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What It Takes	By : Jad Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 5121 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-What It Takes
- 1
My entry for Kinkfest 2011 showcasing D/s, featuring Ron/Harry/Draco & Harry/Draco.

Additional Warnings: explicit sexual content, threesome, D/s, humiliation, fingering, oral, anal, biting/scratching, rough sex, consensual infidelity

I can't thank my betas/muses enough: scabbyfish* for her amazing SPAG, Brit-picking and skill at translating my insanity into something coherent; and sordid_humors* for ruthlessly murdering my overpopulation of commas (though I put some of them back) and expansive knowledge of all that is kinky and filthy.

What It Takes

you know, I didn't really intend

to embrace you that long

but then again, I wasn't the only one

holding on

- : : : -

Ron was late.

It wasn't like him. Harry was usually the late one; Ron would already be there with a scotch for each of them. He never failed to get out of the office as quickly as possible. Harry, on the other hand, would stay until the last minute, usually listening to Kingsley talk his ear off about excessive force not being the answer to everything, and how there was no way the Wizengamot would believe every one of his detainees had "resisted arrest".

He frowned when he showed up to find the corner they usually haunted empty. The pub was especially crowded tonight, bulging with the cast-off of a particularly spectacular World Cup. England had, against all odds, pulled a win over Bulgaria due to an unexpected and surely ultimately career-crushing blunder made by Viktor Krum.

Harry had half-expected to find Ron here, on top of a table and brandishing a pint, singing "Viktor Is Our King!"

"Well, well, what do you know?" a familiar voice drawled too close to his ear. Long arms draped over the back of the seat, pale hands dangling carelessly by his shoulder. "Famous Harry Potter can't even manage a date."

Oh, hell.

Harry didn't bother turning around. His eyes flickered up briefly, catching the edge of a sharp chin and an even sharper mouth. "Sod off, Malfoy."

"And with that sort of charm, small wonder."

Harry saw Malfoy more than was preferable—practically daily since Kingsley gave the prat a job with the Obliviators. Most of the Malfoys' money had been lost to fines filed by the Ministry after the war; Harry and Ron had often shared a laugh over the idea of Draco Malfoy realising he might actually have to work for a living. Malfoy had taken flack at the Ministry for the first few years, too; most people with the Dark Mark were in Azkaban. The rest were dead; Malfoy had been the only one granted a pardon.

Harry knew that for a fact. He had delivered it personally.

But Malfoy managed to take it all in stride, still strutting around the Ministry like he owned the place, arrogant and snide as ever. He also seemed to take perverse delight in turning up for Harry personally whenever Harry requested an Obliviator for a case.

But here, Harry was on his own time. He didn't have to put up with this, didn't have to rise to the bait.

Harry finally turned his head, shooting the blonde a sidelong glare. Malfoy was peering down his pointy nose at him, mouth twisted sharply at one side. He was keeping his hair a lot shorter these days but it was still longer than Harry's, one side tucked neatly behind an ear. He was dressed in simple albeit expensive-looking dark blue robes, and he was also alone.

"I don't see you occupied," Harry snapped.

So much for not rising to the bait.

But that's what Malfoy was good at, wasn't it? Malfoy was always the hook, line and sinker, the only person Harry knew who could drag him down to his level.

Even Voldemort hadn't managed that.

"I'm in the market," Malfoy informed him smugly, crossing his arms over the seat's backrest. He lifted a forearm up, balancing his chin on his open palm, fingers lightly cupping one side of his face. It was his left hand; his robes dropped back exposing the thin, white sleeve of his shirt beneath. Harry saw the shadow of the Mark through the fabric and glared at it.

Malfoy noticed him looking but no longer flinched like he once would have. Instead, Malfoy undid the button at his cuff and rolled back his sleeve, exposing it for Harry to see. In five years it hadn't faded at all, a grim reminder of a time that most people seemed to have blissfully forgotten.

When Harry looked up again, Malfoy's attention was on his forehead. Harry scowled at him. "And I give a shit, why?"

Malfoy raised a pale eyebrow, gaze refocusing sharply on Harry's eyes. "Isn't that your Gryffindor adage? Giving a shit?"

"Sorry, let me rephrase," Harry quipped. "What the fuck do you want?"

"I'm bored."

"And I—"

"Give a shit, why?" Malfoy supplied, innocently inspecting his perfect nails. "This is terribly disappointing, you know. Your repartee hasn't improved at all. I actually think you've got worse."

Harry was about to tell Malfoy where he could shove his bloody repartee when Malfoy said something so completely incongruous that Harry was sure he'd misheard.

"Buy you a drink?"

"What?"

Malfoy raised his infuriatingly superior eyebrow again before turning away to catch the eye of the bartender and gesture to him. The bartender graced him with a quick nod and, satisfied, Malfoy slipped into the seat across from Harry and smirked at him. "You favour the scotch, right?"

"I don't want a drink," Harry told him.

"Funny place to idle in, then," Malfoy said lightly as two scotches levitated their way over and slid smoothly to a stop on the table between them. Malfoy leaned his elbows on the table, picking up his glass to sip before balancing his chin on the back of his other hand. "I promise I haven't had them poison it, Potter."

Harry ignored the drink in front of him. "What do you want?"

Malfoy shrugged and took another sip. "I told you, I'm bored."

"So you're annoying me?"

"Still just as rude, I see."

"Rude?" Harry demanded. "Where do you get off—"

"When someone buys them a drink, most people usually manage a 'thank you'."

"I told you I didn't want a drink."

"Didn't want a drink, or didn't want a drink from me?" Malfoy pressed, a knowing smirk on his face.

"Take your pick."

"Better," said Malfoy. "Maybe you're just out of practice."

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it, his scowl deepening as Malfoy's smirk grew. "Fuck you."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, clearly disappointed. Harry took his stupid whisky and knocked it back in one swig. The burn felt good going down. Malfoy raised both eyebrows this time but gave the bartender another wave. Harry grimaced as his glass refilled.

Harry glared at the blonde for a while, hoping he would take the hint and go away, but Malfoy was no longer looking at him.

Harry took a moment to look him over properly; the front of his robes were open, exposing the undone collar of his shirt and the sharp edge of his collarbone beneath. The fabric was such a crisp white it seemed to give his pale skin more colour than usual. The hand holding his scotch bore two silver rings, a thick band around the index and a twisted serpent around the ring finger.

