This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's note: For the fabulous Betsy on her birthday and in honor of Draco's 29th, which was just a few days ago. Thanks to Cristee for looking it over!
Harry ran the wet brush over his unruly hair again, shivering as a trickle of the cold water wound down his neck. No matter what he did his hair always insisted on standing straight up, and he idly wondered why he bothered combing it at all.
"You look fine. No more stalling. If you don't leave now you'll be late," Hermione said from her spot on the bed where she'd been overseeing his preparations.
It had taken him four different attempts to find a shirt she approved of, and even then it had been grudging. He stepped back from the mirror, grimacing uncomfortably at the tight leather trousers she'd forced him into.
"A condition of the buyer," she said with a shrug, letting her long brown hair fall into her face to hide her smile.
The charity auction had been her idea. Harry hadn't wanted to participate, but she'd known he wouldn't be able to resist the chance to raise Galleons for the orphanage Molly Weasley had started after the war. It not only gave refuge to orphaned magical children, it also functioned as a day center with primary school classes for Muggleborn children to help them adjust to the wizarding world. With their backgrounds, both Harry and Hermione were huge supporters of the charity, donating both time and money whenever they could. And in this instance, a date.
"It's not the end of the world, Harry," Hermione sighed in exasperation when Harry pulled at the emerald green silk shirt that had been a gift from Blaise Zabini several Christmases ago. It had sat untouched in his closet until half an hour ago when Hermione had unearthed it with a flourish. "It's just a few hours. You've been on loads of dates. How is this any different?"
Harry glared at her, taking one final pass over his hair before declaring it a lost cause. He was unaccountably nervous, more so than he was on normal dates, even. It bothered him that he cared.
"We don't even know who the bidder is," he complained, growling when she handed him a pair of chunky black glasses. "I haven't needed these for years, you know."
Hermione grinned. "I know. But they were –"
"A condition of the buyer," he finished for her, his tone heavy with resignation.
The mystery buyer had sent the bid, and the many conditions of purchase, in by owl on the day of the auction. It had been astronomically high, higher than any of the others they'd gotten by tens of thousands of Galleons. In the end he hadn't been able to pass up the 100,000 Galleon donation, more than all of the other wizards in the bachelor auction had garnered as a whole. The money would pay the orphanage's operating costs for months – saying no simply hadn't been an option, even considering the ridiculous conditions like the leather trousers and old glasses.
"Whoever this is must be ridiculously rich," he said with a frown. He only knew a few people with that much money, and none of them were what would consider good date material. He'd been informed they'd be going clubbing for the evening, which probably ruled out any of the older witches or wizards on the list, leaving him with a very small – and very frightening – number of possibilities.
"And Blaise didn't say anything about this last time you talked to him?" Harry asked hopefully.
Blaise was among the small number of Slytherins who had come back to Hogwarts after the war. Since Slytherin and Gryffindor had been the two houses hardest hit by casualties the headmistress had decided to combine the houses, forcing them to spend their repeat seventh year together. Surprisingly, Harry, Ron and Hermione had become close friends with Blaise and Millicent Bulstrode, two of the four Slytherins in their year who returned.
"He's half-way across the world at the moment. Courting a South American president's daughter, last I heard," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. Blaise was definitely rich enough to have bought Harry at auction, but he was also a notorious playboy with a penchant for foreign witches.
Harry blew out a breath, grabbing the wallet Hermione held out for him. Logically, he knew none of this was truly her fault, but he couldn't help but be annoyed with her.
"Don't forget that you're to pay for everything tonight," she warned, earning herself a scowl. "He's already paid 100,000 Galleons, Harry. You can pick up the tab for a few drinks and club admissions."
"So it's definitely a he, then?" Harry asked, perking up slightly at the news. He hadn't fancied spending an evening pretending with a witch, but more than half of the bids had been from women, despite his highly publicized preference for men.
"So I'm told," she said cagily, making him frown again. He was positive she knew more than she was letting on, which meant this date must be much worse than he'd imagined.
"Wear this," she said, slipping a thin gold bracelet onto his wrist. It had a small charm dangling from it, a snitch from the looks of it.
"Another condition?" he mocked, holding his hand out so she could fasten the small catch.
"No, a safeguard," she snapped. "It's an emergency Portkey in case things go badly. No one is positive who this mystery bidder is, and it makes me nervous. Kingsley helped me get it."
