Harry blinked into the mirror and splashed water on his face, hoping it would awaken him. Apparition-lag had set in and he wanted nothing more than to sleep for another hour, or six.

He rubbed a wet hand through his stubble. Perhaps a shave would help. He fumbled for his wand on the counter, and lifted it to cast a Depilatory Charm. The bathroom door opened and Harry froze at the sight of Draco Malfoy reflected in the mirror.

"Still shaving with a wand, Potter?"

"Don't you knock?"

"The door wasn't closed. Do you require privacy to shave?"

Harry felt his face redden with annoyance. He'd had no idea when he'd agreed to take the Seeker position with the Caerphilly Catapults that Malfoy had signed on at the same time as a Keeper. And now, here they were, in Canada, preparing for their first game against the Victoria Vengeance.

While Harry didn't require privacy, the fact that he wore only pyjama bottoms in Malfoy's presence made him a bit uncomfortable, especially when combined with a few key facts.

One, Harry liked blokes. He had arrived at this conclusion following a Muggle New Year's Eve party at Seamus Finnigan's, during which there had been drunkenness, nudity, and some eye-opening groping.

Two, thanks to Harry's newfound appreciation for the male form, he had discovered that Draco Malfoy was a fit bloke. A very fit bloke. In fact, the bastard was gorgeous.

And three, Harry hadn't been laid in months.

"No, I do not need privacy to shave," Harry growled and turned back to the mirror, determined to ignore Malfoy, especially if his intent was to annoy Harry, something he could accomplish simply by breathing.

"Good, because the other loos are in use." With that, Malfoy made his way to the toilet. Thankfully, it was behind Harry, so he could see nothing except Malfoy's bare back, and the delectable hint of arse crack just above his black pyjama bottoms—in the mirror.

Harry tried to ignore Malfoy and the sound of splashing behind him, not wanting to envision Malfoy's cock, especially. Harry's lips thinned and he raised his wand again.

"You're doing that wrong," Malfoy commented.

Harry closed his eyes and lowered his wand, sending up a silent prayer for strength. "Doing what wrong?"

"Shaving. You can't get a decent shave with a wand."

Harry looked over his shoulder and frowned. "How else would you do it?"

"With a razor, of course."

Harry blinked at him, unable to process that Draco Malfoy actually advocated not using magic.

"A Muggle razor?"

Malfoy snorted. "Of course not. Goblin-forged razors are far superior to anything a Muggle can produce."

Harry nearly smiled as the world righted itself. "Naturally," he muttered. He dismissed Malfoy and lifted his wand once more.

"I can show you, if you'd like."

Harry spun completely around in disbelief. "You are offering to show me how to shave with a goblin-forged razor? Do you plan to cut my throat and pawn it off as an accident?"

Malfoy scowled. "Never mind, Potter. I was merely trying to be friendly." He brushed by Harry, who immediately felt like a heel, as well as an immature idiot who couldn't put past rivalries behind him.

"Wait!" Harry called before Malfoy was through the door. Malfoy paused and glanced over his shoulder with a raised brow. His eyes were cold.

Harry swallowed. "I'm sorry. Old habits, and all. Can we start over?" He walked towards Malfoy and put out a hand. "Hello, I'm Harry Potter. I hear you are an excellent Keeper."

Harry's hand stayed in mid-air until he started to feel like an even bigger arse, but his Gryffindor pride would not allow him to lower his hand and back down. Malfoy's grey eyes seemed to measure him and Harry felt every past incident between them adding weight to the stare. He waited for Malfoy to turn and walk away, to open yet another chapter of their perpetual antagonism.

And then Malfoy stepped back into the room and took Harry's hand. His mouth quirked in an almost-smile. "Draco Malfoy. I hear you are a show-off and a complete git."

Harry grinned, because Malfoy's tone was teasing, rather than obnoxious, and he had taken Harry's hand. Malfoy's grip was warm and sure. It felt nice. Harry let go.

"So, were you serious about the razor?"

Malfoy stepped even closer and took Harry's hand again. He lifted it to his face and pressed Harry's fingers against his jaw. "You tell me," Malfoy said.

