Draco looked down at his planned speech, and wondered if it would be gauche to slip in a reference to his being the youngest member of the Wizengamot. Probably; he'd tell a charming domestic anecdote instead. One that only incidentally reminded everyone that he was the adored boyfriend of Harry fucking Potter, Destroyer of the Dark Lord, thank you very much.
Draco smiled down at the parchment in a distinctly self-satisfied way and put down his quill. It was a white peacock's feather quill, taken from one of the albino peacocks at Malfoy Manor. Harry had laughed at him, but Draco thought it was very appropriate for a member of the Wizengamot; more subtle than a coloured peacock's feather, fading into the background, yet even more unusual and valuable.
Experiencing something unique was one of Draco's favourite things. As he left his small but plushly furnished office, he had to fight down the grin that wanted to appear on his face: he couldn't let a smile spoil his gravitas. But the memory of certain unique experiences he'd had with the man he was meeting for lunch had irrepressible physical effects: not all of them limited to his face.
He stepped into the lift that would take him up to the Ministry atrium. Inside was an irritable-looking goblin – although they always looked irritable, Draco thought, so perhaps he was in a sunny mood – and Alice Atkinson, a venerable matron of the Wizengamot. That hastily quelled all Draco's inconvenient physical reactions, and he smiled at them both without showing his teeth.
"How are you, Ms Atkinson?" he asked, his words as polished as second-rate silver. Alice Atkinson was a shrewd politician, and honest for one of her breed. Draco had entered the Wizengamot largely as a result of the corruption investigation he'd done with Harry, before they were together; but he had never found anything untoward about her.
He didn't exactly wish he had, but he did wish she'd stop looking at him with such disapproval. It was such grandmotherly disapproval, that was the thing; if it had been the usual brand, Draco would simply have sneered and turned away. This kind made him want to stare at his shoes, shuffle, and mumble that he knew he was young but he was doing his best.
She did it again today: allowed the silence to stretch, lengthen and quiver, like an overbred greyhound, before she nodded. "Mr Malfoy."
The lift continued up in silence. Draco told himself firmly that he was too old to blush.
The doors opened with a small flurry of notes. The Ministry was going a little overboard with these attempts to impress the French Prime Minister, Draco thought, and tried not to roll his eyes. There was nothing wrong with an old-fashioned ping. But Draco escaped Atkinson gratefully, in favour of the grand atrium. He stepped neatly round the deputy head of the Department for Games and Sports, who was really rather chubby for the post, and stepped into the largest fireplace. Green fire rose around him.
"The Golden Fleece!" he called.
There was nothing like a properly house-trained boyfriend, Draco thought with a satisfied smile. Especially one who took you to the most exclusive wizarding restaurant in London.
The Golden Fleece was elderly and beautiful. Its facade, heavy grey stone engraved with an image of Jason, dipped forward into the street and gave the impression of a grande dame dropping off to sleep. Inside, it wasn't nearly so cosy; but it was bright, skylights and sparkling cutlery and sparkling conversation setting everything to gleaming. Draco loved light places, after an adolescence spent in Gothic dungeons, and Harry was the same; so when Draco felt the need for cripplingly expensive entrees and pretentious waiters, he always chose the Golden Fleece. Too many of London's other posh restaurants felt like gentleman's clubs: Hogwarts for adults, with stone and red velvet everywhere you turned.
He entered the restaurant, and was met by a smiling woman. "Mr Malfoy. Mr Potter is already inside." She snapped imperious fingers at a ginger boy who was milk-white under his freckles – being a waiter at the Golden Fleece was not for those of a nervous disposition. He'd end up dropping a plate, Draco was mortally certain, and then be scorned from the room, weeping. Oh well. Draco shrugged internally and followed the boy to Harry sat.
Harry's Auror robes had scuff marks, and his hair was messier than ever, and he had his elbows on the snow-white tablecloth. And Draco was pretty sure he was wearing trainers under his robes. None of it mattered: he met those green eyes as Harry looked up, and smiled helplessly. It was as much of a reflex as flinching from pain.
"Draco," Harry said, sounding relieved. He stood up, and Draco leant in to kiss his cheek. Harry turned his face and caught Draco's lips; Draco felt the cheeky smile against his mouth as they kissed properly. Then he pulled away, with a murmur of "naughty boy," into the shell of Harry's ear.
They sat down, grinning at each other, and Draco gave an entirely contrived squirm at the not entirely contrived sting of his arse. Harry looked absurdly proud of himself.
