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Insane Ideas Make The Finest Aphrodisiacs	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3530 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I gain nothing from this but a way to pass the time.

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- 1-Insane Ideas Make The Finest Aphrodisiacs
- 1
Insane Ideas Make The Finest Aphrodisiacs

Harry stood before his full-length mirror, turning from side to side as he eyed himself critically. He was dressed in muggle garb—a tight black V-neck T-shirt, tight black jeans, and dragonhide boots, his hair a far cry from the bird's nest it was during his adolescence, and it was now artfully tousled, with just a hint of hair potion to keep it under control. His eyes had been charmed many years ago by a Healer at St Mungo's, enabling him to finally be rid of his glasses. Pleased with what he saw, he turned and headed out of his flat.

Harry ignored the stares he got as he made his way down the street and to the nearest Apparition spot. Harry smirked; for once, he was being stared at for his arse, and not his scar. Though when one lived in the West End, that was to be expected.

He was still grinning when he paused next to an old, abandoned boarding house, and slipped into the nearby alley. Harry could feel the faint tingle of the warning magic brush over his skin, keeping any curious muggles from peering in. Wasting no time, he spun on the spot and Disapparated.

Harry reappeared outside a pub called Wiz-Bangs—a modestly sized building with an enormous flag affixed to the door that flashed different colours—rainbow, purple and pink, pink, blue, and white—a constant rotation of all the pride flags, showing every passer-by what sort of drinking establishment it was.

Harry headed inside, and made straight for the bar. He could feel several pairs of eyes follow him as he moved, but he did not look their way as he passed, instead focusing his attention on buying himself a drink. With a bottle of lager in his hand, Harry moved over to an empty table and sat down, resting the ankle of his right foot against his left knee as his eyes swept over the pub, looking for possible men to chat up. Tonight, Harry wasn't looking for the love of his life—he just wanted one good night.

Harry brought the lip of the bottle to his mouth, just as a purring, sultry voice distracted him from his hunt for the night's entertainment.

“My, my, my...aren't you a tall—well, average drink of water.”

Harry turned, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, but it shifted to shock and annoyance when he saw Sirius sitting across from him with a wide grin plastered across his face.

“Sirius, what the hell are you doing here?” Harry asked with a groan, while he partially buried his face in his free hand. Instead of answering however, Sirius winked at him.

“Come here often, sugar?” he asked, just as Remus joined them, and passed Sirius a glass of firewhisky as he sat down next to his husband. His expression seemed to be caught somewhere between guilt and amusement, but Harry was far too startled by Sirius's words to comment on it, however.

“Sirius, why are you flirting with me?” Harry asked, to which Sirius's grin seemed to widen. “Are you aware of how creepy you sound right now?”

“We're not being creepy, we're being supportive,” Remus explained with a smile that told Harry that he was struggling to keep from laughing. “See? Us, spending time with our dear adoptive son, supporting him.”

“And chatting up your adoptive son is supportive and not creepy...how?” Harry asked with an incredulous look upon his face. I swear, he thought, I have no idea how these two come up with these insane ideas.

“Trying to show the boys just how hot you are,” Sirius said with an unnervingly flirtatious smirk, “once they see me flirting with you, you'll be beating them off with a stick.”

“Instead of you simply beating off,” Remus filled in, and Harry glared at both of them.

“I hate you,” Harry muttered, and leant forward to bang his forehead against the table.

“Come on Harry,” Sirius said, and Harry lifted his head a scant inch off the table to glare at his godfather, “I know you're embarrassed to be seen out at a gay pub with your fathers, but look at it this way: If you meet somebody nice, you won't need to bring them home to meet us, because we're already here!” He threw his arms above his head, while Harry buried his face in his hands, and Remus snorted, clearly just barely managing to keep himself from laughing out loud.

“Somebody kill me,” Harry muttered, his face very red as he finally sat back up, but continued to stare at his parents with narrowed eyes.

“Don't be such a priss, Harry,” Sirius said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “now, where was I? Oh, yes!” Sirius smirked in a way that told Harry that whatever was about to come out of his mouth would be nothing short of ridiculous and embarrassing as hell—and he wasn't disappointed.

“Oh baby,” Sirius purred as he leant forward slightly, “you have the greenest eyes I've ever seen...”

“Stop, stop, stop!” Harry demanded, his arm shooting across the table to clap over Sirius's mouth, and he glared at Remus, who looked highly amused at the exchange. “You are no help at all.”