Harry's expression softened as he examined the delicate bracelet, seeing it in a new light. It looked fragile, more like someone a woman would wear, but he supposed that would just make it easier to hide under his cuff.
"The activation word is 'emergency'," she said, looking slightly embarrassed. "It was the best we could do on short notice."
Harry drew her into a quick hug, squeezing her lightly before letting her go.
"Thanks," he said, smiling when she scoffed at his gratitude. "Really, thanks. For everything, even for convincing me to do this in the first place. It really was a great idea, and it raised loads of money for the orphanage. It's only one date. How bad could it be?"
Hermione waved his words away, pushing him toward the door.
"You're meeting him at the Apparition point on Bond Street," she said. "You're his until 2 a.m., unless something untoward happens."
Harry rolled his eyes, but Hermione grabbed his arm, stopping him before he could step away to Disapparate.
"Seriously, Harry. Use the Portkey if you need it."
He nodded, sobered at her concern. He couldn't imagine a situation that would make him use the Portkey, but he was happy to have it nonetheless, especially if it set her mind at ease. He winked at her again, blowing her a kiss before disappearing.
He was five minutes late to the Apparition point, but it seemed a moot point, since whoever he was meeting also appeared to be running behind schedule. Harry forced himself to calm down, but it took all of his willpower not to start pacing the small area that Muggles saw as a disused bus stop. The small building was covered in Muggle Repelling Charms, but he didn't want to step outside lest he garner attention by loitering.
He whirled around when he heard the crack of Apparition, disappointed to see a middle-aged woman appear. She blinked in shock at him, her eyes traveling from his scar down to his tight leather trousers.
"Evening," he said levelly, cursing himself for not throwing robes over his clothes. They were going to a Muggle club, but he hadn't anticipated being seen by witches or wizards.
The witch giggled and blushed, dashing out of the small enclosure. Harry grimaced, wondering if he should take his chances on the street instead of waiting inside. He might attract attention among the Muggles, but it would be better than having witches old enough to be his mother giggling at him.
By the time the mystery bidder finally Apparated in, Harry had been pinched, cooed over and giggled at by four more witches. He'd finally turned his back to study the walls, which were covered from floor to ceiling with posters for wizarding clubs and bands. The blur of colors and motion was almost nauseating, but at least it kept his identity somewhat hidden.
"Oh good, you're still here. I'm afraid I was late opening my birthday present, which meant I didn't realize I had a date tonight until just a bit ago," a male voice drawled.
The cultured accent made Harry's skin prick with recognition. He'd heard an accent like that before, years ago. But it couldn't be, could it? He turned, his scowl still in place at being left waiting for twenty minutes, sure that his original guess had been wrong. Because it couldn't possibly be –
"Malfoy?" he hissed, his arms falling to his sides. His right hand twitched toward his wand holster on its own accord. The last time he'd seen Malfoy had been at the Ministry hearing for Lucius and Narcissa more than ten years earlier.
"Potter?" Malfoy gaped, looking even more shocked than Harry. He let a startled laugh escape before composing himself, a condescending smirk transforming his face.
"It would figure I'd run into you on my first full day back in London," he said, rolling his eyes. "Well, go about your business, Potter. I'm meeting someone here."
Harry stood rooted to the spot, panic blooming in his chest.
"Have you gone deaf?" Malfoy jeered, waving his fingers in Harry's direction. "Shoo. Be gone. Surely there's an old woman waiting for your assistance to help her across the street somewhere."
"You," Harry sputtered.
"Yes, I'm me," Draco said, his tone almost bored. "And you're you, Potter. Now go. I'm meeting someone here momentarily, and I don't want him to see you. He'd probably be disgusted and it would ruin our whole night."
Harry barked out a harsh laugh at Malfoy's obtuseness.
"Me," he said, nearly laughing again at the look of total exasperation he received.
"Merciful Merlin, Potter, has insanity finally caught up to you? I know who you are, you know who I am," he said, his words almost patient. He took in Harry's appearance for the first time, blond brows rising when he noted the tight trousers. "St. Mungo's seems to have changed its patient dress code. Escaped the ward, did you?"
