By Blythe & Circe
PART ONE ~ PART TWO ~ PART THREE ~ PART FOUR
Somehow Harry wasn't surprised that Ron and Poppy were old friends. In fact, judging by the way she reddened the second they entered the shop, she'd fallen prey to the Weasley "charm" at some point in the past.
There were huge swathes of that past that were hazy to Harry to this day, and sometimes (like now, given the way Ron was blushing awkwardly back) he was grateful for that.
"Is Malfoy here?" he asked without preamble. He felt itchy-twitchy — not so much nervousness or eagerness as a disconcerting blend of both.
"Yes, he's downstairs, Mr Potter."
Ron clapped him on the shoulder. "Right, then. Let's get this wand of yours."
They descended the stairs to the workshop together, Harry wiping his suddenly damp palms against his trousers.
He hated going into situations where he didn't know what to expect; Ron being here helped, but maybe if he hadn't been things would be a lot simpler.
Too late for that now: there was Draco, standing in work robes before a vise holding the piece of birch. He had a strange little tool that looked like a cross between a scalpel and a scythe, and he was carefully using it to shave bark in long thin threads onto the floor. Clouds of pale green sparks were rising from the wood, circling Malfoy's inclined head before blinking out one by one.
Draco whirled around. With his free hand, he shoved his goggles up onto his forehead. The remaining sparks scattered. He looked dishevelled, competent, and utterly hot.
Harry's body tightened in anticipation and he took an unconscious half-step forward.
"Harry! You're early." The easy welcome in Draco's voice became a little more formal when he caught sight of Harry's companion. "And you've brought Weasley." He dropped the tool back down on the countertop and gave Ron a nod.
"Ron's fine," said Ron agreeably and Harry barely stopped himself from shooting his friend an incredulous look. Ron was right: more than just the store fronts had changed since Harry had been a regular part of this world.
Draco turned to Harry. The light down here wasn't good enough to read his expression, but maybe his mouth was a little tight? "You've come for your wand then, I take it."
"Yes." Harry swallowed. "You said—"
There was a pause. Draco reached up and removed the goggles completely, dragging his hand through his hair and leaving it even messier than before.
"Give me a second."
There was a small door at the far end of the room that Harry hadn't noticed before. It swung shut behind Draco.
Beside him, Ron shrugged. "I'll just wait upstairs then."
Harry barely noticed him go. He crossed to the vise and looked at the half-started wand resting there. He catalogued with a glance the many bottles and books lining the top shelves. He took out his Blackberry and tried to check his email, but Diagon Alley did fucked up things to the emoticons and he put it quickly away.
Fuck. This was worse than waiting for the Yule ball to start.
"Here we are." Draco was back, carrying a slender crimson box. He passed it to Harry. "Open it."
The lid came off easily, revealing the treasure within. A golden tan, it was of a length to his previous wand, only slightly thinner. He glanced at Draco, but he had turned back to his tools.
Harry took a deep breath, lifting his new wand from the box. It was heavy in his hands, but he felt nothing beyond the expected ripple of magic against his fingers, not even the quiver of awareness he'd been sensing from the variegate little stone.
After his magic went, his old wand had felt the same as ever — maybe that had added to the frustration. Like he was letting the stupid thing down after everything they'd faced together. Until he'd broken it, run over it with an office chair of all things, and he'd been inconvenienced more than devastated by the ignominious loss. One moved on from things that were once important, Aunt Petunia said often, and given how she'd turned her life around, Harry figured she must know a thing or two about it.
He'd just. He wasn't expecting miracles, really he wasn't. He'd just thought that maybe it would, maybe, feel different from his old wand.
He smiled weakly at Draco. "It's great, thanks. I really like the detail on the, um, on the handle. Very posh."
"I thought your colleagues might appreciate a little decorative scrollwork if you're going to be fiddling with it during your board meetings."
"Yeah." Harry looked down at the wand again, the slightest frown on his face. He raised his arm and sent the wand slicing down through the air. A blast of red and gold sparks shot from the tip, cascading down through the flying dust motes and sawdust onto the stone floor.
Draco raised his eyebrows. "You like it then?"
"It's great." Harry stowed the wand carefully away and put the box into his jacket pocket. He frowned again then shook off the disquiet. "Really. Thanks."
"So, how much do I owe you?"
Wordlessly, Draco passed him a long piece of parchment. It was a lot, but not as much as Harry had been prepared to be gouged for.
Their fingers brushed. Nothing. And if Harry was disappointed that Draco appeared to have changed his mind since that morning, well, it was just one more disappointment, wasn't it? He'd go get drunk with Seb and do his very best to forget it.
"I do take Muggle plastic when necessary," Draco said after Harry's moment of self-indulgent crankiness stretched to an awkward length.
"No, no, it's fine." Harry dug into his shoulder satchel and pulled out the sack of gold he'd converted from pounds with Ron earlier.
