Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Conscience	By : sordidhumors Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 15282 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: This story is based on "Harry Potter, " the novels and subsequent films created by JK Rowling, licensed to various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Warner Bros. This e-publication makes no profit.

Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
SUMMARY: Getting caught in the act leads to a conversation about “us.” Featuring an awkward Potter and withholding Malfoy.

WARNINGS: accidental exhibitionism, (spoilers: shower sex, handjob, mutual masturbation, Obsessive!Harry, Parseltongue, mild biting fetish)

CONSCIENCE:

US

Harry was flying—Draco's lips the only thing connecting him to earth. He was airborne, not feeling the mattress beneath him or the headboard his hands remained tied to. It was just him and Draco in a void of nothing else; only the firm press of sweat-slicked bodies, only the wet slide of thick and heavy lips, only the mingling of sated sighs.

From very far away, Harry's ears registered a sharp gasp that was not Draco. A loud thump wrenched his unwilling eyes open. Draco's silver eyes fluttered open barely an inch from his own, reflecting a deep green. He could look into those eyes all day. Was it selfish to think the best thing Draco's eerie eyes could reflect was the color of his own?

Draco's entire body jumped when a woman's voice spoke from somewhere in the room.

“Enervate.”

Heads turned, one dark and one white blonde, to find Hermione Granger, Ron and Ginny Weasley standing in the doorway. Well, Ginny was standing with a hand clamped over her open mouth and her eyes bugging out. Ron had clearly passed out and Hermione crouched over him, her wand drawn and an unreadable expression on her face. Ron sat up, dazed. He shook his head and looked across the room, meeting silver and green eyes.

Time hung in the air between them, choked by tension, embarrassment and disbelief.

Ron got slowly to his feet with Hermione's help. Harry thought about getting up, crossing the room, going to his friends and trying to explain... but Draco was on top of him, both of them naked and messy. If this was a terrible position to be caught in, it would only be worse if he stood up. If he could stand up. The presence of his friends had burned away the last of his arousal but it wasn't his own nakedness that concerned him; it was Draco. Always Draco, now. It bothered him that anyone else saw this much of the man exposed—the twirling white scars covering him from head to toe, the vicious burn marks and shiny, coral-colored patch where a solid chunk of his left side had been bitten away and regrown by magic. A small part of Harry was relieved that was all they saw: some of the marks were worse. Harry understood those markings were more sacred than any sense of modesty. Draco pressed against him, stunned like a rabbit in headlights. Harry itched to put his arms around the blonde, to shield him from his friends with his own body.

“Can you release my hands?” Harry whispered in Draco's ear.

Draco gazed back at him and Harry watched as the calm and collected Malfoy mask drew over his unguarded features, smothering the wealth of emotion there. He'd much rather Draco stayed open, vulnerable, warmly, beautifully glowing, but it was probably better to close down and be strong. At least until everyone else was out of the room.

Draco gave a curt nod of understanding and stretched for his wand lying on the other side of the bed. Before the blonde had it to hand, Harry heard the bedroom door slam. He'd been so busy watching Draco that he hadn't noticed his friends' hasty retreat. He couldn't tell who slammed the door, but he had a gut feeling their last name was Weasley.

His head fell back to the pillows. He couldn't imagine a worse way things could have gone.

Draco sitting on him was a bit of a consolation, though; especially the ghost of a smirk on his pale face as he waved his wand, casting a few non-verbal spells before releasing the Sticking Charm that kept Harry fastened to the headboard. He brought his wrists down, watching the blonde above him toss his wand aside and work at the knotted Gryffindor tie. Harry knew he would never see a Gryffindor uniform again without flashing back to this moment. Draco chewed the inside of his cheek as he unfurled the intricate pattern of knots he'd made, finally sliding the tie off Harry's hands while being careful not to touch the silk to either of their bodies and risk staining it. Harry flexed his wrists, looking up at the passive mask of Draco's face.

