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A Series of Malfoy Events	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11220 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Ten—How To Irritate Draco Malfoy
            Harry sighed and leaned over to tap his glass against Ron’s. “Tough luck on the Falcons’ win, mate. But I think that I at least flustered Malfoy.”
            Ron gave a small groan and dropped his head on the table in front of him. “That’s not enough,” he protested bitterly. “I know you tried, but it’s not enough.” He stuck his lip out in front of him so far Harry thought Malfoy might have been able to land his broom on it. “I’ve always had this dream of seeing the Cannons winning everything, you know?”
            That it’s about the Cannons is how you can tell that it’s a dream. But Harry didn’t say that, because it would have been mean in a way Ron didn’t deserve. He leaned forwards to pat his back and murmur commiseration, instead. Ron accepted it at least enough to down the glass in front of him with one gulp.
            Then he called for more Firewhisky. Harry leaned back with his eyes half-lidded and his hands tingling. He wanted to drink enough to show willing and to show sympathy for Ron’s team’s loss, but he needed to keep his head clear.
            He had to decide whether he would answer the summons Malfoy had been so gracious as to gift him with.
            On the one hand, of course he had to. It was essential to keeping up his cover. Kingsley would certainly think so, at least, and Harry really didn’t want to deal with Kingsley’s disappointment on top of everything else.
            But on the other, Harry thought he knew himself and Malfoy better than Kingsley did. He was running up against the outermost limits of what he was willing to do as part of his job, and Malfoy…
            He might be intrigued right now. When it came to sex, though, he would probably be able to tell the difference between coyness and outright disinterest.
            And Harry still couldn’t muster up much interest in the thought of actually touching Malfoy’s cock. Teasing him was fun and hilarious. Having sex with him under dubious pretenses wouldn’t be.
            An owl flew through the Leaky Cauldron’s front door and straight at Harry. Harry caught it easily on one shoulder. At least the Auror robes had a little extra padding worked in there, precisely to keep back the grip of great talons.
            The owl bowed its head and did a complex bit of work with its legs. In a few seconds, it held a letter out. Harry took it and opened it gingerly. He had thought it a work summons at first, but now…
            Sure enough, it was from Malfoy.
            Potter, if you don’t come to me tonight I won’t be responsible for my actions.
            That was all the letter said, but Harry winced as he imagined what it might mean. He climbed to his feet with a martyred sigh and a shake of his head at Ron, who was sitting up in concern. “It’s Malfoy. His Majesty commands me to his side at once. I would tell you not to wait up, but it’s not like you’re the one who’s breathlessly waiting for a report about him.”

            “Um, no,” Ron said. His face was a bit pale. “Please feel free to keep all details of how you plan to deal with him away from me, mate. I mean, as many as you like. There are virtues to silence. I believe Hermione when she says that, now.”
            Harry grinned and shook his head. Sometimes having Ron believe that his whole “dating” of Malfoy was a brilliant joke helped. Now that Harry thought about it, he didn’t know what he had been nervous about. He had teased Malfoy before. He could do the same thing again. He had come up with excuses to string Malfoy along so far. Why couldn’t he do it again?
            “I’ll keep exactly as silent as I need to be,” Harry promised, and swept away, ignoring the way Ron’s plaintive, “What does that mean?” followed him.
*
            Harry spent a moment fussing with his robes as he paused in front of the Manor’s doors. He was sure someone was watching him, maybe Malfoy himself, maybe Doory or the elf that probably existed named Looky. And he had to look as if he was really committed to making this sex, or dinner, or whatever, a success.
            Until he put his other plan in motion, at least.
            The door swung open before Harry’s fist could connect with it, and Harry raised an eyebrow. There was no elf there, and no Malfoy, either. The light in the front hall had been reduced to a few faint flickers from torch sconces. Malfoy’s voice echoed from the far end.
            “Come along, Harry. I think you deserve some consideration for the consideration you showed me at the game this morning.”
            For the briefest moment, Harry wondered if this could be a trap. Then he dismissed the notion. Of course it was a trap. It was meant to be one for his heart, and the only thing he had to do was not fall into it, the same way he would have avoided that if it was a trap for his body, the kind most other enemies would have set.
            Harry strutted into the room, not bothering to take his cloak off. It would provide another layer of protection if Malfoy decided to be literal about some things.
            The dining table turned out to be a softly glowing island of candlelight in the middle of the enormous room. Malfoy had enchanted the light so that it had a dusky rose tinge, and placed chairs of red velvet under it, very effective. The empty silver plates sparkled in front of the candles like a fantasy dream of a dinner.
            Malfoy, who’d been sitting in a chair at the head of the table like a throne, stood up and moved around it as Harry came nearer.
            He was naked.
            Harry froze. He couldn’t help it, even though he knew it meant a rather visible loss to Malfoy in their little game. His eyes traced the silver scars that lingered along Malfoy’s chest, the way his hips curved in a way that seemed to urge Harry’s gaze towards his groin, and the pallor of his skin. The candles made that shimmer, too, the same way they touched the plates.
            And, all right, there was his cock.
