Title: Played To Perfection

Rating: NC-17

Beta: simeysgirl

A/N: I love snooker. A lot. I wrote this entirely for myself (with a smidgen of chin thing for simeysgirl). It was originally supposed to be a little 2k thing... oops? Title from a Joe Davis quote: "Snooker is a game of simple shots played to perfection."


Harry loved snooker. For over a year now he had found the sport relaxing to watch, and whenever it was being shown on television he would have it on constantly, regardless of what he was doing. This proved problematic, however, as he found snooker so relaxing, he would often stop whatever it was he was doing to simply sit and watch the game. He would never nod off, though. Snooker was relaxing; it wasn't boring.

When Harry first started enjoying snooker, he had tried to introduce Ron to the sport. Ron had sat through a few frames with Harry, constantly asking questions ('Why does the referee keep putting the balls back on the table?', 'Surely he wants to be straight on the blue, it'll make it easier, won't it?' and the very memorable 'Why do they keep polishing their sticks?'), before declaring the game too dull and telling Harry to call him when the balls started flying.

In a desperate attempt to find a snooker ally in someone Harry had made Hermione sit down with him to watch a game. Surprisingly she took to it immediately, appreciating the accuracy and strategy involved. Harry had briefly wondered if the fact that the player's arses were often on show played any part in the matter—they certainly didn't hinder Harry's enjoyment—but when Hermione, too, got bored and pulled a large book out of her bag to read, Harry had to assume the arses hadn't been that enthralling for her.

That was why today, Harry found himself heading to the Crucible Theatre for the first day of the World Snooker Championship alone. He wasn't too bothered. It wasn't as if snooker was a rowdy sport; the players required a quiet atmosphere in order to concentrate. So there would be no chance for chatting, even if he had had someone to talk to. However, Harry did occasionally wish he had someone to discuss his favourite sport with. If not about the amazing pots O'Sullivan and Trump managed to play or the nerve-wracking safety battles Selby and Murphy got into, then at least how sexy the players looked in their waistcoats and how suggestively they handled their cues.

Sighing, Harry handed over his ticket and entered the Crucible. This would be his first time watching snooker live, and he didn't want to spend it feeling sorry for himself. On his way to the arena he stopped to get himself an ear piece; he definitely didn't want to miss the commentary. When he found his seat he was pleased to see he was in the second row, it meant he would have an excellent view of the table... as well as the men bent over it.

The noise in the arena soon died down and the compere began introducing the players. He started with the table on the right; the table Harry wouldn't be watching. Harry barely paid attention; he wanted to know who Higgins would be playing on the table in front of him. They hadn't been able to advertise who it would be as the qualifiers were still being played as late as yesterday.

Soon enough the compere announced the players Harry would be watching.

"And on table number two, we have a new player to the Crucible, though he's already made quite a name for himself recently. He was runner-up in the China Open earlier this year—"

Harry cursed himself for being so new to the world of snooker. He hadn't even known there was a big tournament in China. He could have been watching even more snooker!

"—and he's hoping to go all the way in his first World Championship here at the Crucible. Please welcome the Daredevil Dragon—Draco Malfoy!"

The crowd clapped excitedly, but Harry could barely keep his mouth shut from shock. There had to have been a mistake; this had to be some sort of joke. Except when the player came out into the arena—head bowed low at first—he was tall and slim with white-blond hair. Harry's doubts were extinguished completely when the player looked up, cue in one hand with the other raised, waving in thanks to the audience. Draco Malfoy was a snooker player. At the Crucible. In the World Championship. Harry was suddenly very grateful he wasn't watching this on television at home; he would never have believed this without seeing it with his own eyes.

Harry barely paid attention as Malfoy's opponent—John Higgins, the person Harry had actually come to see play—was introduced. Harry didn't see Higgins enter the arena, and he definitely didn't join in with the audience's round of applause. When Malfoy and Higgins shook hands and exchanged a few brief words, Harry did notice, but then lost track of Higgins again when Malfoy plucked the chalk out of his pocket and brushed it over the end of his cue.