Draco's eyes widened slightly, but he made no comment other than, "I wish all my clients were so forthcoming."
"Right." Harry looked around the workshop again, but short of pushing Draco over a stool and fucking him senseless he couldn't think of anything else to contribute. "I'll be off then."
"See you around," Draco offered. He was toying with an edge of parchment lying on the worktable. A quill was hovering solicitously near his hand — clearly his mind was elsewhere, certainly not on Harry.
"Sure," Harry replied. The word tasted sour. "Be seeing you."
Ron was waiting in the main shop, examining a set of polishing cloths and doing his very best to ignore Poppy's speculative stare. "Done?"
Harry patted his pocket. He had a wand again, that was all that mattered. "Yeah, we're done."
Unable to face the thought of going back to his flat right away, and aware that Ron was eager to get back to Iris, Harry made his excuses and took himself off to LSB. He got in about two hours of work, filing the paperwork from the Paris trip then leafing through a pile of CVs for the new associate, but that just made him feel old and irritated. He flagged another cab down on Threadneedle Street and let the driver fleece him blind until they both got bored enough to forego the side-streets tour and drop Harry back home.
The really annoying thing was that he couldn't even work up the anger to want to hit Draco, which had been his fall-back for years. In a few short weeks, he'd grown to like Draco. Crap, he still liked Draco, that was the problem.
Harry had thought he'd understood that Draco wanted to keep it mostly business between them while there was, well, business between them. And now that the business was over … Well. Everyone had a right to change their mind, Harry supposed. It was just … disappointing.
The lights were on in the flat, a warm yellow flood.
Even though he was by now half-expecting it, he still felt a jolt when he saw Draco sitting on the large sofa, one arm laid casually along the top of the charcoal corduroy cushions. He'd shaved since the workshop but his fingers were still slightly grubby, as though he hadn't been able to resist picking up his tools one last time. They tapped out a rhythmless beat on the upholstery.
"I thought we'd finished," Harry said eventually. He removed the wand box from his pocket before slinging the jacket over a chair. In the kitchen, he grabbed himself a beer and took his time about it. Then he strolled back into the living room and offered the bottle to Draco.
Draco didn't take it. "For fuck's sake, Potter."
Harry cracked it open and took a long swig, feeling vastly, almost shockingly, more comfortable now he was on his own turf. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "What are you doing here?"
"I find it hard to believe you weren't expecting me."
Harry had been so busy taking in Draco's appearance, watching the movement of his fingers, he hadn't even noticed the wand in his other hand. Didn't notice it until Draco swished it through the air and flicked.
Harry felt the tingle of unspent magic shiver through him, but it wasn't unpleasant.
"Good," said his wand-maker. "That's a good sign." He flicked again and caused goosebumps.
Hedwig watched from the windowsill, her yellow eyes following the movements of the wood with predatory interest.
"Surely mine doesn't need servicing just yet?" He took another slug of Stella.
"I meant to say the last time I was here—" Draco spun his wand in a complex pattern; an armchair slid across the floor and nudged at Harry's feet, knocking him into its embrace. "—you really should have wards. It's dangerous."
No, Draco was the only dangerous wizard who'd been in Harry's life since he'd moved in, but now hardly seemed the time to correct him. "I'll take that under advisement." Harry watched Draco continue to spin his wand, the movements idle now but just as deserving of caution. "Want to tell me what's going on?"
Draco set his wand down on the coffee table. "We're not done."
"I thought we were."
"You felt nothing."
Harry went still.
"It didn't work for you."
"Well." Harry put the beer down. "I just."
"I know what you thought, it's painfully obvious. I'd be insulted if I didn't know the way your mind worked."
"You're starting to piss me off, Malfoy."
"What aren't you telling me about my wand?" Harry demanded.
"I meant to tell you," Draco said, "show you, but you brought Weasley, and it wasn't. Appropriate."
"Tell me now."
Dimly Harry was aware of Hedwig hooting softly in the background, agitated by his tone.
"There's a final step. Audience participation, shall we say." Draco leaned back against the cushions. "There's a difference between a wand eagerly shooting sparks for a child and the way a wand gives its allegiance to a grown man. Ollivander—" Draco paused. "Ollivander knew that while the wand chooses the wizard, a strong enough wizard will have the mastery to choose the wand he wants." He looked at Harry, looking through him, as he quoted, "'Subtle laws govern wand ownership, but the conquered wand will usually bend its will to its new master.'"
"Sounds like the sort of stuff you write about in your column," Harry said doubtfully.
Draco's smile was sly and amused. "It's the confluence of spells and materials as cast by the wandmaker, Harry; it's not like the stick is deciding these things on its lonesome."
Harry walked over to the counter and opened the box. The wand was still beautiful, still inert. He picked it up. "Show me how to do it then."
"You've got to take it from me."
"You already gave it to me."
Draco cocked his head. "Did I? Have I really given you what you want?" Harry's swift, involuntary glance downward caused Draco to laugh, low. "Didn't think so. Take it from me and make it yours."