Draco's eyes narrowed, meeting Harry's gaze with confidence only to silently draw a single finger across his pale throat.

“Yes,” Harry agreed with a heavy sigh. “I'm dead.”

Draco swallowed, nodding. Harry could almost detect a glimmer of something—remorse, perhaps pity—before Draco rolled with a huff, collapsing onto his back. He and Harry lay side by side, their bodies separated by centimeters. They stretched simultaneously, Harry rolling stiff shoulders with a groan and Draco flexing and pointing his feet until his ankles popped. Harry groaned again and dragged his sorry butt out of bed, ready to face a Gryffindor firing squad. Once on his feet, he turned to look at Draco.

“Cleaning Charm?” the blonde offered in a hoarse whisper, wand on the sheets beside him. He waggled his eyebrows at their stomachs—particularly the sticky, matted hair of Harry's lower half now even with his flushed, handsome face as he slid over to lay on Harry's pillow.

The sight of Draco in his bed and looking so utterly comfortable, so kissable, so shaggable, so just shagged senseless.... Harry bent and took hold of Draco's arm, positioning a shoulder at the man's bony hips. With a sharp tug, Draco was draped over his shoulder and lifted from the bed, his familiar weight on Harry; a weight that only minutes ago had been on top of him, making him come for everything he was worth. As that last thought raced through his mind, he was genuinely surprised his knees held.

“Unhand me!” the blonde rasped, voice raw, flung over Harry's shoulder like a misbehaving kid. “Wha' on earth do ya think yer doin'?”

Gods, his voice sounded so damn good. Harry had to swallow for his response to sound remotely even.

“Shower,” Harry said simply, setting out for the hall.

Harry deposited a petulant Draco on the bathroom counter and went to start the shower. As the hot water got going, he turned to revel in an eye-full of naked Draco fucking Malfoy.

The blonde had twisted in order to examine himself in the mirror, his ivory skin seeming to blush everywhere, beads of sweat glistening in the bright light that his skin just seemed to absorb and then reflect out again. The man effectively glowed. One pale hand mapped the angry twin trails of Harry's front teeth still adorning his neck. If Harry was any judge of these things, it surely looked like it would bruise. Harry didn't feel guilty at all; marking Draco was the most natural thing in the world. Fucking Draco had been the most natural thing of all; especially tied up like that, with his eyes closed like that, Draco screaming and moaning, coming with him like that. Oh, that long, delicate spine twisting up from his narrow hips. The snarly battle scars winding up and down his slender body. The muscled arm he supported himself on. The miles long, blonde haired legs that hung lazily from the counter. The sweet rounded curves of his ass like two fat scoops of white chocolate gelato. Draco was so obviously a man. And Harry was so obviously turned on. This was something he'd have to process at some point—but not now, damn it. He'd just had sex with Draco Malfoy. Several times, actually. And it had been incredible. Not like those awkward snogs with Ginny or even the comfortable heat of Heather Lightley. This, this thing with Malfoy, with Draco.... A part of him knew he was seventeen and just about anything touching his prick was bound to get him off. At the same time, a deep pulsing in his gut warned that something more was going on. With Draco, his senses were heightened, tightened, alert. He felt like a cat having caught sight of a bird; utterly focused, fixated, and nothing in the world would shake him.

He watched Draco slip from the counter and climb into the shower, his eyes zeroing in on a small, splotchy birthmark where the soft line of the man's right butt cheek met his thigh. Harry wanted to reach out and touch it, stroke it, bite it. What would that patch of caramel skin taste like? He heard Draco's echoing shudder of pleasure as the hot water hit him. Maybe, Harry thought rashly, I should find out.