Instead, Harry's mind and gaze were concentrated solely on Malfoy. When Malfoy first entered the arena he had taken his seat in the corner and immediately opened a bottle of water on the table beside him, taking a sip. Harry watched Malfoy's pale neck while his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. The sight was almost mesmerising against the all black of Malfoy's outfit. He looked incredible, and Harry absently noted that waistcoats really suited him.

Only after Higgins had broken and Malfoy stepped up to play did Harry snap out of the avid attention he was paying to Malfoy. And that was simply because the commentary had started up in his ear piece. Terry Griffiths was calmly talking to Harry, as well as everyone else with an ear piece and everyone watching on television, in his pleasant Welsh accent. Harry found himself relaxing for the first time since he'd heard the words 'Draco Malfoy', and finally allowed himself to sit back and enjoy the game.

"Of course young Draco burst quite suddenly on the snooker scene in China two years ago now," said Griffiths in Harry's ear. "He took the country by storm; they love him over there, and when you watch him play you can see why."

Watching Malfoy play, Harry could see why. His long elegant fingers had perfect control of the cue. He hit the cue ball with such precision, each time exerting the perfect amount of force. It was as though the balls were acting on Malfoy's will, rather than a push from a stick and a small white ball. For a second Harry pondered the possibility that Malfoy had his wand in the end of his cue. Thinking of Hagrid and his battered pink umbrella, he knew something like that wouldn't be impossible. If the intense look of concentration on Malfoy's face as he took each shot was anything indication, Harry could believe he was implementing non-verbal magic.

This idea was soon trounced when Malfoy missed an awkward red on a long-shot. Malfoy flinched at the miss, but rather than throwing the fit Harry somehow still expected him to, he calmly moved away from the table and sat down. Higgins stepped up to take his turn at the table.

While Higgins played—probably very well, not that Harry noticed—Harry carefully observed Malfoy in his seat. He took a long drink of water before settling back in his seat and looking upwards. This surprised Harry; he thought Malfoy would have his eyes on his opponent.

As the commentary in his ear went on, Harry managed to unconsciously tune it out. Instead he began wondering where Malfoy had been for the past five years. Okay, so Harry now knew at least two of those had been spent playing snooker in China. And what a weird thing that was to get his head around. Draco Malfoy, in China, playing snooker. Harry gave a small shrug to himself, deciding not to dwell on the bizarre notion, and went back to ogling—no, not ogling, damn it. He went back to watching Malfoy for any suspiciously magical behaviour. Yes.

Harry didn't spot any suspiciously magical behaviour. Not in the way Malfoy elegantly plucked the chalk from the pocket of his waistcoat, nor in the way his long pale fingers gently moved the chalk over the end of his cue. He definitely didn't see anything magical about the way Malfoy's lips made a small 'o' as he blew away the excess chalk, no matter what the wand in the front of Harry's trousers thought.

After a while of watching Malfoy, though Harry couldn't be sure how long, he was distracted by the quiet mumbling of the woman next to him. He turned his attention to the woman, whose hair was as red as the few red balls left on the table below, and frowned as he tried to hear what she was saying.

"Oh, I love the way his cue rubs against his chin..."

Harry slowly spun his head to look at the game. Higgins was bent over the far side of the table, head low, slowly moving his cue back and forth as he prepared to take a shot. Now it had been pointed out to him, Harry couldn't help but notice the way the cue moved forwards and backwards against his chin. Harry wondered absent-mindedly if he'd ever given himself a splinter from the action. So deep in thought about bum-chins and cue burn, Harry almost missed the fact that Higgins had failed to pot the pink.

Then his attention was back on Malfoy as he rose from his seat and moved forwards. Malfoy stood back from the table with his head cocked to one side as he surveyed the balls and pondered his next shot. As Malfoy slowly began to walk around the table, Harry found himself hypnotised by the movement of his slim hips. He even let out a small but audible gasp when Malfoy leaned over the table to take his shot, giving Harry a perfect and unobstructed view of his arse. And what an arse it was. Black-clad, round and, Harry was willing to bet, firm.

As the frame progressed, Malfoy never let his attention slip. He potted the few remaining red balls with ease, the pink or black following each one. When Harry noticed Malfoy glance up at the score board, he did the same, realising he had been so engrossed in watching Malfoy play that he had no idea how far he was in the lead. Seeing the score, and taking note of what was left on the table, Harry knew Malfoy needed everything up to and including the blue to win. Unfortunately the blue had been knocked of its spot earlier in the frame and now lay awkwardly against the cushion.

