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A Secondary Education	By : Thunderbird Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 27880 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliated characters. I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 3
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A/N: Sorry this took a while! This chapter turned out to be much longer than I expected. But I hope you enjoy seeing what happens on Draco and Harry's night out :)
And thank you for the reviews! Your feedback is motivating the hell out of me!
Lesson 4: What a Kiss Can Tell You
What does a person wear to a Muggle gay club?
This was the question that had been rolling around in Draco’s brain all day, ever since he’d told Potter that morning that he’d decided to go Muggle instead of magical for this excursion, for the purposes of anonymity. No point in outing himself to all of wizarding Britain, he’d decided, until he actual figured out if he even liked sleeping with men.
It was the most logical course of action, but it did leave Draco at a disadvantage. He knew very little about Muggle culture, and even less about gay Muggle culture, so he had no idea how he was expected to act, talk, or dress.
Potter hadn’t been helpful. “Just be yourself,” he’d said. “Wear Muggle clothes, obviously, but it can be whatever you want. You’ll look hot anyway.”
Draco tried to ignore the little flip of his stomach at the memory of that comment. It made no difference if Potter could readily admit that he found Draco attractive. Draco knew he was attractive. He had those trusty Malfoy genes, and Malfoys were always good-looking. It was just a fact.
Still, the Savior of the wizarding world referring to you as “a perfect ten” was rather flattering.
Not that it mattered.
Focus. What was he going to wear? He did own Muggle clothes, as they were (admittedly) far more stylish and interesting than even the most well-tailored robes. But his wardrobe was simple. He liked classic elegance and clean lines, without a lot of fuss. Were gay men into that sort of thing? Or did he need to be flashier than that? Did he need to wear something that would help get him noticed?
There was a knock on the door.
“Bugger,” Draco said under his breath. Potter had arrived already, and Draco was still in his teaching robes. This was not a great start to the evening.
He abandoned the thought of trying to pick something and dress quickly and instead made for the door. He opened it with barely a look at Potter and turned away with a curt “Hold on a moment.”
He made his way to the bedroom again, where Potter’s steady, carrying voice followed him. “Not quite ready yet, I see.”
“Yes, Potter. Well-observed,” Draco said drily. “Nice to know your eyes are accurately connected to your brain.”
He received only a soft chuckle in response.
Returning to the closet again, Draco rifled through the clothes only to find he couldn’t focus. Knowing Potter was likely standing in the doorway watching him was a bit of a distraction. He pulled out a few different pairs of jeans and tossed them on his bed in a decisive manner, though he wasn’t even close to deciding anything. Then he started looking through the shirts, feeling utterly helpless.
“Would you like some… guidance?” he heard Potter ask.
Draco snorted. “From you, Potter? Since you’re such a fashion expert?” He turned to look at Potter finally and his next snarky comment lodged itself in his throat.
Potter was leaning in the doorway, his feet, clad in pristine white trainers, casually crossed, looking at Draco with a relaxed expression. He wore a simple black t-shirt, fitted, but not overly so, just hinting at the chest and stomach muscles underneath. His jeans were tight, gray, and splattered with… paint, of all things, which should have looked ridiculous and contrived, but somehow managed to be simply… hot.
Draco was aware that his eyes were traveling down the length of Potter’s body in a rather obvious way, but he couldn’t seem to help it. They traveled upward again, to Potter’s face, and Draco realized something else.
“No glasses?” he asked.
Potter shook his head. “Contacts,” he said. Draco furrowed his brow, not understanding. “It’s a Muggle invention. You put the lenses directly on your eyes, so your vision is corrected without having to wear glasses.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps it’s simply vanity, but when I go out I like to wear them.” He uncrossed his feet and made his way further into the room. “My eyes are one of my best features, so I’m told, so it pays to let people really see them.”
Draco understood exactly what he meant. Behind the spectacles Potter’s eyes were alluring, to be sure, but without that barrier they were – for lack of a better word – devastating. Draco had to force himself to look away.
His eyes fell on the clothes he’d tossed onto the bed. “Black jeans, I think,” he said.
“I agree,” said Potter. He passed Draco and picked up a pair. “The tightest you have, I’d say. You’ve got the goods, so why not show them off?”
Draco found his eyes flicking to Potter’s own shapely arse a moment, glad the Gryffindor couldn’t see. “Right.”
“As for a shirt…” Potter turned back to Draco, searching his face. “Blue or gray, with your eyes, don’t you think?”
He went to the closet and started to rummage through, comfortable as you please, pulling out various shirts that fit the bill. Draco looked at the growing pile on the bed, considering.
“Not gray,” he said. “I always wear gray.”
“Blue it is then.” He pulled out a cornflower blue button down and walked back over to Draco, applying the shirt against Draco’s torso with an assessing gaze.
“Look at me.”
Draco did automatically, to find Potter’s leaf green eyes searching his, but in a detached, appraising sort of way. He took a step back, looking Draco up and down, taking in the whole picture.
“Yes,” he said. He looked at Draco’s face again and handed him the shirt. “You have flecks of blue in your eyes.”
“I know.”
Potter’s lips curled into a small smile. “I’ll let you get dressed.”
When Draco emerged from the bedroom, dressed and ready, he found Potter contemplating the selection on his bookshelf. The brunet turned to him after a moment and looked him over.
“It isn’t too simple?” Draco asked, before Potter could say anything.
The Gryffindor shook his head, coming closer. “Simple is always better, in my opinion, unless you’re just trying to distract. And I can’t think of any reason why you would.” He looked the shirt over. “Still…”
He reached out, and Draco made a concerted effort not to flinch as Potter started rolling up his right sleeve, and then his left, revealing Draco’s Dark Mark, still intact but faded after the Dark Lord’s demise. Draco watched Potter’s face carefully, but it remained thoughtful, unaffected by the appearance of the mark.
“Relaxed is better,” he said softly. “Less buttoned up. Literally.” He reached for the top button of Draco’s shirt.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m undoing a couple of buttons,” Potter said calmly. “Give them a glimpse into what they could have if they play their cards right.”
“There’s a…” Draco licked his lips nervously. “You know I have a pretty big scar under…”
But Potter had already paused, the third button of the shirt undone and still clutched between his fingers. It appeared he had stopped breathing as he stared at Draco’s chest, his jaw tight and twitching and the rest of him inhumanly still.
“Potter?”
The brunet met his eyes and Draco looked closely, trying to discern exactly what he could see there: sadness, regret, fear, or perhaps a combination of all three. They stared at each other, at least until Potter finally found his voice.
“No one will be bothered by it, or very few will,” he said, then cleared his throat. “I have plenty of scars of my own, and I’ve never had any complaints.”
Draco nodded, glad Potter seemed to be relaxing again. He had no interest in a confrontation about their past or a heart-to-heart regarding all their mistakes during the war. That particular well was far too dark and deep, and Draco especially wanted to avoid reliving the Sectumsempra spell Potter had cast on him all those years ago, or the duel that had led to it.
“All right, so am I ready?”
“Nearly.” Potter’s tone had returned to the candid one he’d been using all night. “Just the hair.”
“My hair?” the blond replied, incredulous.
But Potter was already running a hand through it, and Draco had to suppress a squawk of indignation. Instead he made himself stand there and tolerate it, having promised himself from the beginning that he would trust Potter in this endeavor, if only to absorb by association some of the magic the Gryffindor had when it came to attracting and satisfying men.
After a minute, though, with Potter’s solid form that close, and those deft fingers working along his scalp, he found he had to force himself to sit still for a different reason. Everywhere Potter’s fingers brushed left a tingling sensation along his skin, and Draco had to make a concerted effort not to lean into the touch, not to close his eyes and give in, not to take an extra step forward and enclose himself inside the natural warmth that radiated from Potter’s body.
He was only partially relieved when Potter finished, his fingers leaving Draco’s hair as he took a few steps back. The rest of him was frustrated, practically humming with a need for more.
