unsymbolic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
unsymbolic) wrote2005-08-12 08:52 am
unsymbolic) wrote2005-08-12 08:52 am
The Tearoom Cycle, part 4
Title: The Tearoom Cycle, part 4
Author: Tathren
Rating: FRAO
Pairing: HP/DM
Genre: angst, drama, PWP-ish
Length: 3024 words
Warnings: underage
Disclaimer: Me no own, you know sue.
Summary: Draco ups the ante. So does Harry-- whether he knows it or not.
Notes: This is a draft, rough, unbeta-ed. Once again, there is the potential for more. No telling where this’ll stop.
Feedback: Please feed theplant author.
Day 4:
The following day was Saturday, which meant no classes nor breaks in between them. It also meant that Harry had ample time to sit in the Gryffindor common room plotting against Malfoy. Or at least it would have, had he not spent most of the afternoon on the quidditch pitch with Ron. Truth be told, Draco Malfoy was the farthest thing from Harry’s mind. Well, mostly.
Harry had been happily engrossed in his scrimmage with Ron when he spotted a pale blond head weaving its way though the stands below. Malfoy was instantly recognizable, even from this height, and just as instantly Harry realized that the Slytherin was not flanked by his usual two goons. While it wasn’t so strange that Malfoy would come down to take the mickey out of Ron while he and Harry practiced, it was strange that he would do so unaccompanied.
Harry considered pointing this out to Ron, but they were having such a good practice-- Ron had blocked nearly every quaffle Harry had thrown-- and Harry didn’t want to break his concentration. But when a small paper dragon flew up to Harry and began to circle his head, he could stave off distraction no longer. He frowned at the animated slip of folded green paper, no larger than a snitch but not nearly as fast, and closed his fingers around it easily. Ron was passing the quaffle back after a truly impressive save, but Harry didn’t even glance till it had sailed past his shoulder and fallen to the ground.
Ron was staring at him curiously. “What is it, mate?”
Harry glanced back down towards the stands and saw Malfoy already retreating. He felt the paper dragon fluttering feebly against his palm. “Nothing,” he answered, but Ron looked skeptical. “Just Malfoy playing a prank, I guess.” He unfolded the paper and read, quickly: 11pm. Same place then crumpled it in his fist. “I’ll go get the quaffle, hang on.” But when Harry flew down, he landed not by the quaffle but directly in Malfoy’s path.
“What are you on about, Malfoy?”
“Why Potter,” Malfoy’s voice was silky, his smile sly. “Fancy meeting you here. Did you lose something?” he nodded casually towards the quaffle lying in the grass some feet away.
“What are you doing here?” Harry pressed tersely.
“Me?” Malfoy smirked and there was a knowing glint in his eyes that made Harry want to smack him, “I’m just out for a walk. Nice day, don’t you think?”
“Right, and what’s this about then?” Harry held up the crushed paper in his hand.
Malfoy looked at him blankly, and it was such a good performance that for a moment Harry could almost have believed that he hadn’t sent the note at all.
Prat! Harry took a step closer. “How about you tell me why I should meet you at 11pm.”
Harry’s posture bordered on threatening, but Malfoy seemed unimpressed. His infuriating smirk grew even more self-assured, and he leaned closer to Harry as he spoke. There was something positively indecent in his voice, “If you don’t already know, Potter, then perhaps you shouldn’t.”
Harry swallowed hard. His mouth had gone dust-dry again, and a spike he could only describe as need had flared white hot in his gut. He couldn’t believe he was really considering this! “How do I know I can trust you?”
“Trust me?” Malfoy laughed. “Just which one of us do you think is the Gryffindor here, Potter?” Then he leaned in closer still, so close that Harry could practically taste him, and just breathed, and suddenly Harry felt weak in the knees.
“What was that all about?” Ron asked when Harry returned with the quaffle.
“Nothing.” The answer was all but reflexive, and Harry hoped his face was less flushed than it felt, or that it looked only like the wind had pinked his cheeks. He was furious with himself for his body’s traitorous responses. And over a git like Malfoy no less! He didn’t even like Malfoy! He felt the crumpled slip of paper where he’d stuffed it in his pocket and decided instantly. “Um, Ron, would you do something for me tonight?”