Malfoy suddenly lifted his chin off his hand and raised his arm, the one with the exposed Dark Mark. He smiled at someone across the room and gave a jaunty little wave. Harry followed his gaze and saw a group of older wizards at another table scowl and look away, muttering amongst themselves.

"Still just as tactless, I see," Harry said.

Malfoy returned his attention to Harry, regarding him silently for a moment. "I didn't expect this to be easy," he said finally, leaning back in his seat. "But you're managing to make it exceedingly difficult."

"And annoying me always seemed to be so easy for you."

"I'm not trying to annoy you," Malfoy told him bluntly.

"Then what—" Harry began, then paused. He glanced down at the drink, then back up at Malfoy, who was now grinning at him. Harry actually laughed. "Oh, fuck me."

The grin grew. "That would be the general idea."

Harry kept laughing; he couldn't help it.

"You can't be serious." Malfoy just looked at him, head tilted slightly to the side, considering. Harry abruptly stopped laughing. "You're not," he said, astonished.

"Honestly," Malfoy said, smirk returning, "I find it interesting that you're more worried about the validity of my offer than trying to deny your inclinations."

"We're in a gay bar, Malfoy. And anyway, my inclinations aren't any of your business."

"They are if you're inclined to accept my offer," Malfoy replied, shrugging.

Harry snorted. "I'm flattered, really, but no thanks."

"You won't do any better in here," Malfoy said, peering disapprovingly around the pub.

Harry unwillingly followed the man's gaze—and was further annoyed to see that, at the moment, the prat was actually right. Malfoy may have been the most arrogant prick ever to walk the face of the earth but he wasn't exactly hard on the eyes.

He was actually rather easy on the eyes, come to think about it.

It might be worth it, a traitorous little part of his mind thought, just to wipe that nasty smirk off his face. But Harry technically had a date already and was pretty sure he wouldn't approve of this particular addition to their plans.

Where the hell was Ron, anyway?

"Come on, Potter. You can't tell me you're not even a little tempted," Malfoy drawled confidently. "I promise I don't bite."

Harry levelled a look at him over his glasses. "I do."

He was rather pleased to notice the sharp exhalation through Malfoy's nose, fingers curling against the glossy tabletop. A faint, pink flush was working its way up his neck.

Then, slightly mortified, Harry realised that he was more than a little tempted.

"The fuck are you doing here?"

Harry's head jerked up at Ron's voice and he found his friend standing at his shoulder, blue eyes narrowed in Malfoy's direction.

Without bothering to look up, Malfoy replied, "Trying to steal your boyfriend. You mind?"

"Get lost," Ron snapped before turning back to Harry. "Sorry I'm late. Kingsley's got me working with Davis this week and I swear she's a few twigs short of a cheap broomstick."

"Davis?" Malfoy did look up this time, his expression one of incredulity. "Tracey Davis? Sweet Merlin, she's an idiot." Ron and Harry just stared at him and, after a moment, he added, "You two should be perfect together."

"All right," Harry said, standing up before Ron could do something stupid—like attack a fellow Ministry employee in a public place. A public place that, when the Prophet got wind of the story, would have a field day in spending one sentence describing the incident and several pages featuring the breaking news that Boy Who Lived flew on the other team's end of the pitch. "We're leaving."

"My offer still stands," Malfoy said behind him.

Harry paused, startled. He looked back at Malfoy for a moment before glancing quickly at Ron and back again. "It does?"

Grey eyes held his evenly. "If that's what it takes."

"What the hell is he talking about?" Ron demanded.

"He's offered me a shag," Harry explained, turning back around, making sure to angle himself between them in case Ron was still feeling particularly stupid.

"He what?" Ron said loudly, then paused as the notion sank in. He lowered his voice and stared wide-eyed at Harry. "Seriously?"

Harry shrugged. "Offering you one, too, actually."

"Only by extension," Malfoy reminded them both from behind Harry.

"Anyway," Harry said as an expression of revulsion crossed Ron's face. "We were going, yeah?" Looking back over his shoulder, he smirked at Malfoy. "Thanks for the drink."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. He graced Malfoy with one nasty look and sneered, "He wouldn't be worth our time, anyway."

Malfoy snorted. "I beg to differ."

"Don't turn this into a pissing contest," Harry interrupted as Ron opened his mouth to reply. "He's not even serious."

"I am completely serious," Malfoy corrected, standing. He gave Ron a measured look up and down, nose wrinkling slightly, and gave a non-committal shrug. Harry glanced sideways at him and Malfoy met his gaze. "If that's what it takes," Malfoy repeated firmly.

Harry did notice that Malfoy kept himself out of Ron's reach, though, just in case.

Ron folded his arms across his broad chest. "You don't have what it takes," he said evenly. "You couldn't handle us, Malfoy."

"Want to bet?"

"Not a pissing contest," Harry repeated. "And are we seriously having this conversation?"

Neither man appeared to be listening to him. They were glowering at one another over Harry's left shoulder, Ron with his arms folded and Malfoy with his hands on his hips. For a moment Harry was inclined to leave them both there and spend his evening in the company of his right hand and a bottle of whisky.

Ron glanced at him, brow knit and eyes questioning. They had known each other long enough, been through Hell and back so many times, that words were unnecessary. Do you seriously want to?

Harry raised his eyebrows, eyes flickering to the floor and then back, Would you mind?

Ron glanced over Harry's shoulder at Malfoy, snagging the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth, debating. He looked at Harry and shrugged. Whatever you want, mate.

Without turning around, Harry said, "Malfoy, go close your tab."

There was a pause in which Ron shifted and he heard Malfoy's quick intake of breath behind him. The sound turned his blood hot.

Harry turned around. "Well? I'm not going to wait."

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment, eyes flickering to Ron and back. Maybe he'd been joking. Maybe he was losing his nerve—it wouldn't be the first time, Harry thought nastily. Prat had always been all talk.

But the look of uncertainty was replaced almost instantly by that familiar crooked smirk, the edge of his mouth turning sharply upwards, eyes narrow and dark. Ron said nothing while Malfoy went to pay for the drinks. And when Harry turned to leave without another word, he heard two sets of footsteps fall in behind him.

- : : : -

Ron collapsed on the couch immediately upon entering Harry's flat. Malfoy stood uncertainly in the middle of the sitting room, eyes wandering but otherwise still. Ron was watching him, as if waiting for the smart-arse remarks to come.