Malfoy easily potted the yellow, green and brown balls, though failed to bring the blue away from the cushion in the one attempt he made. After potting the brown, Malfoy managed to leave the cue ball in a decent position for attempting the blue. It was an long and difficult shot, and Malfoy had to hoist his right leg up onto the table—while making sure to keep his left on the floor—in order to get the best angle for the shot.

Taking his time, Malfoy lined up his cue and Harry held his breath in anticipation. Malfoy's lips were a thin line of concentration, his eyes never leaving the balls in front of him. Just as it looked as though he would take the shot, Malfoy flinched, closed his eyes and stilled his cue.

It was then that Harry realised Malfoy was nervous. According to the commentators in his ear, this was the first frame of the first match that Malfoy had played in his first Snooker World Championship. Although it was obvious that Malfoy was an excellent snooker player, he was obviously feeling the pressure; this obviously meant a great deal to him.

Seeming to steel himself, Malfoy set his sights on the table once again and drew his cue back. Before taking the shot his eyes flicked up—and landed straight on Harry. Harry's own eyes widened at the sudden recognition that flashed over Malfoy's face. Just as soon as he had looked up, Malfoy looked away again, and without any hesitation, drove his cue into the cue ball and potted the blue.

The audience clapped as Malfoy quickly and easily finished up the frame by potting the pink and black balls then headed back to his seat. All while carefully not looking at Harry again. Harry knew Malfoy didn't look at him because, just like the entirety of the first frame, Harry did not take his eyes off of Malfoy.

Swallowing heavily, Harry closed his eyes as he realised he would have to sit through at least another eight frames.


Fidgeting on the spot, Harry pulled at the sleeves of his jumper. He had been standing at the back door of the Crucible for over an hour now. Everyone; players, referees and commentators alike, had left through this door already. Everyone but Malfoy.

Harry had sat through all nine of the frames Malfoy had played, barely taking his eyes off of him the entire time. He had only allowed himself to leave to go to the toilet during the mid-session interval, and even then he kept a keen look-out in case Malfoy had been wandering around the theatre. It had been as pointless as he knew it would be; obviously Malfoy had been in the practise room continuing to play snooker, just like every other player.

As the session had progressed, Harry had found himself increasingly interested in Malfoy. In where he had been all these years, how and why he had gotten so good at the Muggle sport, and—though he wasn't about to enquire about it—how he managed to be fully dressed, but still look so indecent.

Which was why Harry now found himself at the players' door of the Crucible Theatre, like some sort of obsessed fan, waiting for Draco Malfoy. Malfoy who had probably already left by the front door, in order to gain the maximum amount of attention. Harry rolled his eyes at how stupid he was for being there and was about to turn and leave when the door opened again. Instinctively he looked up, and found Malfoy staring back at him.

"Er, hi," said Harry, feebly.

Letting the door swing shut behind him, Malfoy closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I was hoping you'd be long gone by now," Malfoy said as he opened his eyes to study Harry.

"Nope, still here," supplied Harry pointlessly. "Waiting."

"For me?"

"For you."

The silence stretched between them. Malfoy seemed to be waiting for Harry to say something, which shouldn't have surprised Harry; he was out here waiting for him. Harry bit his lip and silently berated himself for not figuring out what he should say to Malfoy in the hour he had been waiting for him.

"This was the first snooker match I've seen live," Harry blurted before pausing. When Malfoy didn't speak or react, he continued, "I was more than shocked when they called your name out. 'Daredevil Dragon'?" he asked, with a small smile.

"What do you want, Potter?" Malfoy avoided the question with a direct one of his own.

"I—" Harry hesitated. What did he want? "I wanted to buy you a drink. You're an amazing player. I'd love to know how you got into snooker."

"Potter..." Malfoy trailed off uncertainly while gently shaking his head.

"Come on, Malfoy. It's been years." Harry really wanted the opportunity to talk with Malfoy, but hoped he wouldn't have to resort to begging. "Let me buy you a drink."

