~*~
Harry grinned at Ron, who was slinging back a pint of lager as though parched. "Rough day?"
Ron swiped his sleeve across his mouth. "Sort of. Call it fortification."
"For what?"
Ron shrugged and took another large gulp of lager. "Anything new with you? I haven't seen you much lately."
"No, not really," Harry replied, staring into his own lager.
"I heard you were seeing someone," Ron said, his voice a bit hesitant.
Harry turned to look at him, surprised. "You did?"
Ron sighed, looking quite uncomfortable. "I guess I can understand why you wouldn't want to tell me. I mean, it's not like I didn't know, but we've never talked about it, and--"
"Know what?" Harry interrupted, his heart in his throat.
Ron stared firmly into his nearly-empty pint glass. "You know. That you… like blokes."
"I'm not gay!" Harry retorted, a bit more loudly than he'd intended. Several heads turned in the vicinity and Harry winced. Why couldn't they have gone to a Muggle pub tonight? Most of the people in here knew who he was.
Ron's forehead wrinkled. "But… aren't you going out with Malfoy?"
"Hush, will you?" Harry hissed, looking around. "I don't want that in the Prophet tomorrow."
"But is it true?" Ron asked, signaling the barman for another round. "Because I talked to Seamus yesterday and he's dating Susan Bones, who works with Pansy Parkinson, and she said you've been over at their place quite a bit lately."
"Only twice," Harry said, once he'd followed that trail of gossip. At Ron's raised eyebrow, he added, "And it's not Malfoy I'm interested in. It's Pansy."
Ron paused to finish off his pint and pay the barman for the next round. "So… you're interested in Pansy, but you're going out with Malfoy?"
"Yes, exactly."
Ron blinked at him. "That's pretty fucked up, mate."
"It's a long story," Harry mumbled. He downed the rest of his first pint and slid the empty glass across the bar. "Does everyone think I'm gay, then?"
"Well, everyone Susan works with, probably," Ron replied. "You know how that department is. And Seamus -- well, I'll just say he didn't sound surprised. And to be honest, mate, I've kind of wondered about you myself."
Harry was glad the pub was dimly lit, because he knew he must be blushing. "You… you think I'm gay?"
Ron looked uncomfortable. "Well, you know. You've never had a girlfriend for more than a few weeks."
"I dated your sister, Ron!"
"Almost fifteen years ago -- and that didn't really go anywhere, now did it? You've never really dated much since."
"I was a little busy, you might remember," Harry retorted. "You know, saving the world and all?"
Ron looked a bit pained. He downed more of his lager and seemed to force himself to look Harry in the eye. "And I stood right beside you through all of it, you know. Yet I seem to have moved on with my life."
"You haven't got a girlfriend."
"No, but I've had a long series of fucked up relationships with self-centered women, each of whom I thought I was madly in love with. They all turned out to be psychotic bitches, but I least I was trying."
"What about Hermione?" Harry retorted. "Surely you aren't lumping her in with--"
"You know how I felt about her," Ron snapped, "and how much I regret what happened. But this isn't about me. It's about you, and the fact that you haven't had a serious girlfriend… ever."
Harry pursed his lips. He'd been telling himself for years that he just hadn't found the right woman, and that was the problem. Or that he was really picky, and it would take someone quite special to meet his very high standards. What if that wasn't the problem at all? What if he hadn't found a woman he really liked because he didn't really like women?
He pushed the thought firmly aside. He liked Pansy, after all. At least, he thought he would, once he got to know her. She could be the one woman he'd been waiting for. And if everyone thought he was gay, perhaps it could work to his advantage. After all, the more people who thought he was gay, the more Pansy would believe it -- and the more she would want him.
Harry looked back to Ron. "I'm working on it, all right? In the meantime, do me a favor -- if anyone asks you about that gay rumor, don't deny it."
"Don't deny it?" Ron repeated, incredulous. "Harry, are you sure you know what you're doing?"
Harry smiled and raised his pint glass to clink it against Ron's. "Absolutely."