He stepped up to the shower and the magical partition slipped aside to admit him. Rather than barging right in, he ducked his head around the smoked glass, thinking to announce himself. The words caught in his throat as he was once again struck by the sight of the blonde, the creamy expanse of him now rosy and flushed from the shower's heat: marble-made-flesh surrounded by tendrils of steam and droplets of water that bounced off his thought-erasing, heart-stopping firmness. Long fingers fisted in his hair, his face pressed to a toned bicep as his eyes slid closed. An incoherent sound escaped Harry because the blonde turned, opening one eye. Still incapable of forming words, Harry bobbed his head to request entrance. Draco smiled ruefully, closing his eyes and shaking his head of damp hair before returning to the stream of hot water beating at his chest. He rose up on his toes to put his face in the water, slicking his hair back with both hands. Harry stumbled into the shower then, registering the door gliding closed behind him but completely focused on Draco.

Recalling his original mission, Harry took a step forward and quietly dropped to his knees. He reached a reverent hand to stroke the top of one firm, sugar-spun cheek with the back of his hand, letting Draco know where he was and what he was up to. He stroked lightly, exploring the landscape of milky skin, taking the time to slide over a slashing, spidery scar and then the stretched pink skin replacing flesh once ripped away. His eyes fell to that birthmark. It was like a splash of black tea that had been allowed to sit too long, sinking in to stain his porcelain skin like a favorite tea cup.

Draco spluttered something that was almost a moan, slapping wet hands to two different walls and bracing, his long spine arching at Harry's touch. Wasn't that something? Harry bent, his mouth exploring that caramel spot which bore the lingering salt of sweat and sex along with the man's crisp, autumnal essence. Harry licked and sucked, trying to get at the taste before the water bore it away. He pressed his tongue to that sweetest juncture where thigh met cheek, dipping under the fold of skin in search of more, more, always more. Draco moaned helplessly, his knees giving the slightest buckle; Harry felt the twitch of it in the man's thigh so close he reached out to splay fingers through the damp blonde hairs. He let his hand meander up to a bony hip, giving pressure as his thumb swept the dimpled muscle of Draco's arse. The blonde beat one fist against the tile, now resting weight on his elbows as he shivered, whispering the slightest “oh” to echo over the tile, becoming lost in the splash of water and the suckling of skin.

Harry groped blindly for the soap, his eyes having drifted closed when his lips met Draco's skin. Working a lather into his hands, he rested his forehead against Draco's rear, the blonde still softly quivering, disbelieving. Harry washed his calf first, carefully finding his way up to Draco's thigh and then starting over on the other leg. Normally he would have used a wash cloth to hold the lather but this occasion so clearly called for hands, skin on skin. He rose up to his feet, reaching down to soap the mark he'd obsessed over. Draco stood stock still as Harry's lathered hands washed his lower back, his shoulders, slipping around to his chest. Arms around his lean frame, Harry drew Draco back against him, out of the hot water in order to wash his stomach next. His half-hard cock nestled in the cleft of the blonde's ass—he hadn't thought of that. Suddenly he was fully hard and panting. It wasn't far to the shower wall; weight in his heels, Harry leaned back until his shoulders met with cool tile, Draco's slippery body settling against his own. He worked his hands lower, tracing the network of muscle and scars. He found Draco in a similar state and smiled. Nudging sopping wet tendrils with his nose, he eventually found Draco's ear. He kissed and nipped, breathing hard until landing on a spot that made the man's long prick jump. He worked the spot with teeth and heavy tongue until he could feel Draco's pulse racing beneath his mouth.

He forced his lazy eyelids open enough to glance down Draco's body and was met with the sight of his throbbing pink cock. Harry's own gave an involuntary twitch, cushioned between their soaped-up bodies. He just needed to touch. He ran hot hands up the blonde's sides, feeling rib and muscle and hitched breath, heart thundering under his hands. He continued to kiss the sensitive nerves behind Draco's ear, pressing his slick palms down the man's body to rest at either side of his cock, carefully not touching. He simultaneously loved and hated the feel—loving the smoothness but hating there was no pubic hair to roughly grip, something to hold onto besides slippery skin. Instead, he let his hands wander down to the tops of strong thighs, finally finding some hair thick enough to really hold on to. Draco's head tossed, trying to get away from Harry's lips.