Malfoy eyed Harry for long seconds, the intensity of his gaze made Harry want to cross his arms or look away. He did neither, and eventually Malfoy nodded.

"Great!" said Harry with sudden enthusiasm. "Where do you want to go?"

Without taking his eyes of off Harry, Malfoy motioned with his head to the right and began walking. Harry fell quickly into step beside him.

"Just my luck you're a fucking snooker fan," muttered Malfoy.

Harry smiled.


After a lot of awkward silence and some casual discussion about Malfoy's match earlier that day, Harry bought a second round of drinks and finally plucked up the courage to ask Malfoy the questions he desperately wanted the answers to.

"Where have you been, Malfoy? Where did you go? Why did you just disappear? How the hell did you end up playing snooker? Are you back in England for good, now?"

"That's a lot of questions, Potter."

"Sorry." Harry blushed. "I had a couple of hours while watching you thrash Higgins to think about these things."

Malfoy picked up his brandy and took a large gulp before answering.

"When the—" he stumbled over his words. "After it was all over, I just wanted to get away." Malfoy kept his head low and his eyes on his drink. "I assumed they would still be after me. Even though I didn't—" He paused for a few seconds. "I had the mark; I knew they would want to arrest me. So I took as much money as I could get my hands on and disappeared."

"But—" Harry tried to interrupt, but Malfoy carried on with his story.

"I didn't have a wand." He said it matter-of-factly, but Harry fiddled with his glass and swallowed guiltily all the same. "So I had to go Muggle. Wanting to get as far away as I could as quickly as possible, I headed straight for the airport."

"You knew what an airport was?" In his shock, Harry couldn't stop the question falling from his mouth.

Malfoy raised his eyes to look at Harry in exasperation. "Just because I didn't like Muggles, doesn't mean I didn't know anything about them."

"Okay." Harry attempted to back-track quickly. "Sorry. Carry on."

Sighing, Malfoy continued. "I purchased a ticket for the first international flight available. It took me to China."

"You've been in China all this time?" Once again, Harry couldn't stop himself from crying out his question.

"Yes, I've been in China all this time." Malfoy knocked back the rest of his brandy. "Do you want to hear this, Potter, or are you going to keep interrupting me every five seconds?"

Harry pursed his lips before mumbling, "S'not every five seconds," to himself as he hid his face in his pint of beer while Malfoy continued.

"I stumbled into snooker." Malfoy ran his forefinger around the rim of his empty glass as he spoke. "I spent my first few months in China drowning my sorrows in the cheapest Muggle bars I could find. Eventually I stumbled upon one with a snooker table. The rest..." he trailed off with a wave of his hand, as if that explained everything.

"The rest?" queried Harry after a few moments.

"Oh, you know, lowly drunkard discovers something he's good at. He finds his purpose, pulls himself back together and becomes a success. Yadda, yadda, yadda."

Harry frowned, wondering how Malfoy could be so blasé about his accomplishments. Surely he'd worked hard to be where he was, and the Malfoy Harry knew would have been bragging about it without stopping for breath.

"Don't look at me like that, Potter," said Malfoy. "It's a bloody cliché. No one wants to hear a bloody cliché, and I don't want to be a bloody cliché. I play snooker. I enjoy it and I'm good at it. That's all that matters. Okay?"

"Okay," Harry agreed. "So why come back to England?"

"After losing to Judd in the China Open earlier this year, I had to." Malfoy sounded light-hearted, but serious.

"Judd Trump?" asked Harry.

Malfoy nodded. "I've met, played and gotten to know all the British players over the last few years." He smiled, obviously very fond of his snooker buddies, and Harry felt a stab of irrational jealousy. "They've always teased and tried to encourage me to come and play at the Crucible, but I never took them seriously; I didn't want to come back. When I missed out on the title to Judd, though, they persuaded me with a challenge." Malfoy rolled his eyes and grinned. "Fucking O'Sullivan."

"Challenge?" Harry echoed. "O'Sullivan!" Ronnie O'Sullivan was one of his favourite snooker players and the idea that Malfoy had been challenged by the man to come back to England shocked and intrigued Harry.