Make me yours.
Harry pointed the wand at Draco. "Immobilis!"
The wand skittered away, clattering under the table from the backlash. "When the hell did you learn all this wandless magic?"
Draco quirked his mouth. "Harry, I love that this is what concerns you rather than the fact that you can't even manage a third-year curse any more. Can we hurry up please?" He brought his hands together in one sudden motion.
The table shot away from them, even as Draco moved faster than Harry could track. Moved so he was jerking Harry by the lapels, pulling him across onto the sofa. Moved so he was straddling Harry, his thighs like steel against Harry's sides, holding him there.
"Fuck off—" Harry pushed upright, trying to dislodge him, but Draco — evil bastard — wandlessly cast the immobilis spell and effectively trapped him.
"The thing is," Draco said conversationally, leaning down over Harry so all Harry could see was dark lashes, his red mouth, his white teeth, "you just can't wait to fuck me, can you?"
Harry was utterly still, seething under the curse, and Draco settled himself deliberately, tucking his toes under Harry's knees and rocking, fucking rocking his hips into Harry just so, just perfectly, as he sneered.
"You think it's going to be amazing, don't you, you think it's inevitable, you bleeding heart romantic," and Draco rolled his eyes at that, his dirty fingers wrapping around Harry's jaw, prising Harry's mouth open with his thumb, and if Harry could have moved he would have bitten the bastard's thumb off. "Darling Harry, gorgeous Harry, you think I'll capitulate and bend over for you, just because I want you."
Swallowing was difficult; all his external muscles were paralysed, but Harry had to swallow, and it had to be around Draco's salt-and-dust fingers. Harry tried to convey I'm going to kill you as much as possible with his stare, but he was pretty sure the furious heat in his cheeks dulled the impact of any glare.
Harry expected laughter, more mocking, but Draco was merely watching him, running the pad of his thumb across Harry's teeth, as if to say, look where I've got you, and the truly fucked-up thing was that Harry's breath was coming in little stutters, and he couldn't do anything about it.
Draco slid his thumb out of Harry's mouth and down his jaw, leaving a wet trail of spit, cool and damp in the humidity. So much satisfaction was evident on Draco's face, yet Harry couldn't feel any creeping rage to tap into, to break Draco's hold on him, and it was beginning to hurt, his muscles tightly wound and rigid.
"If you asked nicely," Draco tilted Harry's head back, teeth scraping just under Harry's ear, "If you said please, I might fuck you. On your back, so I can see you take it. Because you need to get it through your head," and he was kissing Harry now, fingertips flicking lightly all over Harry's skin, Harry's face held in his grubby hands, "that wand or not, things regarding me won't always go your way, hmm?"
That last, the reminder, was enough. The spell was abruptly gone, along with Draco's weight, and Harry jerked to his feet. The jolt of sudden release sent bubbles surging in his blood, sent blood pooling down to his cock, thick and hot. He was breathing hard; the only consolation was that Draco was as well, his eyes glazed and unfocused.
Without looking, Harry summoned the wand — it flew back into his hand, effortlessly — and he lunged forward, jamming it under Draco's chin, forcing his head back in imitation of how Draco had forced him.
"Malfoy," he ground out.
Draco's eyelids fluttered madly as the rest of his body went utterly still. Then Harry, not even thinking about it, lowered his wand and placed his hand against Draco's chest, pushing him steadily back into the cushions.
He kissed him: soft pressure turning more demanding as Draco's mouth opened underneath his. Harry angled his mouth, pressing deeper as his lip dragged briefly against the edge of Draco's teeth, sparking little shocks of sensation.
"I'd like very much to have the wand you made for me," Harry whispered against Draco's smooth jaw. He felt muscles shift as Draco swallowed.
"It's beautiful and I like knowing you want me to have this beautiful thing that you made. I like knowing you want me to be well."
Draco arched backward as Harry was jerked to his feet by the heat of the wand in his hand. It spun him around, a gross parody of apparating, but Harry wasn't going anywhere. He was rooted to the spot, aware only now of the fire he held in his hands.
"Oh my god." He kindled, magic flowing through him with the eagerness of blood let into a constricted limb. The pressure built and built until Harry was desperate to find release — he was tracing the air with familiar movements before he even realised his intentions: "Expecto Patronum!"
It hurt, but it happened. He did it. The stag was sluggish to form and nearly transparent, but it was unmistakable and there – oh, it was there — cantering around his living room before leaping through the plate glass and out into the night.
He felt powerful in a way he'd never felt before. It was a shadow of the pooling energy he'd once had at his disposal, but he'd never commanded it like this, deliberately and with purpose; never felt it as an extension of an adult self, as tool rather than childish assumption.
Draco's mouth was obscene against his ear. "You like it, don't you. Tell me how much you like it."