***
When Ron opened the portrait hole for him at 10:55 that night, Harry was ready, armed with the invisibility cloak, the Marauder’s Map, and a plan. He’d watched the dot labeled Draco Malfoy leave the Slytherin common room five minutes before, so he knew that the other boy was unaccompanied. Still, that didn’t put Harry’s mind at ease-- Malfoy was a Prefect now after all, and could cause a lot of trouble for Harry if he “caught him wandering about the castle at night.” Besides, Harry hadn’t forgotten the resolution he’d made in Snape’s classroom the other day.
No, he wasn’t going to take any chances with this.
The biggest challenge had proved to be enlisting Ron’s help without rousing too many suspicions and without involving Hermione (who Harry knew would keep asking questions until she got answers). Harry was certain that Hermione would have reminded him about the prank Malfoy had played on them first year, challenging him to that midnight duel and then sending Filch looking for them instead. He wouldn’t put it past Malfoy to try that tactic again. But Harry had four years of their shared antagonism to learn from now, and he had received all the reminder he’d needed about the Slytherin that afternoon. This time Harry knew what he was doing; this time would be about payback. And Ron, once he’d learned that Harry was going to “play a prank” on Malfoy had been all game.
The fourth floor corridor was silent and still when they reached it, Harry beneath the invisibility cloak, Ron walking beside him. Outside the door to the boy’s toilet they paused and Harry passed the Marauder’s Map silently to Ron. The dot labeled Draco Malfoy was in the boy’s bathroom, standing by the sinks from the looks of it. Harry adjusted the cloak, making sure it was securely in place, and then slipped silently through the door.
There was the slightest creaking of the hinge as the door opened and swung closed, and Harry had the thrill of seeing Malfoy’s expression of calm smugness falter, to be replaced by one of uncertainty. His eyes scanned the apparently empty space before the door apprehensively, and Harry smiled: Malfoy would be easy to scare. Very easy.
“Who’s there?” the Slytherin called out softly, and Harry could hear the edge of trepidation in his voice. “Potter?” Harry stepped forward silently, Malfoy’s eyes flitting past him. And then, more quietly, Malfoy said, “Harry?”
Harry froze. He couldn’t recall Malfoy ever calling him by his given name. He always called him Potter, or some twisted rendition of ‘The Boy Who Lived.’ If he ever used Harry’s given name at all it was to say, mockingly, “Harry Potter this,” or “Harry Potter that.” But there was no mockery in Malfoy’s voice now; there was only a surprisingly innocent questioning and something strangely like hopefulness.
Harry remembered the time in their third year when he’d found Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle teasing Ron by the Shrieking Shack. He remembered the look of fear on Malfoy’s face when the invisibility cloak had slipped down off his head. He’d been planning something of a repeat performance tonight (albeit one without the accidental unmasking). But strangely, it didn’t seem like such a fond memory, now that he thought about it. He’d thought the prank brilliant at the time. Now, he realized that maybe he didn’t really want to frighten Malfoy. Things were different now than they'd been in third year.
A few steps closer, Harry paused again. His plan hadn’t involved this. He was supposed to come down here, give Malfoy a good shock, keep Ron as his lookout in case of emergency, and then slip back into Gryffindor tower before anyone knew they were gone. Harry could reveal himself to Malfoy now, but that would mean letting Malfoy know about his invisibility cloak, and Harry certainly didn’t trust him that much. But maybe there was another sort of trick Harry could play on him instead.
Reaching out a cloaked hand, Harry brushed his fingertips through Malfoy’s hair. It ruffled as though blown by a breeze and Malfoy jumped, his hand going immediately to his wand. By the time he’d drawn it, though, Harry was already standing behind him. Malfoy’s hand shook as he brandished his wand uncertainly before him, and Harry could see that if he wanted the Slytherin scared, he’d need to do very little-- Malfoy was already doing quite a job of it himself.
