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His Actium	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 9606 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Four--Tactics Used

            When they left the restaurant, Harry didn't know what would happen next. Malfoy had watched him with a cool, considering glance for most of their conversation after Harry had described the way he'd like to touch him, but that could mean anything. It could mean that he'd decided Harry was worth taking the risk to invite back to his bed, and it could mean that he'd decided against that, and it could mean that he'd seen through the whole act and knew that Harry was nothing but the Ministry's Whore.

            Harry started a little when that thought came to him. He'd never thought of his own profession with such viciousness before.

            Well, usually I'm sent to seduce someone where I'm more certain of their guilt, or I don't like them so much.

            That thought did shame him, because if he liked his life and liked sex the way he told Ron and Hermione he did, then he ought to be professional about it and let his emotions stop getting in the way. He turned and held his hand out to Malfoy with a temperate smile. "Thank you for dinner," he said. "It was nice seeing you."

            Malfoy's eyes flashed, for a moment, with emotions that Harry would have had a hard time trying to define. Then he seized on Harry's hand and hauled him closer. Harry tried not to gasp as he stumbled in. Malfoy wrapped an arm around Harry's waist and placed his mouth directly on his ear, tongue flickering out to stroke along the lobe.

            "Did you think that I was going to let you get away with that?" he whispered. "Teasing me, taunting me, tempting me, and then you just walk away?"

            Harry closed his eyes. He knew that Malfoy would feel his heartbeat breaking into high gear, this close, and that he could feel Harry's hardness. Harry had learned to lie in some ways, to encourage his body into arousal when it didn't feel it, but he hadn't learned to damp desire when he did feel it.

            "I hadn't known," he said, turning his head in return and letting his nose graze Malfoy's neck. Malfoy shivered in delight, and Harry smiled and rested his hand on the small of Malfoy's back. "I didn't know that you would want me to do this, at all. Are you sure that you wouldn't rather wait?" He thought he might, and so the words were there to give himself as well as Malfoy an out.

            Malfoy pulled away, staring him in the eye. "You don't really want me," he said. "I thought you didn't."

            Harry hissed under his breath. "I want to suck you off right here, and I would if we didn't have to worry about people coming out of the restaurant." Saying that, despite the flush it brought to his cheeks, was worth it for the darkening of Malfoy's eyes. "But I thought you would rather wait, yes."

            Malfoy's hand clamped down, hard, as though he assumed that there was nothing else they could do if they didn't do that. Then he shook his head and pulled back, eyes wide and dark and simmering with something that might have been lightning. "Come home with me."

            Harry swayed. He felt as though he were caught in a wind or a tide, and it was sweeping him off his feet. He hadn't felt this way since his first experience of real desire, when the partner he was dancing with at the Ministry in the first celebration after the war had looked him in the eye and whispered an obscene suggestion.

            Of course, that had ended with betrayal. Harry tried to remind himself of that, as well as that Malfoy was just coming out of a bad relationship too, by shaking his head and saying with all the calmness he could muster, "I don't want you to regret this in the morning, and I think you might."

            "All talk," Malfoy said, his smile like a knife. "All for other people. I thought that was the way of it."

            Harry narrowed his eyes, and for a moment balanced the fact that he had advanced faster and further than he'd thought and might be able to keep to Robards's schedule after all against the fact that he didn't want to betray Malfoy. Plus there was the fact that he wanted Malfoy, but he wasn't sure what side that weighed in on; sometimes it seemed to be one, sometimes the other.

            "If you really want me," Malfoy said, moving a step away and turning to the side as though he assumed Harry would be enchanted with the brief glimpse of bare flesh that that provided, "then you'll follow me wherever I go, and an invitation back to my house shouldn't be that big an obstacle for you."

            There was something false, something off, about his words. Harry shook his head and stepped back. "You don't want this," he said, quietly sure. "You've had too much to drink, or this is a test, and I fail if I respond just as much as if I refuse. I hope that you had a good time tonight, Malfoy, and that you wank and think of me. I'll wank and think of you." He bowed to Malfoy and turned around.

            Malfoy's arms slid around his waist, and his tongue grazed Harry's ear again. Harry closed his eyes and stood still, not so much because he wanted to as because Apparating in this state would be criminally stupid.

            "I do want you," Malfoy said. "But more, I want to see if you can rise to the challenge. You're proving yourself just as shallow and cowardly as I always thought you were, if you can't." His tongue was a hot, sliding promise down the side of Harry's ear, and Harry shuddered and did his best not to toss his head back, not to give in.