Good thing we’re doing this tonight, he told himself. It would be nice to finally quench some of this need, so that even the lightest touch from someone like Potter of all people didn’t affect him so much.
“I have some things for you,” Potter said, distracting him from his thoughts.
“Oh?”
Potter nodded, pulling something long and slim out of his pocket. “It’s a Wand Concealer. A special holster, essentially, that lets you carry your wand on your person without anyone else being able to see or feel it. It’ll let you take your wand with you tonight to the club without worrying about losing it or a Muggle noticing it.”
Draco took the item with fascination. It was made of dragonhide and had a clasp at the top that let a person open it and slide their wand inside. “I’ve never heard of such a thing,” he admitted.
“Auror Corps standard issue. Technically not available to civilians,” Potter said with a wry smirk. “But I took a few of them with me when I left the Corps. I thought they might come in handy.”
Draco smiled. “Sneaky, Potter.”
The smirk turned into a grin, a devilish one that Draco was finding he liked quite a bit. “So, there’s that,” he said. “And then you’ll also need some Muggle money, so you can buy your own drinks. Or other men drinks as it were.” He handed Draco a simple two-fold wallet. “It’s mokeskin, with an Anti-theft Charm on it, so just keep it in your back pocket. No one will be able to steal it.”
“You certainly come prepared,” Draco said, unable to keep his tone from sounding impressed, as he opened the wallet and thumbed through the small stack of notes. He knew enough about Muggle money to understand that this would more than cover him for the night.
“I do this a lot.” Potter said. “And I’ve learned some things the hard way.”
Draco nodded, pocketing both the wallet and the Wand Concealer. “So that’s it then. We’re ready?”
“We’re ready.”
They made their way out of the castle and onto the grounds in silence. The moon was out and the path to Hogsmeade easy to see in the cool blue light. It wasn’t until they could see the gates of the village in the distance that Potter broke the silence.
“Are you nervous?”
Draco hesitated, considering answering in the negative, but soon realizing it would be obvious he was lying if he tried.
“It would surprise me if you weren’t,” Potter went on, in what Draco was quickly coming to recognize as his “understanding voice.”
Draco nodded, but said nothing.
“Well, some advice… since this is what I’m here for, yeah?” He waited for Draco to turn and look at him, indicating he was listening, before he continued. “Let yourself be choosy. There’s no need to go with the first bloke that shows an interest. Take some time to scope out the territory first, and if you find yourself attracted to someone, give yourself some time with them, to see if there’s any real chemistry.”
“Chemistry?” Draco asked. “What in Merlin’s name is chemistry?”
Potter chuckled. “Right, sorry. It’s a branch of Muggle science that mainly focuses on the ways substances interact with each other. But when talking about sex, Muggles use it to refer to…” He trailed off, thinking. “The way that two people interact, I suppose. It refers to the mysteries of human attraction, what it is about another person that gets the blood pumping in our veins, you know?”
“All right…”
“It’s not easily quantifiable, and it doesn’t always make sense. You just have to feel it.”
Draco thought that over. “And I’ll just feel it, if I have… chemistry with someone?”
“Sure, but it’s not always immediate or obvious. That’s why you give yourself some time. Buy them a drink, talk to them. See if you can make them laugh or if they can make you laugh. That’s always a good sign. And if that feels good, let yourself get a little physical. Touch them, just on the arm or something. And then ask them to dance.”
“Dance?”
Potter arched a brow. “Unless you don’t like to dance, in which case-”
“I’m an excellent dancer, I’ll have you know.”
Potter smiled. “I have no doubt that you are. Anyway, dancing is an informative prelude to sex. It tells you a lot about if you’re compatible.”
“And if we are?”
“Then you’ll find some dark corner somewhere to fool around, if you like. And if not, then graciously walk away, no harm done.”
“That simple, hm?”
“Yes, if you let it be.”
“It wouldn’t make me…” Draco wasn’t sure how to phrase it. Potter walked beside him in silence, waiting patiently. “I don’t know. It wouldn’t make them consider me a tease? Show them what they might have and then walk away? I mean, if I’m going to get them all hot and bothered…”
Potter stopped, the pebbles of the path making a scraping sound under his trainers. Draco stopped too, turning to him.
“No,” Potter said. He took a few steps, closing the distance between them. “No,” he said more emphatically. “You think just because you dance and rub up on a bloke for a few minutes you owe them something? You don’t owe them anything. You’re not obligated to…” He shook his head. “Please don’t tell me you’re going in with that attitude, like you have to finish everything you start, or you have to do certain…” He put a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Do what you want, what you feel ready for, and no more than that. It doesn’t matter if a bloke is pushy or wants something specific from you. If you don’t want to give it, don’t.”
“Yeah, yeah, all right.”
“No, not ‘yeah, yeah, all right.’ I’m fucking serious, Malfoy.”
Draco blinked at Potter, chewing on his bottom lip. Finally he nodded, showing the man that he understood. “All right. I won’t give them anything I don’t want to.”
“Good.” Potter relaxed, the hand on Draco’s shoulder falling away. They kept walking in silence, finally passing through the gates into Hogsmeade. Now that they were off the Hogwarts grounds, they could Apparate. Draco turned to Potter.
“You’ll side-along me, I suppose?”
“That makes the most sense, don’t you think?” Potter replied, though he was watching Draco carefully.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“You’re sure you want to do this?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, Potter, I’m sure.” It was hard to believe, that he was voluntarily going to a Muggle club to try and pick up men with Harry Potter as his wingman, but it had been his idea. And he had to know if he liked men enough to have sex with them. He had to.
“Then let’s go,” Potter said, offering his elbow. Draco took it without hesitation.
***
It seemed to Draco he could feel the music more than hear it. It hummed through the floor with a powerful, steady rhythm, traveling through his shoes and up into his gut.
His eyes strained to take it all in, still not used to the dim colored lights that were moving about the crowded dance floor, not allowing him to see more than a torso here, an elbow there, half a face, the back of a head. The crowd looked more like one amorphous, amoebic creature than a room full of individual people.
There were so many of them.
Draco felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see Potter leaning in, in order to be heard over the music. “Drinks first? Then scope out the place?”
Draco nodded and followed Potter through the crowd that was hovering on the edge of the dance floor, noticing that they were getting a few obvious looks already.
Men are a lot less subtle than women, Draco thought wryly as one bloke in pink short-shorts that left nothing to the imagination wagged his tongue in Draco’s direction. This really wasn’t going to be that difficult. He wasn’t sure if that realization thrilled or terrified him.
The music was a little less prominent at the bar, Draco was glad to discover, and he was easily able to hear Potter order a scotch and soda.
“And you?” the bartender asked Draco, eyeing him appreciatively in the process.
Draco was stymied, realizing he had no idea what sort of alcohol Muggles drank. He couldn’t very well order a double of Ogden’s and have them know what he was talking about. He was about to pick something randomly from the massive selection lining the wall when Potter spoke again.
“Gin and tonic for him,” he heard Potter say, placing a couple of Muggle notes on the bar. “With lime.” He turned back to Draco. “Give it a try. If you don’t like it, we’ll order something else.”
“Sure, thanks,” Draco said. He didn’t much care. He wanted a little something, to get his courage up, but he was hardly about to get drunk. He wanted to have his wits about him.
Potter turned around, facing the rest of the club and taking it in. Draco copied him.
“See anything you like?”
“I see a lot I like,” Draco said honestly. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Let’s see who comes to you first, hm?” Potter suggested. “After that we can go on the prowl.”
“Your drinks, gents,” said the bartender behind them, and they both retrieved their cocktails. Draco was surprised to find his clear and bubbly. He took a sip, noting the astringent flavor first before realizing he actually found it rather refreshing.
“What’s your type, do you think?” Potter asked him. “Or have you not given it much thought?”