The realization of his advantage made Harry grin; he knew just what he intended to do. He lifted a cloaked hand to cover Malfoy’s eyes, and for a moment the Slytherin struggled, panicking, the sound that left his lips strangely like a whimper. Then Harry’s free arm encircled him, and Harry felt Malfoy still, his weight settling back against Harry’s chest, tense but not fighting.
The contact was strange for its lack of strangeness, for the way that Harry’s hand just seemed to know what path to trace down the plane of Malfoy’s stomach and how to slip inside the waistband of his trousers just so. Harry felt the flutter of Malfoy’s eyelids against his palm through the material of his cloak, and he increased the pressure of his hand to assure that Malfoy couldn’t peek through his invisible fingers. As he did so, he slid his other hand free and eased down Malfoy’s zipper.
Malfoy froze; Harry kept. on. going.
And then he had Malfoy’s cock in his hand-- Malfoy’s already hard cock with skin that really was rose-petal soft, just like it had looked. Harry had to bite his lip to stifle a groan; his own cock was suddenly as hard as the one resting in his palm and he shifted his hips back to keep his erection from rubbing against Malfoy’s arse.
Had Malfoy been hard like this when he’d jerked Harry off the day before? The thought was almost unbearably erotic-- Malfoy’s cock throbbing with need, unattended while he stroked Harry to completion. Malfoy would have been half-hard and frustrated all through Snape’s class, his release delayed until he could sneak off alone-- to his dormitory or back to the loo-- where he could finally satisfy himself.
Harry could imagine how Malfoy would look while he wanked, one hand braced on the wall of a bathroom stall, his forehead beaded with sweat and eyes squeezed shut while his hand flew over his straining cock. Harry’s own erection throbbed in unforeseen appreciation of the image, his pulse quickening in anticipation of Malfoy’s orgasm as he watched the boy’s sharp profile and turned his face slightly towards him with the pressure of his cloaked hand. Merlin, how Harry wanted to see him come! Wanted to watch Malfoy’s face flush and the taut grimace on his lips; wanted to own his orgasm, to possess it-- to possess him!
Harry’s hand moved faster and Malfoy arched into him, hips jerking on reflex, and few things had ever felt so natural to Harry as the friction of his palm on Malfoy’s cock. Few things, that is, besides riding a broomstick, and quidditch, and watching Malfoy’s face contort as he voiced the short hoarse cries of his release and spent himself over Harry’s hand.
There was a moment of stillness with Malfoy panting and Harry still dizzy with need, and then Malfoy turned in the circle of his embrace, reached up, and pulled the invisibility cloak down off Harry’s head.
Harry blinked at him in shock--had Malfoy known it was him all along?
Malfoy’s cheeks were flushed pink, his gray eyes glinting, and Harry wondered absently why he’d never realized before that Malfoy’s pale pointed features were actually sexy as hell. He wasn’t afforded a chance to contemplate though-- a hand had fisted in his hair and Malfoy was kissing him! Hard! And before he knew what he was doing, Harry was kissing him back, drowning in the blissful duel of lips and teeth and tongues.
“That was so fucking hot.” Malfoy’s lips traced the words against the corner of Harry’s mouth, his voice husky and intense, with no trace of mockery.
Harry smiled at the compliment and pressed his advantage. “Yeah. Jerk me off, Malfoy.”
But Malfoy smiled crookedly and shook his head, his eyes bright and unfathomable. His left hand worked its way inside the invisibility cloak and freed Harry’s cock, while his right tucked his wand away in his pocket as he dropped slowly to his knees.
Malfoy’s tongue was a deep rosy pink and Harry watch it wet his parted lips. He couldn’t see what Malfoy was doing beneath the cloak, but he could certainly feel it. The air between them seemed to wrinkle as Malfoy’s fingers teased their way along Harry’s shaft and his wrist moved the magical fabric. This too, Harry decided, was absolutely fucking hot, and Malfoy should definitely spend more time on his knees like this because just looking at him was enough to make Harry’s legs feel dangerously weak.
