We do many things well together…Draco thought dryly. Not that we can do them now, of course...

Harry smiled cheerfully and wrapped his arm around Draco's waist. Casual, just be casual.

The Weasleys had first met Harry and Draco's relationship with a bit of an apprehensive air. They'd never in their wildest dreams figured Harry for a pouf, and even when they learned of this, his choice in partners didn't make any sense. They had always believed, after all, that Harry hated Draco. And Mr. Weasley wasn't very affable with Malfoys to begin with. Yet, after a few Christmas get-togethers and family dinners, they grew to accept Draco, and even to admire his love for Harry.

"Molly is over there," Mr. Weasley turned and pointed across the room. "talking to Ron. Ever since he bought that new Firebolt, she's been pestering him. Says he and Hermione'll need those Galleons for the baby."

Draco snorted and said in a pseudo-sardonic voice, "She's quite right. They need all the gold they can get."

Mr. Weasley laughed; he was by now used to Draco's sense of humor. During the brief chortles, Mrs. Weasley tottered over to the group.

"Harry, Draco," she said with a warm smile. "congratulations."

"Thank you Mrs. Weasley." Draco answered with short, dignified nod.

"I suppose you'll be off soon? For the honeymoon?" she asked.

If we could get away from these bothersome party-goers…thought Harry irritably.

Draco took the liberty of replying. "Oh yes. We decided on the south of France. I hear it's a popular honeymoon destination. Very hot this time of year." He finished with an exaggerated wink at Mr. Weasley.

Harry slapped his shoulder. "Honestly, Draco."

"What did I say?" shrugged Draco innocently.

Harry raised his eyes to the ceiling, a how-in-the-name-of-Merlin-did-I-get-stuck-with-this-bloke expression passing over his visage.

Mrs. Weasley chuckled politely. "Well, you know, Ron and Hermione went to Barcelona for their honeymoon, said it was lovely. Of course, they did say that the place was brimming with Ashwinders."

Draco laughed weakly. Circe, I hope this doesn't turn into one of her family stories… Griphook's Galleons, the woman could talk.

"Remember what they told us when they returned?"

Dammit. Harry smiled and nodded, hoping he looked more interested in the conversation than in the way Draco's silvery blue robes brought out his eyes.

"Eggs everywhere; all over the floor, the dressers. Burned down the whole of that Spanish armoire. I told them they should have put out that Floo fire straight away, the eggs wouldn't have hatched in the first place, but you know Ron. Doesn't listen to reason. And buying that Firebolt!"

Mr. Weasley shook his head behind Mrs. Weasley, his eyes closed, emitting a weary sigh.

"Merlin knows how he and Hermione need gold, what with Jenna and all. No doubt Hermione is in a right state because of it. But does he listen?"

Draco, Harry, and Mr. Weasley waited in silence, appearing to the untrained eye to be exceedingly involved in this anecdote from the woman of the Burrow.

"Of course not." Mrs. Weasley said shortly. "He goes on about how necessary a new broomstick is, how useful it would be for the family. He gets that stubbornness from you, Arthur."

"Molly," said Mr. Weasley reluctantly. He sounded somewhat like someone who had the undesirable obligation of pointing out the bogey hanging from their best friend's nose. "About you talking to Ron…I, er, rather think that he-being that he's of age-is capable of spending his own Galleons wisely."

Harry could tell by the look on Mrs. Weasley's face that this was neither the finest time nor place (nor the best choice of words) to discuss such a matter.

"Arthur, Ron is a father now! He needs to be more responsible! He has a wife and child to support now!"

"But Molly," Mr. Weasley said placating, "Ron is an adult, he's capable of making his own decisions. We went through the same thing with Fred and George."

"Yes, but they don't have children to support," Mrs. Weasley muttered. "thank God."

Harry laughed heartily at that.

"The point is," Mr. Weasley said, "Ron is old enough to walk down Diagon Alley and purchase a Wicked Whizzing WandTM" Mr. Weasley paused at the scandalized look on his wife's face "if he chose to. We can't interfere in his life anymore."

"I'm not 'interfering'! I'm helping him, Arthur!" "We can't help him anymore, Molly. He needs to make his own mistakes."

"So you agree that it's a mistake?" demanded Mrs. Weasley.

Mr. Weasley averted his eyes and offered no reply.

"That's it, Arthur! You and I are going to talk to Ron about this right now. We're going to settle this once and for all."