“Lean and solid, but not overly muscled,” Draco found himself saying as he checked out a man in designer jeans that fit just that description. Now that his eyes had adjusted, he was finding individuals easier to spot. “Not taller than me, I don’t think.” His eyes flitted from one body to the next, until they landed on another bloke, a brunet, who kept laughing and brushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes. “Dark hair is better,” he said. “And I like them clean, well-groomed, but not too… not overdone.”
Potter laughed beside him. “So you have given it a little bit of thought.”
“I suppose,” Draco said, suddenly aware that his description rather matched Potter, come to think of it. “I rather like the look of that one.” He pointed at the shaggy-haired, laughing guy. “I like his hair.”
“Mm, he’s quite fit,” Potter agreed. “I like it when they have enough hair to really grab onto.”
Draco snorted delicately into his drink. “I suppose that’s the sort of thing I won’t know until I have some exp-“
“Harry?” Draco was interrupted by a deep male voice, and he turned to see that a tall and bulky – rather intimidatingly so, really – man with reddish brown hair and a well-trimmed beard had sidled up to Potter, a grin on his face. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Paul,” Potter said simply. The man kissed Potter full on the mouth, though it seemed to Draco friendly rather than sexual. This was further confirmed when Potter asked, “Where’s Colin? I thought you two were joined at the hip these days.”
“We’ve split, didn’t you hear?”
“Really?” Potter looked genuinely surprised. “I’ve been out of the loop the past few weeks. When did it happen?”
“September. He took a job in Edinburgh.”
“He’s gone?”
“Gone.”
“Well, I’m sorry.”
“It was for the best.” The bearded man, Paul, Potter had called him, suddenly glanced Draco’s way. “You’ve brought a friend.” His tone had turned appreciative as he looked Draco up and down in that way that Draco was becoming quickly familiar with. “Normal friend or special friend?”
Potter laughed. “Old friend. This is Draco. We went to school together. Known each other since we were eleven.”
“You don’t say.”
“And now we work together.”
“So you’re a teacher too, then,” Paul said to Draco. “What’s your subject?”
Draco opened his mouth, having no idea what he was going to say. What subjects did Muggle children learn in school?
“Chemistry,” he heard Potter reply, tossing a surreptitious wink Draco’s way.
“Really,” Paul said, as if this was interesting. “I was absolute pants at chemistry, to tell you the truth.”
“So was I,” Potter replied, “as Draco can readily attest to.”
“Or he would, if he ever spoke,” Paul said. “Do you speak?” he asked Draco, arching a brow.
“I speak,” said Draco. “When I feel like it.” He wasn’t sure he much liked Paul. He took a large sip of his drink and set it on the bar. “Right now, I feel like dancing.”
“You want company?” Potter asked him.
“No, you two catch up. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
But Draco had already turned away, leaving Paul to try and make it with Potter or whatever his intentions were. Draco had intentions of his own.
He looked again for the shaggy-haired bloke, but couldn’t find him, so he simply worked his way into the crowd, feeling suddenly sucked in as if by a mouth.
The staccato beat of the music felt like a cocoon around him, or perhaps that was the mass of bodies pressing into him, running their hands over him, encouraging him to move as they were moving. Draco did, following the example of those around him. This was hardly like the dancing he had grown up with; it was much easier, no required set of steps, just flowing and moving by intuition, letting the music be the guide.
Even this felt good, liberating, rubbing against strangers, letting skin flow against skin. He had yet to find a true dance partner yet, but he didn’t care. He felt welcomed in, integrated into the primal ritual happening around him.
He felt a set of arms wrap around his waist and looked up to stare into a pair of dark eyes. They belonged to a face with shapely cheekbones and a pointed chin, but Draco hardly had time to take that in before they were pressed close, and all he could see was the man’s thin mouth. Their hips rolled together as slim fingers explored Draco, trailing up his back, tickling his neck. Another hand was sneaking up Draco’s chest, to the sliver of skin revealed at the opening of his shirt.
Those slim fingers were undoing more buttons, but Draco let it happen, ghosting his lips over the other man’s. A tongue flicked out and licked at Draco’s bottom lip, making Draco shiver in surprise, or perhaps pleasure. A greedy hand was running over his stomach, and he reveled in that touch, even though the hands were bigger and a little rougher than he was used to.
This is supposed to feel different, he reminded himself.
Draco didn’t know it could be like this: no words, just feeling, but he was happy to go with it, happy to explore as he was being explored. The chest in front of him was smooth and hairless, and with the sweat and heat of the club his hands slipped across the skin easily, learning the masculine ridges by touch.
It was becoming clear, though, that the man dancing on him was a bit… tongue-y. He was licking at Draco’s collarbone, an odd sensation, and then came to suck on one of his earlobes before running his tongue along it, nearly dipping inside his ear. Draco wasn’t so sure how he felt about that.
“Your tattoo is so hot,” the man said against him.
What?
But Draco didn’t even have the chance to ask aloud. The other man had already grabbed his left wrist and dragged it towards his mouth. Draco felt a frisson of disbelief shoot through him as he watched a tongue trace the body of the snake, making it’s way towards the open mouth of the skull.
Disbelief gave way to revulsion. Who would want to lick the Dark Mark? It was like something his Aunt Bellatrix would have done. And he was well shot of anyone who even resembled her.
He pulled away, letting himself slip through an opening between bodies and get lost, taking advantage of the large crowd. So that particular bloke wasn’t his cup of tea after all. Potter had said he might not always know right away. No matter, he would find others.
He danced some more as one song flowed easily into the next, as bodies flowed into each other, but he didn’t find himself drawn to anyone in particular. He decided to take a break, and when the dance floor finally spat him back out again he was back at the bar, where Potter still was, drinking and socializing.
Paul was gone, and in his place was a rail-thin guy with dark curly hair and mahogany skin, sipping on some kind of blood red cocktail and making overtly sexual eyes at Potter. Draco approached.
“Water, please,” he said to bartender, who nodded.
“You look thoroughly ravished,” Potter told him, taking in the now open shirt that revealed the expanse of Draco’s scarred but chiseled abdomen. “Meet anyone you like?”
“Not especially,” Draco said honestly, nodding thanks to the bartender when a glass of water was put in front of him. “Some were decently fit but nothing that got my blood really racing.”
“Ah, well, it’s early yet.”
“One of them licked my mark,” Draco said, holding up his arm and making a face.
Potter laughed and leaned towards him, answering in a low voice. “They don’t have any idea what that is, you know. They think it’s just a normal tattoo.”
“I know that,” said Draco. “But still…”
“Hey, if you don’t like anyone licking it, then more power to you, I say. Never apologize for what you like or don’t like, as long it’s not illegal or immoral.”
“Maybe if we knew each other better,” Draco mused, realizing he sounded a bit prudish, “I wouldn’t mind so much.”
Potter simply smiled and shrugged. Across him Draco could see the curly-haired man giving him a dark look. Apparently he didn’t much like that Draco had lured Potter’s attention away from him. He resisted the urge to smirk, as that might be construed as antagonistic.
As if sensing the man’s displeasure, Potter turned back to him, whispering something in his ear that Draco couldn’t hear but which made the man lick his lips and smile. When Potter pulled away, their mouths came close enough to brush together.
Draco looked away, suppressing a stab of annoyance at the sight. Yes, Potter had come here to help him, but that didn’t mean the Gryffindor wasn’t entitled to have his own fun in the process. Draco didn’t have much right to be annoyed, and he knew it. He just needed to find his own fun.
A figure down the bar caught his attention. The man was simply dressed in jeans and a light t-shirt, resting his forearms on the bar. His dark hair was cut high and tight, and it showed off his strong jaw and a small gold stud in his ear that suited him. The man smiled at something the bartender was saying to him, and it called attention to his full, sensual mouth and straight white teeth. Draco felt his stomach flip. He liked a nice smile.
He turned back to see that Potter had followed his line of sight. He met Draco’s eyes, raising his eyebrows in a question. Draco gave him a half-shrug.
“Go,” Potter said, tilting his head towards the sexy, smiling man. “You know what to do.”