The warmth of breath on his shaft made Harry’s balls contract in anticipation. Malfoy had parted the material of the cloak, and looking down, Harry could see himself again, no longer invisible where the cloak had been pushed aside. This was impossible. And perfect. Harry felt drunk on the promise in Malfoy’s upturned eyes, and he was already defenseless, defeated long before Malfoy’s lips had closed around him. When they did, he knew he couldn’t last.
He didn’t remember the hand he lay on Malfoy’s head, nor holding him there while he climaxed in his mouth, but when Harry came back to himself again, he was surprised to discover the surprisingly soft texture of Malfoy’s hair between his fingers. He released him gently, his fingers tracing down over the shell of an ear in mute apology. Malfoy’s eyes were watering, shining and full, and a thin trickle of Harry’s come had escaped the corner of his mouth. His lips looked flushed and perhaps a little swollen. Positively debauched, Harry thought, and without a doubt the most sinful thing he had ever seen.
Harry wiped the errant drops of his release from Malfoy’s mouth with his thumb, and then, acting on impulse, sank to his knees as well so that he and Malfoy were again face to face. Harry wasn’t sure what to say, so he settled for, “That was brilliant,” and was surprised by how soft and breathless he sounded when he spoke.
Malfoy’s eyes glinted, and he caught Harry’s hand in his own, raising it and pressing Harry’s thumb towards his lips. On reflex Harry resisted, but Malfoy was persistent, and so Harry took the edge into his mouth to suck it clean, knowing that the bitterness there was the taste of himself. He tasted the same bitterness again when he and Malfoy kissed. Still awkward, but they almost managed to be gentle this time.
When they stopped and looked at each other again, Harry felt a strange snarl of emotions knot in his chest. He watched Malfoy stand and arrange himself, and he stood up too because he dimly realized that it would be undignified to continue kneeling there on the floor. They didn’t touch again before Malfoy turned to go. In fact, they didn’t even speak, and they hardly looked at each other at all.
“Malfoy.” The Slytherin’s hand was almost on the door when Harry broke the silence. Their eyes met, and neither seemed to have fully settled his customary defenses back in place. “Do you think that we could move these meetings to lunch time? I was late to third period nearly every day last week.”
Malfoy smirked, and Harry suddenly realized just what he had said. The implications were too broad to consider. Malfoy seemed to realize it too, as if it had brought him back to himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Potter,” the Slytherin’s voice had regained its customary smooth drawl, but it was devoid of maliciousness, and Harry suddenly heard something in it that he never had before. The corner of Malfoy’s lip quirked, and for the first time since they’d met, Harry thought of him, tentatively, as ‘Draco’. “And neither do you.”
***
Harry was smiling when he left the bathroom, perhaps half a minute in Malfoy’s wake. The snarl of emotions had resolved itself into a tightly knit dodecahedron which had turned forward a calm, satiated face. Harry felt at ease and something strange and unnamable that was quite the opposite of lonely. He stepped out of the bathroom thoughtlessly, with his cloak slung over his shoulder, and promptly ran smack into Ron.
Reality came crashing down like an avalanche. The dodecahedron spun. Shite!
“Harry! Are you all right? What happened in there?”
“Ah, nothing.” Wait, no, that wasn’t right. “I mean... ah... What did Malfoy say?”
Ron was staring at Harry as though worried that his brains had been addled, which wasn’t so far from the truth. Harry just hoped Ron wouldn’t guess what it was that had addled them. “Say? Nothing. He just sort of stared at me and then he kind of laughed and left. Git.”
“Oh.”
“Harry,” Ron’s voice sounded dangerously close to suspicious, “What did you and Malfoy do in there?”
But Harry certainly couldn’t tell him, even if he wanted to (though just now he wasn’t sure if he did). So he hedged as best he could, told Ron that Malfoy didn’t scare as easily as he’d expected-- which was true-- tossed the cloak over both of them, and headed back to Gryffindor, trying to avoid Ron’s questioning gaze.
He sensed that the questions would be no fewer in the morning, but, strangely, as he drifted off to sleep, that knowledge didn’t trouble him.