~*~
Malfoy knocked on the door of Harry's flat at 8:00 pm sharp. Harry frowned as he crossed to the door, pulling a t-shirt over his head. For some reason, he'd expected Malfoy to be late.
They apparated to a public apparition point off of Gerrard Street and made their way to Ling's, a restaurant owned by an old Chinese wizard with a long beard and one eye. Ling's wife seated them, hobbling as she walked and turning to scowl at them every so often. They passed large tanks that contained aquatic creatures Harry had never seen before, and they had to step through the jaws of a huge taxidermied dragon head to get to the rear dining room of the restaurant.
Mr. Ling himself came out to take their order, his one eye fixed on Harry's scar the entire time. Malfoy ordered for them since Harry had never been there before. Ling grunted his approval and walked away just as Madame Ling returned with a pot of steaming tea, two cups, and several bottles of beer. She muttered something in Chinese as she walked away, shaking her head.
"She's a bit cranky, but the food is good," Malfoy said when she was out of earshot.
"I get the feeling she doesn't approve," Harry replied, pouring himself a cup of tea.
"Of what?" Malfoy asked. "Of us? There's nothing to disapprove of yet." He winked at Harry as he poured himself a cup of tea.
Harry resisted the urge to squirm in his seat and tried to change the subject instead. "So you work for a private foundation?"
Malfoy nodded. "It's a good job for me. I have the connections and the social skills for it -- or that's what I told them when they hired me."
"And I suppose they didn't ask any questions?"
Malfoy pursed his lips. "Even though I kept out of sight during the war years, my family name was still enough to cause me trouble afterwards. Unlike the Ministry, the Foundation didn't care about that."
Harry wondered if Malfoy knew that Harry was aware of what he'd really been doing during the War, but he thought it best not to say anything. He sipped his tea instead.
"What about you?" Malfoy asked.
"I work for the Ministry, in the revenue division."
Malfoy's eyes widened over his teacup. "You're a tax collector?"
"Oh, no," Harry replied, grinning. "I just investigate shady firms. It's been mostly banks of late. So no need to worry about me getting angry and auditing you or anything."
"Right," Malfoy said, sitting back in his chair. "But I imagine you would know who to talk to about that."
Harry shrugged, and before the conversation could continue, their food arrived. Madame Ling directed the steaming plates to their table with a flick of her wand, then checked under the lid of the teapot before tapping it with her wand and refilling it. Harry smiled at her, but she only scowled in return and limped away.
"Friendly," Harry quipped.
"And even more so if you don't leave a big tip," Malfoy said, spooning rice onto his plate.
Conversation over dinner turned to Quidditch, a topic Harry finally felt at ease with. He was surprised that Malfoy followed all the big teams and not only knew as much trivia as Harry did, but was almost more enthusiastic than Harry about the subject. Harry supposed he'd imagined a gay man wouldn't be interested in sports, and then chastised himself for thinking in stereotypes.
When six courses and multiple rounds of Tsing Tao were finished, they made their way out into the busy street, startling a few Muggles who couldn't see the restaurant they'd just left.
"Oops," Malfoy muttered, then tugged Harry's arm to get him out of the way of an oncoming group of teenagers. "It's easy to forget that bit sometimes."
They made their way through the crowd towards Charing Cross Road, where Malfoy said there was a great club he had been wanting to check out. To Harry's relief, it turned out to be a Muggle club. The last thing he needed was to be spotted in a gay bar by the Wizard press.
Malfoy pulled him into an alley to transfigure their clothes into something more appropriate for a club, and then they joined the queue to go inside. Harry had a good chance to look at the people in line around them while they waited. There were men and women who completely fit gay stereotypes in their dress and behavior, while others seemed no different from himself. He wondered if everyone who went to this club was gay.
Once inside, Malfoy bought him a drink and took him to a railing where they could look down on the dance floor below. He'd already bought dinner and paid their entrance to the club, and Harry was starting to feel guilty about the price tag of the evening.
"I'll get the next round," he said, half-shouting over the loud music.
"Sorry?" Malfoy shouted back, leaning closer.
