*****
The snow blanketing the hillside was deep, and Harry sank up to his knees as he trudged up the slope, one difficult step at a time. The wound in his thigh felt numb now; he wasn't sure if it was the cold or was a sign that the hex that hit him had done more damage than he'd thought. The wind whipped around him, stinging his skin and his eyes. The heating charms on his shabby cloak were long gone, and he didn't have the energy to stop and recast them. He was almost there now. He had to be.
At the top of the hill he paused to survey his surroundings. The snow was still falling heavily, the wind blowing it in every imaginable direction, and he could no longer see the lights of the Muggle village that sat at the foot of the mountain. The moon was almost full and the light reflecting off of the snow was surprisingly bright.
A copse of pine trees stood not far away, snow-drenched and swaying with the wind. Harry studied them for a long moment, and then raised his wand.
"Aperio."
A transparent barrier shimmered not far away, standing between him and the trees. Harry made his way toward it, gritting his teeth against the pain that flared up in his leg. He stopped a foot from the barrier, and cast a series of spells.
The barrier shimmered again, and a hole appeared in its surface. The hole grew larger, and Harry carefully stepped through it. It closed behind him and became invisible again. Harry turned toward the spot where the trees had stood, which was now occupied by a small house.
The house was fairly shabby in appearance, and looked as if the storm could knock it down. Light was shining from the front windows, and smoke curled up from the chimney and disappeared into the blowing snow.
Harry sighed. He'd been hoping the house would be empty, and had been imagining several days of solitude and sleep. No such luck, of course.
He approached the house as quickly as he could manage, already thinking about the warm shower and hot tea that undoubtedly waited within. At the stop of the stairs he focused his wand at the door and repeated the security spells, and the door swung open after a series of clicking sounds. He stepped into welcoming warmth, then closed the door and leaned against it, pressing his forehead into the grain of the wood. He inhaled and the scent of cooking meat filled his nose. He could stand right here and sleep; even that would be better than it had been in months.
"Show yourself. Hands in the air."
He turned to see a wand trained on him, and it was a moment before he recognized the man holding it -- he was dripping wet and naked except for a towel wrapped around his waist, and he looked rather unhappy to see Harry standing there.
Harry forced a tight smile. "Easy, Malfoy. I passed all the security barriers, didn't I?"
Malfoy's eyes first narrowed and then widened, as if he'd just realized who was standing before him. Without saying a word, he shook his head in disgust and walked out of the room. A moment later, the sound of a shower could be heard.
"Perfect," Harry muttered as he limped to the sofa. Of all the safe houses in this part of Albania, he'd picked the one where Draco Malfoy was currently holed up. What were the odds?
But there was a roaring fire in the fireplace, and the furniture looked soft and inviting, and he was too exhausted to care about much more than that. He sank into the sofa and moaned at the sheer pleasure of sitting on something so soft and dry and warm. This was exactly what he needed.
He sighed and looked around the room. A tray sat on a low table nearby, with a steaming teapot and two cups. He eyed the teapot for a moment before pointing his wand at it. The pot poured its contents into a cup and the cup sailed gracefully to his outstretched hand. This was a lovely welcome, and unexpected, considering. He wondered if there was someone else besides Malfoy here.
The tea was perfectly brewed, just the way he preferred it. He closed his eyes again. Except for the throbbing in his leg, he could just sleep here, in this spot, with the fire crackling and tea warm in his belly and that soft pillow that was just under his hand. It was glorious.
"Potter. Wake up."
He opened his eyes to see Malfoy standing over him, glaring down at him. His hair was still damp and hung down around his face, and his eyes were just as gray and hard as Harry remembered. He was dressed now, in a set of grayish-green pyjamas that seemed to accentuate the bags under his eyes. Clearly Malfoy'd had a rough few months as well.
"What do you want?" Harry yawned. He just needed to sleep. He was exhausted, and he was so comfortable right now.
"Take a shower," Malfoy said, wrinkling his nose. "You're stinking up the place."
Harry made a rude gesture in response, and Malfoy rolled his eyes and walked away. He let his head fall back against the sofa again. Shower. Actually, it would be nice. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a proper bath. Cleansing spells only did so much.
