A Matter of Convenience – Chapter Two
Summary: Malfoy agrees to help Harry with a no-strings-attached arrangement to discover if he really is as bent as he suspects.
Warnings: This story contains mature content (Slash, Harry X Draco). Excessive wanking? I'm not sure if that's a warning or a plot summary.
For those who haven't read it yet, you can also check out the one-shot outtake to this story, "A Matter of Misunderstanding."
It was harder than Harry anticipated getting Malfoy's attention without calling attention to himself. He tried to do it at breakfast the next day so he wouldn't lose his nerve, but Malfoy was surrounded by his typical Slytherin entourage. They hung all over him in an annoying fashion. It was so unfair the way they casually touched his arm or whispered in his ear. It was as if they knew Harry wanted a moment alone with him and they were mocking him for it. Harry finally gave up and stood by the doors waiting until Malfoy was done with breakfast. Pansy gave him an odd look as they exited the great hall, but Malfoy didn't give him a second glance, the obnoxious prat.
It was no better any other day that week, for that matter. The longer time went on, the more desperate and miserable Harry became. All the various scenarios played in his head on a continuous loop.
Potions class was an unmitigated torture. Harry kept sneaking glances at Malfoy and wondering if it wouldn't be better to just call the whole thing off. Every time he had just about talked himself out of it, he would get a glimpse of Malfoy's long pale fingers measuring ingredients or taking notes. That led to dangerous thoughts about what those fingers could do to Harry, stroking and teasing and touching. As pleasant as wanking to the pictures in his magazine had been, it was all getting a bit repetitive. The reaction he was looking for, that explosive intensity was completely missing unless he fantasized about Draco sodding Malfoy. The same Malfoy that was apparently incapable of being alone from his friends for more than ten seconds at a time!
Ron had to ask him to pass the butter three times at dinner that evening before Harry heard him. His stomach too in knots to even contemplate eating, Harry wasn't sure which he was most afraid of; Draco refusing his proposal and mocking him in front of the entire school or accepting and actually doing that to Harry. The idea of that was exciting, scary, nerve wracking, and arousing all at the same time. Harry may still have been a little fuzzy on the specifics, but he had a pretty good grasp on the basics of what went where, at least enough not to completely embarrass himself. Hopefully.
Harry sighed, swirling his fork in his forgotten and abused mashed potatoes. Couldn't he take the easy road, just once in his life? This was just one more thing that made him different than everyone else. He was certainly aware of the Dursley's poor opinion on the matter, but he had no idea how someone of his persuasion would be treated in the wizarding world. Judging by the war they had just been through, he isn't naïve enough to think that magic solved all prejudices.
He glanced down the table toward Ron and Hermione, where they were making sickeningly saccharine faces at one another while eating bits of chocolate cake. After everything they had been through, Harry was confident they wouldn't abandon him if they found out, but they were so fucking wrapped up in their own happy bubble. They had had such precious little time to just relax and enjoy themselves that he didn't need to bring any unneeded stress into the mix.
Not to mention the fact that, just for once, Harry wanted something he could keep all to himself.
Harry ultimately had to resort to cornering his target after the Slytherin Quidditch practice. If he had any doubts about his ability to be attracted to Malfoy during this arrangement, they were completely erased when he saw Malfoy rounding the corner. His normally pin straight hair was windblown and tousled. His skin glimmered with a sheen of sweat and his cheeks were pink from flying. He moved with the easy languid grace of someone comfortable in his own skin. Chatting with his teammates, he was open and unguarded. Harry's breath caught when he saw Malfoy smile at a comment made by one of the other Slytherins. His entire face transformed. When he wasn't sneering, Malfoy was bloody gorgeous.