Harry let the laughter bubbling up in his chest escape, further startling Malfoy. This was just too good. Draco Malfoy had apparently paid 100,000 Galleons for a date with Harry Potter, and he didn't even know it! Deciding to make the most of things and not pass up this unprecedented opportunity to annoy the man he'd so hated in school, Harry held his hand out.
"Harry Potter," he said formally, schooling his features into a look of polite interest. "Your date for this evening."
It had taken another twenty minutes to convince Malfoy he really was his date for the evening. Apparently the whole thing had been arranged by Pansy Parkinson as a present for Draco's 29th birthday, which had been the day before.
"Stupid bint has more money than brains," Harry heard the blond mutter into his glass of Scotch after they'd decided to settle the matter over drinks at a nearby Muggle pub.
"I heard she married Everard Chalms," Harry said conversationally, watching Malfoy slug back his third drink in as many minutes. "Dreadfully wealthy, I understand."
"And dreadfully old," Malfoy snarked, signaling the bartender for another round. Harry sipped at his whisky, shaking his head when the bartender offered him another. "She'll inherit all that money soon, I'm sure."
Harry shrugged thoughtfully, keeping up his careful study of the blond. The last decade had definitely been kind to him. The sharp features Harry remembered from school and softened slightly with age, and the rest of him had filled out nicely. He hadn't heard any news of Malfoy since school, so he assumed he'd been living elsewhere. Whatever he'd been doing, he looked good.
"Let me guess. You're an Auror, Potter?" Malfoy drawled, catching Harry's attention. "And if you're here you must not have married the She-Weasel. Bet she was unhappy to find you're as bent as a broken wand."
Harry surprised him by laughing. Ginny had be surprised to learn he was gay, but she'd been nothing but supportive. It probably helped that she'd been engaged to Dean when he came out.
"Something like that," he murmured, wondering if a Sobriety Spell would be out of line. Malfoy already looked three sheets to the wind, and their evening had barely begun. "Not an Auror, though."
"That's right," Malfoy mocked, turning the full extent of his stormy grey gaze on Harry. "You're a teacher, aren't you? I remember hearing something about that. Should I be calling you Professor Potter, then? Your little club proved quite useful, I suppose. Teaching all those Gryffindorks and Huffleputzes really prepared you for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, then?"
Harry rubbed his neck thoughtfully as though considering his words.
"Wrong again, Malfoy," he said, more than a little interested that the man had followed the news about him at all in the last few years. "I have my Mastery in Charms. I replaced Professor Flitwick when he retired two years ago."
"Charms," Malfoy repeated, blinking rapidly as he tried to clear his drink-hazed vision. He nearly fell off his bar stool when Harry hit him with the Sobrietus.
"Fuck, Potter," he complained, shoving his half-empty Scotch glass away.
"You needed it," Harry said, tossing a handful of pounds onto bar and standing. "Let's go."
"Go where?" Malfoy asked, grimacing slightly as he realized what he had said. "As if I'd go anywhere with you Potter. Why don't we just call this farce of an evening quits before someone gets hurt, eh?"
Harry grinned and pulled Malfoy up, cupping his elbow with his palm as he guided him out of the smoky pub.
"I'm to be yours until 2 a.m.," he said, his lips close to Malfoy's ear so he could hear him over the rowdy crowd. "I believe the conditions of the bid said I had to take you clubbing, in addition to wearing this ridiculous outfit."
Malfoy turned slightly, his eyes raking over Harry's body with an appreciative gleam. Whether the man was a git or not, he had to admit he was quite fit.
"Pansy always did know my tastes well," he said, laughing when Harry stumbled as they crossed out onto the sidewalk.
"I still can't believe she'd do this without consulting you."
"My birthday gift," Malfoy said with a shrug, taking in a lungful of the relatively clean air outside. Few wizards smoked cigarettes, and he could understand why. "Combined with my coming home gift, I suppose. A hundred thousand Galleons, you said?"
Harry nodded cautiously, wondering if Malfoy would find a way to renege on the donation. To his surprise, the blond laughed.
"Let's go, then," he said, sounding much more chipper than he had before. "She's right. I love clubbing."
Harry frowned in confusion, letting Malfoy lead the way down the nearly empty sidewalk. It was already after 11 p.m., so the clubs were likely to be gearing up into full swing soon. He didn't know what had changed Malfoy's mind, but he found himself being grateful. This older version of his old school nemesis was actually a bit fun.