Harry felt a blush creeping into his cheeks. Touching Malfoy's face was curiously intimate. Not wanting to be rude after his earlier behaviour, Harry moved his fingertips over Malfoy's jaw. It was very smooth, indeed. Harry drew his fingers forwards and touched Malfoy's chin, noting that it wasn't particularly pointy anymore. It was just as smooth as Malfoy's jaw, even the dip just below his lips. For a moment, Harry was tempted to trace his lips. His eyes met Malfoy's and Harry could not read the enigmatic expression there.

Harry snatched his fingers away and stepped back. "Very smooth," he agreed.

"Care to take your chances?" Malfoy asked.

"Chances?" Harry asked, finding it hard to think through the pounding of his heart.

"With my razor. The offer stands"

Harry's eyes widened. The thought of Malfoy standing over him with sharp metal was disturbing on so many levels, but to refuse now would seem like a rebuff.

"All in the spirit of team-mately camaraderie, of course," Malfoy added. "And I promise not to nick you."

Harry bit his lip, took a grip on his Gryffindor courage, and nodded. "All right, then."

Malfoy grinned and Harry found himself grinning back. Malfoy was very attractive, especially when he smiled. If nothing else, the fear of a sliced jugular would keep Harry's libido in check.

"You won't be sorry. Come along."

"We can't do it here?"

"There is not enough room, Potter." With that, he went out. Harry obediently followed, trying not to feel like he was walking to his doom. Maybe Malfoy wanted to off him in order to take the coveted Seeker position. He hoped it was a far-fetched idea.

The Victoria hotel in which they were quartered had several levels. Their floor held six rooms and two common bathrooms. The windows in Malfoy's room were east-facing, so his room was much brighter than Harry's, filled with the glow of the sunrise. It held the same sparse furnishings, however. One bed, two bedside tables, a small desk and two chairs.

Malfoy pulled the hard-backed chair away from the desk. "Have a seat, Potter."

Harry sat down and Malfoy rummaged in a leather kit on the desk. He pulled out a ceramic jar, a wicked-looking straight razor, and a leather strop. Harry watched with growing trepidation as Malfoy dragged the razor over strop.

"I doubt it actually needs sharpening," he said, "but it is part of the ritual."

The word "ritual" conjured up unwelcome visions of human sacrifice and Harry wiped his palms on his pyjama bottoms. Malfoy set the razor and strop aside and pulled a small white towel from his kit. A flick of his wand wet the towel and another warmed it. Malfoy dropped the steaming cloth over Harry's face.

"Too warm?" he asked.

Harry could barely breathe through the rush of steam filling his lungs. He yanked the towel down so he could breathe through his nose. He glared at Malfoy, but shook his head. The heat felt good on his face, after the first shock.

Malfoy retrieved the small pot and lifted the lid, which had a round brush attached. Malfoy removed the towel and swirled the brush over Harry's chin and jaw. Foam sprang up immediately, scented of mint and something clean, like the air after a storm. Harry kept his lips clamped shut to avoid a mouthful of foam, and Malfoy brushed it beneath his nose with a gentle swipe.

He sent the pot winging back to the desk with a wandless spell. "Ready, Potter?" he asked.

Harry nodded curtly, even though he was far from ready, and braced himself for the first kiss of the razor. It was cold against his warm skin, and scraped along his cheek in a short stroke. Malfoy wiped the foam from the razor on the towel and smiled. "You survived the first touch? Shall I continue?"

Harry made a noise of assent and tried to relax. The razor whispered over his skin, held in Malfoy's long fingers. Harry turned his head when bid, and only gasped once when Malfoy straddled him.

"Don't be frightened," Malfoy soothed, "I just need a better angle."

"'M not 'fraid," Harry mumbled.

"Shush. And straighten your top lip."

Harry did, and the razor scraped over his upper lip with sure, deft strokes.

Harry was more conscious of Malfoy's thighs on either side of his own than he was of the steel.

Malfoy's look of concentration was diverting. His lips were slightly pursed and his stare was intense.

"Head back, Potter."