Malfoy had disappeared into what seemed to be the kitchen, so Harry pushed himself to his feet and limped as quietly as he could towards the doorway leading off of the living area. There was a small corridor there, with one door leading to a bathroom and the other to a bedroom. Harry peeked inside the latter to see that it contained a single small bed. There was a rucksack on the bed and a few items that looked like they might belong to Malfoy were scattered over the duvet, laying an obvious claim to the single place to sleep. Harry was perfectly happy to sleep on the sofa anyway.
The shower was glorious. Hot water streamed over his skin, and he just stood there, enjoying it. When it first touched the wound on his leg there were a few moments of pain, but that diminished quickly into a dull ache. He lathered his body and scrubbed off weeks of grime, then washed his hair and face. It was with regret that he turned the water off, but when he reached for a towel and found that it had been heated, he thought he might go into sensory overload. Every detail was just as he would have wanted it if he could have asked.
He toweled his hair dry and studied his reflection in the mirror. He looked like he'd been out in the wilderness for months, that was certain. He'd given up shaving early on, and now had a thick dark beard. His hair was shaggy and longer than he'd worn it in years, and he looked as if he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in about that long.
After a moment's consideration, he picked up his wand and aimed it at his chin. Ten minutes later he emerged from the bathroom: clean, hair trimmed, face shaved, and dressed in the soft blue-gray pyjamas that had appeared on a shelf sometime during his shower.
The shower had reenergized him a bit and he was hungry, so he hobbled into the kitchen to look for something to eat. Malfoy was sitting at the table, picking at the remains of his dinner. He looked up when Harry entered and did a double take.
"I clean up well, don't I?" Harry said, crossing to examine the contents of several pots on the hob. "What's for dinner?"
"Some kind of stew," Malfoy replied.
Harry dished some onto a plate and sat at the table across from him. It smelled fantastic and tasted even better. "Did you cook this?" he asked through a mouthful.
Malfoy snorted. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Then who did?"
"How the hell should I know? The house-elf who runs this place, probably."
That explained the tea and the pyjamas. Harry swallowed his mouthful and searched about for a topic of conversation. "So how long have you been here?"
"Since yesterday."
Malfoy didn't seem inclined to explain further, and they both sat in silence while Harry finished the plate of stew. He was still hungry when the plate was clean, and he went to the hob for seconds.
"What happened to your leg?" Malfoy asked, watching him limp back to the table.
"Got hit by a hex. I'm not sure what it was."
"Who hexed you?"
Harry tensed and stirred at the stew on his plate. He knew Malfoy had a high-level clearance, but it still felt odd to speak openly with him. "The unit I was embedded with got ambushed this morning. The men scattered. I still don't know the extent of the injuries."
"Where?" Malfoy asked, a strange expression clouding his face.
"On the high road, above Valbona."
Malfoy swore under his breath and looked away.
"There were a dozen of them, unmasked. They took us completely by surprise. The leader was a huge fellow, nearly seven feet tall." Harry paused, watching Malfoy's face.
"That would be Dibra," Malfoy said at last. He rubbed at his temples with his fingers. "Fuck."
"You know them?"
Malfoy nodded. "I infiltrated that group four months ago. They knew my name, knew my father's connections with the Dark Lord, and that allowed me to work my way in. But Dibra started to get suspicious, and day before yesterday he confronted me." He shook his head. "It was time to go."
"So you came here to have a shower and a wank, and didn't think to warn anyone what was about to happen?" Harry couldn't keep the anger from his voice.
"I didn't know about it," Malfoy spat. "Have you ever been undercover, Potter? Have you any idea how many times I put my neck on the line to keep something like that from happening? Do you know what they would have done to me if they found out what I was really doing there?"
"I have a fair idea, yes." Harry clenched his jaw. He wouldn't have lashed out at anyone else like that; he knew it was just because it was Malfoy.
"You just left your entire unit to Merlin-knows-what kind of fate, but you accuse me of --"
"Fucking hell, I'm sorry, all right? I'm tired, my leg fucking hurts, I haven't had a square meal or a decent night's sleep in months, and I almost got myself killed this morning." He closed his eyes and sighed.
Silence stretched between them for a moment.
"I can take a look at your leg, if you like."
"No thanks," Harry said, pushing himself to standing. "I just need to sleep. I'll take the sofa."
"Not necessary," Malfoy said, leaning back in his chair. "You know how safe houses work."