"O'Sullivan." Malfoy nodded again. "Bastard gets eliminated in the first round of the China Open, but swears blind he'd beat me all the way to the cup in the World Championship if only I'd come back to England. I couldn't let the git get away with that. So..." he turned his hands palms up in a gesture of inevitability.

"This... is so bizarre," said Harry. "Two very separate areas of my life have just crashed together and it's hard to get my head around." He finished his beer and pushed his empty glass towards Malfoy. "It's definitely your round."

Malfoy chuckled, but picked up their glasses and made his way to the bar.

Harry watched Malfoy as he walked and noticed his arse looked just as good as it had done when he was bent over the snooker table. More distracting, however, had been Malfoy's smile. Harry had not be able to see that while he watched the snooker match earlier, but he had loved the few that had graced Malfoy's face since entering the pub.

When Malfoy leaned across the bar and smiled at the bartender as he ordered their drinks, Harry once again felt a flash of jealously light up inside of him. Pursing his lips in anger while frowning in confusion, Harry looked away. He had no right and no reason to be feeling that way over Malfoy. He hadn't seen the man in five years, just because he looked fucking incredible didn't mean he had to start being possessive, or staking his claim, or—

A full pint of beer was placed in front of Harry, rousing him from his thoughts.

"Thanks," he said distractedly.

"So," began Malfoy after taking his seat opposite Harry. "How long have I got?"

"Huh?" Harry managed, before shaking himself back to the conversation completely. "How long have you got for what?"

"How long have I got before the Aurors come and take me away?" Malfoy clarified. "I assume you've alerted them as to my whereabouts."

"Aurors? No, Malfoy, I tried to tell you earlier. You wouldn't have been arrested. Not then, and not now."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Harry, obviously suspicious. "Why?" he asked slowly.

"Because, er—" Harry blushed. Having groped Malfoy with his eyes all afternoon, along with his sudden and intense jealous feelings, made it rather embarrassing to say. "Because I wouldn't let them," admitted Harry quietly.

"Excuse me?" Malfoy asked, just as gently.

"I—" Harry fumbled for the right words "Malfoy, you saved my life. Twice. I wasn't going to let them arrest you and lock you up." He kept his eyes on his drink and refused to look up at Malfoy.

"If I recall correctly, I tried to kill you, or have you killed, many more times than that." Malfoy sounded grave and ashamed. "And you saved my life, at least twice, likely more. I think we're even on that score."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he simply shrugged. "Anyway, I didn't want them to arrest you. And as soon as I could I made sure it wouldn't happen. Ever. Well," Harry felt the need to be clear on this, "not for what you did or didn't do during the war. If you go out and rob Gringotts tomorrow, you'll be thrown in prison."

Surprisingly Malfoy quirked a grin at that. "Were you?"

Harry took a breath to utter his retort, but found he didn't have one. He'd robbed Gringotts for a very good reason, but he'd robbed it all the same. "Shut up," he said, instead.

And there was Malfoy's smile again, and Harry was lost.

"So anyway," Harry began, now eager to change the subject. "It was really interesting watching the snooker live. I knew the tables were big, but the size just doesn't come across on TV."

"I haven't seen anything but live snooker, so I wouldn't know," said Malfoy.

"I bet your arse looks just as good on TV as it does in the flesh," said Harry without thinking.

Both of Malfoy's eyebrows rose in shock and he failed to swallow the sip of brandy he had just taken.

"Oh sweet Merlin," mumbled Harry into his hands, for that was where his face was now located. "I can't believe I said that out loud."

Harry heard when Malfoy finally swallowed his brandy before he spoke.

"I can't believe you even thought that." He paused before he voice became half teasing, half suggestive. "After all, you haven't even seen my arse in the flesh, Potter."

Feeling the blush rise in his cheeks, Harry had to stifle a moan as his brain began to picture Malfoy's cheeks. Malfoy's two round, and no doubt pale, cheeks. Harry bit his lip and swallowed as his mouth began to water. He didn't think he would ever be able to come out from behind the safety of his hands again.

At Malfoy's light laughter, Harry managed to sneak a peek through his fingers at the man who was putting deliciously naughty images in his head. There was a gentle smirk on Malfoy's face and he was looking intently at Harry. Well, at Harry's hands. When he spotted Harry's eyes peeping through his fingers, Malfoy raised an eyebrow. Harry let out a whimper at how bloody sexy that eyebrow was as his face abandoned his hands and instead made its acquaintance with the table top.