            "Why should your opinion matter to me?" Harry had to concentrate to work spit into his mouth. "If you still think that, after the attempts I've made to show you that I'm different--"

            Malfoy's hand was firm, suddenly, on his hip, and he slid it around with a slow, practiced motion that took most of the strength from Harry's knees. Harry ground his teeth. He would have thought Malfoy had put an aphrodisiac in his wine if he hadn't watched his hands all through dinner and been wise to that kind of trick. No, this was just honest desire, really strong, and it had been so long since he'd felt that that it weakened him when he did feel it.

            "So far," Malfoy breathed to him, "all you've done is show off. The way you touched me in my office, the way you promised to touch me at dinner...those were only hints, those were only bragging. There's nothing to back them up, is there? That's all I'll ever see or ever get out of the great Harry Potter." He released Harry suddenly and stepped back. "Of course I can't force you to come to bed. But this is the last time you'll ever see me, if you refuse."

            Harry exhaled hard. His body was yearning for Malfoy's, and never being in the same bed as him seemed the most horrible fate imaginable, suddenly.

            Not to mention that there was no way of solving the case, if he backed out now, and he would never know whether Malfoy had been innocent or guilty. In one sense, he was Malfoy's enemy; in another, his best protection. Robards might plant evidence or make it up, but if Harry Potter, hero of the war, said that Malfoy was innocent, then even Robards would have to accept that verdict.

            He turned around and reached for Malfoy's hand. "If you can handle me," he said, "then I'm yours for the night."

            There was a dark hunger in Malfoy's eyes, such that Harry decided he must have a particular fancy for lovers saying they were his. He resolved to remember that. Malfoy took Harry's hand, kissed the fingers one by one without speaking, and drew him into a tight clutch for the Apparition.

*

            They landed in a bedroom that was dark, to Harry's surprise, instead of flaring with firelight as he had expected. Of course, the moonlight coming in through the window and being refracted with a spell that let it glint off every available pale surface might do as well. Harry tried to lift his head and say that he would be more than willing to light the fire if Malfoy wanted him to.

            But Malfoy--

            Draco, call him Draco.

            Wouldn't let him get far away, instead chasing his mouth the moment Harry tried to move away and biting hard at his lips. Harry said something desperate and short, Draco laughed it down, and then he turned and hurled Harry onto the bed with sheer strength. He was undressing a moment later, flinging off his clothes as though they polluted his skin with their touch.

            Harry propped himself up on his elbow and watched. He had decided, after one look at Draco's face, that this wasn't a good time to get him to stop or slow down. He might want that, but Draco didn't seem to.

            But he could watch, and give Draco all the pleasure of an attentive audience.

            Draco perhaps sensed that, because he stopped stripping as though someone was going to set him on fire if he didn't. He paused instead, and gave Harry a languid look over his shoulder as he shed the last of his pants.

            Harry had no trouble at all letting his breath quicken when he saw Draco's cock standing upright from the tight mass of straw-blond curls at his groin. In fact, the main danger was that he would have started panting like the Hogwarts Express. He looked up at Draco and nodded, not sure he could speak right now.

            "So glad to know that I meet your high standards," Draco whispered, and took a step towards him through the refracted moonlight. Harry watched the light shine on the curves of his hips, the expanse of his thighs, the flex of his muscles. Draco was in much better shape than Harry would have expected from someone whose business involved sitting around on his arse most of the day. Perhaps he played Quidditch or did exercises with his friends.

            That part hadn't been included in the reports that Harry had read, or the memos, or the newspaper articles, and he found himself so curious that it nearly overpowered his desire. What was Draco like, exactly? What were the parts of himself that he kept hidden away from others, that he caged and protected, that he pretended were unimportant to the point that Zabini felt like he could betray him?

            That makes you feel that you can betray him?

            Harry shuddered and reached out. Draco danced neatly back from his hands and shook his head. "Your turn. I want to see that I'm getting what I paid for."

            Harry grinned at him and rolled around on the bed, stripping off his robes with a single neat movement. With them went most of his weapons, but he wasn't worried. He was more competent with a few wandless spells than he'd let anyone know about, and some time ago he'd paid for a potion that would let him recover quickly from one deadly wound, as long as he took it every six months. His last dose had been a fortnight ago.

            He knelt up in the center of the bed and worked to get his shirt off, watching Draco watch him. Draco's mouth widened, and so did his eyes, getting darker as they worked their way over Harry's body. Harry stripped down to the waist and then bent and reached for his boots, which he would have taken off already if Draco hadn't thrown him into the middle of the bed.

            "What scar is that?"

            Harry paused and stared at the pale scar that shone across his belly. It twisted like a snake, thin at the end and steadily wider in the middle, until it ended in a large blob at his hip. "Oh," he said. "That's where one of my old boyfriends got upset because I was leaving him and slit my belly open."

            Draco moved a stumbling step nearer, his face so pale that Harry thought for a moment he would faint. "You--you survived that," he said.