The ginger waiter brought them their menus. Harry smiled kindly at him, obviously sensing his nerves, and he nearly fell over. Draco didn't quite suppress his laugh, and his boyfriend frowned at him. Draco batted his eyelashes innocently; Harry rolled his eyes, but dropped it. Draco smirked. Harry's Super Auror powers were weak against an innocent-looking Draco, however much Harry knew it was all a foul lie.
A new waiter appeared at their table, as silent and sudden as a bird of prey's pounce. Harry jumped, then laughed awkwardly. This one was older; Draco wondered if the unfortunate ginger boy had been sent home to practice carrying soup bowls on his elbows.
"Would you care for some wine, gentlemen?" The man's accent was so plummy he sounded like he had a cold; Draco smiled approvingly. Harry seemed to shrink into his chair.
"No, no thank you," Harry replied. He rushed on, explaining too much to the waiter's face, which was blank and impassive as a stone wall. "I'm an Auror, you see – can't drink at lunchtime or where would we be!" He attempted to share a hearty laugh. The waiter stayed silent, and Harry's laugh tailed off into a weak chuckle.
"I'll have a glass of merlot, thank you," Draco said, hastily distracting attention. The waiter nodded, with a very faint impression of approval in the lines around his eyes, and vanished as silently as he had come.
At Harry's raised eyebrow, Draco snorted. "I have to be sharp at all times, yes, but boozy lunches are practically a requirement for members of the Wizengamot. Why'd do you think I stand out so much?"
"How long have you got?"
"Ha. It's because I'm so pale, and anyone who's been there for any length of time generally has a red face to match their glass of port."
"Not you, though." Harry's smile was softer than usual, and Draco preened under it; amusement sparked in Harry's eyes at the reaction. "You're still so white you look as if I should send you to the Healer for a tonic."
"Harry!" Draco would have punched him lightly for that, but the Golden Fleece was not the sort of place for shoulder-punches. Here, it was expected that Draco strike back with words: so he did so. If nothing else, becoming a politician had honed his talent for insults. "Personal insults should be beneath you," he said sternly, before breaking into a smile sweet as candyfloss. "You're a fine, upstanding Auror after all. How go things at the DMLE?" He pronounced it dimly, and Harry scowled.
"Just fine, thank you. At least there people actually make some noise. And don't just watch you flounder."
Draco grinned a little guiltily. "Sorry. Make it up to you with a blowjob in the men's?"
Harry choked on air. "Draco! Honestly, you pretend to be such a proper little gentleman, I always forget that inside you're a filthy little pervert."
"Guilty." Draco's smile was slow and lazy, his eyes half-lidded, like a crocodile in the heat of the day. Triumph thrilled in his chest when he saw Harry blush. "I'm feeling terribly perverted things over that pretty blush, love," he cooed, and was delighted when the flush deepened.
"Draco!" Harry hissed across the table, eyes flickering about the restaurant as if Professor McGonagall were about to appear and tell them off for being naughty, naughty boys. "Not in the restaurant, all right? What if a journalist's hanging around?"
Chastened, Draco nodded: he knew how important it was to Harry that his personal life be kept out of the papers. Besides, there was no point in making things too easy for the Daily Prophet's hacks; that would take all the fun out of it. "All right. Tell me about your morning; is that fool Robson still nicking your afternoon scones from the kitchen?"
"No. He spent all yesterday evening on the loo with the runs, apparently – insisted on telling us all about it, poor Sam was absolutely green. Anyway, he thinks there was something wrong with what he ate yesterday, so my guess is he'll leave them alone."
"Oh," Draco said with a perfectly straight face. "How peculiar."
Harry rolled his eyes, but couldn't quite suppress his own schoolboy giggles. "Really, Draco. I think being a politician is making you more of a Slytherin than ever. Slipping things into someone's food?"
"It wasn't his food at all," Draco pointed out. "And I have to make money somehow, since you refuse to be my sugar daddy." He batted his eyelashes ridiculously, and Harry chuckled.
"Well, if the urge takes you, you could always come and be my personal secretary."
"I don't think it'd be the urge taking me if I did that," Draco snorted. "Would I sit on your lap and take notes?"
"Amongst other things," Harry said with a wolfish smile. Draco decided that he'd have to remember the idea the next time Harry was away for the night, and switched topics.
"Besides, it wasn't a Slytherin thing at all – I bought the lozenges for your scones from George Weasley."
"Of course you did," Harry sighed. "Well, I suppose it's better than having him use them against you."
Draco bestowed one of his rare, uncomplicated smiles, and sipped his wine. "Absolutely."
Draco returned from lunch feeling pleasantly full – although only in one sense, because Harry hadn't had time for a quickie, damn all criminals to hell. He turned down the corner towards his office, and the fuzzy feeling of well-being that expensive food and Harry had left him with evaporated. Hermione Granger was standing outside his office, and she had her hands on her hips: she was ready for pitched battle.