He was hard right now. Heat, all over. Gathering across the surface of his skin, intoxicating. He flexed his fingers, his toes, his biceps; all across his body, the muscle, the ligaments felt new. It was fantastic. Like being soaked in warmth after being cold and cramped for so long. He let himself bask in it, get drunk on it.
Draco pressed to him, his breathing quick and damp. His grey eyes were wide with interest, the pupils dilated and darting, back and forth, cataloguing every reaction, every detail.
"Oh," Harry crowed, exhilarated. His arm was shaking, the wand trembling in his palm. Every nerve ending burned.
"It's a conduit, not a cure." The words were rough in his ear.
Harry shook his head. He understood. He knew.
Draco moved even closer, tight against him; rapt. "You were a god, Harry. No one had your power, not even the Dark Lord. You could have been anything you wanted to be, had anything you wanted."
"I like banking," Harry said, barely getting the words out. The wand scorched. He loosened his grip, letting the heavy handle roll against his curled fingers.
Draco's huff of amusement rippled across his skin. "You really don't mind, do you. You don't care."
Harry fought for breath — gasping pants. Then he closed his eyes, screwed them shut, and set the wand down.
Draco's fingers tightened, nails scraping lightly through Harry's shirt, and Harry opened his eyes. The wand tip flared red against the surface of the table then banked.
Lifting his right hand, Harry stared shockily at the unmarred skin. Sweat covered his entire body; he ached like he'd run a marathon, like he'd flown after a summer locked away. He unclenched his other fist and looked down at the dull gold of Draco's hair.
"I miss it, yeah. You showed me how much. But I don't need to move the world."
Breath stuttered. Then Draco's mouth was on Harry's, sloppy and scalding, his tongue lapping quick, erratic strokes. Draco's pleasure was an audible thing: little growls between licks; greedy groans against the salt-corner of Harry's lips, the crease alongside his nose, the smooth skin at his temple.
Touching, oh god, touching. Harry palmed Draco's hip, reaching down just beneath the top of his trousers and tucking his fingers against the skin there. His knuckles brushed lovely warm skin as his fist twisted and took the waistband with it. He shoved at the thick fabric even as Draco's hand slid up and down Harry's throat, rubbing at Harry's jawline then moving to push at the solid muscle on his chest.
"Bed," Harry said, and Draco leaned up into him, tongue fucking his mouth with devastating thoroughness. His fingers seemed to have decided they really liked Harry's jaw. They splayed there, holding Harry in place while Draco kissed him in that same jagged, rocking rhythm that he'd been tapping before. Harry could feel the beat of it pulling at his blood in a very different way than the wand had – that was dizzying, effervescent – this was a lulling, pulling undertow. His cock, his balls, felt marvelously heavy with arousal and he pushed eagerly against Draco, was gratified when Draco groaned and pushed his own erection back.
"Floor," Harry said and Draco choked out a laugh before yanking him down.
Ripping at Harry's clothes, Draco stripped him down to bare chest in record time. "Oh, yes, Harry, well done, this is very good indeed." Draco's hands were all over him, rubbing and stroking, nails scratching. He leaned down and sucked one of Harry's nipples into his mouth.
"Fuck, yeah." Harry kicked off his shoes and yanked off his glasses. Then it was time to fumble with the buttons on Draco's shirt, grappling with Draco, who refused to give him room to maneuver. He winced a little when Draco bit down firmly.
"Harry, this is fantastic," Draco mumbled against his skin.
The last button tore away. With an exclamation of victory, Harry pushed the shirt off. He looked down and froze.
Draco half-lifted his head, expression muzzy. "What?"
"You cheat." Harry planted one hand on Draco's chest and gave him a solid push; gold glittered sharply against the gilded hairs running from his navel as Draco sprawled onto his back.
Then Harry was on him, bending close to examine the piercing, so close that his breath fogged the metal. Draco made a ragged sound of need, his hips jolting upward against where the weight of Harry's body had them pinned. At the noise, Harry immediately forgot his purpose, christ, he forgot his own name. He surged up to take Draco's mouth, almost violent with lust.
Fumbling between their bodies, Harry felt button and zip abruptly give. At the sudden, pornographic heat of Draco's cock they both groaned aloud, their kiss getting messier as Harry roughly dragged his hand back and forth a few times along the shaft. Getting the feel of him and fuck, he felt good swelling and throbbing against Harry's sweaty palm.
"You like this?"
"Oh, fuck," Draco growled, and he bit at Harry's chin; moved his seeking mouth down to bite at the juncture of neck and shoulder, worrying the flesh there as though trying to get a really good grip.
Harry fisted Draco's prick – hot, fat, eager – and Malfoy twisted beneath him.
"Harry," he choked out, "I'm absolute crap the first time, but I am a refractory god. I swear, you suck, you swallow, you give me one minute, I swear, I swear, after that, I'll make it more than worth your while."
Smooth, swollen skin blood-darkened with want and sleek with juice. Harry didn't wait, didn't reply: didn't want to do either. He just wanted what Draco wanted, Draco's cock in his mouth.