Harry wasn't worried; he knew there was nothing wrong with his flat. It had been bloody expensive enough and was furnished to the bare minimum. He'd never had his own possessions as a kid and didn't feel the need to have them now, either. So aside from the couch, coffee table and occasional candle or scrap of parchment, the place was completely bare.

Harry left Ron glaring and Malfoy hovering to find something to drink; sex tended to be thirsty work. Behind him, Ron called, "Oi, grab us a beer!"

Harry returned with two beers and one of the kitchen chairs. Wooden and straight-backed, it wasn't exactly comfortable, but that was sort of the point. Malfoy was still in the middle of the room, using the coffee table as a barrier between himself and the couch. He'd taken off his robes while Harry was in the kitchen, revealing a white shirt tight enough to show off the hard lines of his body and, surprisingly, a pair of faded jeans.

They looked good on him, crinkling along the bottom of his arse and the backs of his knees. He was almost as tall as Ron, but smaller; leaner, less bulk in his shoulders, a tighter arse.

And long, lovely legs.

Harry put his foot on the edge of the coffee table and pushed, sending it sliding noisily off to the side, out of the way.

Harry tossed Ron the beers. He set the chair down in the table's place, in front of Ron. "Sit," he told Malfoy.

Malfoy scowled at him but sat without comment. Harry circled around behind him, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. He felt Malfoy tense under the touch.

Leaning down, Harry said in his ear, "Well? We haven't got all night." When Malfoy tilted his face to stare dubiously at him, Harry smirked and nodded at his lap. "I like to watch."

Ron gave a snort at the expression that crossed Malfoy's face. Harry let him go and went to sit beside Ron, who handed him a beer. By the time he took a sip, Malfoy still hadn't moved; he just glared at Harry, indignant at being put on the spot. Harry sipped his beer and waited.

After a moment, Ron rolled his eyes. "Told you he couldn't handle this," he said, sighing. "Doesn't have the balls."

Malfoy's glare snapped to Ron and, as if to prove that this was not in fact the case, he leaned back and started teasing his erection through the fabric of his jeans. Ron continued to look unimpressed but Malfoy had Harry's full attention: he watched as the blonde's eyelids dropped slightly, the sudden hitch in his chest every time the heel of his hand brushed the head of his hardening cock beneath his jeans.

Ron sipped at his beer, bored, but Harry couldn't take his eyes away from how Malfoy was running his fingers along the denim, fingertips encasing the promise of cock beneath, palm rubbing down the length too fucking slow. Harry shifted, his own jeans suddenly too tight, eyes straying to Malfoy's waist where the shirt had ridden up enough to expose a strip of pale flesh, tinted pink from the rush of blood, breath coming more and more ragged with every torturous rub.

Thinking that maybe he needed a little more incentive, Harry carefully put his beer down on the floor and leaned over, tracing the edge of Ron's jaw with the tip of his nose, lingering along the shell of his ear. Ron closed his eyes, shivering as Harry ran his hand under his arm and along his ribs, slipping down the line of his hip. Harry jerked open Ron's trousers and worked his hand inside.

He kept his eyes on Malfoy's as he eased Ron's cock out of his trousers, half-hard already, and gave an encouraging pull. Harry squeezed as he stroked, the head of Ron's cock peeking out of the soft hood of skin as he pulled it down. Ron groaned appreciatively and Malfoy, bottom lip trapped between his teeth, thumbed open his belt and flies to slip his hand inside his own jeans.

Malfoy kept his eyes on Harry's hand as it moved up and down Ron's cock, squeezing, pulling, twisting. Ron was fully hard by now, shifting his hips, eyes flickering between his own lap and the show Malfoy was giving them.

Harry's grip was dry but he really didn't feel like breaking the mood to Accio the jar of lubricant from his bedroom. So instead, eyes fixed on Malfoy the entire time, he leaned forward and took the tip of Ron's cock into his mouth.

The sharp hiss from Malfoy's hitch in breathing was almost drowned out entirely by a loud grunt; Harry felt Ron's fingers tangle encouragingly in the hair at the back of his head, nails digging into his scalp. The bitter taste of pre-come was familiar and intoxicating. Harry could feel his own erection swell as his tongue swept up the taste, swirling around the crown. Ron's cock was too large for Harry to swallow comfortably but he took as much as he could, sucking back slowly.

Malfoy was watching them with unabashed interest. He licked the pad of one thumb before bringing it down to his own cock, pulling back at the foreskin and swirling it slowly over the exposed head.

Harry pulled away and sat up. Ron's cock glistened and when Harry went back to stroking him Ron let his hand drop to the side, head falling back against the couch with a contented sigh.

Malfoy's hand started to speed up. He arched off the chair, hips sliding to the edge of the seat, head rolling back as he closed his eyes. Harry watched him carefully, one hand still steadily pumping Ron—watched and waited, waited until Malfoy's jaw clenched and the muscles of his abdomen and shoulders tensed, waited until the flush along the exposed skin of his hips was bright pink, the angle of his hips becoming rigid—before saying, loudly:

"Stop."

Malfoy's hand stilled, eyes flying open to glare at Harry.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I'm not in a rush," he said. Then, crooking a finger, "Come here."

Dropping his head back, Malfoy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Harry was pleased when he didn't bother to tuck himself back into his jeans before getting up, coming to stand before them with a resigned sigh. Harry ignored it; Malfoy could roll his eyes all he wanted but he wasn't arguing.

Harry kept stroking Ron, slowly, letting his fingertips linger at his cockhead with every stroke. Ron shifted so he was sitting up, his stomach knocking against Harry's hand, and reached forward to tug at the waist of Malfoy's jeans.

Malfoy started to shy away but Harry caught hold of a belt loop and held him. "Having second thoughts?"

Malfoy stilled, looking down at him, pointedly ignoring Ron as he roughly yanked the blonde's trousers down to his knees. He kept tugging impatiently until they pooled around his ankles, exposing long pillars of white, finely toned thighs. Commando, huh? Arrogantprat.

"Are you?" Malfoy shot back, raising an eyebrow.

The look of superiority was replaced with startled indignation when Ron reached up and yanked sharply at his shirt, sending the bottom button flying. Harry covered his friend's impatient hands with his own, eyes flickering to Ron, questioning. Ron raised his eyebrows but shrugged, dropping his hands and reclining back against the couch.

Harry slipped his hands up Malfoy's sides, thumbs trailing up his stomach and chest, fingers ghosting his ribs—either being an Oblivator was a much more physical job than Harry had been led to believe or Malfoy had been working out. His stomach clenched at Harry's touch, chest shuddering in quick, shallow breaths.