Crap, Draco thought childishly, and mustered a polite smile. "Hermione. How are you this afternoon?"
"Much better than the house elves that continue to be enslaved by the barbaric and anachronistic elements of this government," Granger fired back. Her stance, feet planted firmly on the expensive stone and centre of gravity low, was warlike; her mouth was pursed and angry; her bushy hair seemed likely to send off sparks at any minute. In a different mood, Draco would probably be pleased to have the chance to spar with her: he had more institutional power, but she was cleverer, and he often enjoyed the way they argued, with the clash of metal on metal seeming to echo after every point made.
Right now, though, he had a stomach full of cordon bleu and a head full of wine, and he simply could not be bothered with Granger's endless crusades.
But if he dismissed her – even assuming it was possible, which depended on how trenchant Granger was feeling – he'd pay for it later. He'd definitely catch it from Harry, and Draco wanted Harry in a good mood this week: he was planning to ask how his boyfriend felt about anal beads. So he kept the smile on his face, though it probably resembled a grimace, and said, "of course. Let's step into my office and we can discuss the situation."
Granger huffed like a bull. Draco carefully didn't turn his back on her as he spoke the word to unlock his office – Pansy had been friends with Marietta Edgecombe, and Draco would never underestimate how far Granger was willing to go for the right cause.
They walked inside, and Draco settled behind his desk. "Do sit down, Hermione." He was going to be polite if it killed him – or her, which judging by her expression, it just might. Granger had been hovering by the door, casting dark looks around the place as though looking for muggleborn skulls; at his invitation, she came forward and perched on the chair in front of his desk, careful not to touch any more of it than she had to. Draco wasn't sure how much of her touchiness was about her disdain for politics, and how much was about him personally; either way, he didn't like it.
"The white paper's going through now, on that Act to give the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures duties to oversee house-elf rights," Granger began. "And it's being edited out of existence. The Department needs actual power to enforce their commands, and a mandate to examine the treatment of house-elves. As it is, that Department is full of also-rans who couldn't get jobs in Magical Law Enforcement, and when the old pure-blood families say jump they ask how high."
All of this was entirely true. The more incompetent pureblood youths tended to end up in that Department, doing cushy jobs provided by the old boys' network and kept where they couldn't do any damage. But Draco didn't find it interesting. So he opened his mouth, and spoke. He talked for two full minutes about the Act, the Department, how he was the most junior member of the Wizengamot and had very little power, and managed to avoid addressing any of her actual points. It was a virtuoso performance.
Granger's curled upper lip said she hadn't admired it. That was the trouble with Gryffindors, they never had any proper appreciation for evasion.
"Honestly, Malfoy, you're just avoiding the point! What about house-elf rights?"
Draco settled more comfortably in his chair, and let words flow like wine from his mouth. If there was one thing he could do, it was talk.
Half an hour later, Granger stormed from his office. Her frustration with his ability to answer the question while not answering the question was comical, but she'd be back. Draco only hoped she didn't meet any fragile interns this afternoon; her nostrils had been flaring like she was about to start breathing fire, always a bad sign.
Still, he'd put her off well enough to be home at six. Harry was already there, making chicken korma; it was his specialty, largely because he liked making food that the Dursleys would have refused to eat. Draco kissed the back of his head hello. "Save the world today?"
"No. The apocalypse won't be round til July, you know that."
"Silly me." Draco sat down and watched Harry cook while they talked. Harry's frown of concentration as he chopped potato for saag aloo, the smile as he stirred the sauce, the purse of his lips as he drained the rice; it was fascinating for Draco, and he drank in every detail of Harry's presence. They chatted about nothings, argued over whether the Magpies would win the League this season, and before long sat down to eat.
It was heavenly. Draco shut his eyes as the taste soaked into his tongue. He opened his eyes to catch Harry smiling at him indulgently, his head cocked to one side as it was when he was watching Teddy run around. "You little hedonist. You like it, then?"
"You know I do. I'll never need a house-elf as long as you'll make me curry."
Something flashed in Harry's eyes at that comment; Draco winced, and wondered if he was about to get a lecture about treating Granger properly. But Harry apparently decided it would keep, because he just nodded and told Draco how all the younger Aurors kept singing Celestina Warbeck songs because retro was in, but they were changing the words. "The lyrics get absolutely filthy, and Martha turns purple because she loves Celestina. Obviously that just makes them want to do it more – and frankly, that Wand of Love one makes it very easy – "
It wasn't until later, with Harry watching telly and Draco lying against him with a book, his cheek comfortably nestled on Harry's fuzzy Weasley jumper, that the subject came up.