“Right,” Draco said. He patted his back pocket, making sure he knew the whereabouts of the mokeskin wallet.
The dark-haired man noticed him coming, and bit his lip in a flirtatious and promising way. Draco mustered his courage to take the final few steps.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Can I buy you a-“
The bartender put a tumbler of amber-colored liquid in front of the dark-haired man, effectively cutting off Draco’s question. The man looked at Draco coyly, cocking an amused eyebrow, and Draco realized he had two choices: walk away humiliated or laugh it off. He chose the second option.
“I guess I’m a bit late on that offer,” he said, pointing to the drink.
The other man laughed in return. “I guess it just means I should buy you a drink. What’ll you have?”
“Gin and tonic,” Draco said, grinning. “With lime.”
The man ordered, smiling, then turned back to Draco. “I’m Rick.”
“Draco.”
“Draco.” That sensual mouth wrapped around Draco’s name in a way that made the blond shiver. This was promising indeed. “Like the constellation?”
Draco nodded, pleased. “Exactly like the constellation.”
“Mm, interesting. I like it.”
Draco's drink was placed in front of him and he took a sip, enjoying the way Rick watched him. “It’s a tradition in my family, naming children after the night sky.”
“A much more poetic tradition than in my family,” Rick replied easily. “I’m just named after my father, and he’s a bastard.”
“Something we have in common, then.”
“Ah. Well, mine kicked me out of the house when I was sixteen for being a blatant and unapologetic poof. What did yours do?”
Draco took another sip while he considered how he wanted to answer. “I’m afraid it would take all night to list my father's crimes,” he said, enjoying the fact that Rick didn’t know just how literally he meant that. “And I can think of a lot of other things I would rather spend the night doing.”
The man bit his lip again, like he knew how much Draco liked it. “So can I. So maybe we should find somewhere more private to… talk about them. Or maybe just do them.”
Draco took a hefty sip of his drink, enough to nearly drain it, and Rick copied him. “Maybe we should,” Draco said, leaning in. “But dance with me first.” He remembered Potter’s advice, which so far hadn’t steered him wrong. And he wanted to see how he and Rick moved together.
Looking surprised, but pleased, the man nodded. Emboldened, Draco took his hand, leading him to the dance floor. They passed Potter and his current quarry on the way, the two men talking with their mouths so close they were nearly snogging. But no matter, Draco thought. He had something better.
Lights flashed overhead, and the bass boomed, and some Muggle girl sang about wanting the DJ to turn the music up, but all of that was background to the way Rick moved against him, felt against him. He even smelled good, a spicy scent that mixed perfectly with a natural sweaty musk that Draco found surprisingly intoxicating. He caught himself wanting to be the one doing the licking this time, and so he trusted his instincts, trailing a wet kiss up the man’s neck to his earlobe. He took the metal stud in his mouth, sucking and then tonguing it, eliciting a groan from Rick that he could feel as a vibration against his neck.
Rick was using his teeth, sucking on Draco’s neck and then nipping at the tender spot, and the sharp feeling was at once foreign and stimulating – Astoria was never one to give him love bites, only receive them. He pulled back enough to meet Rick’s mouth with his, and the breathed the same breaths in an open-mouthed kiss that let their tongues dance across each other.
Grinding against the other man was giving Draco a hard-on unlike anything he’d had all night, and it was becoming clear that Rick was having the same reaction. He felt the man grin against his mouth, a hand roaming to explore and lightly cup Draco between his legs. Draco’s sharp intake of breath had Rick’s smile widening.
“Come with me,” he said, grabbing Draco by the lapels of his open shirt.
Draco went willingly. This was far too exciting, too promising to stop. So he let himself be dragged, away from the crowd and the lights and the music, down a narrow hallway and into a bathroom.
Ignoring the other men in the room, who were engaged in various activities that Draco barely got a proper glimpse of, Rick hauled him into a stall and slammed Draco into the cold metal wall. Their mouths were colliding again in an instant, Rick nipping hard at Draco’s lips and chin in a way that made it clear he was fully ready to up the pace.
Draco tried to keep up, tried to move with Rick as fluidly as they had on the dance floor, but the man’s whole demeanor had changed, his hands all over Draco with a ravishing intensity that Draco thought might leave bruises, his mouth consuming Draco’s in a way that was… distracting.
Or maybe it was the bite of metal against his skin, or the grim, harsh light above them, so different from the sweaty warmth of the dancing bodies and the cool, atmospheric lights of the club. He couldn’t say what it was, but something was pulling him out of his haze.
Then Rick grabbed Draco’s erection again, and he remembered he had come here for a reason, and if he wanted to get off he was going to have to roll with it.
“I don’t have a condom,” Rick said against Draco’s jaw. “Do you?”
“No,” Draco answered, because he had no bloody idea what a condom was.
“Oral it is, then,” Rick said, tugging on Draco’s fly. “You going first, or should I?”
There was something about that, about the flat, cavalier quality of the man’s voice, about the practiced glibness of his fingers, that made Draco feel like he was outside himself. It was like he was watching two strangers, two men he didn’t know, about to suck each other off in a dingy lavatory like it was nothing, like neither of them particularly cared.
This isn’t what you want, he realized. This was never what you wanted. Even the way he had envisioned it in his head, casual sex with a man, it hadn’t been like this. It hadn’t felt like this.
“Wait.” He pushed against Rick’s toned chest, creating distance between them. “Just… wait. I don’t-“
“What the hell?” Rick asked, his face twisting into an expression of annoyance and incredulity.
Guilt and shame lanced through Draco in quick succession at the way Rick was looking at him, followed closely by panic. Without another word Draco bolted, throwing open the stall door and exiting the lav. He went back the way they had come, towards the lights and the music, looking around frantically.
He couldn’t see Potter anywhere, not by the bar, and not on the edge of the dance floor. Perhaps he was dancing in the thick of the crowd, or maybe he’d taken Mr. Curly-hair into some dark corner and was buggering him senseless.
Fuck, Draco thought. Fuck this, fuck him, fuck everything.
He didn’t want to be here. And so he did the only thing that made sense. He fled.
***
He made it back to Hogwarts and through the castle without running into anyone, thank Merlin. He’d rebuttoned his shirt, healed the love bites on his neck, and tried to fix his hair, but no one who saw him would be able to mistake the debauched quality of his appearance or have any doubt as to what sort of thing he’d just been up to.
He practically flung himself into his quarters, slamming the door behind him, craving the guaranteed solitude inside. Once he was there, though, he paused, feeling a wave of hopelessness overtake him.
What the bloody hell is wrong with you? he asked himself. This was a question he was quite familiar with, at this point, but it felt different this time. Because this time he’d had hope. He’d had real genuine hope that he could find something that made him feel good, that made him feel like a man again.
And instead I’ve just shown myself to be what I always have been, a pansy-arsed little coward.
He’d wanted Rick. He’d really wanted him. And he’d had him right there. He could have… he could have had all the things he imagined Potter got on a regular basis. He could’ve gotten real satisfaction for the first time in months. So why couldn’t he follow through?
A soft knock on the door made Draco turn.
Potter.
Who else could it be? It was unlikely that he would be approached by another staff member about an emergency in the middle of the night. He wasn’t a head of house or a member of the Healing staff.
So it had to be Potter.
Coming to rub my nose in my failure, he thought. Or perhaps worse. Perhaps he was coming to give Draco a pep talk about putting himself out there and trying again. He didn’t think he could stand to hear something like that right now.
The knock sounded again, louder this time, followed by a voice.
“Malfoy, I just want to make sure you’re all right.” There was a pause while Draco debated what to do. “I just want to make sure that nothing horrible happened to you, that you weren’t… harmed in any way. Then I’ll leave you alone.”
Harmed? What was he on about?
Draco crossed the room and opened the door. Potter’s face registered surprise for a brief moment, then he looked Draco up and down, his eyes assessing.