“Yeh,” Draco mumbled, voice catching in his throat, wet hair slapping Harry's face and neck. “Fuckin' tease, yeh are!” Draco reached back to take a handful of Harry's damp hair at his temple, smacking his head forcefully against the wall. Harry saw shooting white sparks at the sides of his vision from the impact.

“Gods, you're demanding,” Harry whispered, taking a bite from the back of Draco's neck. He sucked on skin and wet hair alike: it all tasted like Draco.

Draco let out a strangled yell through clenched teeth, squirming in Harry's grip before bringing a hand down to touch himself.

“Yes,” Harry whispered against clean, wet skin kissed raw. He watched raptly over Draco's shoulder. “Show me how you like it. Show me,” he repeated darkly, “but I get to finish you.”

“Oh, fuck,” Draco whined.

“Maybe later,” Harry mused, biting down on the muscle connecting shoulder and neck. Draco's hips bucked. “I wanna watch.”

Draco rocked languidly against him, Harry's hands gripping his thighs and keeping them pinned together. Draco loosely held the skin at the midpoint of his shaft, thrusting into his hand. He strained at Harry's hands holding him back; the restriction just made it better. Every roll of his hips rubbed Harry's dick in the cleft of his perfect ass.

“You look so good,” Harry told his neck with a hot lick, taste buds picking up the diluted flavor of his skin. “Fuck, so damn good.”

Draco panted in short, sharp bursts, the fingers of his free hand firmly clenched in Harry's hair. He beat Harry's head against the wall a few more times but perhaps not as forcefully. It seemed like a reflex, the pounding almost in time with the undulation of his hips. Before he got a lump at the back of his head, Harry took Draco's hand and moved it to that bruised place, letting him pull the thick hair there. He wanted to close his eyes but he wanted to watch Draco more. He dipped his head, earning a fantastic yank to his hair. It probably cost him a few hairs but was well worth it.

Draco tossing off was about the hottest thing in the world. A thousand times better than any dirty magazine Harry had ever pilfered from Dudley and at least three hundred times hotter than any lame fantasy he'd ever concocted for his own right hand. Harry was keenly aware of the drool pooling in his mouth and his seeming inability to draw more than a weak, gaspy little breath through his open mouth. He could come from this.

He focused solely on Draco. The man didn't thrust so much as he rolled his hips, clenching his ass and thighs to push forward and up, fucking his hand. His stomach flexed, twitched and shook. The hand on his cock barely moved, squeezing now and again but letting his body do most of the work as he rode his arousal. He dug his heels in and leaned into Harry; friction, tension and pressure all building. His prick went from rosy to red, the head swollen. Even without his glasses, Harry could make out a thin white scar running the length of the shaft; Draco's thumb stroked it, lost in the pleasurable sensations poised to overwhelm him soon.

“Close,” Draco whispered.

Harry brought his left hand over the the head of Draco's dick. His right hand had callouses from Quidditch and a few days yard labor at the Dursleys. He was sure Draco was used to soft, smooth hands. At first he ran gentle fingers over the spongy, deeply colored head. He pinched lightly at the sides with thumb and ring finger, using his forefinger to tease the under appreciated nerves on the underside. Draco practically melted in his arms at the touch. Harry worked his fingers just a bit more, just a bit faster, until Draco's whole body spasmed. Then he let his hand slide down to ply the foreskin, coaxing it forward and back with a slight articulation of the wrist. He rolled pressure up through his fingers, releasing every time before reaching the head. The teasing dissolved Draco until he sagged against Harry's body, rutting his hips at a frantic pace. Every thrust into their waiting hands pulled Harry's own erection away from those tense cheeks only to slam back a moment later with a damp, satisfying slap. Skin went hot and red where their bodies met again and again, the water and soap adding an elusive, indecent rush as they slid and bounced together, closer and closer.