“Well I did try to stop him, but—”

“—this is not trying to stop Sirius from embarrassing the shit out of me,” Harry interrupted, his hand still clapped over his godfather's mouth, “stopping Sirius involves a large vial of sleeping draught in his tea, and—eugh!” He lurched back as Sirius licked his palm, and Harry wiped the saliva off on his jeans while he continued his rant. “Either way, this is not trying. This is embarrassing. Do you have to sit here?”

“Well, I could sit in your lap, but then people might get the wrong impression,” Sirius quipped, and Harry let out another groan.

“I hate you both.”

~*~

Half an hour later, Sirius still hadn't gotten the hint that sitting at Harry's table with him was not conductive to getting himself noticed. Feigning the need to pee, Harry slipped off to the toilet in an effort to clear his head and try to come up with a plan to get rid of them.

Standing before one of the granite sinks, Harry splashed cold water onto his face, but it didn't help to reduce his embarrassed flush nearly as much as he'd hoped. Grumbling to himself, he flicked his wand to dry himself off, when a sudden familiar, drawling voice nearly made him jump out of his skin.

“So, do you usually need parental supervision when you go to a pub, or are you three much closer than is generally considered healthy?”

Harry whipped around to see his ex-school rival, arms crossed, shoulder resting against the door frame of the lavatory, smirking at Harry in a designer suit that probably cost more than Harry's entire wardrobe combined.

“Do you usually follow men into the loo, or are you just planning to hex me out of plain view?” Harry shot back.

“I was planning on a little more than that, Potter,” Malfoy replied as he slipped further inside, and the door swung shut behind him. “Fancy a shag?”

“With you?”

“No, with Celestina Warbeck,” Malfoy said sarcastically, “yes with me.”

“But...” Harry trailed off as Malfoy stepped closer, an eyebrow cocked, his entire stance so predatory that for a moment he found himself struck dumb.

“I know you fancy me, Potter. Hell, you stalked me during sixth year...”

“That was because I thought you were a Death Eater, not because I fancied you,” Harry shot back, though now with Malfoy close enough that he could smell his cologne, Harry found his resolve beginning to waver. Malfoy's eyes roved over him unabashedly, and he licked his lips.

“Are you so sure about that?”

The low, purring whisper seemed to make Harry's decision for him. Without another word, he reached forward and grabbed Malfoy's silk tie, and dragged him into a rough kiss.

Malfoy moaned into his mouth, his arms reaching out to hook around Harry's neck while he dragged him backward into one of the available stalls. Harry felt his back press into the wood of the stall door as it was slammed shut behind him, but as Malfoy reached down to Harry's belt buckle, Harry dropped his hands to rest over the blond's, stopping him short.

“Wait, wait,” Harry breathed, and Malfoy groaned.

“What?”

“My bed is much more comfortable than a toilet stall,” Harry murmured as he pulled Malfoy in for another heated kiss, “come back to my place?”

“And how do you propose we get out of here without your overbearing fathers noticing?” Malfoy asked as he cocked an eyebrow.

“They are the most nauseatingly romantic couple I've ever seen,” Harry replied with a grin, “trust me, now that I'm not within sight, they'll be so wrapped up in each other that a giant could peel the roof off the pub and start eating the patrons like popcorn and they wouldn't notice.”

“Is unobservantness a Gryffindor trait, or did you learn how to be thick from them?” Malfoy asked, and Harry snorted.

“Shut up,” he said as he turned to open the door, and grabbed Malfoy's hand. “Let's get out of here.”

Harry cast a cursory glance out of the pub doors, and as expected Remus and Sirius were snuggled up together like a pair of newlyweds, and not a couple who has been together for nearly thirty years.

“Okay, they're not looking,” Harry hissed, “c'mon.”

With Harry in the lead and his heart in his throat, he failed to notice that the older couple had caught sight of them easily, and they high-fived each other. Malfoy snorted, but Harry figured that he was amused by Harry's less-than-subtle method of sneaking from the pub, and thus did not bother to ask what he found so funny.

Outside, Harry felt himself begin to relax, and turned to speak to his unlikely—but sinfully attractive—companion. However, Malfoy had already taken advantage of the situation, and swept in for another heated kiss that was enough to make Harry melt on the spot.