Harry was changing his revised opinion of Malfoy by the third club. Bloody hell it was hot, and his feet were screaming for a break from the nonstop dancing. The blond was obviously in very good shape, since he'd hardly broken a sweat from the hours of strenuous dancing, whereas Harry's silk shirt was clinging to his back. The leather trousers were chafing uncomfortably as well, and he found himself checking his watch often to see if 2 a.m. had come yet or not.
"Somewhere to be?" Malfoy asked, motioning toward a recently vacated table. Harry dove for it gratefully, wondering if Malfoy had used some sort of spell to get the occupants to leave. It was the first empty table he'd seen in three hours of clubbing.
"Just wondering how much longer we have," Harry said easily, flagging down a passing waitress and ordering them both drinks. He grimaced when the woman slipped his tip into her impressive cleavage with a wink.
"Ah," Malfoy said, sounding a bit disappointed. "Not having a good time, then."
Harry found himself strangely worried about hurting Malfoy's feelings. He wondered when that had happened. At some point during their very close and shockingly intimate dancing, he supposed.
"It's not that," Harry offered, leaning back against the chair. "I'm just knackered. My feet are killing me and these trousers chafe."
Malfoy laughed, standing up to peer over the table at Harry's leather trousers. The attention made Harry slightly uncomfortable, and he felt something he would usually label as arousal spike through him. But he couldn't be attracted to Malfoy, could he? That would be ridiculous.
"There are spells for that, you know," Malfoy said, giving Harry a knowing wink as he retook his seat. Harry didn't even notice him point his wand under the table, but seconds later his shirt was dry and his irritated skin was somehow shielded from the tight leather. Only the ache in his feet remained, but that was easily ignored. "Better?"
"Loads," Harry admitted, grabbing their drinks from the passing waitress and toasting him with his. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it," Malfoy said, taking a sip of his Scotch. Harry wondered if he drank any Muggle liquor other than the amber liquid. He certainly hadn't tonight. "Can't have my dance partner out of sorts. We still have another club to hit tonight."
Harry stifled a groan. Another club? A quick check of his watch showed it was already nearly 2 a.m. technically his duty was done in about five minutes. He gave Malfoy a considering look before downing the rest of his gin and tonic in one swallow and standing. After a moment's hesitation, he held his hand out.
"Let's go, then."
It was like nothing he'd ever seen before. Harry took a fortifying swallow of his drink – straight whisky this time, for courage – before he could even will himself to look around again. They'd be in and out of clubs all evening, but none of that had prepared him for this club. He could see why Malfoy had been so insistent on coming here. It was both terrifying and exciting all at once.
"Dance?" Malfoy asked, his blond hair glowing neon purple under the lights at the moment. Watching him was making Harry dizzy, since his hair color appeared to change every few seconds. He watched the lights flick again, this time cycling to green. Pink would be next, then blue, red and back to purple. He took another swallow of his drink.
"Not yet," Harry answered, signaling to the waiter to get a refill. The mostly naked man came over right away, leering at him before plunking the full shot glass of whisky on the table. A bit slopped over the side, and the muscular man grinned at Harry before bending to lick up the liquid on the table. Harry couldn't help but stare, mesmerized, as the man's pink tongue darted out, caressing the table top in slow, practiced movements. Harry was hard before the waiter stood again, the lights that had annoyed him when he'd been looking at Draco's hair doing interesting things to the man's tanned, oiled chest.
"So you're definitely gay, then," Malfoy said with a smirk, grabbing Harry's glass and taking a sip before handing it to the dark-haired wizard.
Harry glared at him before downing the rest of the double shot, wiping his hand across his mouth. He wasn't sure if it was spilled whisky or drool, but his lips were definitely wet.
"Been living under a rock, Malfoy?" he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I thought everyone in the wizarding world knew my preference for men. Skeeter did a special six-page section on it when I went public a few years ago."
If the blond was surprised he didn't let it show. He simply shrugged, drawing Harry's attention to the creamy expanse of throat and chest that he'd exposed when he unbuttoned the top few clasps of his shirt earlier. Harry had followed suit, self-conscious but unable to stand the sweltering temperature in the club.
"I have to admit I haven't taken the Prophet in years," he said, toying with the empty glass on the table absently. His slender fingers traced the rim of the tumbler, sliding easily around the wet rim. Harry watched him as if enthralled, wondering how those fingers would feel sliding down his own sweaty skin. "I should catch up, but I can't be arsed. It's hardly worth it, since I'm not staying."