ETA: Revised and some mistakes fixed. Once again, thanks to Jess for the beta!
Author: Tathren
Rating: FRAO
Pairing: HP/DM
Genre: angst, drama, PWP-ish
Length: 3024 words
Warnings: underage
Disclaimer: Me no own, you know sue.
Summary: Draco ups the ante. So does Harry-- whether he knows it or not.
Notes: This is a draft, rough, unbeta-ed. Once again, there is the potential for more. No telling where this’ll stop.
Feedback: Please feed the
Day 4:
The following day was Saturday, which meant no classes nor breaks in between them. It also meant that Harry had ample time to sit in the Gryffindor common room plotting against Malfoy. Or at least it would have, had he not spent most of the afternoon on the quidditch pitch with Ron. Truth be told, Draco Malfoy was the farthest thing from Harry’s mind. Well, mostly.
Harry had been happily engrossed in his scrimmage with Ron when he spotted a pale blond head weaving its way though the stands below. Malfoy was instantly recognizable, even from this height, and just as instantly Harry realized that the Slytherin was not flanked by his usual two goons. While it wasn’t so strange that Malfoy would come down to take the mickey out of Ron while he and Harry practiced, it was strange that he would do so unaccompanied.
Harry considered pointing this out to Ron, but they were having such a good practice-- Ron had blocked nearly every quaffle Harry had thrown-- and Harry didn’t want to break his concentration. But when a small paper dragon flew up to Harry and began to circle his head, he could stave off distraction no longer. He frowned at the animated slip of folded green paper, no larger than a snitch but not nearly as fast, and closed his fingers around it easily. Ron was passing the quaffle back after a truly impressive save, but Harry didn’t even glance till it had sailed past his shoulder and fallen to the ground.
Ron was staring at him curiously. “What is it, mate?”
Harry glanced back down towards the stands and saw Malfoy already retreating. He felt the paper dragon fluttering feebly against his palm. “Nothing,” he answered, but Ron looked skeptical. “Just Malfoy playing a prank, I guess.” He unfolded the paper and read, quickly: 11pm. Same place then crumpled it in his fist. “I’ll go get the quaffle, hang on.” But when Harry flew down, he landed not by the quaffle but directly in Malfoy’s path.
“What are you on about, Malfoy?”
“Why Potter,” Malfoy’s voice was silky, his smile sly. “Fancy meeting you here. Did you lose something?” he nodded casually towards the quaffle lying in the grass some feet away.
“What are you doing here?” Harry pressed tersely.
“Me?” Malfoy smirked and there was a knowing glint in his eyes that made Harry want to smack him, “I’m just out for a walk. Nice day, don’t you think?”
“Right, and what’s this about then?” Harry held up the crushed paper in his hand.
Malfoy looked at him blankly, and it was such a good performance that for a moment Harry could almost have believed that he hadn’t sent the note at all.
Prat! Harry took a step closer. “How about you tell me why I should meet you at 11pm.”
Harry’s posture bordered on threatening, but Malfoy seemed unimpressed. His infuriating smirk grew even more self-assured, and he leaned closer to Harry as he spoke. There was something positively indecent in his voice, “If you don’t already know, Potter, then perhaps you shouldn’t.”
Harry swallowed hard. His mouth had gone dust-dry again, and a spike he could only describe as need had flared white hot in his gut. He couldn’t believe he was really considering this! “How do I know I can trust you?”
“Trust me?” Malfoy laughed. “Just which one of us do you think is the Gryffindor here, Potter?” Then he leaned in closer still, so close that Harry could practically taste him, and just breathed, and suddenly Harry felt weak in the knees.
“What was that all about?” Ron asked when Harry returned with the quaffle.
“Nothing.” The answer was all but reflexive, and Harry hoped his face was less flushed than it felt, or that it looked only like the wind had pinked his cheeks. He was furious with himself for his body’s traitorous responses. And over a git like Malfoy no less! He didn’t even like Malfoy! He felt the crumpled slip of paper where he’d stuffed it in his pocket and decided instantly. “Um, Ron, would you do something for me tonight?”