“See, I’m fine,” Draco said. He turned away from the door but left it open. He realized this was an invitation for Potter to come inside, but… in truth, a part of him wanted Potter to accept the invitation.
He did, closing the door behind him.
“You look physically unharmed,” said Potter, after a few seconds.
“Of course,” Draco scoffed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You just vanished on me. I couldn’t find you. For a moment I… suspected the worst.”
“The worst?”
“People can get hurt, wandering on their own at night.”
Draco arched a brow. “You think a Muggle could hurt me, Potter? I would have hexed them into oblivion if they tried.”
Potter sighed. “Fair point. I… perhaps it was irrational. But I was worried anyway.”
Draco felt a strange heat gather in his navel at the idea that Potter was worried about him, that he… cared whether or not Draco was all right.
He just doesn’t want to be liable if something bad happens to me, Draco reminded himself bitterly. Noble Potter saw Draco’s safety as his responsibility, that was all.
“And then I figured you’d simply come back here. And then I was worried for a different reason.”
“Oh?”
“I take it things with that Muggle…”
“Rick.”
“Right. Rick. I take it things with Rick didn’t go well?”
Draco bowed his head. How did he explain all that he had felt in that moment, the strange mix of lust and terror, the feeling of careening so far out of control he didn’t recognize himself anymore? “I just… couldn’t go through with it,” he said softly.
He saw Potter nod out of the corner of his eye. “Ok,” he said. “Well, at least now you know.”
Draco looked at Potter, confused. “What?”
“There’s no reason to be embarrassed or feel guilty. There was no way for you to know for sure if you would like being with men until you tried it. So you did. And that was really brave, to tell you the truth. Just because it didn’t work out, doesn’t mean-“
“That’s not it, Potter,” Draco said through gritted teeth, putting his hands over his eyes. “That’s not why.”
There was a surprised silence before Potter answered. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” Draco said bitterly. “You’re Harry Potter, hero of the wizarding world and gay London’s resident sex god. What would you know about it?”
“I…” Potter was at a loss for words, and Draco took a grim satisfaction from that. “If…” He paused again. “Maybe if you would just try to explain it to me, I could help you.”
“Help me?”
“Yes. You did ask for my help, did you not?”
“Help with meeting men, Potter, not help with my inherent fucked-upness.”
Potter let out a delicate huff of laughter. “Well, if your inherent fucked-upness is stopping you from meeting men, then why can’t I also help you with that?”
Draco looked up at Potter in disbelief. He’d never met someone so… not judgmental in his life. The way Potter talked, it was like Draco’s performance anxiety was just some little conundrum to be remedied, and not a major character flaw as his father had always made it clear it was.
“Tell me what happened, Draco,” Potter said gently. “Then we can figure out what to do about it together.”
Maybe it was Potter calling him by his first name, or perhaps his use of the word “we,” but Draco found himself answering.
“It was going really well at first,” he said. “We were dancing, and he was kissing my neck, and we were snogging, and it was good. It felt good. I was getting… you know…” He glanced at his groin.
“Turned on?” Potter finished for him with an arch of a brow. “Hard?”
“Yes, exactly,” said Draco, fighting the urge to blush. He didn’t usually talk about this sort of thing aloud at all. But if Potter could be matter-of-fact about it, so could he. “We both were. And we knew it. I could feel… we could feel each other’s…”
“Erections?” Potter definitely sounded a little amused now.
“Stop that. Just let me finish.”
“My apologies. Please continue.”
Draco heaved a sigh, but went on. “So we were into it, and I thought I was doing pretty well, all things considered. But then before I knew it Rick was dragging me off the dance floor towards the loo. At first I was excited. I thought, ‘This is really going to happen.’ I wanted it to happen. But then we were in a stall and he was kissing me and it was just all very… intense. It wasn’t how I’m used to being kissed at all. It was… he was very aggressive and I just couldn’t… I don’t know how to explain it.” He closed his eyes, remembering. “I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t let myself enjoy it. Or, I don’t know… I was distracted.” He shook his head. “I know kissing men is different from kissing women, so maybe I just wasn’t prepared, or I had to adjust. But it was all happening so fast. He was undoing my trousers and asking who was going to go first and I… realized I didn’t want it. And I remembered what you said about how if I didn’t want it, I should just walk away. That I wasn’t obligated to… you know, finish. So I pushed him back and told him to wait and… he looked really put out and said, ‘What the hell?’ and then I just… took off. I felt like a complete idiot. Like a tease. But I… I didn’t feel like I could follow through. And if I had tried, I would have just disappointed him.” Draco swallowed and turned away. He didn’t want to see the look of pity that was surely on Potter’s face at that moment.
There was silence behind him for at least a minute, but still Draco didn’t turn around. He didn’t know what that silence meant.
“It sounds to me,” Potter said finally, his voice deep and steady, “like this bloke was a right prick, personally.”
Draco turned around again to stare at Potter.
“He sounds like the kind of guy who was just looking to get his and didn’t care about your needs or what you wanted. I’m not surprised you walked away. I would have, if I had been you.”
Draco realized he was gaping, and closed his mouth with a click. “You’re serious.”
“Of course I’m serious,” Potter said, taking a few steps toward Draco. “Even just the way you describe being kissed. In a way you’re not used to. The way men supposedly kiss differently than women? I bet it was all teeth and tongue, right?”
Draco thought back. “Yes, it was.”
Potter nodded. “That has its place, certainly, if you’re into it, but when you’ve just met someone… well, it seems to me the man had no finesse, and certainly no sense of what you liked. Or at least, he didn’t care.” He shook his head. “One of the things I learned early on when I started sleeping with men regularly is that just because they’re good-looking doesn’t necessarily mean they will be good lovers. In fact, the opposite is often true, if they’re used to getting their way. They think they’re doing their partners a favor by being with them at all and think other people should just be happy to take what they can get. And some people let them get away with it. But you didn’t. So really, you should be proud of yourself.”
Draco blinked at him, trying to understand. “So it’s… not always like that.”
“No,” Potter insisted, coming even closer. “It isn’t. What men like, the way they approach sex, or even just kissing and snogging, is as diverse as the men themselves. There is no one way to go about it. On top of that, no one man wants the same thing all the time. We all have different needs and desires and things we like and things we don’t like, and it changes and evolves, and…” Potter smiled. “That’s why I like sex so much, honestly. I mean, the getting off itself is great, of course. But it’s also… there’s a challenge in it, a puzzle in it, to find out what your partner wants and how to give them as much pleasure as possible. Whether I’m only with someone for one night or regularly for a while, I still find myself surprised by them. I still learn new things all the time. And when I get it right, when it’s absolutely perfect… it’s the biggest high you can imagine. I think that’s what sex should be, a mutual getting to know each other, a mutual game to see who can make the other feel amazing. Not just some orgasms and an awkward goodbye.”
Draco felt what was now becoming a familiar sensation of the world tilting and re-scrambling, changing his view of Potter yet again. He’d thought of the Gryffindor as a sex god because he could have whatever he wanted. But now he could see it differently, the way Potter himself saw it. He was a sex god because he made sure to give as good as he got.
“But it has to go both ways,” Potter continued. “I take great pleasure in pleasing my partners, but if they’re not interested in also pleasing me, then they’re not worth my time. And the opposite is also true. I don’t like being with someone whose self-esteem is so low that they don’t think they deserve to get what they want and have someone else make them feel good. There’s no fun in that for me. It’s just… frustrating.” He met Draco’s eyes, his jaw hardening. “You deserve pleasure, Draco. You deserve to have someone make the effort to get to know you, or at least what you like, enough to make you feel good. You deserve for someone to kiss you the way you like, not just the way they like. If they don’t want to put in the effort, then forget them.”
Draco crossed his arms. A part of him liked Potter’s perspective on the issue, but it was hard for him to fully wrap his head around. “Ever thought that maybe most people aren’t as good at it as you are?” he asked. “Figuring out what someone else wants? Seems to me you just have some sort of sexual Legilimency or something.”