“C'mon,” Harry muttered, “Side-Along Apparition?”

Malfoy smirked, and answered by way of wrapping his arms around Harry's neck, and pressed himself flush against him. Harry grinned, and wrapped his arms around Malfoy's waist, holding the blond more securely against him, and turned on the spot.

When they reappeared at the Apparition point down the street from his flat, Malfoy let out a soft groan.

“How did you even get your Apparition license? God, that was horrific,” he grumbled, and as he opened his mouth to continue his string of complaints, Harry shut him up with a kiss.

“I'm certain that there are so many other things that that pretty mouth of yours can do that don't involve you complaining,” Harry muttered hoarsely, and Malfoy groaned in longing.

“We'll just see about that, now won't we?”

Harry smirked, and dragged Malfoy out of the alley and down the street to his flat.

Harry managed to keep his hands more or less to himself as he led his companion up the four flights of stairs to his flat. Once inside, he watched Malfoy look around curiously, surprisingly without even a hint of disgust in his expression.

The front door opened into an open-concept combined sitting room and kitchen, and down the single hallway were two bedrooms and the lavatory. His furniture was a collection of mismatched second-hand armchairs, and rugs in the sitting room, and a collection of framed photographs arranged along the mantelpiece.

“This is good...for you,” Malfoy said at last, “me...I need more space.”

“Considering you live in a palatial estate, I think I could have worked that one out for myself, thanks,” Harry retorted, and Malfoy chuckled softly. Having had enough of the small talk, Harry closed the distance between them and caught Malfoy's mouth in a heated kiss. “Let me give you the grand tour,” he whispered against the blond's mouth, and Malfoy seemed, for once, at a loss for what to say, and merely nodded. Harry grinned, took his hand again and led him farther into the flat.

There wasn't much to see to begin with, and as a result the 'tour' was fairly short. Harry's mind was too fogged up by his arousal to say anything that might fall into the realm of clever or witty, and instead merely led Malfoy into his bedroom.

Harry didn't take the time to allow Malfoy to absorb the scant décor of the space before Harry took his turn in pinning his partner to a solid surface. The moment Malfoy had crossed the threshold, Harry shut the door behind him, pressed Malfoy up against it, and captured his mouth in a rough kiss.

Much to Harry's surprise, Malfoy did not fight him in an effort to regain control of the kiss. Instead, he seemed to melt into it. His arms wrapped around Harry's waist as he drew him closer, while his tongue traced Harry's lips in a clear request. Harry groaned softly and opened his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste Malfoy just as he mirrored Harry's actions in near-perfect synchronicity.

Malfoy tasted of his charmed life—dark chocolate, red wine, and a hint of tobacco. It was intoxicating, and Harry could feel that Malfoy was having a similar experience, if the hard-on pressing into Harry's thigh was anything to go by.

Harry unlatched one of his arms from around Malfoy, trailed it down his front, and pressed the heel of his palm into the obvious bulge, which earned him a very snakelike hiss from his companion.

“God, Potter—” Malfoy moaned his name like a prayer, but Harry was quick to interrupt.

“Harry.”

“What?”

“Call me Harry,” Harry said, his tone commanding. Malfoy blinked, as though the request nigh command had been told to him in Tagalog. “We're about to fuck, I don't fancy hearing my surname all night.” Harry leant in, and traced the edge of Malfoy's jaw with his tongue, and stopped to nip his earlobe before he whispered, “I want to hear you scream my name.”

“H-Harry...” Malfoy said, his voice momentarily losing its confidence, as it shook with his obvious arousal. He turned and caught Harry's mouth in another kiss, while one of his hands moved to trail along the waistband of Harry's jeans. The faint tickling sensation caused Harry's breath to hitch, and he unconsciously sucked his stomach in. “Then you're to call me Draco,” Malfoy purred. Harry nodded at once, but his silence was met with a faint smirk, clearly indicating that silence wasn't enough. “Say it.”

“Draco,” Harry said, though the word escaped him closer to a moan, given that at that same moment, Draco's hand dropped to cup the obvious bulge in his jeans.

Draco smirked and leant in to kiss him again, while his hand snaked upwards and under his shirt, to trail slowly up his chest.