Trying not to think about this venture was doomed to certain failure; Harry balled up his note and threw it towards Malfoy's direction, while hiding just around the partition to the locker room. It landed with a soft drop at his feet, but wasn't loud enough to actually get his attention. Malfoy systematically removed his Quidditch leathers, slipping out of first his shirt and then his trousers. Before Harry's heart could complete its journey out of his throat, the pale tantalizing flesh was covered up by a thick fluffy towel. Unfortunately for his libido, it was also before he could see anything too naughty. The thought that in a few minutes Malfoy would be on the way to the showers, naked, and wet, and naked, and hot, and most importantly naked, sent any blood that was not currently racing through his veins in a decidedly southern direction.
After a few agonizing moments in which Harry tried to come up with a note recovery plan – couldn't have someone else finding it after all – Malfoy finally spotted it on the ground. The rest of the team redressed and exited, leaving the two of them finally alone. He put the rest of his gear away in the lockers and sat down on the smooth wooden bench to read the scrawled parchment. That did very interesting things to the fold of his towel. Harry craned his head to try to get a better vantage point without completely giving away his position.
Malfoy's look of puzzlement turned to suspicion. He turned to where Harry was waiting around the corner. Harry met his eyes and tried unsuccessfully not to flinch.
"Here is the errant Gryffindor himself. So let me get this straight, Potter." Malfoy gave Harry a look of reserved distrust. "You said you have some sort of proposition for me."
Harry took a deep breath, looking around to make sure they weren't within earshot of any stragglers. He tried to act nonchalant and cool about the whole thing, but suspected he was failing miserably. "I need someone with your specific proclivities to help me with an experiment."
"Get Granger to help you with your Potions project. I'm not interested."
"It's not the type of thing a girl could really help me with, if you catch my drift."
"I'm afraid I'm not following you, Potter. You are wasting my time." Malfoy started to turn back toward the lockers.
"I think I'm bent." Harry didn't mean to say it so baldly, but he was desperate.
To his credit, Malfoy's expression didn't change one iota. "What do you want me to do about it?"
"Help me find out for sure."
Malfoy raised one artfully curved eyebrow and cross his arms. "How do I know this isn't a trick?"
"I'm desperate, okay." Blushing furiously, Harry bit his lip.
Malfoy's voice was wary, but intrigued. "What exactly would this experiment entail? Assuming of course, that you aren't just taking the piss."
"I heard you were somewhat… experienced. I'm pretty sure what I like when I'm by myself, but I have no idea what to do with another person. What if I'm wrong, or am absolute pants at it?" Harry turned scarlet. It was embarrassing enough to admit these thoughts to himself. To say them out loud was by turns torturous and liberating.
Malfoy thought for a moment, then his face turned calculating and predatory. "So that's what you're really after." He stroked his chin with his hand. "You need to be certain what you are getting yourself into, Potter. I won't be some simpering little fangirl ready to throw herself at your feet." He circled Harry, bare feet padding the floor. "There won't be any flowers and hearts and shit. If we do this, we are doing this properly. It will be rough and dirty." He punctuated each word with a step closer. "I know you've thought about it, but can you handle it? Another boy kissing you, touching you?" He leaned forward to whisper in Harry's ear. "Fucking you?"
Harry whimpered an embarrassing little sound he wasn't ever sure he was capable of producing. "God, yes."
Malfoy stepped back, seemingly unaffected. "Is this some scheme to embarrass me? I have to tell you, I can't get much lower in status at this school than ex-Death Eater."
"I can go to somebody else if you don't want to do it. I'm sure there must be someone willing to help me out." Harry was bluffing, but hoped Malfoy wouldn't call him on it.
"Tell me, Potter. Why me? Why not approach someone you're actually on speaking terms with?"
"You don't need to speak to be able to shag." Harry waved his hand in a come or go gesture. "I've heard Blaise plays on the same team. If you aren't interested I could always see what he would say." Harry of course had no intention of ever letting that Neanderthal touch him, but Draco didn't need to know that.
"Blaise is willing to fuck anything that moves." Draco looked contemplative for a moment. "He would eat you alive." He held out his hand. "I accept your arrangement, Potter."
Harry grasped his hand in his.
To be continued...