He went down on him slowly, his fingers tight around the base, swiping his tongue roughly against the hot skin. Draco wasn't that long, but thick enough that he fit snugly, eager in Harry's mouth. Harry hummed, swallowing firm and deliberate on his cock, happy when he heard the thud of Draco's head knocking back on the floor.
"Oh, fuck yes," from Draco, his thigh taut and shaking under Harry's grasp, trousers half-rucked down by a handful of the soft cord.
Sucking hard, Harry considered his new wand and the spells for removing clothes; thought about pulling back for five seconds and wrenching Draco's trousers off him, stripping him naked, but he loved the thought of Draco being so quick off the mark that he couldn't even undress.
"Yes like that, blow me. Yes don't stop—" Draco jerked his hips up against the hard grip Harry had around his cock, pushing the tip sweetly back and forth in Harry's mouth, rubbing over his tongue.
Draco's prick slid in his mouth salty and full; Harry sucked noisily, loosely, desire buzzing in his ears and making his feet tingle.
"There," urged Draco, "there there Harry just. Yesyes — oh, fuck—"
Draco clenched a handful of Harry's hair and held himself perfectly still, curving up, his body in a shameless arch of please.
Harry took him deep as Draco wailed. He came in a rush of thick fluid. Harry swallowed, then swallowed again. He knew a fierce joy as he slowly licked the rest of Draco's come from his lips.
Draco was flattened against the floor. "Oh my god," he mumbled.
Harry lay down beside him. "Yeah," he replied after long moment.
"Oh my god."
A blur of motion and Harry suddenly found himself pinned to the floor by Draco's insistent hips. Legs twined and twisted at Harry's calves. Draco smiled down at him, jaw sharper without the smudging shadow. White teeth, gleaming; a lazy curl to his lips. "My turn."
Whispered words and Harry was blessedly naked. Then warm, hairy thigh burned along Harry's skin and his mind jangled discordantly as white-hot want lanced through him. Naked was so good. Naked was very very good.
"Oh yes," Draco crooned and bit deeply again at the already bruised flesh over Harry's trapezius. Deep pleasure seeped down through the tissue of his muscles as they spasmed in immediate response.
"Hmmm," Draco murmured. A humid sound that made Harry ache. "So many possibilities – I feel spoiled for choice."
Draco had relaxed enough – his body animal-warm and loose from his orgasm – that Harry could have easily pushed him off and turned the tables, but Draco seemed to be enjoying himself enough that Harry would give him the benefit of the doubt so long as—
Draco bit harder and held; Harry lurched up against the confines of Draco's body. His cock was leaking now, glossy-wet and ready for touch, any kind of touch, just so long as Draco touched him there.
"Yes, good, that's very good, Harry," Draco smiled at him, those teeth again. "I think—"
"Christ, Draco, don't think."
"I think—" Draco paused. His breath hitched. Then he let go of his own weight and sprawled completely over Harry, so that, fuck, rubbing skin and eager dicks pressed together in this excruciatingly fantastic press of hard heat.
Draco was slighter than Harry, more than a head shorter, but like this he was an absolutely perfect fit. His hands curled around every bit of Harry they could find, firmly stroking. Then, at last: he found Harry's cock between their bodies and ran his fingertips around the foreskin, pulling it away from the thick head and dabbing at the clear liquid pooling there.
Intense pleasure, before Draco pulled back, ignoring Harry's cursing, and leaned down to kiss the blunt tip. A sly slide of his tongue in the slit and Harry nearly lost it, had to fight back the urge to come all over Draco's fucking grinning face.
"Sex is a bit like wandmaking," Draco told him thoughtfully, and Harry groaned in horror and frustration.
"No, really." Draco sat up across Harry's thighs, digging his heels sharply into the bottom of Harry's arse. Harry couldn't stop himself from pushing up a little, cock trapped between them.
"Mmm," Draco appreciated, grinding down. He reached one hand casually behind him to stroke the underside of Harry's balls while the other – yes – the other played almost absent-mindedly with the twenty-four-carat and wood piercing that Harry had tried to examine before Draco had distracted his attention.
"It's all about finding that subtle alchemy, about getting it right for each person. Better than potions because you can mess up and it doesn't explode in your—" He stopped with a wry lift of his eyebrows, reading Harry's expression. "Well, you know what I mean."
Harry blinked myopically at him, part nearsightedness, part blinding lust. "What I know is that you're a cock-teasing bastard who can't actually do wandless magic after all."
Draco smirked and glanced down. "You like that, do you?" He sounded smug, but his voice was breathless.
Of course he liked it, the idea of putting a sliver of wand right through the middle of your own skin was absolutely brilliant and the marketing possibilities were endless, but he was hardly going to admit that.
There was no need — Draco was on him again, kissing him with exhausting thoroughness until Harry rose up onto an elbow, into the kiss and beyond it. He reached out and touched the thin skin of Draco's stomach, trailed down until he reached the rounded top of the piercing. He flicked.
