Harry could hardly believe his luck. Part of him thought he might have slipped in the shower, hit his head, and currently suffered from a massive hallucination. The possibility was negated, however, by the feel of Draco pressed up against him, warm and solid and, apparently, quite willing.
The kiss in the taxicab had been lovely, but dulled by Harry's alcohol consumption at the time. Now, however, he was fully cognizant and far better able to appreciate the nuances of the situation. Mirroring Harry's movements from moments prior, Draco had quite firmly backed Harry into the wall, holding him in place with the firm pressure of torso to torso.
Harry tilted his head for better access; Draco's tongue found its way inside his mouth and Harry welcoming him eagerly. One hand lifted to glide into Draco's soft hair—the other kept a firm grip on the towel around his hips. Everything was going so well at the moment, he didn't want to scare Draco away by accident.
That plan was nearly forgotten as Harry grew more and more lost in the play of Draco's mouth on his, and Draco moved even closer to step between Harry's legs, nudging his feet apart, and placing their groins together in a motion that drew a hoarse exclamation from Harry. Bloody hell, Draco would be the death of him and he hoped it wasn't some sadistic revenge-torture Draco had in mind.
Draco made a lovely noise in response, bit gently into Harry's lower lip once more, and then stepped back, almost seeming to confirm Harry's wild suspicion, but it was negated by the look in Draco's eyes.
"I can't—"he said. "I can't do more until I've talked to Roderick. We haven't properly broken up and it wouldn't be right for me to take up with you like this. He isn't a bad sort and he deserves better."
Harry mourned the loss of Draco's warm body, partly because his wet skin was beginning to chill. "Actually, Roderick broke up with you this morning," Harry offered. "He sent an owl."
Draco blinked at him across the space of the hallway. He'd only taken two steps back; Harry itched to reach out and pull him back in for more kissing. "Is that what that was? The idiot wrote it in Portuguese. I was too busy looking for you to take the time to have it translated. I figured it could wait."
"He might have been a bit drunk when he wrote it."
Draco's eyes narrowed. "How do you know all that?"
"Neville called me from Hogwarts when Montoya showed up for an exhibition match and was too under the weather to perform. Neville suspected the Ministry wouldn't want the press getting wind of it so close to the World Cup, so he called me to intervene."
"And did you?"
"Not really. Zabini took care of it."
Harry nodded, although he didn't get into exactly how Zabini had fixed the problem. He decided that news was probably best delivered by one or the other of the participants. He also wasn't certain if it would be a lasting thing or simply a snogging session spurred by drunkenness and a heat-of-the-moment argument. Neville had sent a message stating that Zabini had escorted Montoya into the castle, but he hadn't heard from them since.
"What was that boyfriend thing you mentioned earlier?" Harry asked, hoping to bring the subject back to a more kissing-friendly topic. He took a step forward. "You aren't simply replacing one 'socially acceptable' person with another, are you?"
"Well, you did offer to be 'something more' at one time. Or was that you talking out of your arse?"
"I meant every word," Harry said, taking another step and turning into the aggressor once more. It had served him well last time as a means of deflating Draco's well-deserved anger. "I am sorry for lying to you, by the way, but I'm not sorry for getting to know you as Mark, without our past history to cloud your judgment. It was a rare opportunity to discover how lovely you are beneath all of the… thorns."
Draco huffed. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Mmm," Harry murmured. "I imagine not." He drew his fingertips lightly down the front of Draco's robes, from collarbone to waist, watching his eyes the entire time. Draco's breath hitched and he leaned into Harry's touch. Harry had been partially hard after the kissing session, and grew slightly more than half-hard after witnessing Draco's response. It was obvious Draco wanted him, hopefully as much as Harry wanted him.
"Do you mind if we continue this discussion elsewhere? Either in the bedroom with fewer clothes or downstairs after I put something on? I'm getting cold."
Draco looked conflicted for a moment. "I really shouldn't fall into bed with you. We haven't even been on a proper date."
"Of course we have. The Muggle restaurant was perfectly proper."
"I was out with Mark, not you."
"But Mark is me."
"I didn't know that, so it doesn't count." Draco had his pouty-face on and, adorable though it was, Harry knew he'd lost this round.