He'd forgotten, actually. He'd only been in a safe house once before, five months ago when he was just getting his bearings in this conflict. It had been different from this house, though, not nearly so warm and cozy. Still, he had to admit that the idea of having a bed to sleep in was appealing, even if it meant he'd be sharing a room with Malfoy. He shrugged. "Fine. Whatever."
He limped towards the bedroom, feeling Malfoy's stare burning into his back. He was worried about his leg, of course, but he would deal with it after he got some rest. Tomorrow, maybe. He crossed through the doorway into the bedroom and stopped, staring around in surprise. The room was twice as large now, and the bed was huge, covered in inviting white sheets and a duvet that looked soft and warm. Malfoy's things were now piled carefully on a nearby chair.
Harry frowned. He didn't like the idea of sleeping with Malfoy, but the bed was more than large enough for the two of them. He was so tired that he didn't really care about fighting it.
He placed his wand and glasses on a bedside table, slid under the sheets, and was asleep within minutes.
*****
The morning light was unusually dim, and it took Harry a while to decide if it was actually even morning. Albania was so much further south than Britain, and it had taken him a while to get used to the sun rising so early in the dead of winter. He fumbled for his glasses and then sat up.
There was a faint mumbling sound to his left, and his heart leapt in his chest before he remembered. Malfoy was stretched out next to him, shirtless, the duvet pushed down to his waist. If anyone had walked in at that moment, he might suspect they'd done something more than just sleep next to each other.
Harry stared at Malfoy, realizing he'd never really had a chance to look at him up close. He'd seen him last almost a year ago at the Ministry, well before this conflict began. His hair was a bit darker and longer than Harry remembered, and fell messily onto the pillow. His face looked far less hard and angular in sleep, and the muscles in his chest and arms were surprisingly well-defined. There was a sprinkling of blond hair on his chest that Harry felt a sudden impulse to run his fingers through.
Malfoy mumbled again and shifted onto his back, and the duvet slipped even lower, making Harry wonder if he was actually naked. Harry watched him for a moment to be certain he was sound asleep, and then could resist temptation no longer: he carefully lifted up the duvet and peeked underneath.
Malfoy had his pyjama bottoms on, but a sizeable erection strained against the thin fabric. Harry swallowed. He really ought to let go the duvet, but he couldn't help himself. It had been months since he'd had sex with anyone other than himself, and he had to admit that even though he despised Malfoy, he was rather fit. And had a surprisingly big--
"Like what you see?"
Harry dropped the duvet and felt his face flush red. He couldn't even bring himself to look at Malfoy. "Shit. I'm sorry, I've no excuse."
Malfoy chuckled and then yawned. "Sure you have. You're twenty-two years old and randy as fuck. Any port in a storm, eh Potter?"
Harry turned to look at him then, and Malfoy had an arrogant sneer on his face. He wouldn't let Harry live this down any time soon.
"Speak for yourself." He stood, and pain lanced through his leg. He nearly stumbled and had to clench his jaw to keep himself from swearing.
"You really should let me have a look at it," Malfoy said lazily.
"I'll be fine," Harry gritted, and hobbled towards the kitchen. He poured himself a cup from the waiting teapot and sat on the sofa. The fire was still burning as brightly as it had done the day before, and its heat was welcoming. He stared into the flames and sighed. How he was going to be able to stand a few more days in this house alone with Malfoy was beyond him.
He heard the toilet flush, and then Malfoy, still shirtless, made his way to the kitchen. A moment later he sat in a chair adjacent to Harry, teacup in hand. Neither of them said anything for several minutes.
"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable," Harry said at last, staring into his cup. "It won't happen again."
"Don't fear for my virtue, Potter. There's nothing to be found there, I can assure you." He almost sounded like he was smiling.
"Just don't bend over in front of me and you'll be fine," Harry quipped.
Malfoy chuckled. "I didn't know you were gay."
"Sorry to disappoint."
"I'm hardly disappointed. Just surprised."
Harry shrugged and drained his teacup. He reached for his wand to accio the pot, but realized he'd left it in the bedroom in his haste to escape. He pushed himself to his feet and winced.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Malfoy said, and pointed his wand at Harry.
Before Harry could react, his pyjama bottoms were around his ankles and he was pushed back down onto the sofa. He had nothing on underneath, so he desperately tugged his shirt down to cover his groin. To Harry's shock, Malfoy settled on the floor between his thighs.
"What are you doing?" he sputtered, desperately willing his cock to ignore what his eyes were seeing.