Mrs. Weasley ordered. She took Mr. Weasley's hand and stormed off without a backward glance, dragging her husband along with her.

Mr. Weasley gave Harry and Draco an apologetic smile and said, "Good luck, you two. I'm sure you'll be very happy together." before turning to follow Mrs. Weasley.

Draco gave him a short wave and then promptly turned to Harry.

"Let's get out of here." he said urgently. "While we still can."

"What? We still have guests." Harry told him, wondering if Draco had lost his mind.

"So? I'm sick of this! We're married now and," Draco stood up on his tip-toes, speaking into Harry's ear, "I'll be damned if I wait any longer to shag you."

He was conveniently leaning against the very apparent bulge in Harry's crotch. Grinning mischievously, he returning to standing on his heels and saw the effect his actions had had on Harry. He looked remarkably reminiscent of Ron's mother, snatching Draco's hand and pulling him towards the back rooms of the Leaky Cauldron.

Having spent a great deal of time here during the summer before his third year at Hogwarts, Harry knew where all the hidden closets and secret hideaways were. Rushing down a few hallways and turning a few corners, he came to a broom cupboard.

"What do you reckon?" he asked Draco.

Harry saw his husband scrambling to untie the rope around the waist of his robe and realized he really didn't need an answer.

He yanked the closet door open and pulled Draco inside.

Harry scanned the area. Brooms and mops lined the walls, leaning against each other like spectators at a Quidditch match. It was more than a little unnerving, so he moved to the nearest wall, the one directly opposite the door, and kicked the brooms away with a clatter.

Harry grabbed Draco by the collar and pushed him roughly against the empty space on the wall. Still clutching the fabric, he pressed himself against the Slytherin, trapping him in a searing kiss.

When he broke away, breathless, Draco frantically wrenched Harry's robe off his shoulders. It fell only to his elbows, but Draco didn't bother to go any further with it. He progressed to the buttons lining Harry's shirt. Each and every little white disk was infuriatingly, agonizingly time-consuming.

Who the bloody hell invented these things?!…he thought angrily, finally resorting to ripping the buttons off before the end.

Harry meanwhile had tugged Draco's shirt out of the waistband of his trousers. His hands were at Draco's belt, squashed awkwardly between his body and that of his lover's. Since shoving him against the wall, Harry wanted never to lose that sweet contact from the waist down. He was tearing the strap out of its silver buckle, not even troubling with Draco's robe.

This approach to sex was most unusual for the pair. They normally made love slowly, patiently, with an almost painful tenderness and sincerity. On the fateful night of their first coupling, ivory and onyx met the way dark ocean waves lap at the sand. To see them hurried, frenetically ripping clothes off each other, sparing time for not a single loving kiss, was a rare sight indeed.

"Dammit, the little bugger won't…come…down!" Harry muttered, fumbling with Draco's zipper.

"Let me." Draco said, brushing his hands away. He tugged the zipper elegantly, almost too elegantly, considering the state of his anatomy that lay behind the fabric, until it gave way. Harry gave him a quick peck on the lips for that.

"Thanks, love." he said, pulling Draco's trousers and underwear down to his ankles. Draco toed off his shoes before kicking off the clothes. He jerked Harry's shirt open, hearing a sharp intake of breath as the cold air of the room hit Harry's skin. The shirt bunched at his sides, his muscled chest now exposed and waiting. Draco's hands ran hungrily from shoulders to pectorals, which were tightly wrapped in tanned skin, coming to rest at Harry's nipples. With only the brush of Draco's fingers, they went rigid, having been without his touch for what seemed like an eternity.

"Yes, Draco…yes…touch me…" Harry hissed, sounding very much like he was slipping into Parseltongue.

It drove Draco wild, hearing him hiss like that. He rolled the nubs of flesh about his fingers, every now and then pinching, then massaging away the sting, then pinching once again.

Harry moaned and threw his head back, a request for which Draco needed no words.

And oh, did Draco oblige. He mouth found the vein that ran down the left side Harry's neck and firmly attached itself there. He bathed that vein with his tongue, sliding up and then back down, the way that made Harry whine most delectably.