Harry wanted to tell him he was beautiful, sexy, gorgeous. Did you say those things to a man? He settled for releasing Draco's thigh to wrap that arm around his chest, holding him close. Draco continued to writhe, his hand now pumping his cock freely. Harry worked his hand under Draco's, edging him out for the grand finale. He worked Draco's length fast and hard, rutting rather hopelessly against him.

“You're so God damn beautiful, Draco,” Harry growled into his sopping wet hair. “You're the hottest thing I've ever seen. I just want you to scream for me, come for me, know that it's me doing this to you, making you crazy for that one second. Go with me, Draco, go with me!”

“Fuck!” Draco yelled so loud he echoed off the tile. The sharp sound might've hurt his ears if it weren't so tense, so needful, so almost there. “Fuck, fuck, oh fuck! Yes!” he wailed. “Harder, yes!”

Harry gave a few good, hard tugs and Draco was spasming, screaming, spilling hot over his hand. Every muscle in his lissome body jumped, his raw-rubbed cheeks clenching Harry between them. One mighty yank of the hair, a delicious scream and he was coming, too, spurting up to paint Draco's back. It ripped a twin scream from his own lungs, wordless and guttural. His voice trailed off in a wail as his seed slid down Draco's back, his slick cheeks, to rejoin Harry's mercifully spent cock.

Draco's head fell back to rest on Harry's shoulder. As one, they collapsed to the shower floor. The boneless blonde landed between his legs, still tucked snug against him. If it weren't for the steam they'd be glued together by a white, sticky mess.

His hand still pressed to Draco's chest registered a fluttery heartbeat and labored breath. He slipped his other arm around Draco's lower stomach, cementing them together and preventing his treasure from falling away in mindless, shattered bliss. Draco took a good minute minute to recover brain function. Eventually his racing pulse evened out and his eyes opened.

“Hi,” he said quietly, tone distorted by the tile, the streaming water and his own abused vocal chords.

“Hi,” Harry offered back. He thought he sounded like a mountain troll awakened from an afternoon nap. He didn't know his voice could go that low or, well, rumble in his chest like that.

“Again, bloody amazin',” Draco slurred. He gave his head on Harry's shoulder a sort of half-loll. The blonde could barely smile but bit his lower lip a little as the side of his purplish red mouth turned up.

“Fuck yeah,” Harry agreed. If his voice didn't get back to its natural register soon he was going to start coughing.

Draco braced both hands on the floor beside Harry's thighs. For a moment it looked like he was trying to stand up but that was crazy. No one could stand after coming like that—no one. Draco managed to scoot his arse about six inches to his right before his arms gave out and he landed on that biteable padding with a groan. He turned his head to look at Harry. The expression on his face was so unguarded. Genuine happiness glowed there, still nursing a flicker of disbelief. Disbelief that he would have sex with Harry? Or disbelief that they would have such utterly wild, mind-blowing sex how many times in the last hour or two? Harry dared to hope it was the latter.

He took Draco's waiting mouth with a powerful kiss; yes, it reassured him, this is real. Draco's lips slid readily open for him, giving as much as they took. Harry had to pull back, his head spinning with the joy of that needy, wanton, hungry kiss. He had to pull back from Draco's mouth now or he would get hard all over again. He already felt like he might walk a little funny. He wondered if Draco would. It would be quite a sight to see.

- - -

They managed to clean themselves off, wrap up in towels and scuttle back to Harry's room uninterrupted. Draco had honestly limped out of the bathroom and turned to go to his own room down the hall. Harry took up his wrist and led the blonde wordlessly back to his bedroom, instead. He wasn't even thinking of sex. There was something he wanted to say and the hallway was not the proper place.

The first thing he saw upon entering his bedroom was his big fourposter bed. The clunky, ornate furniture had never done much for him... but now that bed bore the tangled sheets, mingled sweat and memories of what he considered the true and final loss of his virginity. And that bit of mawkishness had him rock hard again. Or maybe it was the fact that his bedmate stood perhaps a foot behind him, now smelling of soap and crisp and clean while the sun-brightened room still wreaked of emboldened sex. He was tenting his towel: this really wouldn't do. He tried to turn back toward the bed and put some damn clothes on but Draco had already seen his pathetic condition and it was too late to run and hide.