"I said I'll get the next round of drinks," Harry repeated, his lips very close to Malfoy's ear this time.
Malfoy slid an arm around his waist and shrugged. "If you want," he said, pressing his nose against Harry's ear, then kissing his cheek before moving a respectable distance away again.
Harry looked down at the dance floor, feeling utterly confused. Malfoy's closeness and affection ought to have made him uncomfortable, but he didn't feel that way at all. In fact, he almost liked the attention. He shook his head at himself -- he must be quite desperate for someone to show affection towards him to find Malfoy's advances appealing.
"Want to dance?" Malfoy asked, mouth very close to Harry's ear again.
Harry hesitated: He wasn't much of a dancer, but it would probably be more interesting then standing up here and shouting small talk at each other. He slung back the rest of his drink and nodded.
Malfoy smirked at Harry's empty glass, but he finished his drink as well before taking Harry by the hand and leading him downstairs toward the dance floor. Harry had seen the swarm of writhing bodies from above, but what he hadn't seen were people entwined together in the dark recesses along the walls, some doing things Harry doubted were completely legal to do in public view.
He couldn't help but stare as they passed a man on his knees, obviously sucking another man off. Malfoy laughed and tugged Harry away. "Now, now, Potter. Have some manners."
"I think you should tell them that," Harry retorted, only barely resisting the temptation to look back over his shoulder at them. It wasn't something he'd ever seen other people doing before -- well, unless one counted porn.
The music was the same sort of nondescript house beat that had been playing at the party the week before, and Harry found it easy enough to move along to it. Malfoy turned out to be a fairly good dancer and drew the attention of many of the men around them.
He was quite good-looking, Harry had to admit. His features, which had always seemed pointy in school, had matured into something best described as chiseled, particularly with the dance floor lights playing across his face. His body was lean, but he was fit and masculine in a way any man would envy. The white shirt he was wearing clung to his chest, and his hair was artfully tousled, just enough to be stylish. His height made him an imposing figure on the dance floor, and it was clear that Harry wasn't the only one who had noticed.
A shirtless muscled bloke appeared out of the crowd, staring at Malfoy with barely disguised lust. He insinuated himself between them and started gyrating against Malfoy. Malfoy laughed, throwing his head back and turning so that his back was to the man, pressing against him. As the man's hands wandered over Malfoy's chest, it was all Harry could do not to scowl at him. Malfoy kept his eyes on Harry, though, as if he wanted to see how long Harry could stand to watch. Harry shook his head, frowning, and Malfoy beckoned him closer with one finger, grinning.
Harry followed, against his better judgment, and let Malfoy pull him close. The man dancing behind Malfoy maneuvered to the side and gyrated against both of them, his hands wandering down their backs and over their arses. Harry tried his best not to be uncomfortable, but it must have shown on his face, because Malfoy wrapped his arms around him and turned them so that the shirtless bloke could no longer reach him.
And then Malfoy kissed him, and Harry forgot where he was for a moment. He slid his arms around Malfoy's back and pulled their bodies tightly together, almost feeling like he could melt from the sensation of a slick tongue sliding against his.
After what could have been half an hour or just one minute, Malfoy broke the kiss and led Harry off of the dance floor and over to one of the dark alcoves along the side. Harry felt apprehension rise in his throat, but Malfoy pressed him up against the wall and kissed him again, and he stopped thinking altogether.
He felt Malfoy's hands on his chest, moving up under his shirt, but he didn't mind. He hadn't been touched by anyone in a long time and it felt surprisingly good. The alcohol he'd consumed tonight had hit him full force somewhere along the way, and between that and a sudden rush of hormones, it was all he could do to remain standing. He was vaguely aware that they were both hard, but for some reason that didn't bother him. They both had dicks, after all, and that was what happened to them sometimes. Not a big deal.
And then Malfoy did something Harry didn't expect: he ground against Harry in a way that pressed their cocks together.
Harry couldn't help the groan that escaped his lips, nor the way his body sagged against the wall. It felt amazing, though the very idea of what he was doing made him uncomfortable. He was starting to like Malfoy, and with this much alcohol in his system, he was even willing to admit he was a bit attracted to him. But there was only one direction this would take them, and he wasn't sure he liked the idea.