"Hermione told me about this afternoon, you know. You just talked at her until she gave up, she said – and I know that's a tactic you use against activists. I wish you wouldn't use it with Hermione."
"Well, house-elves aren't my area of interest," Draco said. "I'm much more concerned about civil liberties in the wake of the war."
"But not house-elves' civil liberties?"
Draco sat up at this, and faced Harry with a frown. "I got elected because I promised to fight for the purebloods who were unfairly targeted by the Ministry, and prisoners who're mistreated," he said. "You know that, and so does Hermione. I'm not going to focus on the elves, especially not when it'd make an enemy out of the people who voted me in."
"But their rights are important to Hermione," Harry said, a little plaintively. He supported Draco in his career, but Draco knew he didn't always understand Draco's political decisions. And he was growing irritated now, which annoyed Draco in turn: Draco's opinion should matter more than Granger's! "Why can't you focus on them at least a little?"
"Please," said Draco. "They're wrinkled, bald, unattractive creatures whose sole purpose is doing housework because their brains are too small to handle anything more important." He paused to consider his words, and smiled. "Which I suppose explains why Granger's on their side. They must remind her of Weasley."
"God!" Harry snapped, jerking away from him. He stood up, pacing round the sitting room as he spoke, and Draco rose to meet him. "Would you please just stop with the smart remarks? I know it doesn't matter to you, and you get annoyed that she keeps talking to you. But it's a compliment that she keeps coming to you – she believes that your mind can be changed, that it's not hidebound and dusty like everyone else's in the upper echelons of the Ministry."
"Rubbish," Draco said flatly. "She keeps coming to me because I'm your boyfriend, and she thinks I'm more likely to give in because you'll nag me if I don't."
"I won't. I'm not taking sides between you, not ever. You'd crush me between you if I tried," Harry said, and Draco felt a small smile appear on his own lips at the wry amusement in Harry's eyes. Then the green eyes went stern, and Harry said, "but I will nag you if you're rude to Hermione. You need to treat her with respect – she's my friend, and besides that she's clever and competent enough to deserve it."
That was true; but Draco was out of sorts after having to deal with Granger, and then be told off about it. He pouted, and muttered, "fine. If there's one thing a Malfoy should be able to do, it's be polite to someone like her." He knew Harry would understand the phrasing: not a jab at her heritage, since Malfoys were rude about that; but implying he considered her an inferior.
It wasn't even true, but Draco had never been very logical when it came to grumpiness and Granger and arguing with Harry Potter.
"Draco," Harry snapped, his hard voice rapping out the syllables like the smack of bats on Bludgers. "Don't talk about her that way."
Draco knew he should stop talking, but he couldn't make himself stop: he never could, really. "It's not my fault that Granger's too starry-eyed and clueless about wizarding culture to know when to shut up."
Silence. Draco felt his heart quail in his chest: why wasn't Harry shouting at him? He managed to raise his eyes from Harry's chest, where they'd fallen, and meet Harry's eyes.
They were narrowed, and angry. Not mindlessly furious, the way they would have been once, if he'd said that. But there was anger, the kind that said Draco had crossed a line: he wouldn't get any more indulgence just now. Harry's arms were crossed over his chest, making his arms bulge; Draco wasn't exactly frightened, but the reminder of how much stronger Harry was than him made his heart beat faster. Harry didn't do this – use silence, and his presence, and the magic that was hanging in the air like the weight of thunder before a storm. Not with Draco: he did it to suspects.
He'd told Draco bits and pieces about interrogation. About how, if he did it right, Harry could have hardened criminals jumping at his words.
Draco's head jerked in shock. "Sorry?" he said stupidly, blinking at Harry, even as behind his shock, arousal began to burn.
"Strip. You're always running your mouth, talking at Hermione and making smart-alec remarks and saying horrible things to me that you don't even mean. Now you're going to strip, and you're going to be silent while you do it, so I can just enjoy how gorgeous you are without listening to you talk."
Draco opened his mouth furiously, anger and humiliation rising hotly in his stomach. Harry moved swiftly to him, touching his face and looking seriously into his eyes. Draco looked back, and what he saw there felled most of his anger at a stroke: Harry wasn't doing this to punish him. There was anger there, yes; but it was overtaken by lust, and love. "Okay?" Harry asked.
Draco answered with a nod, knowing Harry would understand, and unbuttoned his robes. Harry stepped back again, so he could take in Draco's whole body; his eyes travelled all over him, and the heat in his gaze made Draco feel warm, even as he exposed his body to cool air. He didn't hesitate in his stripping until he was left in his boxers; he glanced at Harry, a little anxious, as he curled his fingers round the waistband.