“Wonder Boy, yeh've been hard fer the better part of an hour. Yeh sure ya don't want me ta take care of tha'? Well... again, I mean?”

“Don't worry about it,” Harry shrugged. “I think, at least for now, I'm gonna be hard whenever we're in the same room,” he said honestly, somewhat disgusted at his own hopelessness.

“Really, Potter?” It was meant to be scathing, but there was a hint of pride and more than a dash of astonished joy. Harry could read every emotion on the blonde's face as much as he struggled to hide them behind cold, polished poise.

“Yes, Draco,” Harry said, pushing the man against the nearest wall, pinning him bodily and claiming his parted lips in a quick, firm kiss. Harry spoke against those tender, abused lips. “You turn my fuckin' crank.”

“Does it take much to get The Chosen One riled?” Draco teased, smiling. He licked his lips and Harry felt his breath hitch in his chest. Draco probably felt it too, they stood pressed so close.

“Look,” Harry said, agitation lacing his quiet tone. “We've fucked. Several times. Can't you call me Harry?”

“I'll think about it,” said Draco, noncommittal.

“That's perfectly fair,” Harry swallowed, giving Draco a slow, approving nod. He had no idea how to go about this but figured he should air on the side of polite. “I appreciate your considering.”

“Yer bein' awfully agreeable,” the blonde observed warily. Those amazing silver-green eyes were questioning, throwing back the color of his own in the most enchanting way.

“Well, what can I say? I'd like to screw you again,” scoffed Harry; suddenly, boldly flippant. “And something tells me you like that I'm nice to you, so I might as well use it to my advantage.” So much for polite!

“Tha's almost Slytherin,” Draco pouted.

“I think you like that, too,” Harry couldn't help but smile. That pout was too adorable. He had to kiss it. Repeatedly. Draco let out a small moan as their tongues brushed. “Wait,” Harry slapped both hands to the wall and pushed away, locking his elbows to create a two foot gap between their bodies. His towel fell to the ground but he ignored it, focusing instead on what he wanted, needed, had to say. “Stop trying to fuck me for a second. I wanna talk to you.”

“Uh oh,” the blonde drawled. That was probably as apprehensive as Draco would allow himself to sound in a towel. Draco had the upper hand. All he had to do was reach down or, God forbid, drop to his knees and the conversation would be over. Harry steeled his nerves.

“Okay, here goes,” he inhaled deeply, letting his breath out slow and looking right into Draco's eyes. Quick and painless—like a band-aid, right? “I'm not a casual sex kinda guy. It's not for me. I learned that the hard way. Anyway... you and me, Draco.” A little flicker of light scuttled across grey-green eyes at that. It might have been shock or surprise. The rest of his face showed nothing. It sort of made Harry wish for sex again, if only because Draco's writhing body and blood-pounding sounds were so much easier to read. “Us. We're good together. I mean, you make me laugh all the time. I would listen to you play piano all day if I could. And I can't think of anyone else I'd rather sneak out of Azkaban with.” That made Draco look away but his lips turned up before he could hide it. Ha! “We always have fun when we go out. But I like just hanging around with you, too. I want to get you, because I think you get me.” Harry's eyes strayed involuntarily southward then. He caught himself, bringing his eyes back to Draco's. He carded a hand through his hair, thinking of how to put this next part. “You're bloody attractive. Really. Just... wow. I had no idea. And I admit I don't have much to compare it to but I'm pretty sure this morning was fucking brilliant. And in the shower, too. More than brilliant—it was special. I think we've got something. I understand,” Harry swallowed dryly, forcing the words out, “with my being somewhat responsible for you and all, it might not be a good idea. I probably should've thought of that before I sucked you off. Too late now. We're here. And I don't want to ignore this. So what do you say?”