***
When Ron opened the portrait hole for him at 10:55 that night, Harry was ready, armed with the invisibility cloak, the Marauder’s Map, and a plan. He’d watched the dot labeled Draco Malfoy leave the Slytherin common room five minutes before, so he knew that the other boy was unaccompanied. Still, that didn’t put Harry’s mind at ease-- Malfoy was a Prefect now after all, and could cause a lot of trouble for Harry if he “caught him wandering about the castle at night.” Besides, Harry hadn’t forgotten the resolution he’d made in Snape’s classroom the other day.
No, he wasn’t going to take any chances with this.
The biggest challenge had proved to be enlisting Ron’s help without rousing too many suspicions and without involving Hermione (who Harry knew would keep asking questions until she got answers). Harry was certain that Hermione would have reminded him about the prank Malfoy had played on them first year, challenging him to that midnight duel and then sending Filch looking for them instead. He wouldn’t put it past Malfoy to try that tactic again. But Harry had four years of their shared antagonism to learn from now, and he had received all the reminder he’d needed about the Slytherin that afternoon. This time Harry knew what he was doing; this time would be about payback. And Ron, once he’d learned that Harry was going to “play a prank” on Malfoy had been all game.
The fourth floor corridor was silent and still when they reached it, Harry beneath the invisibility cloak, Ron walking beside him. Outside the door to the boy’s toilet they paused and Harry passed the Marauder’s Map silently to Ron. The dot labeled Draco Malfoy was in the boy’s bathroom, standing by the sinks from the looks of it. Harry adjusted the cloak, making sure it was securely in place, and then slipped silently through the door.
There was the slightest creaking of the hinge as the door opened and swung closed, and Harry had the thrill of seeing Malfoy’s expression of calm smugness falter, to be replaced by one of uncertainty. His eyes scanned the apparently empty space before the door apprehensively, and Harry smiled: Malfoy would be easy to scare. Very easy.
“Who’s there?” the Slytherin called out softly, and Harry could hear the edge of trepidation in his voice. “Potter?” Harry stepped forward silently, Malfoy’s eyes flitting past him. And then, more quietly, Malfoy said, “Harry?”
Harry froze. He couldn’t recall Malfoy ever calling him by his given name. He always called him Potter, or some twisted rendition of ‘The Boy Who Lived.’ If he ever used Harry’s given name at all it was to say, mockingly, “Harry Potter this,” or “Harry Potter that.” But there was no mockery in Malfoy’s voice now; there was only a surprisingly innocent questioning and something strangely like hopefulness.
Harry remembered the time in their third year when he’d found Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle teasing Ron by the Shrieking Shack. He remembered the look of fear on Malfoy’s face when the invisibility cloak had slipped down off his head. He’d been planning something of a repeat performance tonight (albeit one without the accidental unmasking). But strangely, it didn’t seem like such a fond memory, now that he thought about it. He’d thought the prank brilliant at the time. Now, he realized that maybe he didn’t really want to frighten Malfoy. Things were different now than they'd been in third year.
A few steps closer, Harry paused again. His plan hadn’t involved this. He was supposed to come down here, give Malfoy a good shock, keep Ron as his lookout in case of emergency, and then slip back into Gryffindor tower before anyone knew they were gone. Harry could reveal himself to Malfoy now, but that would mean letting Malfoy know about his invisibility cloak, and Harry certainly didn’t trust him that much. But maybe there was another sort of trick Harry could play on him instead.
Reaching out a cloaked hand, Harry brushed his fingertips through Malfoy’s hair. It ruffled as though blown by a breeze and Malfoy jumped, his hand going immediately to his wand. By the time he’d drawn it, though, Harry was already standing behind him. Malfoy’s hand shook as he brandished his wand uncertainly before him, and Harry could see that if he wanted the Slytherin scared, he’d need to do very little-- Malfoy was already doing quite a job of it himself.