Draco cried out, his head flinging back, muscles straining. Harry went to do it again, but Draco's strong hand covered his, moving it forcefully away. No talking then, just Draco manoeuvring him backwards and Harry letting him. Draco's face was utterly still, his mouth slack with want. Even summoning the condom and lube was done quickly, economically, all his attention on Harry.
It was like Draco's potion all over again: nothing else existed, just how hard they both were. Draco was liberal with the lube; overly generous in a way that hinted less of concern and more of a dirty, creative mind. He slathered the stuff onto his fingers, rubbing heavy-handedly at Harry's crease, his body heat warming the stuff and making it oh-so-easy for Draco's thumb to insinuate itself against the fluttering muscle there.
Draco's mouth planed across the ridges of Harry's abdomen as his thumb continued its slippery circles. Fantastic sliding and pushing and then — oh yes — just the tip of Draco's thumb was inside Harry, easing through the clinging flesh to press at all the right spots.
Heat and sweat prickled across his bare skin; the plush pile of the rug chafed across his back. Draco's left hand was moving steadily over his own cock, fitting on the latex and unable to resist a few pumping strokes to help. Inside Harry, Draco corkscrewed his thumb, adding another finger and then another in glorious pressure until Harry's body adjusted and limbered to his satisfaction.
"Shhh, now, yes, that's right." Draco urged Harry's legs up and around his waist. He was pressed as near as he could be, kneeling with his legs spread wide. Harry flexed his muscles and drew Draco in closer, gasping when the head of Draco's cock began its slow, even push.
"Harry—" Draco's eyes were closed, his mouth tight with concentration. His body juddered as he struggled not to thrust. Bugger that. Harry locked his ankles. And pulled.
Then they both shuddered as Draco began a quick rhythm, one that Harry, somewhere in a few-and-far-between coherent area of his brain, recognised from the irregular finger-tapping. A cadence that Draco could keep up in sex, apparently, and if Harry could bottle it, package it, and convince one of his mates to sell it on the FTSE, he would.
Draco's breath was coming in gasping hiccups as his hands wrapped around Harry's prick, giving him a clumsy sort of handjob made sexier by the fact that he could barely keep it up in the moment.
It was audibly wet: Harry's cock was leaking pretty much continuously and Draco kept accelerating matters by leaning down to swipe the head clean with his flat and most-excellent tongue. All this as counter-point to the fast and shallow little thrusts inside him. A snap of Draco's hips sparked fantastic friction as the grinding movements began to wear past the lube.
Harry's need to come was sudden and urgent, blasting through him with sharp talons. "Draco," he warned and bucked up his hips, his cock catching along the callouses of Draco's hand. Draco abandoned any semblance of control and he climaxed: buried, shaking. Harry shouted, coming moments after in long, ecstatic bursts that striped Draco's hands, his own chest.
Still pulsing weakly inside him, Draco slumped forward, his forehead resting on Harry's hip. "Christ Merlin fuck, Potter." He managed to pull away, just barely, and collapsed once again on the floor beside Harry.
Eventually Harry forced his eyes open. "Next time," he slurred. "You're fucking me first and I'll take my bloody chances."
Draco chuckled in Harry's ear. His arm curled around Harry, drawing him near, drawing him down into sleep.
His waking was a study in contrast, mind coming to instant sharpness while his body lazed in a daze of satiation. Everything was pleasantly sore, from his calf muscles to his arse to his swollen bottom lip. He stretched and fumbled for his glasses.
"Draco?" Over on her perch, Hedwig hooted at him in answer, her eyes heavy-lidded and her feathers fluffed.
"Hello, sweetheart. Gave you a show, did we?" Harry extricated himself from the sofa and padded across the room, naked, to feed her a mousey treat. She clicked her beak at him soundlessly.
Owls were a bit hard to read in the shagging-approval-department, but given the lack of biting, Harry assumed she was fine with the festivities.
His wand was still where he'd left it. Harry took it up, letting it rest in his hands. It was his; he could feel it. No uncertainty, that was the incredible thing. It was solid in his hand. If he used it, it would work. Not healed, no, but it was a change. For the better.
And new was good. New would be good for Harry.
He grinned at Hedwig. How did it go? A complicated swoop of the wand, a tiny flick of the tip. "Avis," he called, and watched with unrepentant glee as a little drunken sparrow weaved toward his owl, sending her retreating in indignation to the bookshelves.
It was when he was opening the window to let the birds out that he caught sight of Draco on the terrace, wearing Harry's robe and staring out into the night. From this angle he looked small and ruffled. As Harry watched, Draco half-turned to better see something off to the east, and suddenly there was nothing harmless about the economical way his body moved or the way his face tilted keenly in the half-light.
Harry felt his cock throb and swell. He leaned into the wall, letting the cool pressure soothe his erection, but he must have made a noise of some kind because Draco turned fully to see him.