Harry stopped at the first button and casually flicked it open, slowly working his way down. Ron made an impatient sound behind him that Harry studiously ignored, absorbed in his task of undoing the third button to expose the line of Malfoy's chest, flushed pink and smooth aside from the Sectumsempra scar—he'd put that there. The scar, which Harry had never seen properly before now, consumed the flesh directly over Malfoy's thudding heart in a wild tangle of jagged lines that reflected the light like Mother-of-Pearl before twisting sharply upwards, slashing across his collarbone and tapering off along the underside of his neck.

Harry traced the lower edge of the scar with his nose, lips brushing over a nipple. He darted his tongue out and felt every muscle in Malfoy's abdomen contract against him. Harry inhaled deeply; Malfoy tasted and smelled so different from Ron, who was an odd combination of sweat and soap and that stupid mint shampoo Hermione insisted he used. Malfoy smelled like expensive cologne and new clothes and cigarettes.

Harry let his eyes flicker down as he got the rest of the shirt open; Malfoy did have, admittedly, a very nice chest. Lean and fit, like his, just the way he preferred—maybe Malfoy still played Quidditch in his free time? A fine line of fair hair trailed from his navel to his groin and Harry had to forcibly resist the urge to follow it with his tongue.

Losing the last of his patience, Ron reached around and grabbed the back of the shirt, yanking it unceremoniously off Malfoy's shoulders, tugging until his pale, skinny wrists were free. Harry caught his left forearm, dragging his teeth over the Dark Mark, nipping sharply at the inside of his wrist before releasing him. Malfoy hissed, the tendons in his arm flexing.

Harry let go of his wrist and sat back, ignoring the raging hard-on staring them both in the face—his cock was like the rest of him, long and thin and pale, except for that delicious flush of pink at the head, already beading with pre-come and begging for attention.

Malfoy stepped out of his jeans without even being told to. Pleased, Harry tossed a throw pillow from the couch onto the floor between Ron's knees, as if it were a reward. "Down," he instructed.

Ron's head snapped forward just in time to see the face Malfoy was making and glanced curiously at Harry. Harry kept his eyes on Malfoy, however, who turned his glare to Harry.

"Do I look like a sodding dog?" he snapped.

"You look like a whore, is what you look like," Ron informed him cheerfully.

"You wanted this," Harry reminded him pointedly. "So either get out or get down. I don't take no for an answer."

Ron allowed himself a satisfied grin as, scowling, Malfoy dropped to his knees, shuffling a bit to get the pillow into place. "Good boy," he said.

Malfoy bared his teeth as Ron took his cock in hand and rubbed the head along Malfoy's bottom lip, his hair brushing against the shaft as he turned his face away. Harry reached out, tucking the errant blonde strands behind his ear, fingers lingering against Malfoy's cheek as he turned back, eyes downcast, lips parted and breathing heavy.

"Suck him off," Harry told him.

Eyes flickering up, Malfoy held his gaze as he opened his mouth and enveloped the head of Ron's cock, sucking on the end once, deeply, as if it were a particularly savoury lolly. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room; Harry resisted the urge to reach up and loosen his collar, his mind growing clouded with desire, wondering—would Malfoy do anything he told him to?

Ron murmured something incoherent and vaguely appreciative of the attention his prick was receiving, shifting his hips forward and his knees falling further apart. Wrenching his eyes off Malfoy, Harry craned his neck and started giving his friend's neck some attention, a weakness he'd long had practice exploiting. Ron titled his head to the side, giving him more access, one hand fisting in the collar of Harry's t-shirt—Harry realised rather suddenly that they were both still fully dressed—the jolt of that revelation going straight to his groin and he groaned and shifted on the couch, palming his own erection through his jeans.

Ron turned his head and kissed him, hand tugging at the shirt, and Harry broke the kiss just long enough to yank it off, letting it fall where it would. With a loud grunt, Ron's forehead knocked into his. Looking down, he found Malfoy's nose buried in the ginger curls at Ron's groin, cheeks hollowed, one hand fondling the sack beneath. They both stilled to look for a moment, Ron's knuckles lightly caressing Harry's hard-on as they watched Malfoy pull back and go down again, rising up on his knees to take Ron deeper than Harry had ever been able to manage.

"Fuck me," Ron muttered, lips ghosting Harry's cheek. "Never thought I'd see that mouth put to good use." He tensed and let out an angry growl, taking Malfoy's chin in his free hand. "Watch your fucking teeth," he spat.

Harry chuckled darkly as Malfoy, smirking around a mouth full of Ron's cock, raised the hand he had balanced on Ron's knee to ever-so-regally give him the finger.

"Bit of a brat, isn't he?" Harry murmured, mouthing the soft skin of Ron's throat as he undid the buttons of his own jeans one handed. Ron's other hand, still there, reached inside. Harry lifted his hips off the couch to give him access, gasping against his throat as Ron's hand—oh, God, he had the most enormous hands—wrapped around his cock and squeezed.

"Brat with an amazing fucking mouth," Ron choked out, eyes still glued to his lap and just watching Malfoy mouth his way up that thick shaft, slow and steady. Ron pushed the head of his cock against the blonde's mouth, his cheek, slapping it there a few times for good measure. Malfoy winced, eyes closed, but didn't pull away, mouth still parted in promise. "Look at him. Fuck, he's practically gagging for it."

Ron let go of his cock and let his fingers wander down the side of Malfoy's face, curling around the underside of his jaw, thumb stroking his bottom lip. Malfoy did look up at them then, silver eyes narrow and determined, tongue wet and red against his lips. Harry watched the two of them hungrily, his own hands stilled against provoking a distraction.

"Like the taste of cock, Malfoy?" Ron asked, slipping his thumb inside that mouth almost absentmindedly, running the pad along Malfoy's tongue.

Instead of answering, Malfoy sucked on Ron's freckled thumb, drawing it further into his mouth, tongue swirling, lips smirking around the knuckle.

Harry let out of a short breath as Ron's cock jumped against Malfoy's face; Ron reached out and stroked the neck of it, rubbing the head along Malfoy's cheekbones, his forehead, as Malfoy lowered his face and mouthed down along the spine of his cock, lips and tongue coming to rest, teasing, at the junction of prick and balls.

Ron's hand fell away as Harry stood up, pushing down his jeans and quickly kicking away his shoes. He could lose it right now if he wasn't careful, watching the two of them—God, Malfoy was picking up his pace, dark shadows under his cheekbones as he pulled away, the flash of a tongue every time he twisted his mouth around the head.