"What does it look like?" Malfoy asked, pushing his knees apart. Harry's mouth was open, but no sound came out. He tensed, but then Malfoy turned his attention to the wound on Harry's thigh. "I've a third-class healer's license, you know. If I have to watch you limp around this house one more minute, I'll go mad."
A mix of relief and embarrassment spread through Harry, and he was grateful that Malfoy wasn't looking at his face. The wound did look positively awful, he had to admit. There was a poorly-healed gash at least 6 inches long down the inside of his thigh, and the skin all around it looked bruised and battered. Malfoy's brow furrowed, and he raised his wand. Harry braced himself for something painful, but instead felt a tickle of magic and then blissful relief. Harry exhaled.
"Anesthetic spell," Malfoy muttered, still staring intently at Harry's thigh. "As much as I'd actually enjoy hearing you scream, it would make my job quite a bit more difficult."
He cast a series of spells, apparently trying to determine the extent of the injury, but Harry felt nothing. It was an odd sensation, and watching the intensity with which Malfoy worked was fascinating. Harry didn't know much about him at all, or how his life had changed in the last few years. He remembered that Malfoy had caused a bit of a stir when he'd joined the Auror service two years ago, but the work he'd done since had generally been classified, and their paths had only rarely crossed.
"You're full of surprises," he said at last. Malfoy glanced up at him, a quizzical expression on his face. Harry couldn't help but smile; it was the most human he'd ever seen Malfoy look. "It's refreshing."
"I think that anesthetic spell affected your brain. This was a serious hex, Potter. It did a lot of damage, so much that I'm surprised you've been able to walk at all. This is going to take a while to repair, so you might as well get comfortable."
Harry leaned back into the sofa. "I'm more comfortable than I've been in 24 hours."
"And do shut up. You wouldn't want my wand to slip in this general area, would you?"
Harry grinned, but said nothing more. He watched Malfoy cast spell after spell, and watched the bruising gradually become less noticeable, watched the gash close and vanish, leaving unmarred skin behind. After a good fifteen minutes, Malfoy sat back on his heels and frowned.
"I think that will do. I'm not an expert at this kind of injury, and you should really see a specialist when you get home. I'm going to remove the anesthetic charm now." He waved his wand and sensation flooded back through Harry's thigh. "Tell me what you feel."
"Achy, but nothing like before."
Malfoy nodded, then pressed the spot where the gash had been with his hand. "And now?"
Harry shook his head. "Feels normal."
Malfoy moved his hands higher up Harry's thigh and squeezed. Harry caught his breath: Malfoy's fingers were inches from his balls, and now that his skin was sensitive again his body was responding to that touch. Add to it the sight of that blond head between his thighs and Malfoy's bare torso, far more defined than it had a right to be, and fuck.
"Too hard?" Malfoy asked, and released his grip, keeping his hands on Harry's thigh. One thumb brushed against his skin lightly, activating nerves Harry hadn't known were connected directly to his prick.
Harry felt the unmistakable rush of the beginning of an erection, and he tugged his shirt down again. "It's fine." His voice wavered, to his horror.
Malfoy looked up, a smirk on his face. "Want me to take care of that as well, while I'm down here?"
Harry pushed his hands away and slid a foot down the sofa. "Thanks for the… attention. To my leg. I appreciate it. I'll just--" He stood, mustering what he could of his dignity, pulled up his pyjama bottoms, and shuffled to the bathroom.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror for several minutes. He had no idea why it was so easy for Malfoy to get under his skin like that. He hated Malfoy, and Malfoy hated him. It had been that way for so long that Harry could barely remember a time when he didn't hate Malfoy. And of course, the first thing he'd done was show weakness, and now Malfoy would take every opportunity to torment him. But of course, Malfoy had to go and do something inexplicably nice and heal his injured leg. If he'd really hated Harry, he would have enjoyed watching him hobble around in pain, and he would have done nothing. It was damn confusing.
Harry splashed cold water on his face and willed his erection away. He wouldn't give Malfoy the satisfaction of wanking over him.
He showered and shaved, and then dressed in his cleaned and repaired clothes, which had been waiting for him on a shelf in the bathroom. When he finally emerged, the smell of eggs and bacon filled the air, and he headed to the kitchen, where Malfoy was seated at the table eating.
"You're walking normally," Malfoy said, as if he hadn't just offered to suck Harry's cock. "How does it feel?"