Harry simply nodded at him, and Draco slid the boxers down and let them drop to his feet in a huddle of cloth. That was it: he was completely naked, and Harry hadn't even removed his shoes. Draco's heart was beating faster, thumping against his ribcage. He waited to see what Harry would do.
For a long moment, Harry simply let the tension build; the silence tautened, further and further, as he examined Draco's body in leisurely fashion. Draco had to fight to keep his hands at his sides. He wasn't ashamed of his body, but this examination from a clothed and powerful Harry made him sure that all his flaws were being exposed.
If so, Harry's expression seemed to say, he didn't notice them. His eyes were ravenous.
Harry drew his wand slowly, but not in menacing fashion: it was slow enough that Draco could see it, and see that the tip wasn't aimed at him. He felt himself relax a little, unconsciously, and caught the edge of Harry's smile. Then Harry performed a nonverbal spell; Draco caught the slight movements of his lips, though they weren't enough for him to read the spell Harry had cast.
A Summoning charm: that became obvious, as two things flew in through the open door from the hall. Harry caught them, and smiled. "This will make you even prettier." He held up their leather handcuffs: each cuff was thick and tight, though padded, and the chain between them was short. They weren't meant for easy play. "And this will help you stay quiet for me." A ring gag.
Draco stared. This was new to him: when had Harry bought a ring gag? When had he bought a gag at all? He knew gags made Draco nervous. For pureblood wizards, used to magic rather than fists as their first line of defence, the idea of being unable to speak was a frightening one. Without his wand or his words, he'd be helpless.
But Harry would be there; Harry would defend him.
So he nodded, and held still as Harry stepped behind him. The feeling of leather wrapped round his wrists was almost reassuring: the tactile memories of it were of helplessness, but also of having Harry there all the time, keeping a close eye on everything Draco felt. The cuffs weren't uncomfortable; but Draco knew from experience that after a while, having his shoulders pulled back and his wrists in the small of his back would start to ache.
Now Harry came to face him. "Open your mouth," he ordered softly. Draco obeyed, and felt the metal 'o' slip into his mouth, holding it helplessly open until Harry chose to remove it. Harry tied it tightly round his head, then carefully checked the straps. He wouldn't let the straps be too tight and risk accidentally reddening Draco's skin; he even made sure none of Draco's blond hair was caught in the buckles.
It helped, because Draco was reeling from the sensation of being gagged. He hadn't anticipated how this would feel; the constant awareness of the cool metal in his mouth, of being unable to close it or speak or swallow. Of being open.
Harry put his palms against Draco's cheeks, and leant in to kiss him round the gag. Draco returned it as best he could, flicking his tongue against the seam of Harry's lips as Harry pressed kisses along his lower lip. Harry smiled against his mouth, but didn't respond; instead he pulled back, and gave Draco that calm look, flat and implacable as stone, that meant now was the time for commands.
"I want you to kneel by the fireplace. The fire on your skin makes you glow, did you know that?" Draco couldn't smile around the ring, but he tried. "Go on, now." Harry stepped back, and sat on the sofa. He settled himself comfortably, and watched as Draco walked over by the fireplace, and carefully lowered himself to his knees.
The fire warmed Draco, keeping him comfortable despite his bare skin: as comfortable as was possible, at any rate. Harry had Summoned the newspaper, and was leafing through it. He seemed to hardly notice Draco, kneeling for his viewing pleasure by the fire. Draco wished he could talk, and draw Harry's attention instead of having to wait to have it granted.
Harry glanced up from the paper, and gave a satisfied smile.
Eventually, Draco sank into a sort of daze; his mind wandering from topic to topic with ease, even as his body stayed focussed on Harry, every nerve and muscle poised in case of his attention. Harry glanced over now and then, seeming to enjoy the sight in front of him. Draco was sitting on his heels, his thighs parted, displaying his cock and balls for Harry; his erection taut and wanting.
Harry folded the paper and it vanished. Then his gaze turned to Draco; it stayed there, dark and amused, while Draco stared back helplessly. Harry's eyes slid down, over puckered nipples to Draco's cock; it bobbed under the attention, and Harry chuckled. "You do look sweet like that, you know," he remarked. "Already starting to drool, and you look so surprised with your mouth open all the time. Oh, and there's that blush." Draco felt his cheeks stinging with blood: he was half-pleased by the compliments, half-embarrassed. He hadn't realised he was drooling, but now he could feel it: wetness sliding over his chin.
No prizes for guessing why that sight pleased Harry so much.