Harry stood beside them, tightly gripping the base of his cock in one hand, and watched. He felt feverish as he stared, millions of tiny needles of pleasure prickling at his skin. He mirrored the movement of Malfoy's mouth the best he could with his hand, bottom lip getting trapped between his teeth... imagining that hot mouth on his cock, those sneering lips stained red wrapped around his length, those piercing grey eyes on his as Malfoy sucked it down...

Malfoy sat up a little higher, his knees now on the hardwood floor and the cushion knocked aside, forgotten, with his face in Ron's lap. Ron let his head loll back, one hand in a straining fist against the couch, one gripped tightly in Malfoy's hair. Malfoy's head stilled suddenly as Ron shuddered, gasping, back arching off the couch. His pale hand continued to pump Ron's cock, sucking the head into his mouth as Ron collapsed back onto to cushions with a groan.

Malfoy sat back; panting, a glistening, milky line of saliva and come lingering between his mouth and Ron's cock. Harry reached out, touching blonde hair and he tilted his head back, starting a bit when his cheekbone encountered Harry's cock. He had taken most of Ron's mess down his throat but a little peaked out of the corner of his mouth and Harry rubbed at it with his cock, hissing when Malfoy opened his mouth, turning himself around on the floor to give Harry his undivided attention.

It didn't take that long; judging by Ron's earlier reactions, Harry knew Malfoy gave decent head but he'd been on the edge of an orgasm long before Malfoy had taken him inside his mouth—his unbelievably hot, slick fucking mouth. When Malfoy scraped his bottom teeth along the spine of his cock Harry jerked his hips forward, moaning, not caring when his cock bumped the back of his throat and Malfoy gagged and pulled away, getting the majority of Harry's come on his mouth and chin.

Malfoy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and his eyes flickered up at Harry, pausing briefly on his groin before meeting his eyes. Harry caught his breath, still fisting his erection—he was over sensitive from the orgasm, but still hard. They weren't done, not yet.

Harry stepped back toward the couch and crooked a finger.

"You're not the only one wanting here, you know," Malfoy snapped, reading his intentions and not moving.

Harry's eyes flickered momentarily between Malfoy's bent knees. "And I give a shit, why?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes but didn't move. Ron had recovered enough to stand up, his cock already half-hard again and bouncing as he stepped forward. He looked at Harry. "I've got a better idea," he said, Malfoy's head snapped in his direction, looking apprehensive. "Get up."

"Bite me."

"If you're into that," Ron said easily, smirking at the look Malfoy graced him with. He held out a hand. "Now get up; unless, of course, you'd prefer to crawl on your knees like the fucking whore you are."

Malfoy glowered up at him for a moment, reluctant to stand even though he'd been reluctant to kneel in the first place. He glanced at Harry questioningly, asking for permission. Harry nodded. "Do what he says."

Ignoring Ron's hand, Malfoy stood up on his own. His cock bobbed with the movement, heavy and a lovely dark pink. Ron jerked his head to the hallway which led to the bedroom. Harry nodded, leading the way; he glanced over his shoulder and saw Malfoy hesitate halfway down the hallway. Ron scooped up their jeans from the floor before following and Malfoy quickly caught up, unwillingly to be left alone with Ron.

He paused in the doorway to the bedroom, though. Harry turned around just in time to see Ron take him by the back of the neck and shove him forward. Harry caught him by the arms, pulling him in and hissing as Malfoy's erection pressed into his stomach.

The bedroom itself was almost as big as the sitting room and much better furnished. Harry had indulged in a king-sized bed that stuck out in the centre of the room from one wall; behind it, a glass pane double door led out to a small balcony. Harry dragged Malfoy toward the bed, walking backwards, faces close together, almost kissing—Malfoy's mouth was parted, lips brushing against his but Harry kept backing out of reach until his legs hit the mattress. He let Malfoy lean in then, just for a moment, bringing their lips together and smiling against his mouth before ducking away and retracing his steps to join Ron.

Ron dropped their trousers on the floor and started to strip out of his own clothes, tossing them unceremoniously off into a corner. He took care to retrieve their wands—including Malfoy's—and toss them on the bedside table, within reach. He grinned at Harry and reached up to remove his glasses, placing them beside their wands. Everything more than a few feet away was suddenly fuzzy but they would soon all be close enough that he wouldn't need his glasses to see clearly.

Ron followed his gaze, turning back to look at the bed; Malfoy saw them both looking and gripped his cock, pumping it slowly and giving Harry the sexiest fucking come-hither look he'd ever seen. Harry started forward, more than ready to just get on with it but Ron held him back by an elbow.

"Oh, no you don't," Ron told Malfoy. "Turn around, and on your knees—actually, make that all fours." When Malfoy just glared at him, he raised his voice a bit. "What? You act like a bitch, you're gonna get fucked like one, too."

Malfoy's eyes flickered to Harry's and Harry was a bit startled and more than a little turned on to see the trepidation there. "You heard him," Harry told him.

The blonde exhaled sharply through his nose, the muscles of his abdomen contracting tightly but he did as instructed, shoulders rigid and that pale, perfect arse high in the air.

Harry made an undignified noise deep in his throat. Ron chuckled.

"Come on," Ron whispered, coaxing, nudging Harry up to the bed. Then, loud enough for Malfoy to hear, "I wanna watch you fuck him."

Harry closed his eyes, skin prickling at the thought: Ron had never let Harry fuck him. They had done everything else, really, at least once—Ron had even conceded to finger-fucking on occasion while exchanging blowjobs, just to reach that spot—but he drew the line at anal. It frustrated the hell out of Harry but he never argued; this was all he had and he didn't want to lose Ron, lose this, because he was too fucking pathetic to get himself laid properly.

As much fun as this was, he always knew in the back of his mind that Ron was only here on loan. A lot of things had gone unsaid over the years—things that started late and lonely in the night, freezing cold in a tent with only each other for company, seventeen and terrified and desperately horny anyway... things that developed into habits because Harry had nobody else, nobody else he could trust or be comfortable with, nobody else that knew what he had had to do to win, what he had had to sacrifice.

And while he knew Hermione loved them both and had been amazingly tolerant over the years, sooner or later a line would be drawn.

Fuck, it was already drawn. She and Ron had already sent out invitations, and everything.