"Good," Harry replied, forcing that last thought from his mind. "It doesn't hurt at all."
They ate in silence. Malfoy excused himself to take a shower when he was finished, and Harry settled on the sofa with a book he'd chosen from a shelf on the far wall. Outside, the snow was still swirling, but inside it was warm and cozy. The book was mildly interesting, a novel about a 19th century witch whose paramour was a vampire. He read the first chapter, and then decided he really wanted a cup of tea.
His wand was still in the bedroom, so he set the book aside and stood, smiling at the utter lack of pain. Malfoy might be a prick, but he was a good healer -- Harry had to give him that. He crossed to the bedroom, but his wand wasn't on the bedside table. He looked under the bed, and there it was -- it had fallen off and rolled under, apparently. He had to crawl under the bed, but finally retrieved it, and sat back on his heels. And nearly choked.
Malfoy was standing on the other side of the room, completely naked. He'd apparently just finished his shower and had come into the room to dress. His clothes were folded neatly on the bed, and as soon as he turned he would see Harry there. Harry swallowed at the sight of him -- all lean muscle, a gorgeous arse, long limbs.
Harry cleared his throat, and Malfoy turned. His eyes narrowed, but he made no effort to cover himself. In fact, he almost seemed to pose. Harry's eyes flicked down to his prick before he could stop himself, and he had to force himself to look up at Malfoy's face again. Malfoy said nothing, just stood there and stared back at Harry with a guarded expression.
"I was just…" Harry held up his wand and gestured with it. "Sorry." He stood and left the room, walking as wide a berth around Malfoy as he could manage.
He collapsed on the sofa again and groaned. This was ridiculous, and neither of them were going to be able to stand much more of it. They needed to talk about it, somehow. Harry had no idea what to say.
Malfoy stayed in the bedroom for the next few hours. Harry settled in to read his vampire romance novel and warmed himself by the fire, and tried to put thoughts of Malfoy out of his mind. He grew hungry eventually, and wandered into the kitchen to look for something to eat. A pot was simmering on the stove, and when Harry lifted the lid the heavenly aroma of onions and spices filled the air. It appeared to be some sort of soup, and he ladled himself a bowl and settled at the table.
Malfoy emerged a few minutes later, dressed and looking damnably better than he even had naked. Harry resisted the urge to glare at him. Malfoy helped himself to the soup as well and settled at the table across from Harry. They ate in silence, spoons clinking against china, and pointedly not looking at each other.
Malfoy stood and stretched, and Harry's eyes darted to the expanse of stomach that was briefly exposed. Malfoy smirked and then poured himself a cup of tea. He sat across from Harry again and leaned back in his chair, watching Harry scrape the last spoonful of soup from his bowl.
"I realize we've never exactly got on," he said after a moment.
Harry snorted. "An incredible understatement."
"But here we are. We're stuck here until we get our orders to move on, and we might as well make the best of it."
"Precisely what I'm trying to do." Harry set the spoon in the bowl and pushed it away.
Malfoy clasped his hands behind his head and smiled. "You want to shag me. Admit it."
Harry gaped at him. "I-- no!"
"You're a horrible liar, Potter."
Harry had to resist the urge to run from the room. He'd wanted to talk, hadn't he? He tried his best to glare at Malfoy.
"Even if the thought had ever in some moment of lunacy crossed my mind, it's irrelevant. We're not friends, Malfoy. We've never even had a proper conversation until yesterday."
"We don't have to like each other to fuck." Malfoy's eyes gleamed. "In fact, it might even be better that way."
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "You're mad."
"And you're pathetic. I would have to be blind to have missed the way you've been looking at me, from the moment you got here. And you're so fucking self-absorbed that you haven't seen me looking back."
Harry paused, momentarily stunned. "You're gay?"
Malfoy smiled in a way that was almost predatory. "I do hate being labeled, but if you must, I suppose that one will do."
Harry held his gaze for a moment. "You hate me, Malfoy. Why would you possibly want to shag me?"
"You're so naïve that it's charming. I don't hate you, Potter. I find you annoying, to be sure, but I'd be lying if I denied that I've thought about finding creative ways to shut you up for quite a few years now."