The realization of his advantage made Harry grin; he knew just what he intended to do. He lifted a cloaked hand to cover Malfoy’s eyes, and for a moment the Slytherin struggled, panicking, the sound that left his lips strangely like a whimper. Then Harry’s free arm encircled him, and Harry felt Malfoy still, his weight settling back against Harry’s chest, tense but not fighting.
The contact was strange for its lack of strangeness, for the way that Harry’s hand just seemed to know what path to trace down the plane of Malfoy’s stomach and how to slip inside the waistband of his trousers just so. Harry felt the flutter of Malfoy’s eyelids against his palm through the material of his cloak, and he increased the pressure of his hand to assure that Malfoy couldn’t peek through his invisible fingers. As he did so, he slid his other hand free and eased down Malfoy’s zipper.
Malfoy froze; Harry kept. on. going.
And then he had Malfoy’s cock in his hand-- Malfoy’s already hard cock with skin that really was rose-petal soft, just like it had looked. Harry had to bite his lip to stifle a groan; his own cock was suddenly as hard as the one resting in his palm and he shifted his hips back to keep his erection from rubbing against Malfoy’s arse.
Had Malfoy been hard like this when he’d jerked Harry off the day before? The thought was almost unbearably erotic-- Malfoy’s cock throbbing with need, unattended while he stroked Harry to completion. Malfoy would have been half-hard and frustrated all through Snape’s class, his release delayed until he could sneak off alone-- to his dormitory or back to the loo-- where he could finally satisfy himself.
Harry could imagine how Malfoy would look while he wanked, one hand braced on the wall of a bathroom stall, his forehead beaded with sweat and eyes squeezed shut while his hand flew over his straining cock. Harry’s own erection throbbed in unforeseen appreciation of the image, his pulse quickening in anticipation of Malfoy’s orgasm as he watched the boy’s sharp profile and turned his face slightly towards him with the pressure of his cloaked hand. Merlin, how Harry wanted to see him come! Wanted to watch Malfoy’s face flush and the taut grimace on his lips; wanted to own his orgasm, to possess it-- to possess him!
Harry’s hand moved faster and Malfoy arched into him, hips jerking on reflex, and few things had ever felt so natural to Harry as the friction of his palm on Malfoy’s cock. Few things, that is, besides riding a broomstick, and quidditch, and watching Malfoy’s face contort as he voiced the short hoarse cries of his release and spent himself over Harry’s hand.
There was a moment of stillness with Malfoy panting and Harry still dizzy with need, and then Malfoy turned in the circle of his embrace, reached up, and pulled the invisibility cloak down off Harry’s head.
Harry blinked at him in shock--had Malfoy known it was him all along?
Malfoy’s cheeks were flushed pink, his gray eyes glinting, and Harry wondered absently why he’d never realized before that Malfoy’s pale pointed features were actually sexy as hell. He wasn’t afforded a chance to contemplate though-- a hand had fisted in his hair and Malfoy was kissing him! Hard! And before he knew what he was doing, Harry was kissing him back, drowning in the blissful duel of lips and teeth and tongues.
“That was so fucking hot.” Malfoy’s lips traced the words against the corner of Harry’s mouth, his voice husky and intense, with no trace of mockery.
Harry smiled at the compliment and pressed his advantage. “Yeah. Jerk me off, Malfoy.”
But Malfoy smiled crookedly and shook his head, his eyes bright and unfathomable. His left hand worked its way inside the invisibility cloak and freed Harry’s cock, while his right tucked his wand away in his pocket as he dropped slowly to his knees.
Malfoy’s tongue was a deep rosy pink and Harry watch it wet his parted lips. He couldn’t see what Malfoy was doing beneath the cloak, but he could certainly feel it. The air between them seemed to wrinkle as Malfoy’s fingers teased their way along Harry’s shaft and his wrist moved the magical fabric. This too, Harry decided, was absolutely fucking hot, and Malfoy should definitely spend more time on his knees like this because just looking at him was enough to make Harry’s legs feel dangerously weak.