It took Harry's alcohol-soaked mind a moment to process the words, but when he did his head shot up, his green eyes flashing with interest. Earlier it had sounded like Malfoy was moving back to Britain, but if he wasn't – well, that opened up a world of opportunities.
"Just a visit, then?" he asked, keeping his tone carefully casual.
"Mmm," Malfoy agreed, letting the tumbler go. "Too crowded with bad memories. My mother will be disappointed, but she'll get over it."
"Where have you been living?" Harry asked, his curiosity getting the best of him. He'd worked so hard not to ask that question all night, but the late hour and the alcohol, coupled with Malfoy's increasingly intoxicating nearness – was getting the best of him.
"Wouldn't you like to know," Malfoy sneered, his features taking on a hint of the angry schoolboy he used to be.
"I would," Harry replied, his honesty surprising them both. "But I don't need to know. Just making conversation."
Malfoy gave him a considering glance, his brows furrowed as if he was weighing some lofty issue. The smirk that replaced the frown when he apparently came to his decision worried Harry slightly.
"Let's dance, then," Malfoy said, pulling Harry to his feet. "No need for conversation out there."
Harry looked out over the dance floor, where couples were writhing together in what looked to him to be very accurate imitation of sex, if not the actual act. He wasn't sure with a few of them; the general lack of clothes and low lighting made just about anything possible.
"Don't be a prude," Malfoy mocked, and had it been ten years earlier, Harry would have complied just to prove him wrong. But a decade had passed, and Harry's stubborn Gryffindorish tendencies had waned a bit, giving way to a more Slytherin outlook on life.
"Something you're not telling me, Malfoy?" he teased, allowing himself to be pulled toward the crowd nonetheless. "Secretly want to be shagged by Harry Potter on the dance floor?"
He shuddered when Malfoy pulled him close, their bodies touching from shoulder to thigh as he guided him toward a small open spot on the dance floor. Harry was still half-hard from the waiter's flirting, and being this close to Malfoy wasn't helping, nor was the answering hardness he felt in the blond's trousers.
"Not on the dance floor, no," Malfoy purred in his ear, making Harry's cock jump to full attention.
Harry's mouth went dry as Malfoy writhed against him, unsure what to make of the other man's words. His mind was swimming, his body so aroused from the sensory overload of the club and Malfoy's touches that he wasn't sure he could trust himself to judge the situation. He nearly yelped out loud when he felt his shirt disappear, finding himself suddenly skin-on-skin with Malfoy, who must have used a spell.
"No one is paying us any attention," Malfoy whispered against Harry's ear when the dark-haired man pulled back enough to glare at him. "They may be Muggles, but they're too drunk to notice. Besides, we were more out of placing wearing them."
Harry had to concede that point. Most of the men crowded onto the small dance floor were topless, and he'd already seen several that were mostly bottomless, too. Like the waiters, a few of the patrons had chosen to strip down to g-strings in the searing heat.
"Trousers stay," Harry managed to say before Malfoy surprised another squeak out of him by squeezing his leather-clad arse.
"Fair enough," Malfoy said, and Harry found his agreeable tone suspicious. "For now."
Malfoy had managed to behave himself for long enough that Harry began to doubt what had happened earlier. Was Malfoy really interested in shagging him or was he just taking the piss? They'd managed more than half an hour of dancing – intimately, but nothing worse than they'd done at the other clubs – with no further innuendo, and Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. So it was a complete shock to him when the blond leaned in and nipped his earlobe.
"It's my 29th birthday. Did I already tell you that?"
Harry blinked, unsure of how to respond.
"Don't you think you ought to give me something? It's considered rude not to, you know."
Harry licked his lips, which suddenly seemed overly dry. The erection that had been waxing and waning for the better part of an hour rose to life again, making him blush slightly in the rainbow of lights. His body was responding like he was a 17-year-old virgin, not someone who would be 29 himself in a matter of weeks.
"I thought I was your present," Harry answered, steeling himself for a snide reply. He still wasn't sure if he was reading Malfoy correctly or not.
Malfoy laughed, his grey eyes sparkling with amusement and arousal. This was definitely not the way he'd pictured his night ending once he'd realized his "present" was Harry Potter, but he was more than willing to adapt.