"Come over here," Harry commanded. "I want to touch as well as look." Draco began to lever himself off the ground, eager to be touched. "No no," Harry said mildly. "On your knees."
Draco slumped back down, and heard Harry chuckle. He felt he couldn't have got off his knees anyway, he was so drunk on the awareness of Harry's power, his mind shot through with the sense of his submission.
With his hands still tied behind his back, he couldn't crawl; he had to go to Harry on his knees, staying upright, his hands clenched behind his back as he focussed on keeping his balance. It was awkward, and ungainly, and Draco could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks as though he'd been slapped. But he glanced up and saw Harry watching with no hint of a smile: he was staring, cheeks stained wine-red and eyes hot enough to burn. He always loved Draco on his knees; and this position, awkward as it was, displayed Draco's hard and reddened cock at every moment.
Draco shuffled to Harry's feet. His shoulders ached a little, and he was panting: his fast breaths were obvious, with his chest pushed out by the tight bindings round his wrists. Harry smiled down at him; the smile was thin and strained by lust, but genuine. Then he opened his legs, and allowed Draco to shuffle between his knees.
Draco could feel Harry's warmth now. Their faces were much closer, and the air between them thrummed with tension as they looked into each other's faces. Draco was breathing harshly through the gag. Harry took gentle hold of his chin, and moved his face from side to side: examining the way he looked gagged, Draco thought. He certainly didn't feel great; but his stretched lips and helpless drooling had Harry's pupils dilating visibly. Draco felt a little proud of that.
"All right," Harry breathed. He let go of Draco's face, and Draco immediately missed the warmth of his skin, the strength in his fingers as he moved Draco according to his whim. But then he saw Harry fumbling with his button and zipper, awkwardly dragging his trousers and boxers down to his thighs, and his skin seemed to heat and tighten all over. Harry's cock was revealed: thick and hard and sticky and reddened from waiting. Draco's mouth watered, and a little more saliva slipped from his mouth to dirty his face.
Harry cupped one large, warm hand round Draco's nape, and drew him forwards. Draco obeyed gratefully, his body bending to obey Harry's will. He wasn't quite sure how to do it at first; it took more care than usual, getting the 'o' gag round Harry's cock. But it was wide enough to be workable, and finally, finally that gorgeous thickness was in Draco's mouth, pushing inside.
Draco lapped frantically at Harry's cock, drawing back to get all the pre-cum. He had to do this right. When Harry took hold of his hair again, directing him down, Draco went easily. It was a little intimidating having Harry's cock in his mouth when his mouth was held open like this; he couldn't shut his mouth, couldn't shut Harry out, couldn't even use his hands to push Harry away. He could only allow Harry to use him; and from Harry's groans, the mutters he always gave as he approached orgasm, Harry knew it.
Harry's hips were rocking gently, and his hand held Draco still; it was slow and gentle enough that Draco could handle the thrusting, but if Harry changed his mind, wanted to push into Draco's throat and choke him with his cock, there would be nothing he could do. "Oh yeah," Harry grunted. "Love your tongue, Draco, love that you keep trying to make it good. You're so good." Draco lapped even faster, moving the flat on his tongue over the underside of Harry's cock. "So eager to please. It wouldn't matter if you weren't though, would it? I could just hold you still and fuck your mouth, fuck it like it's just a hole I can use because you can't stop me."
Draco felt himself pulled down further, forced to swallow more of Harry's cock; tears sprung to his eyes, and his breath was roaring in his ears. "So hot. And I'm the only one that gets to feel good – you can't even wank like that – " The words seemed to whip up the helpless throbbing between Draco's legs, but it just seemed to heighten every sensation as his body searched for the touch that would allow him orgasm. "That you just let me – let me cuff you and gag you and play with you – "
Harry's hips were stuttering now, losing their rhythm as he fucked Draco's mouth. It was exhilarating; Draco kept his eyes shut and just moved with him, not thinking, just sucking and working to make it good for Harry and feeling him all around –
Then Harry pulled back, and drew Draco off his cock. "Don't wanna come in your mouth, love." Draco knew his surprise, and slight hurt, was clear on his face. "You can't swallow with that gag – can't risk choking you on my come." Harry chuckled, a bare huff of breath as he jacked his own cock. "I'll try this again when you're more used to it, make you just sit there with my come in your mouth for ages, not be able to do... anything..." He was panting, hand a blur; then Harry came, and it splattered wetly across Draco's face.