"Draco," he managed to say between kisses, "I don't think--"
"Hush," Malfoy replied, and unfastened the snap of Harry's trousers with one hand and worked it inside. The sensation of fingers stroking his bare cock made Harry's eyes roll back in his head, and he found he couldn't say anything coherent as Malfoy worked the zipper down, took his cock in hand, and began to stroke.
"Oh god," Harry managed after a moment. Was this really happening? It reminded him a bit of a dream he'd had in recent days, standing here in the shadows pressed up against a wall with Malfoy's hand around his prick.
Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing for Malfoy to pull him off. After all, he'd been rather tense lately, and sometimes wanking in the shower just wasn't enough. And as Pansy had said, sometimes one just needed to get off with someone else. He had to admit the idea of fucking Malfoy was becoming more appealing all the time. Or being fucked, for that matter. It might not be so bad. There were obviously men who liked it. Women too, for that matter.
He felt a spike of embarrassment and excitement at the thought. Why would he think about that at all? He didn't know about these things. He wasn't gay.
The part of his mind that was keeping track of things like the fact that he was currently getting a hand job from Draco Malfoy in a gay club had a laugh about that.
Malfoy's hand in his trousers kept moving, and he felt something pressing against his thigh that was undoubtedly an erection, but he was so close to coming himself that the reality of it was hazy and distant. The sticky wall behind him, Malfoy's lips on his, that hand stroking him -- all of it blurred together until he came, hard and with a moan into Malfoy's hand.
He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall, the sound of the music filling him, pushing out the thoughts that were on the verge of making him panic. Just relax, he told himself. It was only a hand job.
The sound of Malfoy's erratic breathing made him open his eyes again. Malfoy's eyes were squeezed shut and he was gritting his teeth, one hand braced on the wall behind Harry. Harry looked down to see Malfoy was pulling himself off. He wanted to look away, but found himself oddly fascinated by the sight of the head appearing and disappearing into Malfoy's fist, coated with a slickness that was possibly Harry's own semen.
He looked at Malfoy's face again just as he came, just in time to see his jaw go slack and his cheeks flush. Malfoy didn't make much noise, but neither did Harry when he wanked. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd actually watched someone's face as they came. It was amazingly intimate, even if he'd had little to do with it.
Malfoy's eyes opened after a moment, and he smiled at Harry. "Sorry -- I couldn't wait."
Harry shrugged, uncertain why Malfoy was apologizing.
"Want to dance some more?" Malfoy asked, fastening his trousers.
Harry almost laughed, surprised by how casual Malfoy was about it all. "I… sure."
Malfoy grinned and took Harry by the hand, pulling him back to the dance floor. His hand was still a bit sticky, but for some reason, Harry really didn't mind.
~*~
"Harry? Are you with us?"
Harry blinked and looked up to see six faces staring at him from around the table. He cringed. "Sorry, what was the question?"
Collins narrowed her eyes. "I asked you what you thought about Rodin's proposal. Hell, Potter -- rough night?"
Harry took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, you could say that."
The meeting continued to be excruciating after that, and Harry could barely concentrate. He'd stayed out far too late with Malfoy the night before, and he couldn't stop thinking about what had happened between them in the club -- and what it meant.
Neville caught his arm on the way out the door. "Are you all right?"
Harry shrugged. "I'm fine. Just tired."
Neville's brow furrowed. "I've never seen you so preoccupied, Harry. Is this about…?" He gave Harry a look.
"No, of course not," Harry replied, but at Neville's raised eyebrow, he caved. "Maybe."
Neville nodded his head towards his own office. "Come on."
Harry followed him through the door and slumped into the chair by Neville's desk. Neville closed the door, then crossed to the desk and leaned against it. He didn't say anything.
Harry heaved another sigh. "I'm just tired, mostly. I know better than to stay out that late."
Neville didn't respond; he just stared at Harry and waited.