Malfoy made an impatient noise, hips shifting, creamy thighs spreading a little further. Between his legs, his erection hung heavy, swollen and neglected. Harry reached out to run his hand along the arch of his spine, the curve of his backside, a thumb trailing teasingly into the cleft and lingering over the tight circle of muscle there. Malfoy tensed under the touch, clenching, arching his back further. Harry bit down a groan.

"Where's the—we need—" Harry stuttered.

Ron snorted. "He doesn't deserve it."

"Ron," Harry said reproachfully.

Ron shrugged and stepped away, going to retrieve the small, unlabelled jar from the bedside cupboard. He nudged Harry aside with his shoulder. "Fine, but I'm doing this."

Below them, Malfoy made a tiny but alarmed noise.

"You keep quiet," Ron ordered, slicking a finger. Without any further warning, he shoved in.

Malfoy howled, cutting himself off by dropping his head down and stuffing his face in the duvet. Looking pleased at the reaction, Ron pulled the finger out slowly before stabbing inward again, and again, before adding a second finger. The neat lines of Malfoy's back flexed, muscles hardening in shock as he groaned into the mattress, muffled, hips jerking back into the rough treatment.

Harry raised his eyebrows and Ron let out a throaty chuckle. "Merlin, look at him," Ron said. "Who knew he was such a fucking cockslut."

Malfoy choked on whatever noise he was in the middle of making, back arching sharply. Harry slid onto the bed beside him, indulging in slow, careful strokes on his own erection. The blonde was struggling to push himself back up on trembling arms, mouth parted and breaths coming in shaken and short. Sweat gathered in beads along his face, his neck and shoulders, his pale hair clinging to his paler skin.

Tracing a line with his finger along the scar on Malfoy's collarbone and up the side of his neck, Harry shifted so he could get his head sideways underneath him. Malfoy's eyes were closed but opened when Harry grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him into a fierce kiss.

He was surprised at how willingly Malfoy kissed him back—Harry had kissed Ron plenty of times but usually in the blurred heat of a moment right before an orgasm. They were always sloppy and half-hearted, perhaps because Ron was less interested in what Harry's tongue could do in his mouth and more interested in it swirling around his cock. But Malfoy... he opened his mouth with a moan and dove in, teeth catching on Harry's bottom lip and sucking, letting go when Harry pushed right back and sucked on his tongue.

Ron must have added another finger because Malfoy cried out right into his mouth, sending a sharp jolt all the way down to Harry's prick. He fisted his hand in Malfoy's hair and pulled him down harder, groaning into his mouth.

Malfoy pulled back just enough to gasp for breath, letting his forehead rest against Harry's cheekbone; his eyes were closed and his hair was stuck to Harry's face now, too, the sweat turning their skin slippery and sticky. He mumbled something by Harry's cheek but most of it was cut off with a loud whine as, behind them and out of Malfoy's vision, Ron gave his wrist a vicious twist.

"Quiet," Ron remanded sharply.

"Shh," Harry whispered, nudging him back with his nose. "Come on. It's not like you've never done this before."

Malfoy did look at him then, involuntarily, before quickly looking away.

Oh.

Harry's head began to swim as he digested that. Suddenly everything made a lot more sense—Malfoy seeking him out, agreeing to come along even in the face humiliation in front of Ron, the source of the sheer desperation that had to have been required to persuade Malfoy to put himself in this situation.

Harry was no stranger to that desperation, he'd been battling against it for years. He might have defeated Voldemort, he may have died and somehow came out alive on the other side, he might have saved them all, but that didn't mean he'd saved himself. He'd killed, indirectly or not, and he hadn't wanted to. He'd ripped out a piece of his soul—Voldemort's soul—that had been a part of him for so long that it left a gaping hole inside of him, a hole that made him sick to his stomach and that he'd never be able to fill. He watched what was left of Voldemort twitch and shake and blabber like a mutilated child and wondered, was that what awaited him? Was that his reward, reliving that scene in his head every night in his dreams until it drove him so mad that that's what he'd become?

He simultaneously felt a deep surge of empathy for Malfoy, responsibility for what was going on here, and a massive amount of turned on right out of his fucking mind. To think Malfoy, Draco fucking Malfoy, for Christ's sake, was offering this to him—willingly letting himself be taken like this—he suddenly wanted Malfoy to enjoy this too, as much as he could.

Harry felt Ron tug at his ankle. He paused long enough to lean up, pressing a reassuring kiss to Malfoy's lips before rolling back onto his feet. He ran his hand along Malfoy's flushed side as he went, coming to rest on the curve of his arse.

Ron was still behind Malfoy, three fingers pressed into him up to the knuckle, the other hand spreading his cheeks apart. Ron rotated his hand, curling his fingers. Malfoy keened, head hitting the mattress again. Ron chuckled and removed his hand, fingers slick and red.

"Merlin, he's loud," Ron muttered, rolling his eyes. He flexed his fingers, grimacing at the mess. "Been a while, Malfoy?" he sneered.

"I kind of like him loud," Harry said in an attempt to dismiss the other topic. He gave the firm flesh under his hand a squeeze; Malfoy made a short, guttural noise into the duvet, flushing from his face to his arse, perhaps from Ron's comment as much as Harry's.

Ron slicked Harry's cock with lube from the jar before moving aside to make room for him. Harry climbed up onto the bed behind Malfoy, steadying himself with a hand to Malfoy's hip. He ran his other hand lightly down the cleft of Malfoy's backside, now a bright pink valley in his otherwise pale expanse of skin. His hand came away sticky and Malfoy shuddered.

Ron was standing by the side of the bed, fisting his own erection and watching them, giving an encouraging smile as Harry looked up. Harry was unable to help the answering smirk curling his own lips. He leaned down and nipped at one flushed cheek before dipping lower, indulging Malfoy in one slow, impossibly wet lick over the tight circle of muscle there before positioning himself at that entrance, cock in hand. Malfoy faltered under the touch, shoulders shaking around his bowed head.

Harry gripped his cock in one hand and Malfoy's left cheek in the other. He pressed forward.

Oh. Oh, God.

"Fuck me," Harry murmured, gritting his teeth as the head of his cock pressed inside. His first thought was that three fingers hadn't been enough, how could—fuck. He'd thought about doing this for so long, fantasized about Ron giving in and letting him, even though he knew he never would, but he'd never—it was so tight it bordered on painful, just enough to add that bite to the pleasure and Harry groaned as he pushed in, watching in dazed fascination as Malfoy's hole gave way to slowly swallow the length of his cock into all-consuming heat.