"Come on, Potter, drink up," said Malfoy lightly.

"Why?" mumbled Harry into the wood under his lips.

"I have something I'd like to show you."

That statement, after having just been discussing Malfoy's arse, made Harry's head snap back up and look at Malfoy in shock.

Malfoy chuckled. "You wish. Hurry up," he said, indicating Harry's beer and downing the rest of his own drink.

As Malfoy got to his feet, Harry hurriedly finished the rest of his beer. They exited the pub quickly without exchanging any words.

It was dark outside now, and Harry realised just how long they had been in the pub chatting. They walked for only a couple of minutes before Harry realised the direction they were heading in.

"We're going back the way we came," said Harry, stating the obvious.

"That we are," replied Malfoy.

"Are we going back to Crucible?"

"That is where we came from." Malfoy's tone was light, but Harry could tell he was being purposefully elusive and wouldn't be telling him what he was up to until he was ready.

"Okay, then," said Harry, deciding to simply accept his fate. He could just abandon Malfoy and go home, of course, but Harry wasn't going to kid himself. He wanted to see whatever it was Malfoy wanted to show him, and he liked having an excuse to spend more time with him.

They carried on in silence for a while longer until they reached the theatre. Malfoy turned to Harry and pressed a finger to his own lips in an unnecessary indication to remain quiet. Harry thought there would have been more chance of him remaining quiet before he had seen Malfoy's lips slightly puckered with a finger where he suddenly wanted his own lips to be.

Shaking himself, Harry watched as Malfoy withdrew a wand from his sleeve and moved towards the back door he had exited from earlier that evening. Harry reached out and clutched Malfoy's arm, stopping him from going any further. The action caused Malfoy to turn towards Harry and lift his eyebrows in a silent question.

"You said you didn't have a wand..." whispered Harry.

"Yes, I didn't have a wand," replied Malfoy quietly. "But now I do have a wand. There are some very fine Chinese wandmakers, you know." He raised his wand and smiled proudly. "12 inches, hualimu, Qilin scales core."

"I... have no idea what you just said," admitted Harry.

Malfoy just rolled his eyes and urged Harry towards the door. After a few surreptitious waves of his wand, Malfoy caused the door to swing open and they swiftly made their way inside.

The inside of the Crucible was eerily quiet now. After the constant noise in the halls and rooms that Harry had heard throughout the day, it was more than a little unnerving, but surprisingly relaxing. Harry found himself really looking around while he had the opportunity, particularly here backstage, where he hadn't been able to go, and would probably never be again.

Without noticing, as wrapped up in the details as Harry was, he soon found himself looking out at hundreds of empty seats. Harry gasped, looked around the space close to him and gaped in shocked disbelief. There in front of him were the two huge snooker tables, both set up ready for the matches the following day. The dividing wall was raised into the staging above, so Harry made his way between the two tables and turned in a full circle to take in the enormity of the theatre, the space and the atmosphere. It was incredible. Once he'd done a complete turn he stopped and faced Malfoy.

Malfoy was off to the side, close to one of the commentary booths. He had his arms folded and he was watching Harry with a small smile playing on his lips.

"You brought me here to show me this?" Harry asked.

Malfoy nodded.

"Why?" Harry pressed.

"The way you spoke about snooker earlier—you really like it, don't you?"

When Harry nodded the smile on Malfoy's face became more defined.

"Well," continued Malfoy, "I've spent enough time watching and playing snooker to know there's nothing quite like being down here, at the centre of it. The smell of the table, the feel of the baize and the sounds of the balls."

Harry could feel a smile finding its way onto his own face as he listened to Malfoy speak about the sport his obviously loved.

"Thank you," said Harry, "for bringing me here. It's wonderful."

When Malfoy just shrugged awkwardly with a slight blush colouring his cheeks, Harry found himself thinking Malfoy looked unbelievably attractive at the same time as wondering if he could make Malfoy's other cheeks blush. Then knew he was blushing, himself.