"We went to this club in Soho, and I had too much to drink and…" Harry pressed a hand to his forehead -- his head was starting to throb at the very thought.
"Oh god," Neville said. "You had sex with him, didn't you?"
"No!" Harry replied, a bit too quickly. "I mean… not really."
Neville made a snorting sound. "You either had sex with him or you didn't. Which is it?"
"He… did me, with his hand and then he… did himself." Harry felt his cheeks grow hot. He and Neville had never talked about sex, and to do so under these circumstances was excruciating.
"He gave you a hand job," Neville stated. Harry nodded, and Neville sighed. "I hate to break this to you, but I think that counts as sex."
"But I didn't do anything to him," Harry countered. "He just sort of attacked me, and I stood there. I never touched him. Not like that, anyway."
"Did you come?" Neville asked. Harry gave him a sharp look, biting back the urge to tell Neville to mind his own business. Neville looked away. "I don't want to argue over semantics, but I think you need to face the fact that you had sex with him."
Harry slid down in his chair and closed his eyes. Neville was right, of course, but he really didn't want to admit it. "Am I gay?" he asked at last.
"Only you can answer that question," Neville replied, his voice gentle. "What do you feel like when you're with him?"
"He's not bad," Harry replied. He studied a stain on his shirt and sighed. "I guess I like him."
"Are you attracted to him?"
Harry couldn't look up at Neville. "Yes."
"Does it feel different than being attracted to a girl?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't know."
Neville sighed. "Lots of people are attracted to someone of the same sex every now and then, but it doesn't make them gay."
"But they don't have sex with them."
Neville made a sound like a soft laugh. "You'd be surprised. But having sex isn't what makes someone gay, Harry. It isn't about sex at all. It's about what you feel, what you desire, who you fall in love with."
Harry's brow furrowed. "Have you ever been in love?"
"Yes," Neville replied, his voice even. "Several times."
"I haven't," Harry said. "I always thought I just hadn't met the right girl, but…" He couldn't finish the sentence.
"What about Pansy? You started this because of her."
Harry shook his head. "I don't know."
Neville leaned forward and squeezed Harry's shoulder. "It's all right, Harry. You don't have to know the answer now."
"Easy for you to say," Harry retorted, but he knew Neville was right about that too.
~*~
"Thanks for meeting me for lunch." Harry smiled at Pansy, who was picking a slice of tomato from her panini.
"Of course," she replied, winking at him. "I haven't had much of a chance to talk to you without Draco around."
"I know," Harry replied, smiling. That had been the point of this lunch meeting -- to see if there were any sparks between them after all. He'd been nervous about it all morning, so much so he'd barely been able to concentrate. "Did you tell Draco we were meeting?"
"No. Should I have?"
Harry shrugged and took a bite from his sandwich.
"I don't think I will. He's not usually the jealous sort, but there's something about you that has him a bit on edge."
"Really?" Harry asked, intrigued.
Pansy nodded and sipped her drink. "He usually doesn't have to work very hard at this sort of thing, but you've been hard for him to catch." She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. "He told me you two haven't even slept together yet, and it's been two weeks!"
Harry tried not to smirk -- so Malfoy didn't count that hand job as sex either. "Do most of his boyfriends hop right into bed, then?"
Pansy snorted. "I'd hardly call them boyfriends. Tricks, maybe. He doesn't really date people, you know."
"He dated you, didn't he?" Harry asked, hoping he wasn't pushing too hard.
Pansy's smile faded. "That was a long time ago, before he came out. We're such good friends now that it seems like it was just a dream."
"And you haven't dated anyone since?"
"Oh, no," Pansy said with a charming laugh. "I've dated lots of men. It just… it hasn't worked out." She took a bite of her sandwich and locked her eyes onto his.
Harry looked back at her, his brow furrowing in concentration. If he was attracted to her, he'd feel something now, wouldn't he? He waited, but all he felt was a knot of anxiety in his stomach.
"I like you, Harry," she said at last. "I'm not sure why I hated you so much in school."
"Because I was in Gryffindor?" Harry suggested, unable to keep a bit of exasperation from his voice. "Because Draco hated me?"