And inside... the heat, velvet and soft, was almost enough to send him over the edge right there. He stilled half-way in, trying to gather himself. He wanted this to last, wanted it to be everything he'd imagined and more—for Malfoy, as well. Under him, Malfoy grunted, tilting his hips up. Harry rose up on his knees to meet the angle and jerked his hips forward, catching himself on Malfoy's back as he buried himself inside completely.

He stayed like that for a moment, bent double over Malfoy's back, cheek pressed against his warm shoulder and balls resting against Malfoy's backside. He felt Ron's hand at the small of his back, rubbing up the length of his spine before coming to rest at the back of his neck. Harry's eyes fluttered open and he heaved himself up, pushing Malfoy down into the mattress.

Ron kissed him, just briefly, teeth catching on the edge of his lips. He rested Harry's forehead against his cheek to watch as Harry pulled back, slowly.

"Fuck him for me," Ron said against his forehead. "Fuck'm til he screams."

Harry buried himself as deep as he could. Malfoy let out an off-key cry, hands scrambling for purchase, gathering fists of the bedsheets as body was tilted forward.

Ron reached out and raked his nails along Malfoy's shoulder when Harry pulled back. "I think the whore likes it."

Harry leaned back as he thrust in, hands on Malfoy's hips, shuddering as Malfoy moaned. "I think he does." He leaned forward, mouthing along the red trails Ron's nails had left in Malfoy's skin and started to thrust in earnest, relishing in the low, broken sounds Malfoy was making into the mattress.

"Fuck," Ron murmured. He climbed up onto the bed on his knees, his prick in hand, a fist caught up in Malfoy's hair and forcing him to look up. Malfoy, gasping, started to snarl something but Ron cut him off by twisting his hand, forcing his head back until breathing, let alone speech, would be difficult. "He really likes it. Stop a second."

Harry paused, panting, looking askance at Ron. Was he doing something wrong? It felt pretty good from his angle but, then again, what did he know?

"You enjoying yourself, whore?" Ron asked Malfoy, still holding his head up. The angle looked painful but Malfoy's face gave away nothing.

"Fuck you, Weasley."

Ron jerked his hand again, yanking until Malfoy gasped, his eyes glaring at Ron while his face went pink all over again. "Admit it or I'll fuck you myself."

Malfoy blanched, trying to wrench himself out of Ron's grip. Ron held him firm and Harry had his backside so he couldn't worm away. The squirming felt fucking amazing.

"Fuck," the blonde hissed. "Fuck, yes. I love it."

"Love what?" Ron pressed. "Getting fucked like a whore?"

Malfoy growled deep in his throat, hips pressing back against Harry, firm muscles of his ass clenching. Harry bit down a groan. "Yes," Malfoy ground out. "Getting fucked like a whore."

"Good boy," Ron said. "Say it again."

"Getting fucked," Malfoy choked out. His arms and legs trembled, clenching around Harry again. "Fuck! Please."

Harry caught Ron's eyes. Ron shrugged, as if to say, Go for it. Just needed to make sure we were clear.

Harry started to move again, thrusting in quick, forceful movements, watching as Malfoy jerked in Ron's grip. Ron took his dick in his other hand and brushed it against Malfoy's lips, tightening his big hand in Malfoy's hair when the blonde tried to jerk away.

"Open your fucking mouth," Ron snapped. "Only fucking thing it's good for."

"Go on," Harry urged, leaning down to drag the edge of teeth across Malfoy's ribs, feeling each bump as a tingle from his teeth down to his toes. "I told you I like to watch."

Malfoy must have opened his mouth because Ron let out a grunt and shoved his hips forward. He heard Malfoy gag before pushing himself up higher on his arms to adjust the angle. Harry started to move again, slower, not wanting him to choke.

He wasn't so much sucking Ron off as getting his face fucked but it looked bloody fantastic from Harry's point of view: Ron had one hand tangled in Malfoy's hair, one wrapped around the base of his cock, his freckled hips thrusting forward in time with Harry's.

Ron muttered something intelligible and pulled back, the hand on his cock making quick, blurred movements as he came, cursing. He stilled for a moment while Harry continued to fuck Malfoy, the blonde's head jerking against Ron's grip.

"Look at you, you're a fucking mess," Ron said, rubbing his softening cock along Malfoy's cheek. He sat back, bending low to get in Malfoy's face. "You fucking love that, don't you? Almost as much as you love getting fucked."

Malfoy seemed past the point out arguing. "Yes."

"Who's fucking you?" Ron demanded. "I want to hear you say it."

Malfoy choked on his first attempt to answer because Harry's hips snapped forward, turning it into an unintelligible grunt. "Fuck," Malfoy managed. "Potter."

"Sorry," Ron said in a sweet voice, "who?" Malfoy muttered something and tried to drop his head down but Ron jerked him back up. "Who?"

"Harry," Malfoy gasped, grinding his teeth, "Harry. Fucking. Potter."

"I think he'd like you to say it to his face," Ron said.

Ron looked up at Harry who pulled back and waited for the blonde's reply. Malfoy groaned at the loss of him, pushing back wantingly but Harry had him by the hips and held him in place.

Ron let go of Malfoy's hair and nudged the side of his jaw sharply, forcibly turning his head. Malfoy looked over his shoulder at Harry—who had to resist the sudden, palpable urge to slam into him again. His entire face was sweaty and flushed, Ron's come still dripping from his mouth and splattered over his cheek. He gave Harry a piercing look, grey eyes blazing, and when he spoke Harry hardly recognised the posh drawl at all. His voice was low, throaty, an octave Harry had never heard before.

"Fuck me, Harry. Fuck me."

"Yes." Harry snapped his hips forward, eyes closing at the needful sound his movements—fuck that, his cock coaxed out of Malfoy's mouth. His hand reached out and found it's way into Malfoy's hair, tangling but not pulling, leaning low over Malfoy's back as he thrust again and again. "God, yes. Yes. Yes."

Malfoy was chanting it with him now, yes, yes, please, fuck me, Harry, yes, and Harry knew he couldn't last much longer, not listening to that, not feeling Malfoy's hips press back to meet every hard, merciless shove.

Harry reached underneath Malfoy, hand sliding along his sweat-slicked side to curl around his aching cock. Malfoy responded immediately, choking out a sob and tensing every last muscle around Harry as he plowed into him. Harry jerked him off, squeezing and twisting his hand around the shaft the best he could at such an angle.