Harry fell back, panting. Draco panted himself; his cock was aching helplessly between his legs, worse now that he didn't have the blowjob to focus on. And his face was disgusting, come and saliva everywhere, so messy and undignified –
Now Harry raised his head, and stared at him, taking in the mess. Draco felt his tacky cheeks burn. He knew Harry liked to come on his face, and they didn't do it very often. But it never usually felt this humiliating; but then he wasn't usually bound, on his knees, with saliva dripping onto his chest.
But the look on Harry's face – suddenly Draco didn't feel dirty at all.
There was something close to awe there; as well as lust, and affection, and that pleasure in something enjoyable that Harry owned that Draco only saw in his face when they were playing. Harry reached out, and pulled Draco up with a gentle grip on his hands. "Come on, sit down." Harry kicked away his trousers and boxers, his shoes and socks, then struggled out of his shirt while Draco waited; it was all rather undignified, but Draco loved watching it because it was so Harry to have used a Summoning charm for the gag and cuffs, so suave, then forget to use a spell to strip.
When he was naked, Harry beckoned; Draco settled into his lap, sitting sideways with his legs stretched along the sofa. He felt ungainly, as though he had too much leg; but Harry had a comforting arm around him, and he was resting against Harry's heaving chest. It would have been very comfortable, without the gag; and without Harry's other arm. It was slung across his thighs, tantalisingly close to his cock.
But Harry didn't seem inclined to let Draco come yet, or even acknowledge his need. Instead he conjured a flannel, and a cup of water. He helped Draco drink the water, carefully tipping his head back so he wouldn't choke. Then he used the rest to dampen the flannel, and wash Draco's face. Draco shut his eyes in bliss, enjoying Harry's care as his face was gently washed. Harry sponged away all the mess, leaving him damp but clean, and almost cosy, cuddling into Harry's chest.
"Now." Harry's voice was warm, and Draco opened his eyes. "Would you like to come?"
Heat and light seemed to explode in Draco's chest like a firework. He nodded, the motion frantic; he was a puppy begging for his master's attention, and didn't care that it was undignified or that amusement was shining in Harry's eyes. Harry kissed his cheek. "Close your eyes."
Draco obeyed contentedly, waiting for Harry's hand on his cock.
It came: but so did Harry's other hand, and the familiar feel of rubber. Draco's eyes popped open, and he whined as Harry slid the cock ring on, hips twisting as if that would relieve the ache.
"Ssh." Harry kissed his cheek. "You know it'll be better if you wait."
Draco squirmed again, desperate for those last touches as Harry settled the cock ring, then subsided, panting. He was drooling again. Harry didn't seem to mind; he kissed Draco's cheek sweetly, and replaced his cuddling arm around Draco's shoulders. Then he started kissing and licking properly, licking at the drool from Draco's mouth and kissing his stretched, aching lips. He was humming, pleased, but it was all very awkward and untidy and Draco didn't like it.
He squirmed anxiously in Harry's lap, and turned his face away. For a startled moment there was no response. Then Harry tried taking his pointed chin gently in one hand, to hold him still while he was kissed. It worked for a moment; then Harry's lips were on Draco's chin, and Draco's whole lower face was damp and messy; he turned away again, embarrassment burning in the pit of his stomach.
At this second turning away, Harry removed the warm, comforting arm around Draco's shoulders. Draco swayed a little, startled by how much of his weight he'd trusted to Harry, but didn't lose his balance.
Harry spanked his bare arse twice, sharply. The smacks rang out, making Draco jump as much as the pain. He stared at Harry with wide eyes – where had that come from? He hadn't done anything bad.
"Let me kiss you." The voice was firm.
Draco went limp in acquiescence, and the arm came back up from his arse to hold him against Harry's chest. Draco relaxed, and let Harry kiss him for long moments. He even returned the interest when Harry slipped his tongue inside Draco's forced-open mouth; kissing through the ring gag was an odd experience, but certainly not a bad one. At least it only stoked the unfulfilled arousal buzzing beneath his skin, instead of whipping him into a frenzy.
The next moment Draco wished he hadn't had that thought: he'd been just begging the Fates to send this down, hadn't he?
"Good boy." Draco felt something warm inside his chest at the praise. Then Harry rewarded him: he started to wank him, firmly wrapping a strong hand round his cock and making it good. Draco's cock sent pleasure sparking to his brain even as his balls ached more. He whined desperately; pleasure flashed in Harry's lust-darkened eyes at the gurgling, desperate sound. Draco hunched his hips, humping against Harry's palm even as he tried not to respond, knowing that this whipping up of his arousal would only make things worse. But he couldn't control himself any more; he was whimpering continuously, sounding like a whipped dog.