"I think you hated him more," she said, her eyes boring into his. "So why do you like him now?"
Harry blinked at her. "I don't know. Why are you asking me this?"
Pansy shrugged and returned to her drink. "Draco and I have lived together for years, and I've seen him fuck more men than I cared to count. None of them mattered to him, and he didn't care. But you…" She paused and seemed to be steadying herself. "I think he really likes you, Harry. And you're not like the others. You seem to be the type who's more interested in a relationship, and he needs that. He's never really had one."
"I…" Harry began, and then swallowed. "Neither have I, to be honest. I haven't had anything I'd call a relationship since…" He dropped off, uncertain. Why was he telling her this? He'd forgotten the point of this meeting somewhere in the last few minutes.
"I like you Harry, I really do. But Draco is my best friend. If your feelings about him aren't sincere -- if you hurt him, I will never forgive you." Pansy's eyes were dark and wide, and Harry knew that she meant it. He stared back at her, and the knot tightened.
"I… I like him. I sincerely do. And I like you."
"Good," she said, her manner relaxed again.
Harry stared at his half-eaten sandwich. Basically, he was fucked.
~*~
The knock on Harry's door at midnight woke him -- he'd fallen asleep on the sofa watching television. He squinted at the clock on the far wall as he stood, and he had his hand on the doorknob before the time registered in his mind. He paused, giving himself a moment to get his thoughts straight. He found his wand on the sofa table and cast a one-way clearing charm on it just as the person knocked again. The wood shimmered and became transparent, and Harry nearly gasped in surprise. It was Malfoy, dressed in a traveling cloak. He frowned at the door and raised his hand to knock again.
Harry opened it. "What are you doing here?"
"I just thought I'd drop by," Malfoy replied. "I thought you might want to go out."
"It's the middle of the night," Harry said.
"What better time to go out?"
"It's Tuesday."
Malfoy shrugged. His eyes grazed over Harry with interest, and it was only then that Harry remembered he was shirtless. He was too tired to care -- though he probably shouldn't stand in his doorway half naked. He stepped back and gestured Malfoy in, then closed the door behind him.
"I would offer you a drink, but I'm out of everything," Harry said. "And I have to admit you woke me up."
"Clearly," Malfoy replied, eyeing the rumpled state of the sofa. He seemed to find the situation amusing.
"Don't you have to go to work in the morning?" Harry asked, settling on the sofa and yawning.
"Yes," Malfoy said, removing his cloak and folding it over a chair. "But I've been traveling the last few days and I wanted to see you."
Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I wondered where the hell you were." Truth be told, he was relieved. He'd heard nothing from Malfoy since his lunch with Pansy, and he'd started to wonder if she'd said something about their conversation and it had scared him off.
"It came up rather suddenly," Malfoy continued. "I haven't even gone home yet. I came straight here."
Harry yawned again, slumping down against the sofa cushions. "And I'm exhausted. Can we go out another time?"
"Of course." Malfoy knelt in front of Harry and placed a hand on each of his knees, his smile more than a bit naughty.
Harry felt an odd rush of adrenaline. "What are you doing?"
Malfoy's smile widened and he slid his hands up Harry's thighs. "I'm going mad, you know. I usually don't have to wait this long to get a taste of someone."
"Oh?" Harry replied, trying his best to sound casual. He ought to protest, but his cock was already stiffening at the sight of Malfoy on his knees, looking hungry.
"I thought about this all day," Malfoy continued. He hooked his fingers behind Harry's knees and tugged him forward a bit so that his hips were at the edge of the sofa.
"Thought about what?" Harry asked. His voice broke a bit on the last word.
Malfoy's hands slid up the flannel pyjamas again, and he focused his gaze on the tent that was now forming at Harry's groin. He leaned forward and then looked up at Harry. "Your cock in my mouth," he whispered, and then pressed his open mouth against the fabric covering Harry's prick.