Harry had to admit that the idea of shagging Malfoy was -- well, appealing wasn't quite the right word -- intriguing, at least. He was fit, and he was aggressively sexual, something Harry liked in a bloke in bed. As much as Harry hated to admit it, Malfoy was exactly his type. If only he could take all of his memories of the Malfoy he'd known for ten years and put them in a little compartment in his mind where they wouldn't interfere. Hell, if he could do that, he might even fall in love with Malfoy. It was a frightening thought. Harry shook his head and looked away.
"It's just sex, Potter. I'm not asking for a commitment." Malfoy stood and walked back to the bedroom. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."
Harry rested his forehead on the table and groaned. Of all the conversations he might ever have imagined having with Draco Malfoy, that was certainly not among them.
*****
He was dozing on the sofa when Malfoy came. Harry tried to shake off his sleepiness and opened his mouth to speak, but Malfoy pressed a finger against his lips and shook his head. Then he leaned over Harry, tugged his trousers out of the way, and swallowed his cock. Harry gasped, clutching at the sofa for leverage to arch up into that mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, and he thought he would come instantly, but it was difficult to care about anything other than the heat of that mouth.
And then the sensation faded, and Harry opened his eyes. The fire was crackling in the fireplace, the book was open on his chest, and his cock was hard and aching in his trousers. He winced and sat up. It was all he could do not to reach into his trousers and pull himself off. With his luck, Malfoy would come around the corner and catch him in the act.
He made his way to the bathroom and pulled himself off leaning over the toilet, stroking fast to get it done as quickly as possible. He resisted thinking of Malfoy at first, but it was no use -- the dream had done him in. He let his mind wander to all the things they might do to each other, things Harry had only heard about and had never had the nerve to ask his lovers for. He came as silently as he could manage, panting and hoping Malfoy wasn't listening. He half-expected Malfoy to be waiting outside the door, sneering at him, but he wasn't. The house was quiet.
He picked up the vampire novel again, but it was difficult to concentrate on the words he was reading. After a truly cringe-worthy sex scene involving heaving bosoms and turgid manhood, he gave up and set the book aside. His own internal drama was far more interesting.
He couldn't deny that he wanted Malfoy, but did he want this? He'd given up casual sex two years ago, having grown tired of the parade of men in and out of his bedroom, of the anonymity of meaningless sex, and of the messiness of it all. That wasn't what he wanted anymore -- but what more could there be with Malfoy?
*****
The sound of footsteps woke him up. He yawned and stood, then crossed to the kitchen. The table had been meticulously set, and the aroma of garlic and spices was heavenly. Malfoy was standing by the table, examining a bottle of wine. He'd dressed for dinner, wearing a stylish jacket over a black shirt, and he'd done something with his hair that made it hang just perfectly around his face. He looked up at Harry and gestured to the wine bottle in invitation.
"Sure," Harry said, and jerked his thumb in the direction of the bathroom. "I'll be right back."
He splashed water on his face and performed a shaving charm, then attempted to calm down his sleep-crazy hair. He had no idea why Malfoy had a jacket with him in the middle of a war; he had nothing even close to that stylish. Not that it mattered. He wasn't trying to impress anyone.
Malfoy had poured two glasses of wine when Harry returned to the kitchen, and was swirling one just under his nose. He sniffed, then raised the glass to his lips and took a sip.
"Good?" Harry asked as he picked up his own glass. He didn't bother mimicking the wine-tasting ritual; it was best to get the alcohol in his system as soon as possible.
"It's Italian," Malfoy said, swirling the glass again. "From Tuscany."
"How do you get that from just one taste?"
Malfoy smiled and pointed to the bottle sitting on the counter behind him. "It's on the label."
"Ah." The lights in the kitchen were dim enough that Harry thought they might hide his blush. He looked up at the candles suspended in the air above the table, so clearly meant to set a romantic mood. "Was this your idea?"
Malfoy shrugged. "The house apparently thought this was what we wanted tonight. I don't completely understand how the magic works."
Harry took another sip of wine. Malfoy held his gaze, and the heat in his eyes was unmistakable. Even the way he stood was inviting, with that wine glass in one hand, leaning casually against the counter, his perfectly-styled hair framing his face and glowing in the candlelight. How had Harry never before noticed how hot Malfoy was?
I don't do this anymore, he reminded himself. It will only end badly, no matter how good he is in bed.
Malfoy set his glass on the counter and grinned roguishly. He was probably fucking amazing in bed.