"Will you be, Potter?" he murmured, grinding his hips against Harry's in a way that could definitely not be misinterpreted.
Harry bit back a moan at the pressure Malfoy's hips provided against his aching erection. He hadn't gone so long being so hard without any sort of relief in ages, probably not since his Hogwarts days. He knew how quickly things would spiral out of control if he said yes, and he still wasn't sure that was what he wanted.
"You're leaving the country again? You aren't moving back," he said after a moment, his green eyes locked on Malfoy's.
"What, the virtuous Harry Potter doesn't do one-night stands?" Malfoy smirked, real disappointment clear in his voice despite the mocking tone.
"No," Harry said evenly, watching Malfoy's grey eyes flicker with confusion. "Harry Potter does do one-night stands, at least with Draco Malfoy. What Harry Potter doesn't do is anything above or beyond that."
Harry could tell his answer surprised Malfoy, and he couldn't help but be amused by the calculating way the blond was studying him. He stood his ground, feet planted in the middle of the dance floor, as he waited the former Slytherin Prince out.
"I'm not moving back," Malfoy said after a few moments of silence, his expression intense. "I'm not staying more than a week, in fact. I probably won't even visit again until my mother dies."
Harry was startled by the utter conviction he heard in Malfoy's voice, and part of him wanted to ask why he had such an aversion to being home. But the more logical – and desperate – part of his mind stopped him. Why should he care what Malfoy's reasons were? All that mattered was that he was here now and wouldn't be here in the future.
"Alright then," Harry said, arousal surging through him at the way Malfoy's pupils dilated at his words. "Then yes, Malfoy, I suppose I would like to give you a present."
He gasped when he felt Malfoys hand close around his erection, the feeling delicious even though it was hampered by his trousers. Harry threw his head back, his eyes fluttering shut as slender fingers kneaded his hard flesh every bit as expertly as he'd imagined they would when Malfoy had been playing with his whisky glass.
"Not here," he managed to gasp out through gritted teeth.
He couldn't help but wonder if Malfoy had been to this particular club before as the blond led him through a maze of corridors that opened off the main dance floor. Every dark corner they passed revealed a couple – or in some instances, three or four men together – in various states of undress, all too carried away in what they were doing to notice the two men shoving past them. The scent of sex was heavy in the air, and Harry questioned just exactly what type of club this was.
"One where privacy isn't valued," Malfoy hissed back, growling in frustration when they turned yet another corner only to find it already occupied, just like all the others.
"Look, Malfoy –"
"I'm not leaving here before we finish this, Potter," he snapped, pushing the door to the toilet open forcefully. It banged against the tile wall with a crash, but the men inside didn't even look up. "I know you. If we go somewhere else you'll back out."
He fingered his wand in his pocket, pulling it out enough to move it in a complicated pattern. Seconds later the two Muggle men who had been engaged in a very heated snog suddenly broke apart and headed toward the door, leaving the two of them alone.
"That's not very sporting," Harry noted, his pulse racing from feeling Malfoy's magic brush against his skin. He'd never found someone else's magic to be a turn-on before, but it seemed that Malfoy was just full of surprises.
"I don't care," Malfoy answered, pulling his wand completely free of his waistband and pointing it at the door. Harry heard him incant Locking and Silencing Charms, the feel of the magic making him moan.
"Like that, do you?" The hungry look the blond gave him made Harry's cock twitch, his skin still on fire from the spells Malfoy had cast.
"You do," the blond said, a little surprised. "Potter's a magic whore. Who would have guessed?"
Before Harry could protest, Malfoy used another spell to divest him of his trousers. The feeling of the other man's magic sweeping across the sensitive flesh of his erection nearly made Harry lose control. He stumbled slightly as his weakened knees threatened to give out, his hands scrambling against the wall behind him for support.
"Merlin," Malfoy breathed, his own cock pulsing almost painfully at the sight of his former schoolboy nemesis so wantonly displayed before him, hard and wanting. His mouth watered at the sight of the cock jutting out from the dark curls, imagining the heavy weight of it against his tongue.
"On the counter, Potter," he directed, so caught up in his own arousal that he didn't even think to taunt the other man when he quickly complied.
Harry bit his lip as Malfoy's tongue licked a stripe across the head of his cock, lapping up the glistening precome that had gathered there. He moaned out loud when the blond opened his lips, the soft, wet warmth engulfing Harry's cock down to the root in one practiced motion.