“Good boy,” Draco purred against Harry's mouth. He tugged lightly on the T-shirt, and Harry lifted his arms to allow Draco to peel the garment off him. Harry returned the favour, dipping his fingers under the shoulders of the blazer and peeled it off him, and kissed Draco slowly as he thumbed open the buttons on his waistcoat. Meanwhile, Draco's artful hands explored his chest, his fingers dipping in to every crevice of muscle and indent of scar tissue, each touch sending a jolt of arousal to Harry's groin which made him, if possible, even harder.

Draco shrugged out of the waistcoat and broke the kiss long enough to yank off his tie, the top two buttons of his shirt popping off in his haste. The small amount of exposed skin—fair like a china doll, made Harry's mouth water. He drew Draco back to him, and trailed his tongue down the side of his throat, nipping and laving across the skin as his fumbling fingers freed the rest of the buttons down the front of the black shirt.

Draco shrugged out of the garment, then with his breath escaping as little more than feeble gasps of longing, he lifted a hand and pressed it to the centre of Harry's chest. Harry caught the hint to stop at once, and he straightened up, a look of confusion layering over his lust.

Instead of explaining, Draco fixed his silver-grey gaze upon Harry, and without breaking eye contact, he dropped to his knees.

Harry's breath caught as the zip on his jeans opened, Draco then yanked down his cotton pants a few inches—just enough to extract Harry's prick, and he immediately closed his mouth over the head.

If fellatio was an art, Harry was certain that Draco would be considered a master.

Harry's head tilted back as he groaned, and his hands dropped down, one resting against Draco's shoulder, while the other wove through his silky locks. Draco swallowed half his cock easily, then closed his hand over the base before he began to bob his head.

It had been too long since Harry had had anyone in his bed (or on his knees, as the case may be) that knew what they were doing, and Harry was uncertain whether he should praise or curse Draco for so effectively turning him into a gibbering mess with relative ease. His tongue trailed up the vein on the underside of Harry's cock, then swirled around the head before he swallowed Harry's cock once more. It was heaven, and Harry could feel himself getting close when Draco's propensity for cruelty reared its mighty head, and Harry was reminded at once that it was an evil former Slytherin he was about to fuck, and not a decent human being.

Draco stopped.

He stood in a fluid motion and kissed Harry deeply before Harry was able to formulate any sort of coherent protest beyond an undignified whine.

“I don't want you to come until your cock is buried in my arse,” Draco murmured, and kissed Harry again. Without another word, Harry kicked himself out of his remaining garments, while Draco wiggled out of his own trousers, pants, shoes and socks just as quickly. He fished his wand out of his trouser pocket, then took Harry by the hand, and led him over to the modest queen-sized bed.

Draco paused at its edge, and nipped at Harry's earlobe much as Harry had earlier as he murmured, “get on the bed, Harry. On your back—let me ride you.”

The image Draco painted was enough to elicit a groan of longing from Harry, and he eagerly clambered onto the maroon duvet and lay down in the centre, his head propped up slightly against the pillows.

Draco smirked at him as he pointed his wand at himself and muttered something under his breath. He set down the wand on the night table, then climbed up to join Harry.

Draco wasted no time as he straddled Harry, his bony knees digging into the coverlet on either side of Harry's sharp hips, and leant in to kiss him again. From Harry's vantage point, he got a perfect view of Draco Malfoy's body—like cut from marble, lean muscle over a slender, willowy form. The arm that once bore the Dark Mark was now devoid of any such brand, and in its place was an ugly scar along the length of his inner forearm, as though the mark had collapsed in on itself. That seemed to be the only physical imperfection that Draco bore, save for the sheer, pearlescent reminders of that fateful day in sixth year when Harry had used Sectumsempra on him. The visual reminder made Harry's stomach twist in momentary guilt, but the fact that they were in bed together was enough to tell Harry that Draco had likely forgiven him for his serious lapse in judgment, and he forced the memory away.

Harry reached for Draco, keen to touch the beauty before him, but his hand was quickly swatted away.

“Learn to enjoy the ride...Harry,” Draco said, his trademark smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he got into position. He sunk down on Harry's cock, Harry realized dazedly that Draco must have cast preparation and lubrication charms upon himself, as Harry's cock slid into his hole smoothly, and no pain registered upon the former Slytherin's face.

Draco's arse clenched around Harry's cock and he groaned, his hands dropping to the blanket and clutched it tightly as he marvelled in the delicious sensation of his cock buried in Draco's tight arse. Draco had tilted his head back, his expression carrying a look of pure bliss, and slowly he began to rock in Harry's lap, lifting himself up and dropping down in smooth, fluid movements.