"So," began Harry, quickly attempting to change the subject. "You're leading against Higgins; you need four frames in tomorrow's session to win. Think you can do it?"

Malfoy scoffed. "Of course I can do it." He paused, and a frown appeared on his face, as though he was considering something. "Unless he distracts me with his chin thing."

"I'm sorry, chin thing?" asked Harry.

"Oh, surely you've noticed, Potter?" When Malfoy didn't get an answer, he carried on. "It's why I can never watch him play when we're competing. John has a very... suggestive chin. At least he does when coupled with the movement of his cue."

Harry couldn't help it; he laughed.

"What?" cried Malfoy, obviously a little put-out by Harry's reaction.

"Nothing, it's just—" Harry giggled a little more. "The woman I was sitting next to during the match seemed to have quite the thing for his chin, too. She was getting quite worked up over it."

"Understandable," said Draco as he raised one shoulder. "It is rather sexy."

Harry shook his head. "Not as sexy as when you bend over the table," he blurted. Without a convenient table to bang his head against, Harry settled for clapping a hand over his mouth and screwing his eyes shut. It seemed the Freudian part of his brain was determined to make his feelings towards Malfoy's rear clearly known as often as possible.

"Again, Potter?" teased Malfoy.

Harry remained still and silent, sure that if he just ignored everything for a few minutes, it would all go away. However, he was shocked into opening his eyes when Malfoy's voice whispered softly in his ear.

"Anyone would think you've got an obsession with my arse."

Unsure how Malfoy had gotten so close to him without him noticing, Harry found he couldn't bring himself to step away. With his heart beating rapidly in his chest, Harry could only watch as Malfoy curled a hand around his wrist and gently pulled Harry's hand away from his mouth.

"I—" began Harry before being shushed with one of Malfoy's fingers against his lips.

"To be honest," said Malfoy, so close to Harry now. "I've never been more turned on by the idea of someone watching me that way while I play."

"Really?" asked Harry against Malfoy's finger, tingling at the small, but intimate contact.

"Really."

Malfoy looked Harry in the eye for several long seconds before removing his finger from Harry's lips. Before Harry even had the chance to mourn the loss of the tingles, the finger had been replaced by Malfoy's mouth. The tingles were suddenly eclipsed by a thrill that ran through Harry's entire body and he found himself wantonly throwing himself into the kiss.

Hands found their way to the back of necks and around waists, but Harry couldn't be sure whose were where. He was far too caught up in the sensation of Malfoy's lips moving urgently against his own. However he didn't miss the hardness that was pressed against his hip, and responded in kind with a thrust of his own erection.

Soon Malfoy was leading Harry's backwards and his back came into contact with something solid and heavy. His kiss-addled mind took longer than it should have to realise what it was. With a grin, and a swift movement, Harry manoeuvred himself and Malfoy around so they exchanged places. When Harry reached between them and began fiddling with Malfoy's belt, Malfoy let out a moan of encouragement into Harry's mouth.

Never breaking the kiss, Harry undid Malfoy's belt, button and zip, and then hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the trousers and underwear. He slowly pulled them down, over Malfoy's penis and the arse that Harry had yet to see in the flesh. Just before the unwanted garments were removed completely, Malfoy reached into his pocket, removed a small container and placed it on the table behind him. Harry pulled away enough to raise an eyebrow and a corner of his mouth at Malfoy.

"What?" said Malfoy defensively. "I'm an excellent boy scout."

Harry laughed lightly and resumed the kiss as he continued pushing down Malfoy's trousers. Once they had fallen to the floor, Malfoy wasted no time in toeing off his shoes and shaking his clothes from his ankles while unbuttoning and tossing away his shirt.

Before Malfoy had the change to begin stripping Harry of his clothing, Harry spun Malfoy around and from behind him he whispered in his ear.

"I'll show you just how obsessed I am with your arse."

With that he bent Malfoy forwards over the snooker table and began kissing and licking his way down his back. Malfoy arched into Harry's mouth as his breathing picked up and became heavier the lower Harry's mouth got.

Eventually Harry knelt down of the floor; his face level with the object of his afternoon's ogling. It did look better in the flesh, and just as pale and perfect as Harry had imagined. Unable to resist, Harry palmed each of Malfoy's cheeks—they were firm, just as he had guessed—and gave them a squeeze, before gently parting them and eagerly running his tongue across the exposed flesh. A shudder ran through Malfoy's body and Harry heard a pleading moan from above him.