Potter laughed, his green eyes vibrant even in the dim light of the fire. “It requires no mind-reading, trust me. For one thing, a lot of men simply tell me what they like. That’s always helpful. It gives me a good baseline, at least.” He dipped his head, his voice going low and soft. “But if they’re not sure, or if they’re playing it coy… I don’t mind-read. I… body-read. It’s just… paying attention, really. When I touch someone, I pay attention to how they react to that touch. I listen to the sounds they make, the way they breathe.” He glanced up at Draco again.
Draco found his own breath catching in his throat. Potter was awfully close, all of a sudden, close enough to reach out and touch if he simply lifted a hand. He was watching Draco as he spoke, those green, green eyes tracing the contours of his face.
“And then I touch them some more, or kiss them, or both, and their reactions tell me what to do next. They tell me to keep the same pace, or they tell me to move faster, play rougher. Or they tell me to take it slow, to let us work our way up. They tell me how hard or gentle to be, how passionate, how aggressive. They tell me whether I should take them fast and hard or slow and sensual. Some people want to be the aggressors, others want to be dominated. Some want a bit of both. Some simply want to be tossed on a bed and taken, and others… want to be seduced.”
He tilted his head and licked his lips, and Draco felt his mouth go dry. He tried to swallow, but it was difficult.
“Is that what you want, Draco?” Potter asked. “To be seduced?”
Draco snorted lightly, trying to find his voice to answer. Of course not.
“It’s all right if it is, you know. You have every right to want that.”
“I do, do I?” Draco managed, aware at how rough his voice was.
“Yes. And any man in his right mind should consider it a privilege, the opportunity to seduce you.”
Draco shook his head, his eyes never leaving Potter’s.
“Yes,” Potter said, his voice even softer now. He was only inches from Draco; they were breathing the same air. But Draco didn’t create any distance between them. He couldn’t get his feet to move. “If it were me, looking at you, I could see your hesitancy. I could see that you don’t know yet what another man’s touch could make you feel. So I would start slow, somewhere soft, like your neck.”
And a hand reached up, leisurely in its pace, but purposeful, and fingers brushed the delicate skin next to Draco’s pulse point. Draco realized he was trembling, actually trembling, but he didn’t back away. Potter’s thumb ran lightly along his jaw, and his breath hitched.
“And if you liked that,” Potter said, “then I would move closer, and I would touch you again.” Potter’s fingers were firmer on his skin now, flowing across his throat, letting it give way under the light pressure. Draco felt shivers begin at the back of his neck and dance down his spine before spreading outward, gamboling across every inch of his flesh in waves. He put a hand on Potter’s hip to steady himself.
“And now that you’ve put a hand on me, now that you’re touching me, I know I can tell you just how delicious you look, and how badly I want to taste you.”
Draco let out a surprised gasp, then closed his eyes. Potter wanted to taste him. The idea shouldn’t have been so heady, but it was. It was exactly what he wanted to hear.
He felt it as Potter dipped his head, his nose nudging at the collar of Draco’s shirt. Potter took a deep breath, as if inhaling him, and then his nose trailed upwards, along Draco’s neck, his breath tickling the skin. Draco released a shaky sigh.
Taste me. Please taste me.
It was the lightest brush of lips at first, followed by a small flick of the tongue, but still Draco had to bite back the moan that wanted to escape him. Potter’s soft lips pressed more firmly to him, trailing much like his nose had done, before landing just under his jaw and sucking gently. Draco’s hand tightened on Potter’s hip.
“You are delicious, Draco,” Potter said, the words half-whispers against his throat. “I want to know every inch of your perfect neck. I want to find…” His lips were playing along Draco’s skin again. “… and kiss… and suck…” He made the word sound obscene, the “s” a hiss and the “k” a click of his adam’s apple. “…all the places that will make you squirm. All the places that will make you melt for me.”
Potter’s mouth nipped at a spot at the back of Draco’s jaw, the spot right under his earlobe, and Draco groaned as if Potter had touched his cock. The sensation was that sweet, that sharp, that good. He pressed himself flush against Potter, feeling the lean solidness of his body and feeling (he gulped, then groaned again) the heat and hardness of their growing erections pressing into each other.
Potter started across Draco’s jaw, towards his chin, his mouth getting bolder now, as he kissed and nipped and sucked, all the way across, all the way to his mouth, where he lingered at the corner of Draco’s lips before skipping the mouth altogether and moving to the other side, making his way down the neck again, to new territory unexplored.
Draco’s lips tingled from the lack of touch, suddenly overcome with need, with the bereft feeling of being left unattended. Potter’s mouth on his throat was exquisite, but it wasn’t enough.
“Potter,” he gasped.
“Harry,” the other man corrected breathlessly. “Call me Harry.”
“Harry,” said Draco, and even that, the strange and forbidden nature of that name on his lips, sent his libido skyrocketing. “Kiss me.”
Potter pulled away to look at him, and Draco got the first glimpse of just how much this was affecting Potter too, how blown wide his pupils were, how red his lips. It spurred Draco on, crowding out any doubt that remained.
“Kiss me,” he repeated.
Potter smiled, and a hand cupped Draco’s jaw. His thumb brushed Draco’s bottom lip, pressing into it. “Yes,” he breathed, like this was what he had been waiting for. He closed the distance, meeting Draco’s lips with his.
Draco really did melt now. Because this was… perfect. This wasn’t all teeth and tongue. This was lips, pure and soft, full and delicious. And when the teeth did make an appearance, when Potter nipped at Draco’s bottom lip, it was just the right amount of pressure, the perfect balance to the silky, soft skin gliding along his own. And when Draco was ready, he dipped his tongue in, testing the waters, and Potter’s tongue came to meet him, and they rolled together, exploring, savoring, in no hurry at all.
This is how it should have been, he thought as his hand gripped Potter’s hair and held on. This is how it should have been all along. He had craved it without knowing it. But now he had it, and he didn’t want it to stop.
And that was when Potter pulled away with a gasp. He panted heavily a moment and Draco watched him, wondering what was going to happen, his brain a fog of lust and disbelief.
“That is how you deserve to be kissed,” Potter said, his voice rough. “That is what anyone lucky enough to be with you should give you. Do you understand?”
Draco blinked and found himself nodding.
“Don’t let anyone – not your ex-wife, not Rick the Prick, not anyone – tell you otherwise. If they even try, if they can’t see what they have right in front of them, then to hell with them, right?”
Draco was thrown by the forcefulness of Potter’s words as he tried to reconcile them with what had just happened.
“Right,” he said hoarsely.
“Good,” said Potter. His face softened again, a hand reaching up to brush his fingers along Draco’s thoroughly ravished lips. They sparked under the touch. “Don’t ever forget it.”
And then he pulled away, and turned, and made for the door. And was gone without another word.
Draco stood in his sitting room, his legs shaky under him, stroking his own lips, where he could almost still feel Potter’s fingers.
No, that little lesson was not one he was going to forget in a hurry.
***
I kissed Harry Potter.
Draco stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, watching the light of the dawn slowly encroach through the window.
I kissed Harry fucking Potter. I full-out snogged him.
Well, technically, Potter had kissed him, but Draco was all too aware of how he had practically begged for it (that was Potter’s thing, wasn’t it, getting men to beg?) and how he had been an enthusiastic participant the moment Potter’s mouth had touched his.
He rubbed at his lips again, as he’d been doing all night. They felt fuller than before somehow, even now, though the kiss had been hours ago.
I should feel humiliated. Potter had stood there and told Draco he was going to seduce him, and then he’d gone and done it, and Draco had just let him! He’d trembled under Potter’s touch like a virgin; he’d gasped and moaned; he’d ground against Potter with wanton need. He should feel completely and utterly mortified.
But he didn’t. He just felt… good. And a little aroused.
Potter really was some kind of genius. How did he know exactly what Draco needed in that moment, to erase the guilt and embarrassment of his aborted tryst with Rick (the Prick – Draco had to smile at that), to make him feel not just physically good, but… good about himself?