Harry tipped his head back without hesitation. He thought he heard Malfoy say, "Fuck" and he snapped his eyes open in alarm, but the razor was nowhere near Harry's skin, so he relaxed, thinking he must have imagined the exclamation.

Malfoy started again at his chin and drew the blade down towards his windpipe.

The strokes repeated, moving closer and closer to his jugular. Harry thought he should be worried, but Malfoy was still straddling his lap and now one hand was braced on Harry's shoulder.

Malfoy's touch seemed to burn into Harry's skin and it was suddenly far too warm in the room, despite the fact that Harry wore only pyjama pants.

A few more caresses of the blade and then Malfoy was moving away. He tossed the razor on the desk, retrieved a clean towel, wet-warmed it, and rubbed it over Harry's face, removing every trace of foam.

"There," he said in a satisfied tone. "All finished, and you're still alive."

Harry reached up and felt his face. It was extremely smooth, although in all truth he could not discern any difference between his razor-shorn face and his usual wand-shave. He smiled reluctantly.

"Thank you, Malfoy."



"We are teammates and I just shaved you with cold steel. I think the least you can do is call me Draco."

Harry cocked a brow. "So, we're boyfriends now?" he joked.

Malfoy straddled him again, took Harry's face in both hands. He leaned down, closer and closer. Harry forgot to breathe and his eyes fluttered shut in anticipation. After a moment, he felt Malfoy's breath against his lips, but no pressure followed. Harry opened his eyes, puzzled.

Malfoy watched him, eyes half-lidded, and Harry realized Malfoy was waiting for an explosion. Instead, Harry tipped his head forward and closed the distance. Malfoy seemed to sink into the kiss with a sigh, though it was little more than the solid touch of lips to lips. Neither of them pulled away for long moments, and then Malfoy's mouth left his. Harry blinked to refocus and found Malfoy watching him with a hint of a smile.

"Now we're boyfriends," Malfoy said.

Harry reached up and gripped Malfoy's waist with both hands. "About time," he growled and pulled Malfoy in. This time the kiss was anything but chaste and Malfoy's weight settled onto Harry's lap.

Their mouths opened together and Malfoy's tongue was wet and sweet against Harry's. He tasted of oranges and Harry eagerly sought more of the flavour. Malfoy's hands splayed over Harry's abdomen and an eager part of Harry's anatomy perked up at the attention.

When Harry was running out of air, Malfoy pulled away. "What do you mean 'about time'?" he asked.

"We've been dancing around each other for years," Harry said. "I always thought you were straight."

"I was until I saw you in your Quidditch gear. Such an improvement over all that red."

Harry felt a chuckle bubbling in his chest. "You mean if I had only put on Slytherin green at Hogwarts we could have circumvented all that unpleasantness?"

"You'll never know," Malfoy said enigmatically and kissed him again. He shifted closer on Harry's lap and Harry drew in a sharp breath at the feel of Malfoy's hardness against his own. Malfoy groaned and rocked forwards.

Harry must have whimpered. His hands moved up over Malfoy's smooth back and then down to tease at the waistband of Malfoy's pyjama bottoms.

"Too soon for more than kissing?" Malfoy asked and made a sound that went straight to Harry's cock.

"Not if you were serious about being my boyfriend."

Malfoy drew back sharply at that. "Do you mean in public?" he asked in a disbelieving tone.

Harry scowled. In truth, he had been hoping Malfoy's seduction had begun with the intention of something more than just a quick, meaningless shag. "Yes, in public. On the field, and in cafes and shops, and in the Daily fucking Prophet and whatever passes for a news-rag here, because they'll be the first to report it if you're brave enough to walk out of here with me."

Draco's eyes narrowed at the veiled insult. "Are you calling me a coward?"

"If the shoe fits," Harry retorted. "Are you picking up the gauntlet?"

"What about your friends?" Malfoy asked.

"What about your parents?" Harry countered.

They were both silent for a moment, staring each other down.

"It will never work, will it?" Malfoy asked.

"Probably not," Harry replied reluctantly, but he did not remove his hands from Malfoy. He drew one thumb gently over the soft skin just above the swell of Malfoy's buttocks.