Draco blinked at him, one eyebrow frozen mid-quirk. He looked pensive. When he spoke, his voice was slow and even, if maybe a bit lower than normal.

“Wonder Boy... ya want wha', exactly? Ta date me?” He steepled his slender fingers and brought them to his lips, clearly thinking long and hard. Harry let him mull it over. After a very long moment, he lowered his hands to fold them over his chest and sighed. “I dunno, Potter. I don't really date.”

“We don't have to be boyfriends or anything,” Harry offered plaintively. “I'd like to take you out for another drink if you're game. And I won't lie—it would be bloody fantastic if we could have a repeat of this morning.”

Draco's eyebrow finally completed its journey, fully quirking now. He glanced pointedly at Harry's straining erection before looking back to his face. The blonde didn't say anything. That eyebrow told Harry he needed to up the anty. He decided to put all his chips on the table and potentially be sent packing.

“We have chemistry, Draco. We're good together,” he said firmly. He wanted to say something about how Draco's lithe body just fit against his own, how the sight of that ivory skin made him drool with anticipation and shiver in delight. But there were no words for those type of feelings. “I like you. And I'm pretty damn sure you fancy me, too. Will you go for a drink with me—just me?”

Harry waited again. Draco seemed to be studying their chests. More than once his eyes dropped to Harry's erect sex. He didn't make a great show of hiding it, either.

“Alright,” he said guardedly. “Yeh can take me fer a drink sometime.”

Harry almost sighed in relief before he realized Draco hadn't returned any actual sentiment. Was it too much to hope? He tried to let it go.

“May I ask a question without seeming base?” Draco added suddenly, his tone painfully formal.

“Of course,” Harry almost laughed. “It's me. Go right ahead.”

“Is sex still on the table?”

Harry pursed his lips to subdue the stupid grin that wanted to contaminate his face. “Do you want it to be?”

Draco smiled with one side of his mouth, showing just a hint of teeth. “Let's call it my condition.”

“That's fine by me,” Harry smiled back. “You set as many conditions as you like.”

Draco's eyelids drooped as he very clearly regarded Harry's erection. His expression was very pleased, an odd smile playing on his bruised, swollen lips. Harry couldn't help reaching out for the man's chin, turning his face up.

“What're you thinking?”

Draco swallowed a laugh, though his shoulders shook a little. He lowered his arms to relax by his sides. “Yer hard.”

“And?”

“An' talkin' 'bout yer 'feelings,'” Draco huffed. “Tha's unusual.”

“What can I say? You do this to me.”

Draco's eyes slid closed as he blushed. He looked so beautiful. Harry snuck forward, stealing a kiss from those irresistible lips. He wound a hand in Draco's wet hair, enjoying the taste and feel of him. It felt as though the very essence of his excitement and attraction escaped his lips, pouring into Draco's waiting mouth in a rush that made his lips tingle. The man let out a squeak.

“Wha'?” Harry slurred, lips thick from snogging.

“Nothin',” Draco muttered, shaking his head slowly. “Jus' have ter get used ta it.”

“Used to what?”

“Nothin',” Draco repeated, schooling his breathing. He rested his stubbled cheek against Harry's and Gods did it feel good. Harry couldn't help a little nuzzle with the side of his head and the blonde didn't stop him; he actually responded a bit, pushing closer.

“So,” Harry said to the wet blonde hairs sticking to his face. “What do we call this? I don't give a bloody fuck,” he clarified hastily, “but there's a tribunal waiting for me downstairs and I've gotta tell them something.”

Draco exhaled loud and slow. He put an almost comforting hand to the side of Harry's head, keeping their faces together.

“Tell them... we're together. A couple,” the blonde's voice was passive and low. Harry could tell he was anxious and a little unhappy. Harry didn't like the situation, either. He knew it wasn't a good idea to push Draco to a declaration but, like he'd said, he had to tell his friends something. He at least wanted it to be on Draco's terms. “Tha'll upset Weasley, but the women might take it better. Appeal ta their sentiment. Let them work on Weaselby.”