"All right. Let me go and get dressed. I'll meet you downstairs and you can let me know where you want to go on our first 'proper' date." Harry gave him a wink to let him know he wasn't angry and then turned and went back into the bedroom. He only wished his cock would be so understanding.
He stopped before his wardrobe and debated what to wear. His typical day-off tatty t-shirt wouldn't do. He supposed he should start dressing more like Mark, who had always taken care with his wardrobe; his persona had even necessitated the purchase of some new clothing. As Harry pondered, he absently pulled the towel from around his hips and used it to dry off his still-soapy hair. He'd been in the process of rinsing when Draco's bellow had startled him out of the shower.
"Fuck propriety," Draco said behind him, stalking into the room to pull Harry into a bruising kiss.
The towel fell as Harry's hands grasped for something solid and found Draco's shoulders. He was too shocked to enjoy the kiss for one startled moment, and then he returned it with full-fledged enthusiasm.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ o ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Draco had debated with himself for the space of a few heartbeats before turning and following Potter into the bedroom. He knew what he wanted—what they both wanted—and denying them seemed ridiculous. Granted, he'd been annoyed at Potter's deception, but his earnest insistence that everything he'd felt as Mark had been real… well, that was quite an ego-boost, really. The prat had continually sought Draco out simply because he'd wanted to be with him. He'd even taught himself to drink decent tea and then shared that knowledge with the rest of the trio.
And he was willing to be 'something more' with Draco.
The fact that he was a marvellous kisser and was currently naked had nothing at all to do with Draco's decision. He pointedly ignored the Pansy in his head yelling, "Liar!" at the latter thought and then put her out of his thoughts for good, in order to better concentrate on Potter.
Potter made a nice sound when Draco's hands roamed from his shoulders down his back to grip his arse. A lovely, lovely arse it was, firm and smooth and just the right size for Draco's hands. Draco wanted to bite it.
"You should get on the bed so that I may properly punish you for lying to me," Draco said as he pulled his mouth from Potter's and then placed languid kisses along the side of his neck, following it down to the muscle above his collarbone. Draco bit him, just hard enough to draw a gasp, although the way Potter arched into him and his hardening cock jerked against Draco's, Draco thought it likely he didn't mind the gesture.
"Ow. I didn't know you were a biter."
"Too late to turn back now, Potter. Bed."
Potter nodded shakily, squeezed Draco's arms once more, and then turned and took several quick steps to the nearby bed. The duvet was disturbingly red—not quite Gryffindor red, but close enough to annoy Draco's sensibilities, although he had to admit that once Potter sprawled on it and looked at Draco with a sultry stare, he was a fetching picture.
Draco quickly divested himself of his outer robes, shirt, shoes, and socks, leaving only his dark trousers on as he crawled between Potter's legs.
"Um. Shouldn't you take those off?" Potter asked.
"All in good time. Now, put your hands up on the headboard and grip the bars—I approve of your bed, by the way, nice use of iron and very convenient handholds. I didn't expect you to be so kinky."
"It was here when I moved in."
Draco smirked. Now Potter decided to be honest. Draco didn't mention it, however, as Potter obediently took hold of the bars.
"Does that mean you haven't broken this bed in properly?"
"I guess not. I was waiting for the right person, I suppose."
"Cheers, Potter. Your wait is over." Draco smiled, showing plenty of teeth in a predatory manner.
"Do you think you might start calling me Harry?"
"All in good time, Potter. Now hold tight." Draco smirked as any reply was cut off by a gasp when Draco closed his mouth over Potter's nipple and sucked hard. He glanced up to see the tendons in Potter's arms tighten as he gripped the bars tighter.
Draco allowed his hands to move, sliding over as much of Potter as he could reach, gripping, squeezing, and dragging his short nails over sensitive places, and following many of them with his mouth, until Potter was a writhing mess.
Of course, Draco neglected one particular area on purpose, and he sat back to look at it thoughtfully; precome had spilled from the tip in a slick pool. Potter whimpered and lifted his hips. "Please…"
Draco pursed his lips. "I don't know, Potter. I'm not sure you've learned your 'do not lie to Draco' lesson quite yet."