"Fuck it," Harry said. He set his glass down and lunged for Malfoy, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket. Malfoy's eyes widened, as if he hadn't really believed Harry would do this. Harry stared back at him for another moment. It wasn't too late to back out.
"I dare you," Malfoy whispered. He raised one eyebrow and almost smirked in challenge.
Harry pulled him in and kissed him so hard their teeth knocked together. He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted someone so badly, had felt such a rush of sheer lust for another person. Malfoy let him take charge, and Harry pushed him up against the counter and ravished his mouth. Malfoy moaned and melted against him, and Harry felt a rush of triumph.
They heard a clicking sound and then the howling of the wind, and they sprang apart: the door had opened. They scrambled for their wands and dashed around the corner just as a bundled-up figure was closing it behind him.
"Identify yourself," Harry said, and the figure turned. He unwrapped his scarf and removed his hat, revealing a balding middle-aged wizard who looked vaguely familiar to Harry.
The man grinned and opened his arms in greeting. "Blimey, Harry Potter! I don't know if you'll remember me, but I'm Reginald Twining, Assistant Head of the Communications Division." He tugged off his gloves and held out a hand. Harry shook it, and Twining looked around the living room. "Merlin, isn't it warm and cozy in here? Just what I needed. And is that supper? It smells fantastic!"
Harry stepped back as Twining removed his heavy cloak, and his heart sank. He'd finally decided he wanted Malfoy, and he was too late. He'd missed his chance. He turned to look at Malfoy as Twining began to chatter about how cold and tired he was, and saw a similar emotion on his face. Malfoy shrugged, and Harry smiled in response, a bit ruefully.
When they went back to the kitchen, the light was bright again, the candles were gone, and the table was set for three. Twining didn't waste time cleaning himself up; he sat at the table and moaned with delight when large plates of creamy-sauced pasta appeared.
Harry and Malfoy joined him, and they ate without talking. Twining wolfed down his food, and the moment he finished the plate refilled itself. After the hearty pasta was finished, plates with slices of a rich chocolate cake appeared, along with cups of coffee.
Twining sat back in his chair and patted his belly. "I say, you two are lucky. I've visited several of the safe houses in Albania, and none have food as delicious as this."
"The house is definitely attentive," Malfoy said, stirring sugar into his coffee.
"This war is rough business." Twining shook his head. "We need to take pleasure wherever we can find it these days."
Harry couldn't help glancing at Malfoy at that. He was staring firmly into his coffee cup.
"Rough, rough business. And to think that the Minister of Magic said we'd only be here a few weeks." Twining paused and narrowed his eyes at Harry. "I seem to recall you were standing next to him when he made that statement."
Harry swallowed his bite of chocolate cake. "You've no idea how often I've thought about that in the last six months."
"Was it ever true?" Malfoy asked. They hadn't talked business much at all, and the question surprised Harry.
He nodded. "That's what the Minister believed from the beginning. All of the information we had indicated that the Voldemort loyalists were largely disorganized and not a huge threat."
"He was wrong, wasn't he?" Twining pointed at Malfoy with his fork. "You were undercover with one of the main groups, weren't you? Do they really believe the Dark Lord will return?"
If Malfoy was surprised that Twining knew what he'd been doing in the war, he didn't show it. He paused, as if considering his words. "Some do, and they certainly want the people to think that's the case. But the leaders are far more pragmatic. They're taking advantage of an opportunity to seize power."
"I don't suppose you did anything to dissuade them?"
There was a touch of menace in his tone, and Harry had to bite his tongue to resist the impulse to defend Malfoy.
Malfoy laughed, unperturbed. "I had to be careful, of course. But it was generally known that I was there when the Dark Lord was killed, and I was asked my opinion on many occasions."
"What did you tell them?" Harry asked.
Malfoy met Harry's eyes. "That I saw the curse that killed him, and I saw the body fall. That I believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that Voldemort is dead." He shrugged. "There were some who told me I was a fool, that the Dark Lord was too powerful to be killed, that the faithful would be rewarded when he returned. But many know the truth."
"So why are we still here, putting our lives at risk for a bleeding civil war on the other side of the continent?" Twining asked. "That's what I want to know."
"Because we were foolish enough to think the truth would be enough," Harry replied. "And that it was our duty to tell it."
Twining snorted. "The Minister wouldn't be so honest."
Harry smiled. "He's a politician. He can't afford to be honest."
"And that's good enough for you?"