            Harry smiled into his eyes. "Yes. Just don't do the same thing, please." He had wrestled the man who called himself the Older Darkness to the bed and knocked him unconscious even as he was bleeding out, and then the whirl of concerned faces in St. Mungo's had been the next thing he remembered. He leaned up to kiss Draco and run a hand down the back of his neck. "I much prefer you alive and touching me this way," he said, and guided Draco's hand down to his arse.

            Draco squeezed with a ferocity that seemed to be almost against his will, and his eyes flashed dark again. Harry drew back, smiling, and got rid of the boots and the trousers and the pants that were in the way. Draco's hand was immediately back on his arse again, and Harry reached up, kissed him, and dragged him down.

            It was more intense than it had ever been. Most of the time, part of Harry's brain held back, calculating reactions, numbering the inches that separated him from his wand, keeping track of where his partner's hands were. But this was nothing but pure pleasure. Everywhere he touched, Draco softened, except for his cock, and he grew warmer, and he never took his gaze from Harry's face.

            And he never stopped looking arrogant, even as Harry arranged him across the pillows and bent down so that he could sample his cock. His groin was salty, the bitterness at the head of his shaft more pronounced than usual. Harry sighed and groaned, the same sound at once, and then lay down with his weight across Draco's legs and looked up into his face.

            Draco leaned back on the pillows and raised an eyebrow. "Suck me," he said.

            The command seemed to catch Harry's head as if it were a noose and pull it down. He went, happily, tracing his tongue around and around the head, then sliding all of Draco's cock into his mouth at once. He couldn't perform half the marvels that gossips sometimes tried to attribute to him, but he could do this. Draco made a sound that was ripped out of him.

            As for Harry, he concentrated on the soft skin rubbing underneath his tongue, the throb of it against his cheeks, the way that the head felt when he let it rest on his palate for a moment, between carefully covered teeth. Draco's gaze scorched his face. That had never happened before. Harry shuddered and dug one hand deep into the blankets so that he wouldn't try to touch himself before he was ready.

            "Suck harder."

            Harry complied, bobbing his head up and down with the same feeling of compulsion. This was good, this was good. He never wanted to do anything else, not if Draco wanted him to do this. He tried to get closer, tried to get more of Draco's cock down his throat, although he knew it was impossible. His nose was already crushed against Draco's groin, and when Draco's hips stuttered forwards, they slammed him in the face. Harry grunted. The burning pain in his nose joined the burning desire under his breastbone and made him writhe on the bed, sucking steadily.

            "Stop."

            The word took a moment to convince Harry it was real. But Draco was pulling on his hair, so it must be. He rolled away and spent a few moments lying there, gulping and gasping breaths. Draco's hand remained firm in his hair, holding him down when he tried to rise. Harry closed his eyes and let his head droop, feeling like a lion being petted.

            "Fuck me."

            "Yes, Your Majesty," Harry muttered, but he kept it to a mutter, because the way Draco looked right now convinced him that it would be better for him if Draco didn't hear that. He turned towards the pile of his robes, so that he could find the oil he preferred, but Draco's fingers crimped in his hair and dragged him back. Harry looked up, as much as he could against that grip, to find Draco was holding out a tube.

            "Use this. I don't know what ingredients you might have put in yours, and what it might make me smell like."

            Harry concealed his snort with care as he took the lube and slicked up his cock. Draco was already lying back, propping a pillow under his own arse and lifting his legs. He spread his cheeks before Harry could even think of doing so. Harry paused and stared, feeling the throb of blood between his legs so hard it hurt.

            "Are you going to fuck me, or just stare?" Draco had his head turned to the side and was regarding Harry with wide, haughty eyes that couldn't hide very well how nervous he actually was.

            "Fuck me, you're beautiful," Harry said, and then watched as Draco turned his head away and the flush made its way down his throat. He was more beautiful then. Harry opened his mouth to say so, but Draco tensed and snapped at him, his teeth sounding like a crocodile's as he clashed them.

            "Get on with it."

            Harry nodded and slid his fingers into Draco's arse. Draco tensed and flinched. Harry kept his fingers moving carefully in place, and ignored, this time, the attempts Draco made to hurry him along. There was what he wanted, and then there was what he needed. Harry was going to make sure he was enjoying this, not just satisfied.

            He wished more people could know about this, about the desire that he felt trembling and leaping in him as he slid his fingers into Draco, and at the same time he wished he could keep it to himself, private, for all time. There was a moment that was almost sacred at times like this, almost reverent, and Harry had to close his eyes and pant as if he was the one being penetrated when his fingers slid a little deeper.

            Draco grabbed his wrist. Harry opened his eyes and saw those dark eyes staring at him, with so many clashing emotions under the surface that they were impossible to read.