The warmth of breath on his shaft made Harry’s balls contract in anticipation. Malfoy had parted the material of the cloak, and looking down, Harry could see himself again, no longer invisible where the cloak had been pushed aside. This was impossible. And perfect. Harry felt drunk on the promise in Malfoy’s upturned eyes, and he was already defenseless, defeated long before Malfoy’s lips had closed around him. When they did, he knew he couldn’t last.
He didn’t remember the hand he lay on Malfoy’s head, nor holding him there while he climaxed in his mouth, but when Harry came back to himself again, he was surprised to discover the surprisingly soft texture of Malfoy’s hair between his fingers. He released him gently, his fingers tracing down over the shell of an ear in mute apology. Malfoy’s eyes were watering, shining and full, and a thin trickle of Harry’s come had escaped the corner of his mouth. His lips looked flushed and perhaps a little swollen. Positively debauched, Harry thought, and without a doubt the most sinful thing he had ever seen.
Harry wiped the errant drops of his release from Malfoy’s mouth with his thumb, and then, acting on impulse, sank to his knees as well so that he and Malfoy were again face to face. Harry wasn’t sure what to say, so he settled for, “That was brilliant,” and was surprised by how soft and breathless he sounded when he spoke.
Malfoy’s eyes glinted, and he caught Harry’s hand in his own, raising it and pressing Harry’s thumb towards his lips. On reflex Harry resisted, but Malfoy was persistent, and so Harry took the edge into his mouth to suck it clean, knowing that the bitterness there was the taste of himself. He tasted the same bitterness again when he and Malfoy kissed. Still awkward, but they almost managed to be gentle this time.
When they stopped and looked at each other again, Harry felt a strange snarl of emotions knot in his chest. He watched Malfoy stand and arrange himself, and he stood up too because he dimly realized that it would be undignified to continue kneeling there on the floor. They didn’t touch again before Malfoy turned to go. In fact, they didn’t even speak, and they hardly looked at each other at all.
“Malfoy.” The Slytherin’s hand was almost on the door when Harry broke the silence. Their eyes met, and neither seemed to have fully settled his customary defenses back in place. “Do you think that we could move these meetings to lunch time? I was late to third period nearly every day last week.”
Malfoy smirked, and Harry suddenly realized just what he had said. The implications were too broad to consider. Malfoy seemed to realize it too, as if it had brought him back to himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Potter,” the Slytherin’s voice had regained its customary smooth drawl, but it was devoid of maliciousness, and Harry suddenly heard something in it that he never had before. The corner of Malfoy’s lip quirked, and for the first time since they’d met, Harry thought of him, tentatively, as ‘Draco’. “And neither do you.”
***
Harry was smiling when he left the bathroom, perhaps half a minute in Malfoy’s wake. The snarl of emotions had resolved itself into a tightly knit dodecahedron which had turned forward a calm, satiated face. Harry felt at ease and something strange and unnamable that was quite the opposite of lonely. He stepped out of the bathroom thoughtlessly, with his cloak slung over his shoulder, and promptly ran smack into Ron.
Reality came crashing down like an avalanche. The dodecahedron spun. Shite!
“Harry! Are you all right? What happened in there?”
“Ah, nothing.” Wait, no, that wasn’t right. “I mean... ah... What did Malfoy say?”
Ron was staring at Harry as though worried that his brains had been addled, which wasn’t so far from the truth. Harry just hoped Ron wouldn’t guess what it was that had addled them. “Say? Nothing. He just sort of stared at me and then he kind of laughed and left. Git.”
“Oh.”
“Harry,” Ron’s voice sounded dangerously close to suspicious, “What did you and Malfoy do in there?”
But Harry certainly couldn’t tell him, even if he wanted to (though just now he wasn’t sure if he did). So he hedged as best he could, told Ron that Malfoy didn’t scare as easily as he’d expected-- which was true-- tossed the cloak over both of them, and headed back to Gryffindor, trying to avoid Ron’s questioning gaze.
He sensed that the questions would be no fewer in the morning, but, strangely, as he drifted off to sleep, that knowledge didn’t trouble him.
ETA: Revised and some mistakes fixed. Once again, thanks to Jess for the beta!
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Glad you are enjoying. :D