It was good Slytherin advice. “That's very smart,” Harry said proudly. “Probably the best option.”

“Thank you,” Draco said quietly. He delivered a tiny wet kiss to Harry's temple that made the dark haired boy weak in the knees. It was so... intimate. Harry breathed, his heart racing. “Yeh gonna make it?” Draco joked.

“I don't think I have a choice.”

- - -

Ron had retrieved an old bottle of Firewhiskey he'd stashed in the cellar, adding liberal splashes to all three tea cups on the worn kitchen table. Ron and Ginny both gulped their spiked tea before helping themselves to more straight liquor. Hermione chewed her toast, though it was like rubber in her mouth. She struggled mightily to swallow.

Seeing Harry and that snake Malfoy in flagrante had been a nasty shock. Malfoy had been up to something for weeks now, sidling up to Harry, getting his guard down. Was this his master plan—to get poor Harry in bed? To have his way with The Boy Who Lived? Malfoy was charming, devious and ultimately not to be trusted. She knew that now. Seeing Harry so debauched—on his back, tied to his own bed, Malfoy's face between his legs, devouring... it made her heartsick and mad. Malfoy was just using Harry as part of some demented scheme and Harry was too sweet, too innocent to figure it out. He'd even looked happy; the expression on his face blissful—as though Malfoy actually liked him, wanted to be with him, was capable of human intimacy. She cursed her near-photographic memory.

“Merlin, would someone just Obliviate me?” Ron moaned, well in his cups on an empty stomach. Ginny poured fresh shots into their teacups and both Weasleys drank immediately.

“I think we need to figure out what's going on here,” Hermione said soundly. “Malfoy's clearly up to something.”

“Malfoy was 'up' alright,” Ron grumbled, his ears red.

Hermione was about to say something bracing when there was a loud thump from upstairs. The shower in the second floor bathroom had started a few minutes ago and Hermione had hoped that it was Harry cleaning up—and possibly coming to his senses with the aid of some very cold water. She now knew differently. Malfoy was cursing, screaming.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, oh fuck! Yes!” he wailed. “Harder, yes!”

Was that actually the sound of Draco Malfoy, Death Eater, taking it up the...? She forced herself not to think about it, instead observing Ron's shaky hand bringing a teacup full of Ogden's Own to his white lips.

“Obliviate me, too,” Ginny groaned, her fiery head falling into her hands. “Now. Someone, please. Before he—”

Malfoy screamed his release, followed quickly by Harry. Their mingled, masculine shouts woke Mrs. Black's portrait. She promptly began wailing like a banshee—which was terrible in and of itself but still didn't cover the noise of Harry and his ex-Slytherin Prince delicto ad nauseum.

Ginny shot up from her seat, hurling her teacup to the ground so forcefully that it shattered on impact. “Stuffing Malfoy,” she muttered, carding a hand crazily through her hair. “Fucking Malfoy? He's barmy. That tapestry's barmy. This house is barmy. Tits up! Absolute bloody pants. I'm leaving.”

She stormed from the room, Mrs. Black screaming at her as she passed through the entry.

“What did she mean about the bloody tapestry?” Ron asked, bewildered.

“Malfoy botched the repair job. Must have mis-aligned a few synapses or something,” Hermione explained. “Now it says Malfoy's going to marry Harry.”

“That's pants,” Ron said plainly, his eyes gone wide. “Everyone knows Harry's meant to be with Ginny. It's fate! She's loved him since she was four.”

“Well,” Hermione sighed. “Tell that to the family tree.” Tell that to the two spent boys upstairs.

Ron sighed and emptied his teacup. He lapped at the alcohol, lips numb.

Ginny could be heard over the roar of Mrs. Black, shouting “The Burrow!” before disappearing into the floo.

Ron smiled wistfully into his empty cup. “I never thought there'd be a place crazier than The Burrow.”
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Conscience