            "You're going to do this now," Draco whispered. "Or you're going to get the fuck out of my bed. What kind of slut are you, if you can't even listen to the wishes of the people you're shagging?"

            Harry smiled, although it made something in his chest twist, and leaned forwards, pulling his fingers out. "You still want me to fuck you?" he asked, sliding his hands over Draco's hips, learning them, learning the places his fingers could fall, learning how he could grip and maneuver and move. "You haven't changed your mind on that part?"

            Draco's eyes were wild with passion, though Harry knew it wasn't exactly sexual passion. "I haven't changed my mind on any of it," he hissed. "Get on with it!"

            Harry nodded, and slid forwards in a single smooth plunge.

            Draco's mouth dropped open and slack, and his eyes fluttered shut. Harry kept the smooth tempo of his hips up, the inevitable slide, the moment when he came to rest against Draco, and Draco arched his neck and made a guttural sound. Harry let his fingers flutter along Draco's cock, and echoed the guttural sound when those dark eyes opened and stared up at him again.

            "You're incredible," he whispered, the words not something he'd planned to say, torn from his lips before he could stop it.

            "So are you," Draco whispered back, and promptly looked furious with himself. Harry closed his eyes to shut out the sight and gave himself over to the slickness, the warmth building between them, the way that his hips flexed and kept hurling him forwards just when he thought he'd reached the point where he could pause for a while.

            Again, this was a point where he liked to be in control, to watch his partner's face and play with his partner's reactions and make him moan and weep to come if he could. But right now, Harry was in the same situation himself. He couldn't stop. He couldn't hold back and give Draco some false impression of him. Everything was burning, on the surface, all the desire he felt and the impatience when Draco twitched and clenched his muscles down as if to hold Harry back and the intense satisfaction when Draco began to slam his hips back in response. The warmth inside Draco made him flush; he left bruises where he gripped Draco's arms.

            There was no way to convince himself to lie. He gave and took, mindless, and felt as though the truth was written on his skin when he finally gave in and came, his back throbbing like his cock from the awkward position he'd locked it in. He was so worn out that he could barely maintain his body upright or reach out to stroke Draco and make sure he came, too, although he'd always prided himself on that. Draco's eyes were opening and shutting beneath him, and his sigh whipped out of him. If he didn't make a louder sound, at least Harry could listen to the noise of his spunk hitting Harry's wrist and his own stomach and be content.

            Harry did let himself drop then, and rolled to the sound, stretching lazily and reaching to take Draco in his arms as he slipped out of him. Draco's eyes fluttered open, and he watched Harry with what seemed like complete dazzlement. Harry knew that he probably looked like a besotted fool as he reached out and traced a finger down Draco's cheek. He was soft, open, flowing, and if Draco had asked anything of him at that moment, he would have done it. Draco could have fucked him without lube, he thought.

            It seemed Draco wanted to get away from the intensity, or the intimacy, because he blinked and gulped and turned his head to the side. "What--do you want water?" he whispered.

            Harry let him go with a nod, because making Draco comfortable right now would probably ensure that he'd get to spend more time with him later. "Sure."

            Draco stood up and padded shakily through a door into what Harry assumed was a bathroom. Harry rolled over to watch him go, and to enjoy the sight of his own red fingermarks on Draco's arms and hips.

            Then he closed his eyes and shivered.

            God, that was wonderful.

            He liked sex, but this was better than the kind of sex he'd had and liked just fine. He wanted to know more about Draco, and not just for the case. He didn't know if Draco would allow him that kind of opportunity, but he could ask.

            "Incarcerous."

            Harry rolled and flipped without thought, shooting over to the side of the bed. But his own relaxation worked against him, and he couldn't move fast enough to completely escape the spell; it just ended up tying his wrists and ankles together as he sprawled over the side, rather than binding him to the headboard as Draco had probably intended.

            Draco stepped out of the bathroom, eyes dark again, wand in hand. Harry watched him, waiting, and Draco whispered, "Did you think I didn't know what you were, what you were doing? I fucked you because I wanted to know what it was like, but now." He shrugged, and his smile wasn't pleasant. "Now you're going to answer to me."

            Well, Harry thought a moment later, amusement and wariness coiling together inside him. You knew it would probably always end like this.

*

            unneeded: With Neville, he mostly hated the fact that Harry insulted him personally.

            Rena Starr: Sorry! This chapter length is about standard for me.

            SP777: I've had a cockatiel too, and I do miss having a smaller, less temperamental bird.

            Well, plans for that game might be a bit derailed, now...

            Yami Bakura: Thanks! I think Harry gets some of his comeuppance here, if you wanted him to be more interesting or more mindful.

            And Harry will find out the truth.

            lividfire: I think this Harry is definitely more grown-up, but it's my first time writing a version of him like that, so it's not surprising if I've made some missteps.
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His Actium