The hunger flared, met an answer, and Harry found himself outside before he knew it, kissing him, hot and open-mouthed.
"Took you long enough," Draco complained into the kiss.
"I take it you want me again then?" Harry laughed; well, tried to laugh, the sound came out strangled and impatient, even to his own ears. "Tired of waiting?"
"I've been waiting since you walked into my shop, you bespectacled git."
"You haven't called me that in years." The wooden slats of the terrace were cold against his bare soles, he noticed vaguely.
"Haven't seen you in years. This is better."
Harry pinned him against the railing, feeling the give of Draco's body and the moment when the pressure grew too much. He eased off, grabbing the lapels of the robe and pulling them apart so he could draw his fingers against Draco's pectoral muscles, his nipples, the hair running up to his arching collarbone.
Draco's head lolled backward, and Harry caught a glimpse of his eyes, wide and wanting with glints from the illuminations on the river lighting the grey.
Harry thought about the hesitant way Draco had stared down at the street the other morning on this same terrace and then he thought about the hungry way he had looked at him, after, and then he thought about the fierce way Draco had looked at him just moments before. Then he thought about nothing at all but how tasty Draco's throat was, how the musk-surface of it was delicious underneath his roving mouth, how Draco's shifting limbs and eager body bent to Harry as they forgot about the vertiginous drop behind.
"Fuck, Harry. Fuck."
Harry nudged a thigh between his legs and felt Draco sway back again, his shoulders spreading voluptuously against the hard rail.
"Can I have you like this?" Harry cupped Draco through the robe, letting his hand pluck teasingly at the fabric, rubbing terrycloth against the underside of Draco's balls. Perfect, heavy globes and they felt so, so good like that.
"Yeah, yeah, please, yes," Draco panted, sprawling precariously backwards. If the rail digging into his back hurt him, he showed no sign.
"Turn around," Harry ordered, voice rough. He had to tamp down the surging lust that had his cock throbbing as Draco swiftly shrugged off the robe and curled around the railing, willing to be fucked senseless in the London night.
Harry eased him forward, pushing at his back, his buttocks, until he could viscerally imagine the city filling Draco's fluttering vision — the fantasy turrets of Tower Bridge, the midnight-still water — oh, fuck it.
He covered Draco, his chest pressing against arching spine. Harry let one hand find Draco's full cock while the other stroked urgently between the crease of his ass, rubbing and working his spit against the skin there.
Draco made some sort of approving noise and moved into his touch, lifting up onto his toes to give Harry a bit of extra leverage.
"If I try to accio a condom from here I might accidentally deprive that woman of ill-repute on the corner of her livelihood," Draco complained.
"You want me to stop and get one?"
"If you stop, I'll have to kill you." Draco shot Harry a calculating look over his shoulder. "Bet you're such a tart that you've got some out here."
Harry bared his teeth in reply and shoved Draco back into place over the rail, letting his fingers tangle lingeringly in the messy hair before yanking at the handful.
"Under the cushions as a matter of fact," Harry told the back of Draco's head smugly, and reached down to snare one when he felt the edge of the sunlounger rap obligingly at his legs. He spared a moment of appreciation for Draco's navel engineering.
"Potter, what the fuck are you waiting for?"
Harry made quick work of the packet, dropping the spent wrapper to the street for some community-minded matron to curse over in the morning. He palmed his prick a few times, feeling it harden as he stroked it on. The slick latex tightened with brief pleasure-pain, dulling outward sensation and focusing inward.
As Draco's legs spread wide, Harry crowded up against him, letting his cock rub between the crease where his fingers had played. Draco's shoulders were hot to the touch and the muscles of his upper back rippled under his circling hands.
"Need more?" Harry asked, the words barely audible. Joking over now, he just wanted to be inside Draco. Not enough lube, not nearly, but if Draco didn't mind—
"S'okay," Draco rasped, and thank fuck, Harry thought before it was the last thing he thought.
He slid in, inch by inch, and the angle was fantastic, completely difficult, bloody perfect. The tendons in his arms strained as he braced himself up and into Draco. Both their bodies trembled with the effort of holding together, but now, in him, finally, Harry couldn't bear the thought of pulling away.
He let his hips set their own erratic rhythm and the bliss coiled low as he lost track of time inside the heat of Draco's body.
A deeper surge had Draco groaning beneath him, a throaty noise that echoed against the metal rail and tumbled out toward the river. On a ragged exhale Harry pulsed inside Draco, once, twice, and had to stop, slow, pause before he blew the rest like a bloody teenager inside the man he'd wanted to shag since he was a bloody teenager.
"Yeah," managed Harry, resting his sweaty forehead against Draco's back. His hips snapped forward, his cock slid deeper with a sweet burn.
"Harder," Draco urged. Then, "Harry, this is fun."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, panting in his ear. The parabola of the city widened and spun as he saw stars.