"Fuck," Harry gasped, his fingers gripping the cold granite countertop as he struggled to hold off his orgasm. He had no intention of doing this with Malfoy more than once, and he'd be damned if he wasted this opportunity by blowing his load five seconds in.
"Too much?" Malfoy asked, laughing at the way Harry protested when his mouth slipped off his cock. "Can't have that."
Without warning he cast another spell. Harry would have come right then as the magic swept over his erection, but the incantation had left a ribbon tied tightly around the base of his cock – a Slytherin green ribbon, he noted with a frown.
"I'm going to enjoy this," Malfoy said, casting a quick Scourgify at the floor and adding a Cushioning Charm for good measure. He watched Harry's face as he knelt before him, enjoying the way his green eyes widened.
Instead of resuming his ministrations on Harry's cock, however, Malfoy's tongue drifted lower, circling his entrance. Harry groaned wordlessly, drawing his legs up as much as he could to give the blond better access. He cried out when Malfoy's tongue pressed insistently against his hole, working its way inside. It burned slightly, but that was lost in the overwhelming sea of other sensations as one of Malfoy's hands wrapped around Harry's cock and tugged on it as his tongue swirled around the puckered skin of his entrance before spearing deep inside again and again.
"Jesus," Harry groaned, his head falling back against the mirror behind him with a loud smack. The pain of it helped him regain his focus.
He whimpered slightly when Malfoy's tongue finally withdrew, replaced by two fingers that slid easily into his slippery channel, twisting and stretching him even further. The Lubrication Charm the blond used to coat his own cock made Harry shiver with need, the whisper of magic caressing his fevered skin. Harry stared at Malfoy as the other man positioned himself between his legs, bracing his ankles against pale shoulders. Harry rocked back slightly, supporting himself on his elbows to give Malfoy a better angle.
He clenched his teeth when Malfoy drove inside, fully seating himself with one long thrust. He didn't pause to give Harry a chance to adjust, snapping his hips back almost immediately to drive forward again. The pressure against his prostate sent Harry's arousal spiking, and he knew he'd be coming soon, ribbon or no.
"God," Malfoy moaned, his thrusts gaining speed as his own orgasm began to build. His hands, which were holding Harry in place by gripping his hips, trembled slightly as he pushed himself into the dark-haired man's tight channel again. Giving Harry a knowing wink, he moved one hand to untie the ribbon, gripping Harry's erection tightly and giving him one forceful stroke.
That was all it took before Harry was coming so hard he saw spots, hot fluid gushing over Malfoy's pale hand. His channel spasmed around the blond's cock, sending him toppling over the edge into orgasm as well. Malfoy kept moving, pistoning his hips as he drove in and out of Harry while he rode his orgasm out, his lips pressed together tightly to avoid calling out. As soon as his pulsing cock was spent, Malfoy pulled out and stepped back, letting Harry's fall bonelessly against the counter.
"Happy birthday," Harry panted, grinning at Malfoy. He looked delectable, with his pale skin flushed from exertion and his blond hair mussed. "Hope my present was as enjoyable as Parkinson's."
Malfoy grinned, brushing his sweat-soaked hair out of his face.
"Oh believe me, it was. As birthday presents go, I couldn't have picked a better one out myself."
Three days later Harry nearly choked on his tea when he opened the Daily Prophet. The front page headline declared that Draco Malfoy had been granted permanent residency in Switzerland. The heir to the Malfoy millions, as Skeeter called him, had apparently renounced his British citizenship with the intent to live abroad permanently.
Harry couldn't help but smile at the photo that accompanied the piece. The Swiss Ministry had thrown a gala in Malfoy's honor the night before, and the photographer had captured him smiling and speaking animatedly with the Swiss Minister. Harry's grin grew when he noticed the blond's boutonniere, which was tied with a familiar-looking ribbon in Slytherin green.
He was so caught up in his relief that Malfoy had kept up his end of the bargain that he quite missed the other big story of the day. It wasn't until he received a congratulatory owl from Hermione that he picked up the paper again, this time noting the smaller headline that accompanied the story about Malfoy's expatriate status.
"Malfoy Heir Matches Parkinson-Chalms 100,000 Galleon Donation to Orphanage As Birthday Present to Himself."