Never one to withhold what someone wanted, Harry dived back in immediately. He wasted no time, and soon Malfoy was making some of the most erotic sounds Harry had ever heard as his pushed himself back against Harry's face. With his tongue licking hungrily in and around Malfoy's hole, Harry let one of his hands caress its way below and across to Malfoy's balls. There was a whimper as Harry stroked and tugged in turn on the soft skin of Malfoy's balls.

"Please..." called Malfoy quietly, but clearly.

Slowly, Harry abandoned Malfoy's arse and made his way back up his body. When he reached his full height, he pulled Malfoy upright and again whispered in his ear.

"Turn around and get up on to the table."

Harry heard the needy breath Malfoy released at his words and felt the sudden need to grope Malfoy's arse before he moved. After Harry released his arse, Malfoy turned around and wrapped his arms around Harry's neck, pulling him in for a kiss full of need and passion and urgency.

When the kiss broke Harry barely had time to take a breath before he was watching Malfoy climb on the table, sending the balls scattering across the expanse of green. Harry hastily removed his own clothing, abandoning it in a pile on the edge of the table, before clambering up to join Malfoy.

After a little manoeuvring and a ball or two in awkward places, Harry lay Malfoy down on his back and kissed him again. Malfoy rocked his hips forwards and up, causing their erections to brush against each other, eliciting a cry of pleasure from both of them.

Without prompting, the small container Malfoy had removed from his trousers earlier was thrust into Harry's hand and Malfoy rolled his hips once again. Message received loud and clear, Harry didn't hesitate. He lubricated three fingers before deliberately teasing Malfoy's arse hole with one of them.

Only when Malfoy let out a low growl did Harry relent and push his finger into Malfoy. Malfoy was a very responsive lover, arching his back and moaning his delight at the action against Harry's lips.

Harry added a second finger, and then a third, all the time feeding off of Malfoy's reactions. He ground himself down against Harry's fingers, whilst gripping Harry's hair tight and refusing to relinquish his mouth.

Malfoy only relented when it was to gasp for breath and desperately beg Harry.

"Fuck me!" he cried.

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He removed his fingers and took the time to coat his cock before it was pushing keenly again Malfoy's arse hole. They both gasped as Harry's breached Malfoy's muscles, and Harry knew this was going to be the most incredible sex he'd ever had.

Wanting to pause for a moment to steady himself, Harry soon found out that Malfoy had other plans. Two strong hands grasped Harry's arse and pulled him forwards as Malfoy thrust himself upwards, causing Harry's cock to slide completely in.

Before Harry's senses could even acclimatise themselves to the sensation of being buried balls deep inside of Draco Malfoy's exquisite arse, Malfoy was growling his need again.

"Move," demanded Malfoy, not unkindly.

Compelled into action by Malfoy's unbridled intensity, Harry moved. He pulled back and almost all the way out of Malfoy, before pushing back in. With each thrust he was encouraged by Malfoy's moans and cries to pick up the pace slightly. Harry had been correct in his assumption; this was incredible.

Knowing he wasn't going to last much longer, Harry reached between them and began working Malfoy's erection. If it were possible, the sounds coming from Malfoy's mouth became even more animated and soon he was coming over Harry's hand and both of their bodies. The unguarded look of pure bliss on Malfoy's face, along with the tightening of his sensational arse, ripped Harry's orgasm from him. He released himself deep inside of Malfoy with a few more clumsy thrusts before falling forwards.

Managing to hold himself up on his elbows, Harry looked down at Malfoy as his eyes opened and he looked back up at Harry. Without closing his eyes, Harry leaned down and placed his lips against Malfoy's, who instantly responded by lifting his hands to cup the back of Harry's head.

After a few minutes spent kissing, Harry's softening penis prompted him to roll to the side and slide out of Malfoy, bringing with him his release.

Malfoy sat up and looked at the stain they had created on the blemish-free snooker table top.

"I hope you're going to clean that up," said Malfoy. "I'll be playing on this table tomorrow."

- End -