"Yes, I have! I completely, totally have!"
"How do I know you aren't just saying that to get me to touch your cock? Don't even think about letting go of those bars."
Potter's hands, which had loosened, retained their sold grip as Potter shook his head. "I'm not! I really mean it! I'm sorry!"
Draco stared into Potter's earnest face for a moment longer and then dipped his head, lowering his mouth as though to kiss Potter's cock, but then he swerved and bit into the soft flesh of Potter's thigh instead. Potter's balls brushed Draco's chin as he arched off the bed with a yelp.
Despite his shout, he did not release the headboard, so Draco took pity on him and licked a stripe up Potter's cock, earning a tortured-sounding intake of breath.
"I apologize! You're not a bastard; you're a bloody tease, but fucking hell-!" The last sounded a bit strangled, understandable, as Draco had taken Potter's cock completely into his mouth. Draco shut his eyes at the sensation. It had been a long time since he'd had sex; and much longer since he'd given fellatio. He supposed he had trust issues and it held him back from intimacy most of the time.
Despite his annoyance with Potter/Mark, he did trust him. Potter had been surprisingly good at deception, but the guilt would no doubt have forced him into an admission sooner than later. Draco hollowed his cheeks and then paused before withdrawing and giving Potter another fixed stare. "When were you planning to confess, by the way?"
"Oh god, I don't want to have this conversation if it's going to end with you storming off in a huff and leaving me like this."
"That long, then?" Draco narrowed his eyes dangerously and Potter half sat up, shifting his grip on the bars without completely letting them go. His eyes bored into Draco's and he wrinkled his nose, trying to keep his glasses from falling off.
"No! I had already decided that you couldn't see Mark again. I was kind of hoping I could take Mark's place, but as myself."
"So, Mark would have just disappeared and you wouldn't have bothered to mention the deception. Ever."
Potter's head fell back onto the pillow and he groaned. "Draco, I'm a terrible person. You're right, and you have every reason to torture me. It started so easily and I couldn't seem to stop. I just kept getting deeper."
Draco grinned and relented, willing to let go of his self-righteous indignation in order to reap the immediate rewards. "Well, I'm curious to see just how deep you can go." With that, Draco stood and shucked his trousers and pants before straddling Potter, whose astonished face was something to behold.
"Do you want me, Potter?"
"More than anything."
"Then let go of the bloody bars and show me."
Potter growled, released the bars, and reached up to drag Draco into a kiss, curling his hand into the hair at Draco's nape. He seemed to enjoy touching Draco's hair and he acknowledged that he had no problem with that whatsoever.
Before Potter could get too aggressive after Draco's challenge, Draco pushed him back onto the bed, breaking the kiss. "Lube?"
"Accio Lube!" A jar smacked into Potter's hand from somewhere and Draco tried not to be impressed with his wandless magic as Potter offered it to him.
"Thank you," Draco said and pulled the cork before drenching his fingers and smearing Potter's cock. He hadn't bothered to ask whether Potter preferred to be the cauldron or the wand, but since this was Draco's party he assumed the choice would be up to him. When Draco slowly sank down onto Potter's hard, slick shaft, he heard nothing but a delicious moan. No complaints from Potter, then.
Potter's hands kneaded Draco's thighs. "Draco." His voice was a whisper.
"Better… better than okay. Can I move?"
"I would recommend it." Draco was surprised at his own ability to speak coherently. Potter felt amazing, and Draco had been more than ready for sex ever since his chance encounter with "Mark" at the pub. The fact that Mark was actually Potter was all the more titillating, once Draco managed to recall how much Mark had wanted him from the first moment.
"Brilliant," Potter said and thrust his hips upwards whilst holding Draco's thighs tightly enough to leave bruises.
Draco shut his eyes at the sensation. Salazar, it had been a long time, and Potter felt amazing. Draco could not stop touching him and every grip and squeeze he made to Potter's forearms, biceps, ribs, shoulders, and neck caused him to emit small sound of pleasure and thrust more vigorously into Draco, until they were both drenched with sweat and moving in rapid, seamless rhythm.