He exhaled, and Harry sucked in a breath at the sensation of damp heat and mild pressure. He absolutely should not go along with this. He should stop it now, before it was too late. He was horny and a bit desperate, but that was no reason to let Malfoy--
Malfoy started nibbling his prick through the fabric, starting at the head and then working his way down the shaft slowly, catching the flannel and a bit of skin gently between his teeth as he moved. Harry tried to keep his breathing normal, struggled not to make any noise, but by the time Malfoy's mouth was tugging at the flannel covering his balls, catching hair and tender skin as he did, Harry couldn't bear it much longer.
"Oh god," he said, and took Malfoy's head in his hands. He tried to haul him up for a kiss.
But Malfoy had other plans. He broke free of Harry's grip and sat back on his heels, grinning. "So, what do you want me to do?"
"What?" Harry asked.
"Tell me what you want," Malfoy said, his gaze falling back to Harry's crotch and licking his lips. "I'll do anything you want." His eyes flicked up to Harry's again. "Anything."
Harry groaned at that, unable to help himself. Unbidden, his mind was filled with images of things he wanted to do to Malfoy -- and half of them he wasn't sure were possible. His hand moved to his cock out of habit, but Malfoy batted it away.
"Oh, no. That's mine tonight. I'm the only one who gets to touch it."
Harry pressed his hands over his eyes and sighed. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because you need it, Harry. You need to get laid more than anyone I've met in a long time."
"I can't argue with that," Harry replied. He dropped his hands and looked down at Malfoy. "It's just… I've not really…"
"Done this much?" Malfoy finished. "With a man, at least? Yes, that's painfully obvious." At Harry's blush, he added, "And incredibly erotic. Which is why I want to do this on your terms. You have to tell me what you want."
Harry took a deep breath. Did he really want this? Was it loneliness and a desperate need for affection that had driven him to this moment, where his former childhood nemesis was kneeling at his feet and ready to do his sexual bidding? Or was it something more? Harry didn't know, but his cock was aching and Malfoy was there and…
He exhaled. "I want you to… suck me."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "You're going to have to be more specific than that."
Harry closed his eyes and let his head fall back. Why was this so embarrassing? He'd never had trouble asking women for what he wanted. "Suck my cock," he said, though he was sure his voice was no more than a whisper. "Please."
"That's better," Malfoy said, his voice husky.
Harry felt his fingers dip beneath the waistband of the pyjamas and tug them down. He lifted his hips to allow Malfoy to ease them down to his knees, and then he waited, unable to bring himself to watch. It seemed an eternity before he felt hot breath against the sensitive skin of his cock, and then another before the soft wetness of Malfoy's tongue followed.
Harry had imagined Malfoy would be good at this, and he was. He took his time, nearly driving Harry mad with licks and kisses, applying just enough pressure to tease, but not enough to satisfy. By the time he finally took Harry's cock into his mouth, Harry had lost the battle to remain silent. He arched his hips up and groaned, desperate for more contact, more heat and wetness and pressure, all the way down to his balls. One of his hands found Malfoy's head and the other braced against the sofa cushions, as if he would fall off if he didn't hang on.
Malfoy's mouth was unbelievable, and it was without doubt the best blow job of Harry's life. He'd had his cock sucked plenty of times, of course, but never like this. Never with such attention to detail and enthusiasm, and never with just the right amount of teeth and tongue.
He felt his orgasm building, hot and low, and he gritted his teeth. And then Malfoy's mouth disappeared.
Harry's head popped up at that, but Malfoy smiled and continued to stroke his shaft lazily. "That was a little quick, don't you think? I'm not ready to go home yet."
Harry made a sound of frustration, but Malfoy didn't seem to care. He returned to licking and nibbling, finally taking Harry's prick into his mouth again after what seemed like several minutes. Harry sighed at the sensation, melting into the sofa cushions, strung somewhere between torture and bliss.
Malfoy continued that way twice more, slowly building up until Harry was getting close and then backing off again. It was maddening and frustrating, and so fucking hot Harry thought he might die on the spot.
"Tell me what you want," Malfoy said at last, his voice nearly hoarse. His hand kept a rhythm of firm strokes on Harry's shaft, and his warm breath brushed the head, making Harry shiver.