"Still," Malfoy said, "it might be fun to try. I know how much you like to break the rules."

"And I know how much you love talking to the press."

"Think of all the hate mail."

"Think of all the sex."

Malfoy swallowed and Harry felt a thrill of victory when Malfoy said, "There is that."

"If the kissing is any indication, it will be brilliant."

"Of course it will be brilliant, Potter, but will it be brilliant enough to withstand the public outcry and horrified reactions from family and friends?"

"I'm willing to risk it."

"Are you?" Malfoy asked with a seductive lilt, leaning closer.

"I am. And it's Harry."

"We're going to be late for practice, Harry."

"Very late," Harry agreed and kissed him. Malfoy's hands moved down and found their way to Harry's cock, plucking it from beneath the fabric of Harry's pyjama bottoms and gripping it with a sure hand. At the first touch, Harry wasn't sure "brilliant" was a strong enough adjective.

Harry's hand pushed beneath the waistband of Malfoy's pyjamas and cupped his amazing arse. Malfoy moved on Harry's lap and his silk-clad erection pressed against Harry's for a moment. Desire seemed to roar through Harry like a rushing beast. He needed more.

"Take these off," he growled between kisses.

"Bossy in bed, are you?" Malfoy asked, but he got to his feet.

"You'll find out," Harry said, hoping it was true.

Malfoy stepped out of his pants, smiling at Harry as his grey eyes travelled over Harry, who felt utterly debauched sprawled on a chair with his cock out. The first sight of Malfoy completely nude banished any sense of embarrassment, especially when he returned to Harry's lap. He pushed his hard cock up against Harry's and then took them both in a strong grip.

"Oh hell yes," Harry said. His right hand joined Malfoy's and they stroked in unison. Harry was pleased to note that Malfoy seemed to like kissing just as much as Harry. Their mouths locked and parted frequently between panted gasps and murmured syllables that weren't quite words.

Harry tried harder for coherency. "Draco," he said before his lips were caught in an even more ferocious kiss. Malfoy's hand moved faster. His weight was crushing Harry's thighs into the hard chair and the backrest felt like it was making permanent grooves in Harry's back, but Harry wouldn't have moved for the world. His toes curled and his balls began to tighten. Bloody hell, he hadn't reached climax so quickly since he was a randy teen.

"Four, three, two…" Malfoy said breathily. When he reached "One" Harry came, tossing back his head and biting his lip to keep from shouting. He would prefer their teammates not barge into the room to find the source of Harry's exclamation.

Malfoy's cock pulsed against his own and heat splashed over his hand and abdomen, his and Malfoy's together. Two breaths later, Malfoy collapsed on him like a dead weight, gasping for air. Wetness smeared over Harry's shoulder when Malfoy gripped it. His chin rested on Harry's other shoulder and he suddenly seemed like a very contented, languid cat. Harry suspected if they were in a bed, Malfoy would roll over and fall into a deep sleep. He hoped he wouldn't have long to wait to verify that theory.

"Time for a shower?" Harry asked, hoping to encourage Malfoy to leave off crushing his rapidly deadening thighs.

"No, I want to go back to bed," Malfoy muttered.

"Well, we could come back here after the shower. Call off sick."

Malfoy's head jerked up and his expression seemed to waver between approving and predatory. "Such blatant disregard for the rules."

"Are you complaining?"

"Not one bit."

Malfoy stood and Summoned his wand to cast a quick Cleaning Charm. He stepped into his pyjamas and strode to the door, where he grinned over his shoulder. "Last one in the shower bottoms." He flung open the portal as Harry scrambled to tug his pants up. His wand had fallen to the floor, unnoticed. He grabbed it and cast an absent Cleaning Charm as he hurried after Malfoy.

In the corridor, he heard Malfoy yell, "Hey, Rodriguez! Tell McKinney that Potter and I won't be at practice! We're staying in to fuck."

"It's about bloody time!" Rodriguez's voice yelled back and Harry heard a door slam.

Harry shook his head as he followed his new boyfriend, reflecting that his life was about to get completely out his control.

"Get your arse in here, Potter!"

Harry smiled. He was just fine with that.