Harry kissed the side of his face, gentle and sweet, dropping kisses over his skin like rose petals while the other hand pulled firmly on Draco's cock. The other hand slid down Draco's sweaty back, and he squirmed desperately as he felt Harry press long fingers between the tight press of Draco's buttocks. It was blinding and beautiful; Draco felt surrounded by inescapable sensation. His writhing pressed his arse against Harry's returned erection; he hoped its presence meant that Harry would fuck him soon, and let him come.
But... what if he fucked him and still didn't let him come? Draco felt his body spasm, wild and out of his control, at the thought; lust and horror sprung through his body. Harry gave him a questioning glance, even as he panted into Draco's ear and worked a finger up inside him; but Draco could hardly explain while he was gagged.
Besides, he didn't want to give Harry ideas.
Draco was close to crying now, his breathing harsh as he gasped for air, his cheeks undoubtedly red, his hair sweaty and stuck to his forehead. Harry ran his hand down Draco's cock and played with his balls, increasing the ache there. Draco gurgled, the sound cracked and pained; Harry looked up into his face, no longer seeming mesmerised by the reddened ache of Draco's cock. Draco could feel tears in his eyes, now.
Harry gave a sharp intake of breath; Draco immediately identified the sound as lustful. Harry loved it when Draco cried, though he was rarely willing to go far enough to make that happen. Making his eyes well up with unfulfilled desire – tears dripping down his face now, to mix with the drool – well, Draco was right over Harry's cock and could feel what the sight did to him.
To Draco's great relief, that was enough. Harry wrapped both arms around Draco's heaving torso, clenched his eyes shut, and Apparated them both straight up onto their bed. It was an enormous shock to Draco's system, as he sprawled on his back on the bed, blinking up at the ceiling. It took him a moment to realise what was happening, as Harry spread his thighs and crawled between them.
"I thought about having you on your hands and knees – my pet, bound and gagged and letting me take you – but I'd rather see your face. Watch you cry out around that gag, feel you try so hard to kiss me despite it."
Draco nodded frantically; when Harry slipped two slicked fingers inside him, burning a little, he shut his eyes and sighed with relief. Harry opened him up efficiently, watching him squirm on his fingers; then he pulled them out, and slicked his own cock. Draco watched him; when Harry made a show of it, letting his head fall back while he rubbed the lube over himself, he whined. He wanted that inside him, nownownownow –
Draco's garbled thoughts reached a crescendo when Harry finally pushed inside. It was bliss, that hardness stretching him and heating him from the inside, dragging so wonderfully over those neglected nerves. He squirmed, wanting to pull Harry down into a kiss, but kept down and helpless by the cuffs still in place. Harry saw the motion, and made what would have been a smile if he weren't having sex; as it was, it was more of a grimace. He brought his head down, and wrapped his mouth round one of Draco's nipples, tugging with his teeth. Draco gave a garbled cry, loving it even as he wanted – he wanted –
Then Harry moved up, and kissed him. Their tongues moving slickly together, as much a connection between them as Harry's cock inside him, was glorious. Draco moaned needily into the kiss, pushing up against Harry as much as he could, kissing with his whole body. Harry's body dropped a little until it was rubbing over his with every thrust, and that was – oh –
They'd not been at this long, but already Harry was gasping; and Draco had already been wound up to a fever pitch before they even got inside the bedroom. Harry reached down, fumbling, and dragged the cock ring off him. He groaned against Draco, "come on – it's okay – come for me – "
Draco's whole body seized up, clenching endlessly round Harry's cock as if it would never let him go, crying out into Harry's mouth. Harry moved just a fraction against him, and Draco came. And came. It was a blinding rush that seemed to take in his whole body; Draco had never felt anything like it.
When he came to, his hands were free again and Harry was rubbing his right wrist gently, soothing away the redness. He was lying flopped against Harry, limp on his front where Harry must have put him after Harry himself had lain back against the pillows. Draco's face was nearly in Harry's armpit, but it was all right because he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so comfortable. He was still aching, but his aching body seemed suspended on a cloud.
He tried to speak, and found he was still wearing the gag; his mouth was still forced helplessly open. At the sound, Harry looked away from Draco's wrists and smiled. "Hello there, sleepyhead," he said. "Want me to take it off?"
It had been a wonderful experience; but Draco still nodded fervently, and Harry laughed and reached across. He undid the buckles, then drew the 'o' from Draco's mouth. Draco's mouth fell shut instantly, and it was wonderful. "Good?" Harry asked.
Draco nodded fervently, still without opening his mouth. But that was all right; Harry needed no prompting, simply picked up Draco's other wrist and kept up his soothing movements, while Draco lay happily and watched. It was nice.
Silence wasn't good enough for Slytherin silver, but perhaps Draco could agree it was golden.