            Harry supposed it was all right, as cocks went. It wasn’t like he’d ever really had more than his own for comparison. It was flushed, and straight, and hard. And it was probably as pale as the rest of him when it wasn’t flushed like that.
            Harry’s eyes darted up to Malfoy’s. Malfoy was giving him a soft, contented smile that might have convinced Harry they were real lovers if he was like everyone else—inclined to fawn at Malfoy’s feet.
            As it was, Harry knew the smile for the taunt Malfoy meant it to be. Harry had faltered a step. Malfoy had upped the game, and was challenging Harry to meet him on a ground that was actually harder to make a good impression on than the Quidditch match had been.
            Harry’s thoughts seemed to move slower than Malfoy’s feet. Malfoy came up to him while Harry was thinking all that, and took one of his hands, and turned it slowly back and forth. Harry, looking down, had never been so conscious of the length of his own fingers before, and the unpolished, somewhat ragged state of his nails.
            “I told you,” Malfoy whispered to him, breath lingering on his earlobe, “that you had a few motions of your hand to complete.”
            And then he actually tried to lower Harry’s hand to his groin.
            Without even a kiss first!
            Harry lost his head. He could have put his other plan into motion right about then, but it would have looked like he was backing away from Malfoy because he was scared. And since the first time Draco Malfoy had asked him if he was scared, in second year, Harry had made it a policy never to back away from the narrow-cheeked git.
            He leaned forwards and kissed Malfoy, hard enough that Malfoy cried out against his lips and, this was the important part, loosed his grip on Harry’s hand. Harry promptly made that a conventionally romantic gesture by reaching up and cupping Malfoy’s face tenderly between his hands, smoothing his thumbs up and down the bastard’s cheeks.
            This close, he could feel the silken stubble of a beard, and see a small scar curving around the edge of Malfoy’s left eye. And feel the impact of those eyes, wide and startled, on his own.
            Harry shut his own, when he had cemented with a long, earnest gaze that he wasn’t scared of Malfoy, and settled into the kiss.
            Harry knew how to kiss. At least, he’d never had any complaints, and as long as the person—the woman—he kissed didn’t intend to run to the Daily Prophet afterwards with the juicy details, most people involved didn’t seem to be taking notes. They were all caught up in the experience and rushing forwards much as Harry did.
            Now he was trying to kiss while keeping conscious of what he was doing, and it was more difficult. And Malfoy was twisting like a snake in his arms, as if he would complain if he could get his mouth free.
            But Harry wasn’t going to allow him to do that. He bore Malfoy back and back, until he was against a wall, and he pinned him there and went to work on his mouth. His tongue darted and teased, back and forth, until he coaxed Malfoy’s tongue into following. Then he held still and let Malfoy probe at him and push at him until he gave in and let Malfoy have what he wanted.
            The taste and the heat were pretty much the same as a woman’s mouth, Harry noted.
            There was a dim redness expanding behind his eyelids when Harry broke away. He opened his eyes for the first time in a long while, and watched Malfoy’s chest rise and fall. It was easier to look at his face this time, to ignore his cock. Harry smiled. Malfoy looked well-kissed.
            At least, he did until he turned his head and studied Harry, and then his gaze looked piercing in the way that meant he was going to try to take advantage of someone. Harry raised his eyebrows.
            “You’re hard,” Malfoy whispered.
            It was as though reality was on a gigantic slingshot, and it had bent back and Harry had mostly been concerned with watching Malfoy’s reaction to the stone he’d launched. Suddenly he was aware of his own straining muscles, his burning need, and the way that heat was rushing up his ears and down his throat like a lemming off a cliff.
            And Malfoy was the weasel who was about to eat the lemming.
            Harry didn’t think he could get out of this by pleading—well, something or other. He would probably look still weaker if he retreated or went with his other plan. So he simply raised his head and his eyebrows and said nothing at all. Hey, sometimes it worked to drive off fans who thought he was “nice” and then didn’t know how to get around his sudden haughtiness.
            It didn’t fend off Malfoy. He approached Harry with pattering footsteps and stood there, surveying Harry as if Harry was naked, too. Harry appreciated the cloak around his shoulders even more, although it didn’t, admittedly, do much about hiding his hard-on.
            “You’re ready?” Malfoy whispered. When Harry stood there and didn’t move and didn’t say anything, Malfoy elaborated. “To complete the motions of your hand?”
            “I’ve never done anything like that before,” Harry said evenly to him. “I’ve never dated a man. I did what you wanted me to do today, and something extra. I don’t feel like anything more.”
            Dignity might work where simple silence didn’t. But it didn’t, either. Malfoy reached out and took Harry’s hand and guided it down towards his groin, holding Harry’s gaze all the time. It made it worse that his challenging smile wasn’t really out in the open. It hovered around Malfoy’s lips, instead, and Harry would have to be a fool not to know what it really looked like.
            Harry braced himself, and didn’t run. In the end, the only thing he might be able to control in this situation was his reactions. And he wasn’t going to appear childish or fearful.
            Not that he really was, not now. If anything, he was resigned to it, and wondered how soon he could get away with casting a Cleaning Charm on his hand.