At one point their hands caught and held; they stopped moving simultaneously and leaned into a gentle, shared kiss, broken with panted breaths that only made them pause before resuming. Something about it had Draco's heart aching. Never before had he experienced such strange tenderness during sex. Whatever doubts he had regarding Potter's feelings vanished. Be he Mark or Harry, he definitely had feelings for Draco, enough to push sex into the realm of lovemaking.
"Harry," Draco said, testing it out.
Potter's eyes, wide and green even without the magnification of his glasses—fallen to the floor some time previous—bored into Draco's and then he made a single, sharp cry and arched beneath Draco.
Potter drew Draco's hand to his own cock and they both stroked, pulling Draco closer to the edge.
"Say it again."
"Harry," Draco said and came all over his abdomen.
Draco almost immediately collapsed on him and let Potter's—or Harry's, he supposed—hands roam all over him until the drying sweat and semen became too much for Draco's sensibilities.
"Bath? I'll wash your hair."
Draco smiled at him. "I think I can get used to this 'boyfriend' thing if you keep coming up with good ideas such as that."
Harry's return smile was brilliant. "Then I'll just have to keep trying. Afterwards, we'll make tea."
"And then fuck in the kitchen?"
Harry pulled him into a molten kiss. "You are the best boyfriend anyone could ever want."
Draco preened. "I know."
"What the actual fuck is going on?"
The shrill voice jolted Harry from a deep sleep and he opened his eyes to muted darkness. He breathed in a familiar, pleasant scent, interlaced with other, unfamiliar fragrances, and felt the slide of skin against skin as a warm body next to his shifted. It took him a bewildered moment to remember where he was.
"Pansy. Really? Is this necessary? Especially at this hour?"
The warm tones brought everything back with a rush and Harry made a heartfelt sigh of contentment and moved his arm, which had been thrown over Draco's abdomen, to draw him closer. Harry splayed his hand and considered pushing off the dark bed sheet, but he was too languid and comfortable, despite the interruption.
"It was bad enough when he was with you, but now that man has taken up with Blaise! Was that your doing? It's absolutely sickening, the way they are hanging all over one another. Blaise was feeding him berries as though he were a bloody lapdog. Are you even listening to me?"
"Given that you are loud enough that half the population of London has heard you, I am going to say yes, Pansy. But whom has Blaise taken up with?"
"Montoya! Your bloody fake boytoy!" The bed depressed unexpectedly and Harry snuggled closer to Draco, whose hand tightened on Harry's shoulder.
"Blaise? And Roderick?"
Harry grinned and pressed a kiss against Draco's side. He was glad hadn't been the one to impart that information, and it was nice to know that Roderick had moved on from his crush on Draco, if that had even been real
"Yes, Roderick—Wait a minute. Do you have someone in here…?"
The sheet tore away and while the fresh air was welcome, the brightness was not, nor was the sight of Pansy Parkinson's shocked face. On the plus side, she seemed to have been rendered speechless and she turned her stare to Draco, jaw agape.
"You are lucky we were asleep and not otherwise occupied," Draco said and smirked.
An awkward tension grew and held while Harry considered something to say.
"Parkinson," he managed when the silence became unbearable.
"Hullo, Potter. Draco, would you mind meeting me in the kitchen for a tiny moment for a little chat?" Parkinson spoke through her teeth and her glare seemed threatening enough to parboil Draco on the spot should he choose to refuse. Harry was slightly alarmed when Draco pursed his lips as though considering that very thing, but Parkinson didn't wait. She shot to her feet and stalked through the doorway, shoes thumping on the floor.
Draco ruffled Harry's hair and sighed heavily. "She'll never leave if I don't allow her to harangue me. I'll get rid of her and then we can go back to sleep."
"Or practise that thing again?" Harry asked hopefully.
"Are you always this insatiable? Never mind, I am not complaining. I'll hurry back. Don't start without me."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Harry said in a way that Draco apparently found arousing, because whenever he pitched his voice into that particular tone, Draco's breath caught and his eyes grew wide and dark.
"Bloody bint. I'm blocking my Floo," Draco muttered as he shoved aside the bedclothes and left the bed to drag on a nearby dressing gown. Harry admired his lean thighs and pert arse as he went.