"I want to come," Harry panted, having lost all pretense of dignity by now. "I want you to suck my cock until I come."
Malfoy didn't say another word -- he simply swallowed Harry's cock. Harry was momentarily stunned by the feeling of being halfway down Malfoy's throat, but the sensation of his tongue and the suction he felt and Malfoy swallowing around him was overwhelming. His orgasm wrenched a cry from him, mingled with words he'd be embarrassed for saying later. It felt like it lasted forever, and he didn't want it to stop. He couldn't remember ever having so intense an orgasm before.
Malfoy came off his prick, panting for breath, but Harry couldn't open his eyes. He felt warm and tingly, though he was inexplicably shivering. He felt Malfoy settle on the sofa beside him, still breathing hard.
"No applause?" he asked.
Harry laughed and turned to look at him. "I should have known you'd be a cocky bastard."
Malfoy looked smug and stretched his arms over his head. "Don't I deserve it?"
"Yes," Harry replied, a bit breathlessly. He let his gaze fall to the obvious erection in Malfoy's trousers, then looked back up at him.
Malfoy stared back for a moment, then pushed to his feet. "I need to get home."
Harry blinked. "Are you… I mean, do you want…?" He paused, not really sure what he was offering.
"I wanked twice this morning thinking about this," Malfoy said, pulling his cloak back on. He winked at Harry. "I'm a bit chafed, actually. Maybe next time?"
"Yeah," Harry said, standing and pulling his pyjamas back up. His cock was still a bit sensitive, and he winced at the brush of fabric against it.
Malfoy kissed him, deeply enough that Harry could taste himself, and then he stepped back and disapparated.
Harry collapsed onto the sofa and sighed. He was in way, way over his head, but he couldn't help himself. It was time to rethink this whole thing.
~*~
"Good morning," Harry chirped to Neville as he passed him in the corridor. Neville stared back at him blankly, but Harry smiled anyway. He also smiled cheerily at Cecily Roberts and Stradius Thorngood as he passed, causing both to turn and stare at him as if he'd sprouted another head.
He sat at his desk and sipped a cup of tea as he began to wade through his morning owls. It was an unusually sunny day outside his window, and he found himself wishing he could go sit in the park down the street a bit. Maybe he'd do that at lunchtime. He could feed the pigeons, sit under a tree…
"Harry?" He looked up to see Neville poking his head through the door.
"Good morning," Harry said again, cheerily. "Do you want to have lunch with me today?"
"Yeah, sure," Neville replied, closing the door behind him and crossing to sit next to Harry's desk. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. Why?"
Neville tilted his head and studied him. "You just… seem to have been hit by a stray cheering charm this morning, or something."
Harry laughed. "Is it that unusual for me to be in a good mood in the morning?"
"Yes," Neville replied without hesitation. "We all try to avoid you until at least 11:00, to be honest.
Harry's smile faded a bit. "Oh. Well, I'm fine. Nothing to worry about. It's just a lovely day, you know."
Neville opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think the better of it. He paused for a moment and then stood. "Lunch, then. See you."
Harry stared out the window again after Neville left. He supposed he was usually a bit cranky in the mornings. Of course, it wasn't every morning that one woke up from the sated sleep that follows amazing sex.
He felt a simultaneous jolt of happiness and panic at that thought. In some ways, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. When he stripped away the gender issue (and the fact that it was Malfoy), he felt nothing but a dizzying sort of warmth about it all. Despite the fact that he'd got into this because of Pansy, he was growing rather fond of Malfoy.
After Malfoy had left his flat the night before, he'd lain awake for a while and thought about how the events of the recent weeks had called quite a lot of what he'd always thought about himself into doubt. He'd always been straight, and not really interested in relationships beyond a bit of sexual gratification. He'd never spent the next morning daydreaming about the sex he'd had the night before, certainly.
And of course, he hadn't really ever considered the possibility of men before. Well, that wasn't entirely true -- if he were honest with himself, he could recall times in his life when he'd been att
Emma Grant's Fiction
Fiction, Fandom, and Naughty Stuff