Draco said something then, but Harry didn't hear it, he only felt Draco stiffening against him, felt the excruciatingly fantastic clench around his aching cock.
Harry thrust, fast, faster, and then, yes, yes, the world was glorious around him and the rushing in his ears went on and on.
"… they're looking to isolate the protein and purify it to a very high quality …"
Harry tuned out a bit, and rummaged about in his desk drawer. He fished out the plastic carrier bag that Julie had given him earlier.
"A belated birthday present," she'd said, "Because I don't see you fiddling with that stick anymore and because I refuse to nick any more pens for you from the supply cupboard."
"Beetles. Yes, that's right." He stared at the I'm-not-as-think-as-you-drunk-I-am Tate lettering on the bag. "Come on, I don't bloody remember, Suresh. The beetle-y kind."
"That's 10-15 litres." Pausing to listen, Harry shook his head though he hadn't actually bothered with the video conference so it wasn't as though Suresh would be able to see him. "No, no, it's actually an advantage. The scale up to time-to-market means that we'll be ahead of the game by the time the regional patents are approved.
Inside the bag was a fantastically-fiddly puzzle. Thousands of tiny metal £ signs all jumbled up together on a black magnetized base. You could run your fingers through them! Make towers with them! Sculpt them into an even bigger £ sign! It was love at first sight for Harry. Julie would be rewarded for this loyalty, he thought contentedly. Though there was still no way he was going to let her drag him to a Walkabout.
Christ, he loved a good shag. It made business so much more enjoyable.
He was just nudging the puzzle into pride of place on the green baize, right beside the snowflake owl, when Seb knocked on the door and stuck his head into Harry's office. "Drink tonight?"
Harry held his hand over the receiver. "If this deal goes through, you're buying. No, wait, my round because my year-end bonus will be able to buy four pubs and a brewery and eight of you twice over."
"Stop your preening, Wiz, and I'll see you at the Black Friar."
Waving him off with a rude gesture, Harry went back to the call; five minutes later, the conversation had veered away from biotech and into the recent surge in the export of India's manufactured goods.
The traffic blasted along from Blackfriars Bridge, thrumming at the edges of the over-loud conversations going on outside the pub. Pint glasses sloshed, dripping perilously near to the designer heels worn by the office girls. All of whom had fled to the loos to tart up with their hair tongs before heading down to impress the same blokes they worked with day in and day out. Incomprehensible.
Twice Harry had glanced over his shoulder in the last ten minutes, certain he'd felt magic being bludgeoned against the flow of traffic. But when he'd looked, there had first been a young couple hurrying against the red and the second time the older gentleman had looked quite convincingly muggle.
Maybe it was embedded into the road itself. Seeing as there were probably plague pits directly below them, it wouldn't be surprising. Bloody City of London, he thought with huge affection.
The third time Harry felt magic trickle across his shoulderblades, Harry nearly didn't look. But the feeling grew until he half-turned, looking out across New Bridge Street to find the source.
And there he was, just a glimpse of him, bright in a blue leather jacket against the dull grey buildings and flashing metal cars.
Harry shifted on the paving stones, stepping backward on one foot as he tried to (without being obvious about it) get a better view. Then, for once obliging, the traffic slowed and he watched as Draco Malfoy weaved his way across the road.
Harry disengaged from the conversation and came out onto the sidewalk to meet him. "Wondered if Hedwig made it in time."
"Good," said Harry. "You're here." Draco's jacket had a high military collar and burnished silver buttons and Harry really wanted to—
"Here I am," Draco agreed. His hand came up to hold Harry in place, his fingers tangled in Harry's hair, sifting and pulling as he angled Harry exactly where he wanted him.
In a perfect alignment of desire, everything skewed as Draco's mouth slanted over his. Kissing him, over and over again; so fucking good: the feeling of Draco's mouth on his, the give to Draco's lips there at the end, then drawing back and kissing him again. Over and over, over and over, good. Fuck.
Panting against each others' mouths now. Harry worked at Draco with rough swipes of his tongue, demanding that he open for him, let him in. Then Draco's mouth fell open and Harry licked at it hungrily, hooking his thumb at the crease to open it even wider so he could drag his tongue at the smooth gums, over the edge of a tooth, into the warm wet. Just like Draco liked to do and served him right.
Dimly, very dimly, he was aware that Seb and the others were hollering something at him. For as long as possible he ignored them, ignored everything except Draco's legs pushing between his and the feeling he was tumbling, everything rushing past him in a stream of light and sound and sensation.
"Potter, oi, Potter!"
He lifted his head reluctantly. Seb was yelling about interest rates. Or something.
"He thinks he's always right," Harry muttered by way of explanation.
"We'll get along then. Going to let me stand you a drink?"
Harry ran his hand through his hair, pulling himself back together. Didn't usually get so lucky on pub nights. "Sounds like a good deal."
"Life." Draco looked up at him, smiling. "Life, Harry Potter, merchant banker, is bloody funny."