Because that had been the goal, Draco was sure of it. Potter had intended for Draco to feel desired, sexy, wanted. The Gryffindor had hardly tried to hide his own interest or arousal; he hadn’t laughed arrogantly at the sounds Draco had made. If anything, he seemed to only get more turned on, more intoxicated, the more Draco reacted to him.
The seduction, the kiss, they weren’t about power; they were about empowerment. Potter wanted to give Draco power, not have power over him.
It struck Draco as radical, that idea. It was…. revolutionary. It wasn’t how he had been encouraged to think of sex at all, in the past, but he liked it. He liked it a lot.
***
When he went down to the Great Hall for breakfast that morning Potter was already there, sitting next to Vector and across from Francesca. Draco vacillated about what to do. It would be bad form to try and avoid Potter after what had happened; it just didn’t feel right. On the other hand, he wasn’t entirely ready to seek the other man out in any obvious way. He was still figuring out how to react to that kiss, what he wanted to do about it.
Francesca made the decision for him when she spotted him and invited him over. He waved and came to sit next to her.
“Good morning, Draco,” she said pleasantly.
“Good morning,” he replied, noticing that Potter had glanced up from his conversation with Vector to look at him. Draco’s stomach flipped as their eyes met, as Potter licked his lips unconsciously, as if remembering the kiss, before he bit his bottom lip and turned back to hear what Vector was saying. Draco sat down, reminding himself to breathe.
“How was your night?” Francesca asked him, passing the potatoes his way.
“Very enjoyable,” Draco said, clearing his throat.
“What did you get up to?”
“I just went into London with a friend, had a couple of drinks.” Draco helped himself to breakfast, not even really paying attention to what he was scooping onto his plate. “I wanted to get off the grounds for a while.”
“That sounds lovely,” Francesca said.
“How about you?”
“Oh, I was being dreadfully dull this weekend, I’m afraid. I just stayed in and marked homework.”
“Well, we all have to do that sometimes, don’t we?”
“Yes, we do,” she agreed. “Though I would greatly enjoy a jaunt to London. If you ever have it in mind to go again, I would be happy to join you.”
“Good. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Or really anywhere you had it in mind to venture off to.”
Draco took a sip of tea to help him avoid heaving a very large sigh. Francesca was being quite obvious, especially for a Slytherin. She must have thought him incredibly daft and oblivious, if she believed he hadn’t picked up the signals already.
Had he led her on in some way, led her to believe that there could be something between them? He didn’t remember being anything more than friendly. Then again, the line between friendly and flirtatious was often blurry. Perhaps Francesca was seeing what she wanted to see, rather than what was really there, which was that Draco, while he greatly admired the woman, could not bring himself to feel more than platonic affection for her.
When it came to Potter, on the other hand…
Their interactions had buzzed with energy from the beginning, the smallest moments, looks, smiles leaving Draco reeling for hours, though he was hardly willing to acknowledge it at the time. Those subtle touches as they got Draco ready for the club had been even more charged, stirring up desires in Draco he’d thought might never resurface after his wife’s betrayal.
And then there was the kiss.
It felt ridiculous to even think it, but the way it had felt… Draco had never been kissed like that. He’d never felt like that. Not with the girls he’d snogged in school, not with the woman he had courted before his parents arranged his marriage to Astoria.
Not even with Astoria.
It had been desire, pure and simple, unself-conscious, unhindered by his tendency for over-analysis. He’d been able to let go, just feel rather than think.
Maybe I’m even more interested in men than I thought, Draco mused as he asked Francesca questions about her students, keeping her talking so he could observe Potter across the table unhindered.
The man’s mouth was distracting. While Draco nodded and hummed along to Francesca’s words, he watched Potter take a bite of sausage, chewing and licking his lips before wiping a drop of fat off his bottom lip with a finger. He put the finger against his mouth and sucked on the pad, and Draco felt his cock springing to life at the sight.
Sweet Merlin.
“Draco?”
“Hm?” Draco asked, giving Francesca his attention again.
“Have you had the same problem with Miss Jacoby as I have? Have you noticed her work falling off recently?”
“To be honest, I have yet to see truly exceptional work from her,” Draco said, thinking quickly. “However it has been worse the past week. My understanding is she’s having some boyfriend troubles.”
“Ah, yes, well that accounts for it then,” Francesca said airily. “A teenage girl is perfectly useless if the boy she fancies isn’t giving her the attention she desires.”
“Boys are undoubtedly as bad,” Draco said. “If not worse.”
“You think so?”
“I know so,” he said with a smile, “from experience.”
She grinned at him then, putting the full force of her attraction behind it, and Draco immediately felt a stab of regret.
You’re barking up the wrong tree, love, he wanted to tell her. There’s nothing for you here. And there won’t be for a long time.
He hadn’t given up hope that his attraction to women would resurface. The fact that he could still feel sexual desire at all was promising.
But it was a man – namely, Potter – who had been responsible for that desire at every turn, and if he was going to fulfill it, get the release he needed, he was going to have to go to the source.
***
Pansy Parkinson had been Draco’s first, not because either of them was particularly mad for the other, but because they’d known each other forever, and there had been no secrets between them.
There was no pressure to perform well, which was exactly what Draco needed at the time. Pansy had been intended for Theo Nott from the age of ten, and Draco had been intended for Daphne Greengrass since his third year at Hogwarts. Technically, they were supposed to remain “pure” for their future spouses, but it was one of those things that wasn’t talked about, young purebloods “practicing” with each other in order to be more experienced when it really mattered.
Draco’d had every intention of practicing. He wasn’t about to go into a marital union at a disadvantage. Pansy felt much the same, though she only allowed him to go as far as oral when they were in school, given that they were only fifteen at the time. If it hadn’t been for the Dark Lord and the war, they might have gone farther in their final years. But with everything that happened it wasn’t until Pansy came for a visit during Draco’s post-war house arrest that the deal was finally sealed. It had been pleasurable, but mostly informative, and after a few more rounds they decided they were satisfied with the experience they had gained. Pansy went off to marry Theo, and Draco prepared for his union with Daphne.
But then Daphne had broken the contract and run off with a French half-blood named Luc, and Draco had been free to search out a love match for a couple of years, while the Malfoys were in negotiations with the Greengrasses about how the latter was going to remedy the broken contract. He’d found a promising potential partner in a Ravenclaw one year his junior name Emerence. She was a Selwyn, and, though not a Slytherin as his parents would have preferred, her family was part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, so they would have had no real cause to object.
Not for the first time, Draco wondered how things would be different if he had married her instead. But before it ever got that far the Greengrasses had offered their younger daughter, and the elder Malfoys had put immense pressure on Draco to accept. She was a Slytherin, with the kind of looks that would provide the prototypical Malfoy heir, and with such a union both the Malfoys and the Greengrasses could save face after Daphne’s embarrassing indiscretion. So Draco had agreed.
Biggest mistake of his life. But there it was.
But he wasn’t going to dwell on that. He still had a whole life, a whole future he could build with someone else someday. And in the meantime, he could maintain his sanity by enjoying himself with men.
Which was where Potter came into the picture.
Thinking about Pansy, about what they had been to each other, gave Draco inspiration. He’d been naïve to think that he could simply go out and fuck a stranger. It just wasn’t how he was built. He understood now what he needed from Potter, the role that the Gryffindor could fill that no one else could.
Besides, he greatly wanted to snog the man again, and this would allow him to do that. And much more.
He approached Potter the following day much the same as he had the week before. He had to wait outside the classroom a few minutes, while Potter had a quick discussion with a student, but the moment it was empty save for the teacher Draco entered, closing and magically locking the door behind him.
When he heard the lock click he turned to find Potter watching him from the chair behind his desk. The two stared at each other across the classroom, neither of them moving for a moment. When Draco finally decided to approach, Potter observed him with wary eyes, his lips slightly parted and his whole body tense, almost springloaded.