Harry lifted his hands to rest on Draco's hips, guiding him as he tried to move with Draco, but every attempt was met with a glare. Harry gave up, and dropped his hands back to the bedspread as Draco's movements picked up their pace, and all manner of expletives and lascivious moans poured from his mouth. There was something deeply erotic about seeing a young man whom was normally so dignified swearing like a sailor as he rode Harry's cock.

Draco's arse tightened around him, and Harry let out a groan of his own as he ignored Draco's apparent desire to treat Harry (which, from what he knew of Draco, was wildly out of character) and Harry closed his hand around Draco's cock.

Harry stroked him to orgasm, timing it just right so that they came together, he spilling his seed over Harry's hand and his own chest, while Harry painted Draco's hole with his seed.

Draco remained perched upon Harry's cock for a moment longer, his chest heaving as he panted harshly, his skin shining with sweat. Harry had no idea how he was able to sit up at all after that—he felt as though he'd been hit with a particularly powerful Jelly-Legs Jinx, and it would be a miracle if he was able to move at all for the next while—not that he'd want to.

At last, Draco slid Harry's softening cock from the confines of his arse, and the pair slipped under the covers. Harry was surprised that Draco did not immediately clean himself up, dress, and go, and his surprise shifted to genuine shock as Draco curled up close to him, and seemed to relax as Harry wrapped his arms around his middle, pulling the blond even closer.

“What was that all about?” Harry murmured, to which Draco blinked, clear confusion registering in his eyes. “All that enjoy the ride stuff,” he explained. “You never struck me as the type to want to do all the work.”

“I'd hardly call sitting on your cock work,” Draco replied with his usual drawl, and Harry snorted a little. “I think it's fairly obvious that I fancy you,” he continued, his voice dropping to a soft, almost self-conscious whisper, “and I never properly thanked you for...for saving my life, I mean...back then.” Harry did not need to ask back when, they both knew that Draco meant the incident in the Room of Requirement. “If you decide it won't go any further than tonight, I wanted to give you the most mind-blowing fuck that I could, so that you would at least know that I wasn't having you on—that I meant it.”

Harry had always known that much of Draco Malfoy's cocky, spoiled brat attitude was a front, but he never quite realised just how self-conscious his peer was. It nearly broke his heart to see how vulnerable he suddenly looked. Draco was unable to meet his eye, and every movement, every gesture was indicative that he was bracing himself for a rejection.

Harry reached forward and cradled Draco's jaw in his hand, his thumb reaching up to brush over the high cheekbone, and his companion's eyes fluttered shut at the sensation. Harry leant in a brushed a feather-light kiss over Draco's lips, but did he not verbally answer him.

Harry did not know if he felt as strongly as Draco did, but he could not deny that their encounter had sparked something in him, and he found himself not wanting this—whatever this was—to end after tonight.

Draco smiled—a true smile, devoid of any sort of smirk, and he curled into Harry's arms, as though he'd been waiting for a moment like this for a very long time.

Harry pressed a kiss to his temple, and held him close as his exhaustion finally took hold, and he fell asleep.

~*~

Harry was woken the following morning much earlier than he would have liked to by a sharp tapping upon his bedroom window.

He sat up with a soft groan, and did his best to keep from disturbing Draco, who was still fast asleep, and he padded starkers over to the window. He rolled his eyes as he recognized Remus and Sirius's elderly barn owl, Epicurus, with a parchment envelope clutched in his beak.

Bracing himself for something ridiculous, he let the owl in, accepted the envelope, and offered him an Owl Treat before the owl let out a soft hoot of thanks and took off again.

Harry slit open the envelope, and blinked with confusion as he drew out a felicitous greeting card, the word Congratulations! Printed across the front of it, it flashing different colours as Harry stared at it bemusedly. He flicked it open, and promptly rolled his eyes.

Congratulations on getting laid!

And you say our methods don't work.

Bring your new boyfriend for dinner Thursday night, or we break out the baby pictures. You have been warned.

Love,
Your Wonderful Fathers.

“I am going to kill them,” Harry muttered softly without any real venom as he threw down the card on the nightstand and got back into bed. Draco smiled in his sleep, and closed the distance between them at once.

-Fin
- 1
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Insane Ideas Make The Finest Aphrodisiacs