After Draco was sure he could feel every heartbeat pound strongly beneath him, he bit down ever so gently on the skin, making Harry's breath hitch. When he had him nearly boneless with sensation, Draco unbelted and unfastened his trousers. Harry hastily shimmied out of them, kicked them off the way Draco had done his. The trousers fell into a corner several feet away, but neither Draco nor Harry noticed this. Draco was too busy divesting Harry of his underclothes and Harry was too busy feeling Draco's fingers sliding underneath the waistband of his underclothes. Those fingers cupped his arse as the pants descended to his thighs and then to his calves and then to Harry's ankles, where they rested from then on, for Harry now had no more self-control left.

With a growl, his hips aligned with Draco's, pushing the Slytherin more firmly against the wall, identical arousals meeting. Such, satisfying, delicious friction ensued that Draco was reduced to incoherency. Harry occasionally caught words like 'finally' and 'more' and 'dear Lord above' while he pushed ever more fiercely against Draco's erection.

"God, I've waited so long…" Draco moaned when Harry pulled away.

"How long, love? How long have you wanted this?" Harry asked.

His fingers moved from their place curved about Draco's hips to grace his lips. Draco's tongue snaked out, covering each digit with warm saliva. He answered around the fingers, "Too long…much too long…"

Harry pulled his hand back reluctantly. He reached down to his own body, careful not to touch more skin than necessary, lest he lose the precious spittle. His long, dexterous fingers then wrapped around himself, coating his arousal with Draco's saliva. There was only enough for a thin layer, but it would do. Yes, 'twould do.

"Let's never do this again…this waiting…I couldn't stand it, being without you…" Draco said, bringing his hand up to Harry's mouth. His index finger was engulfed in hot, sweltering heat as soon as it slid between Harry's parted lips. Harry's caressed it voraciously, slipping the digit first into the groove between his teeth and the inside of his cheek, then against the roof of his mouth, then under his tongue, covering it with a thick pool of saliva.

After the digit slipped out again, Harry whispered, "Never again…no more waiting…"

Draco's hand slid behind his own body, and Harry knew what it was he must be doing: opening and preparing himself. Just the thought of it made Harry harder, the sight made precome drip copiously from the head of his erection. Harry didn't have to ask when Draco was ready; years of practice given him a sixth sense about that sort of thing. To him, there was an almost iridescent glow about the blond now. Harry could see it in the way his eyes shined just a little bit brighter, his skin just a little bit more radiant, his breathing just a little bit deeper.

He took the smallest of steps, his body now completely blanketing Draco's, whose forearms rested on Harry's shoulders, hands clasped together behind the Gryffindor's neck.

"I need you, Harry…need you in me." Draco said softly, wrapping first one leg, then the other, around Harry's waist. Without another word, Harry pushed past the ring of wrinkled muscle, entered him.

Soft, tight, scorching heat surrounded his aching arousal and he cried out in staggering pleasure. It was the most wonderful feeling for him, becoming one with his love. Harry didn't move for a long while, though it was hard not to. His body was shouting for release, but his mind wanted only to revel in this, beautiful, infinitesimal moment.

Draco had often told him that it was this second, right after he was breached, that made everything worth everything. Now, in this instant, Harry finally understood what he meant. He looked up to Draco's dazed face, eyes more blue than gray, cheeks tinged with crimson, white-blond hair splayed out around him. He looked truly angelic.

Harry couldn't help himself after that. He pounded uncontrollably into his lover, only one thought running through his mind.

I love you I love you I love you...


The couple sat on the cold floor, slumped against each other. They were caught in the fuzzy, post-coital web between consciousness and sleep. They hadn't bothered to put the few articles of clothing they wore into any state of order, nor had they picked up the clothes scattered on the ground. Life was good.

Or…maybe not.

The door of the closet flew open, revealing two red-faced, bewildered, Weasleys.

Ron and Hermione stood framed in the doorway, staring at Harry and Draco, frozen in shock.

Harry threw his robe over Draco just as Draco tried to cover him with his robe.

Hermione smiled briefly at the symbolism.

"What are you two doing here?" asked Harry, still scrambling to shield Draco from the Weasley's eyes.

Hermione, unsurprisingly, was the first to regain speech.

"We were hiding from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley." she said, sounding like this was all a prearranged get-together. "I refuse to hear another argument about that bloody Firebolt."

Ron's eyes suddenly snapped into focus, seeming to finally realize where he was.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, as if he had no idea what disheveled clothes and red marks on the neck meant.

Neither Harry nor Draco felt much inclination to answer that question.

Instead, Harry turned to his lover and said, "It's been a long week, hasn't it?"

"Yes." replied Draco. "One long, sexless week."