He doesn’t know why I’m here. Draco realized. Of course, he wouldn’t know the conclusions Draco had come to over the past twenty four hours. It could very well have been that Draco had thought it over and decided he was angry with Potter for trying to seduce him. Potter probably thought it just as likely that Draco would hex him as kiss him, after what had happened Saturday.
I should correct his misconceptions. I should do something to let him know how much I liked it.
On the other hand, he was rather enjoying the crackling tension in the room, the thick anticipation in the air, and so he took his time, coming around the desk with slow, steady steps and stopping in front of the chair where Potter still sat, unmoving. Draco leaned forward, placing a hand on each of the armrests, his face only inches from Potter’s. His eyes raked Potter’s face, taking in every delectable detail, deciding how he wanted to approach this.
He thought he saw a shift in those green eyes then, a moment of understanding. Potter was starting to realize which way the scales were tipping, starting to trust that he wasn’t going to be hexed after all.
Which just left the kissing option. And Draco was perfectly fine with that. He hoped Potter was too. He would just have to find out.
One of Draco’s hands lifted and traced the lines of Potter’s tie. He loosened it a little, pulling part of it out from under Potter’s robes, enough at least to get a good grip. And then he pulled.
Potter rose out of his chair with a surprising amount of grace for someone who had just been yanked by the neck. Draco let the man get his bearings a second before he pulled on the tie again, bringing their mouths together.
Draco kept the pressure hard, putting his whole body into it, but he waited until Potter put his arms around his waist, showing how much he wanted this, before he opened his mouth and deepened the kiss. Potter moaned and Draco took advantage, delving his tongue inside as Potter pressed their bodies together, his hands coming up to grip Draco’s shoulder blades.
It was a different kiss than their first: more aggressive, certainly, and more desperate. But it was just as hungry and just as good.
I was right about this, Draco thought with satisfaction as he sucked on Potter’s bottom lip. It hadn’t been a fluke, a strange confluence of events that led to one glorious, ephemeral moment. There was something here, something deeply rooted and undeniable. Something that went past one strange night and one delicious kiss.
A natural chemistry. The thing Potter always talked about. Perhaps it had been there since they were boys, and there had just been too much in the way at the time for them to know it.
It firmed Draco’s resolve. He knew what he wanted. Now he had to find out if Potter was open to the idea. Draco pulled away.
“Did I get it right?” he asked, out of breath.
Potter opened his eyes slowly, and Draco had to smile at the rather dazed – one might even say intoxicated – sheen in them. “What?”
“I won’t pretend to be as good at sexual Legilimency as your are, Potter,” Draco said, letting himself continue to smile as Potter licked his swollen lips. “So I had to take a guess at how you might like to be kissed. So, did I guess right?”
Potter laughed, a free, delighted sound, and tugged Draco closer again. “You got it exactly right.” He leaned in, his eyes flitting to Draco’s mouth with clear intentions, but Draco pressed lightly against his chest, stopping him.
“Wait,” he said.
“For what?” Potter asked, his mouth still half-reaching for Draco’s.
“I have a… proposal of sorts.”
“Does it involve snogging you into next week, and then maybe doing some other things, besides?” Potter asked with a grin. “Because if it does, I accept.”
“It involves that, yes,” said Draco, laughing. He bit his lip. “It involves whatever you see fit to teach me.”
Potter’s eyes widened a fraction, one side of his mouth curving into a small but intrigued smile. “Teach you?”
“Yes,” said Draco. “Because I’ve figured it out, what’s holding me back." He took a deep breath. "I don’t like to take risks. I don’t like to do something unless I already know I’m good at it. And to find out if I’m good at it I try it first somewhere safe, somewhere I won’t be judged. Sex is no exception. I learned how to please a woman with someone I trusted, back at Hogwarts. I made sure to learn with someone who would be patient with me. I want that again. I don’t know what’s it like to be with men. I don’t know how to please them; I don’t even know what I like. But I want to learn. And I want you to teach me. We’re obviously good together, that much is clear. I think we’d really enjoy ourselves.”
“You trust me that much?” Potter’s tone was half moved, half disbelieving.
“Yes, I do. I don’t know why, but I do. Even with our history…” He shook his head. “There is just something about you, isn’t there?”
“I don’t know what you mean exactly,” said Potter, “but you can trust me.”
“I know.”
Potter studied Draco carefully. His hands had loosened their grip, though they hadn’t released Draco completely. They dropped to Draco’s hips as Potter relaxed in thought. “So we would simply be lovers, essentially.”
“Not in exactly the sense you’re used to,” Draco replied. “We wouldn’t be exclusive, of course. Far be it for me to keep you from your adoring fans.” Potter gave him a mock glare, and Draco fought a smile. “But we wouldn’t be public either. This would be strictly between us and no one else. Not because I’m ashamed, mind you, but because it would complicate things for me with many of the people in my life, and at the moment I don’t know if I’ll like being with men enough for it to be worth that hassle. So I want to keep it under wraps, which means no dates at fancy restaurants or picnics in the park. Nothing like that.”
“Sex, pure and simple,” Potter summarized.
“Yes. No strings attached.”
“And I’ll… teach you what I know about sex with men.”
“Help me get comfortable with the idea certainly. Help build my confidence. And help me see sex the way you see it. I want the outlook you have, Potter, not just the skills.”
“And when I’ve taught you all I can?”
“Then we walk away, no hard feelings. We’ll both go off to please other lovers and, if you like, never speak of it again.”
Potter took a step back, creating some distance between them, as if to be able to look at Draco fully. He sat against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest.
“A secret, non-exclusive, purely sexual teacher/student relationship.”
“Think of yourself as a master of gay sex, if you like, Potter. And I’ll be your apprentice.”
That description was intended to make Potter laugh, but the man didn’t, only chewed on the inside of his cheek in contemplation.
“I’ll have to think about it,” he said.
Draco felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “You’ll… think about it.”
“That’s right.”
“But I…” Draco swallowed, suppressing the lump of disappointment that had formed in his throat. “I thought you wanted to sleep with me.”
“Oh, I do,” Potter said, his face breaking into a grin. “You should have no reason to doubt that. But it’s like you said, this arrangement wouldn’t exactly be something I’m used to. You’ve put very specific conditions on it. I have to think about those, and if I have my own conditions.”
“I see.”
“I spent the first eighteen years of my life thinking very little about what I wanted or needed. But I don’t do that anymore. I like to give others what they want, when I can, but what I want is just as important. You’ve told me what you want. Now let me think about what I want. Then we can talk and see if something can be arranged.”
It all sounded so very reasonable, so very Slytherin, that Draco had to simply stare at Potter for a few seconds. Then he took a step forward, close enough for them to touch again, though neither made a move to do so.
“There’s so much more to you than meets the eye, Potter,” Draco said softly. “I’m finally learning that, though I’m sorry it took so long.” His eyes searched Potter’s face, watching the small twitch of his eyebrows that indicated surprise. “Take some time to think, then,” he said. “And when you’re ready, find me, and we’ll decide what this is.” He gave Potter a small but amused smile. “I hope you won’t keep me waiting too long, though. I’m very eager to learn from you.”
He saw Potter fight a smile of his own, and that was enough, for now. He turned to go, knowing he had intrigued Potter, at least. Now he simply had to wait.
goddess-of_dragons: Thanks! Harry is going to be mentoring Draco in all kinds of ways now :)
Annecia89: Thank you! Yes, I love this Harry. He might be my favorite I’ve ever experienced. I look forward to hearing what you thought of him this chapter!
Book_addict_89: Lol don’t worry, they both figured it out pretty fast. This is not a drag-out-the-sexual-tension kind of fic. They’re going to be getting down and dirty very soon. I’m glad you find this Harry hot! I do too ;)
Whitmore: Thanks! I like to try and get at something interesting and unique, even with all the other Drarry out there. I hope I’m able to keep you interested.
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A Secondary Education