Malfoy cried out Harry's name as he came, moaning long and low as Harry pumped his prick in time with his thrusts, balls tightening beneath him as his grip became slick with Malfoy's come.

Harry dropped his hand to the bed by his side, holding himself up, and took Malfoy's shoulder as he slammed in, his thrusts going irregular as he came, cursing, teeth catching on the slick skin of Malfoy's back and biting down.

Malfoy collapsed underneath him and Harry went with him, chest heaving, their bodies slippery and sliding together until they laid in a haphazard pile on the bed. Harry kept his eyes closed, catching his breath. Malfoy wriggled a bit until he was out from under him but didn't appear to have the willpower to move otherwise.

Harry opened his eyes when he felt the mattress shift, grabbing blindly for his glasses and, finding them, he shoved them on. Ron had picked up his wand, rolled off the bed and was now stalking around the room searching for, Harry assumed, his clothes. Jeans and jumper located, Harry watched him cast a quick cleaning spell on himself before getting dressed.

Beside him, Malfoy let out a long, rattling breath, the side of his chest pressing into Harry's elbow as his diaphragm expanded.

Ron looked up at the noise and saw Harry watching him. "It's late. I should get home," he said quietly. "You all right?"

Harry rolled onto his back, glancing down at Malfoy before answering. "Yeah," he said, looking up. "Tell 'Mione I said hi."

Ron nodded and Harry watched him go, sitting up on his elbows and trying to figure out what he was supposed to do now. With Ron, it had always been pretty straight forward: beer, sex, some more beer, possibly more sex if they were in the mood and then Ron went home. And Harry went to bed.

He'd never had anyone left lying shagged-out in his bed before.

He glanced down once more, studying the smooth line of Malfoy's back as it dipped down towards his buttocks. He was pale and unmarked, aside from the bite along his ribs and the red marks Ron's nails had left below his shoulder. Leaning over, Harry mouthed the vehement red trails beneath his shoulder blade. Malfoy tasted like sweat and sex—and if Harry was going to be honest, he could lay here all night licking the man clean.

Malfoy shifted under the attention, lifting his head to peer at Harry over his shoulder. Dark-blonde lashes brushed over his cheek as he sucked in a breath. "Potter," he said. He licked his lips, hesitating. "May I have my wand?"

Harry paused, planting one last, lazy kiss on his back before rolling over to grab the hawthorn wand. As his fingers curled around the wood he felt a rush of warmth at his fingertips, and studied the way the muted light spilling in from the hallway danced off the shaft. He'd always wondered if Malfoy had any idea that it had been this wand—his wand—that had put an end to the evil that had nearly consumed them all.

That it had been his wand, ten-inches of springy hawthorn and unicorn hair, that Harry had gripped tight in his fist as he'd died.

Malfoy took it without comment and wordlessly cast a spell, the wand twirling over his long fingers. His skin instantly become dry and Harry scowled. All right, then.

Harry sat up, swinging his legs off the opposite end of the bed and rubbing his face with his palms. He realised rather suddenly that the meager amounts of whisky and beer from earlier were urgently requiring an exit. He retrieved his own wand to clean himself up before standing.

He hovered in the doorway for a moment, almost saying something like I'll be right back—almost—but he couldn't figure out how to form the words. Silently, he wandered down the hall to the loo. After relieving himself he conjured a glass and filled it from the tap. He didn't properly appreciate how thirsty he was until he'd finished it. After refilling the glass, he padded back to the bedroom.

He expected to find his bedroom empty when he returned and wasn't disappointed. The bed was deserted and Malfoy's jeans were gone. Harry went over to the dresser and pulled on a pair of pyjama bottoms, about to cast a few cleaning spells on his bed when he realised door to the balcony stood open.

The balcony was a small, fenced rectangle of interlaced wood and iron identical to the other dozen or so of the complex. Malfoy was leaning against the brick wall, shirtless, head tilted back and pulling on a cigarette.

Malfoy didn't look up even as Harry stepped out beside him. But he started, jerking away from the wall, when Harry reached out and ran his fingers along the Dark Mark. He took another hasty drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out his nose.

"I needed," he started only to stop short, ashing the cigarette. "Sorry. I'll be out of here in a minute."

Harry reached over and plucked the cigarette out of his hand, replacing it with the glass of water. He watched Malfoy's longer fingers curl around it, clutching it tightly.

"Or," Harry said quietly, trying to make it sound offhand, "you could stay."

Malfoy did look at him then. Not in surprise—but piercing, like he thought Harry was having him on. Harry met his eyes and took a long drag off the fag.

"I liked what you said earlier," he told him in a low voice, exhaling and holding that silvery gaze. "And I fucking loved the way you begged for it."

Malfoy flushed a brilliant pink and looked away, taking a long sip from the glass and letting out a shaky breath, stalling so he might not have to respond at all. Harry snubbed out the cigarette against a brick before placing a lingering kiss on the man's bare shoulder. When even this ovation received no reaction, he hovered only a moment before sighing quietly and going back inside.

It wasn't until Harry had tugged off his pyjamas and climbed back into bed that he heard the balcony door close. He peeked up from the sheets to see Malfoy kicking off his jeans, placing the empty glass on the bedside table before crawling into bed beside him. Harry held back the sheet to invite him in.

The heat from another person sharing his bed quickly became overwhelming and Harry couldn't get enough of it. Malfoy didn't recoil when Harry shifted closer, fingers resting lightly on Malfoy's waist, his thumb tracing slow circles on the soft, pale skin of his lower back. Harry studied the curve of his body as they laid in silence for several minutes, Malfoy's back snug and tight against his chest, watching until the man's breathing became relaxed and even. He leaned forward then, letting his lips linger at the back of his neck, pale hair tickling his face in a way he could really get used to.

"So, Draco," he said casually, fingers lightly tracing the curve of a hip, "you free tomorrow night?"

Malfoy's breath hitched before surprising Harry entirely as he let out a low chuckle. He sounded pleased and strangely content.

"For you?" he murmured, rolling over to face Harry. "Anytime."

~ fin ~

Notes:

Art note: I also drew artwork for this claim, and it can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/488560 .

End notes: I like to think that after the battle/war, having fixed his own wand, Harry would have returned Draco's. And, in giving it over willingly, transferred Draco's mastership of his own wand back while still being able to retain Mastery of the Elder Wand. But that's just me. I'm a sucker for subtextual canon-fluff. Lyrics under the title by Ani DiFranco, "Good, Bad and Ugly".
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