When Draco disappeared after Parkinson, Harry rolled onto his back and propped his hands behind his head with a blissful sigh. It had been an eventful night. They had made love several times in Harry's house before taking the Floo to Draco's to acquire better tea and to water Draco's plants (a necessity, Harry had been informed). Once there, they had tested the strength of Draco's sofa (very sturdy), and then moved to his bedroom where they had collapsed and fallen soundly asleep.
Harry blushed a little, remembering. His sex life had been nearly non-existent and then in one single night he'd made up for what seemed years of abstinence, with hopefully more on the horizon.
He frowned. Provided Pansy didn't convince Draco to kick him out, or something. Harry sat up, suddenly worried. She had been eager enough to set Draco up with Mark, and she wouldn't be pleased at all to have her plans ruined by someone she disliked more than she disliked Roderick.
Harry got to his feet and looked for his trousers. As he did so, a bit of metal bumped against his chest and he brushed it with his fingers, smiling. He'd almost forgotten. During their third (or fourth?) session, Harry had tugged on the chain around Draco's neck and asked why he wore the black symbol rather than the white one.
"Isn't it obvious?" Draco had rolled his eyes.
Harry had unclasped it and tsked at Draco. "If you're suggesting that you are wicked and evil, or dark and mysterious, I beg to differ. The most devious thing you get up to these days is mixing ginseng and red tea. I convinced seven Ministry employees that I was working a special case and needed to create an undercover persona, falsified documents, appropriated a safe house, and lied convincingly for the period of several weeks. I believe this is now mine." With that, Harry had fastened the black yin symbol around his own neck.
Draco had stared down at him for so long that Harry thought he might have badly screwed up, but then Draco's features had softened and he'd smiled. "It looks good," he'd murmured and kissed him.
Harry shook off the memory and snatched up his trousers before pulling them on. His t-shirt followed and then he walked down the hallway towards the kitchen.
"…thought we had convinced you that this path leads to madness! Did you hear nothing that Blaise said to you, although, granted, his motives are now suspect, but never mind that! Draco, what about Mark?"
Harry stepped into the kitchen just as Parkinson wailed the latter. "I'm Mark." He pushed a hand through his hair and winked at Draco, who seemed to be ignoring her in favour of making tea.
She glared at him. "Potter—" she began.
"No, really," Harry said. "I am Mark Birmingham. Always have been." He walked closer to Draco and took the cup of tea out of his hands, earning an arched eyebrow, but Harry grinned at him and Draco shook his head before preparing another cup. "You came into a pub one night with Draco, Blaise, and some girl I can't recall. Draco was really drunk and he spilt whiskey onto my Puddlemere United shirt before offering to suck it off."
Draco stopped stirring sugar into his tea and shared a look with Harry; a blush tinted his cheeks and Harry smiled, remembering that night with a surge of happiness. If he hadn't been there, disguised as Mark, none of what had followed would have happened. He would have been home alone right now, wondering if there were anyone special out there for him.
"We danced and then you escorted Draco home, but not before slipping me his address. Thank you for that, by the way. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to repay you."
"I'll repay her by not hexing her arse for meddling in my affairs," Draco growled.
"You. Are Mark Birmingham?"
Harry nodded happily and sipped his tea.
Parkinson threw up her hands. "Blaise has taken up with that Spanish-Portuguese whatever he is, and you've taken up with Potter. I am going to Denmark until whatever madness has infected you is no longer catching. Possibly forever."
She turned and huffed out of the kitchen. Harry called after her, "You know, Neville Longbottom is single!"
A shriek that conveyed many levels of disgust rang down the hall, and then a whoosh sounded and she was gone. Draco lifted a brow at Harry and sipped his tea. Harry chuckled.
"Will she really stay in Denmark?"
"Don't be daft. She loathes Denmark. She'll be back in a week complaining about the lack of bathtubs and the excessive amount of fish."
Draco placed his teacup on the counter, and then took Harry's away to join it. "Now. I believe you mentioned something about practice?" He moved into Harry's arms.
"Practice makes perfect," Harry murmured.
"Well, then. We shall have to keep practising until we get there."
Harry kissed him. He was pretty sure they already were.
THE END! :D