            Then Malfoy guided his palm further down, alongside and in, and wrapped Harry’s fingers around his cock, and Harry found himself not neutral at all. Again reality hit him in the gut and broke through his mask, and he was panting suddenly, gasping as though he’d been running a race, while Malfoy rubbed his hand back and forth.
            Wanking with my hand.
            The notion should have been disgusting, and wasn’t at all. Harry found his eyes straying away from Malfoy’s face soon enough, and focusing on the way that Malfoy’s cock, smooth and straining, disappeared between his fingers and reappeared again.
            “Like—that.” Malfoy was straining back, his face like a weasel’s in ecstasy. He leaned on the wall as if it was the only thing holding him up.
            Harry grinned. Another idea for how he might take advantage of the situation had just come to him.
            He rubbed harder, faster. It wasn’t that much different from wanking himself, when it came right down to it. He had thought it would be more disgusting than it had turned out to be. It was a little wet, but not much. Harry hooked his hand behind the nape of Malfoy’s neck and pulled him close, clapping their mouths together for a moment.
            He pulled and stroked, meanwhile. Malfoy was almost sliding against him by now, his eyes half-lidded and fixed on Harry’s face. Harry worked his expression into one of concentration and kept on pulling.
            He waited until the last moment, or what should be the last one. Somehow, Malfoy kept holding it off. His eyes were completely shut now and he was grunting with his mouth open, providing Harry with a deeper view of his throat than Harry had ever wanted. But he hadn’t yet surrendered to the moment when he would come.
            Harry concentrated harder than ever. This was going to take an effort of his will. And not on Malfoy’s cock, thank you very much.
            There it was—it had to be. Malfoy’s hips were rising from the wall as though someone under an Invisibility Cloak was pulling on them, and his mouth had opened in what looked like a yawn, and his hands were fists at his side.
            Harry took his hand from Malfoy’s neck and worked it down to his wand. The spell was already pulsing in his mind, ready to go, and it took nothing more than half the normal wand movement to make it come true. A shrill beeping sound rang out from the direction of Harry’s wrist.
            Malfoy leaped like a starfish someone had tweaked by one of its arms. He certainly looked like a starfish, spraddled all over the wall at the moment and gaping at Harry as if he had never heard the sound of an alarm before in his life.
            “Shit,” Harry breathed, staring down at what was really only the old watch Mrs. Weasley had given him, but it was half-hidden from Malfoy’s sight and he didn’t know that. “Shit. Shit.” He backed off, shaking his head. “Malfoy, I’m sorry—you don’t know how sorry I am—but that’s the Minister calling me in. He never does that unless it’s an emergency. And probably one that has to stay secret. I’m so sorry.”
            He looked at Malfoy, who had one hand in front of his groin as if to catch his come. But his voice was a low growl, and his face was turning as red as his cock had been. “You’re leaving now?”
            “What?” Harry blinked once. “But the Minister needs me!”
            “I was just about to—” And Malfoy made a gesture that Harry thought the papers would probably pay good money to have a photograph of. It was also probably one that half Malfoy’s fans thought he was too refined to use and the other half dreamed about having done to them.
            “You were? Right then?” Harry widened his eyes and slapped his hand over his face. “I’m so sorry! I’ve never been with a man before, you see! I wasn’t sure!”
            Malfoy stared at him with an expressionless face. Harry thought he could see the beginnings of rage there, though. And probably hatred.
            Well, if he keeps me close for pride’s sake, then that’s nothing I can’t handle. And if he doesn’t, then I’ll find out some way to handle that, too. But Kingsley can’t actually expect me to have sex with him. Playing a game is one thing. That would be something different. Harry didn’t know of any instance where an Auror had been expected to have sex with someone else on a mission, although they were sometimes required to act seductive.
            And so far, nothing about this case suggested that it was unsolvable if he wasn’t at Malfoy’s side. It would just make it more convenient if he was.
            Harry opened his mouth to apologize again, and then Malfoy grabbed his watch and flung it away from Harry. Harry cried out as he saw it fly across the dining room, and he whipped out his wand to cast the spell that would save it from smashing against the wall.
            That never happened. A house-elf—whose name was probably Watchy—appeared and seized it, cradling it carefully between his big hands, then vanished.
            Harry was reflecting on the fact that Malfoy either had a bit of an exhibitionism kink, too, or else didn’t consider hose-elves in the category of people, when Malfoy grabbed the back of his neck and looked into his eyes.
            “The Minister can wait two or three minutes without much loss,” Malfoy breathed. “And there’s one thing you should know, Potter. I don’t lose.”
            He leaned his cock against Harry’s hip at the same moment as he pulled Harry into a kiss and reached down to align himself against Harry’s groin. And then they were both rubbing together at the same time, and Harry found himself catapulted from thinking about what was going to splatter all over him to trying desperately not to come.
            He rocked, he moaned because he had to and because Malfoy’s tongue was in his mouth, and all the time his mind worked frantically.
            Because he didn’t lose, either. He was going to find some way to turn this to his advantage.
            If only he could think, and this heavy red haze would get out of his head.
*
SP777: In even more trouble than he thought he was!
Sure, e-maliing me about an idea would be fine.
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A Series of Malfoy Events