"I didn't say that. Believe me, I didn't spend all those years fighting Voldemort thinking that I'd still be fighting his deluded followers years after he was dead."
"And yet, here we are," Malfoy said.
"Here we are," Harry repeated.
"If you could talk to the Minister tomorrow, what would you tell him?" Twining's tone was conversational, but his eyes were bright.
Harry paused. "That we should never have come here in the first place. That I've seen firsthand what these people are fighting about, and it has little to do with us. It's a terrible situation, but I don't think it's our place to be here."
"And you, Malfoy?"
Malfoy snorted. "The Minister for Magic wouldn't give me the fucking time of day."
Twining chuckled. "Perhaps. But you might be surprised."
"In that case, I agree with Potter. Completely." He stared right at Harry as he said the last word.
Harry smiled.
Malfoy changed the subject then, to Harry's relief, and they spent the next hour talking about far more mundane things. Harry found himself watching Malfoy, listening more to the sound of his voice than the words he spoke, watching the way he tilted his head, the way he gestured, the way he was guarded with his facial expressions. He could see why Malfoy had been so good at undercover work -- he was perfectly composed and controlled.
It only made Harry want him more. As they listened to Twining relay the details of the latest Ministry scandal, Harry's mind kept drifting to ways he could get Malfoy alone. Perhaps when Twining went to bed they could stay in the living room a bit longer, or even duck into the bathroom. But though every scenario he thought of ended deliciously, he knew it would never work. The house was too small, and there was no privacy. He'd simply missed his chance.
It was nearing midnight when Twining finally yawned and stood. "I'm knackered. Where do we sleep?"
Harry and Malfoy followed him to the bedroom, and both stopped in the doorway in surprise. The room was slightly larger than it had been before, and there were three beds now, one on each wall. Harry's and Malfoy's belongings were neatly stacked on two of the beds. They exchanged a glance.
"Ah, a warm bed!" Twining said. "I've been dreaming of one for a week now. The loo's through there, is it?" He disappeared into the bathroom.
Harry and Malfoy stared at each other for a moment. Harry wanted to kiss him, to drop to his knees and unfasten his trousers and worship his cock, but there wasn't time. They couldn't risk it, not with Twining in the house. The man prided himself on knowing all the gossip around the Ministry, and the story of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy having a liaison in a Ministry-sponsored safe house in the middle of the war would definitely cause a scandal.
"I know," Malfoy said, and smiled.
Harry sighed. "I'm sorry."
They dressed for bed, each grinning as he watched the other strip. Malfoy's eyes were unashamedly on Harry's prick, and Harry didn't hurry to cover himself. He sat on his bed, thighs spread slightly, and smirked. Malfoy shook his head in mock exasperation, but he didn't stop staring. Harry wondered what he was thinking, and the things that Malfoy might be thinking about made his prick start to swell. Malfoy looked back over his shoulder to the bathroom, then back to Harry, as if he was trying to decide whether to take a chance. As much as Harry wanted to know what he would have done, he didn't want to push it. He pulled on his pyjama bottoms, and a moment later Twining walked back into the room.
They all climbed under the covers, and someone doused the lights. Harry closed his eyes and tried his best to go to sleep.
*****
The next day was excruciating. Harry had got used to having quiet time to sleep and relax, but Twining seemed thrilled to have people to listen to him prattle on, and he never left them alone. By mid-morning, Harry announced that he was going to take a nap and retreated to the bedroom. He could still hear Twining talking to Malfoy about something or other, and it struck him that Malfoy was being far more polite and patient than Harry was.
Harry was on edge, emotionally and physically, and he blamed Twining for that entirely. He could barely think about anything but ways to get Malfoy alone, and was becoming increasingly frustrated by the fact that it was unlikely to happen. When their orders came through, they would likely not see each other again for months. He wasn't sure he could wait that long.
Harry didn't come out for lunch. He couldn't bear it. He took a shower and had a quick wank, and didn’t even try not to think of Malfoy.
By mid-afternoon his stomach was grumbling, and he decided to venture out for a snack. He still had his pyjama pants on, and when he wandered shirtless into the living area was rewarded by a smoldering glance from Malfoy. Harry sighed as he opened the icebox. Why had he wasted a whole day?
He found a plate of sandwiches and some fruit, and settled at the table to eat. He could hear Malfoy and Twining chatting in the living area, apparently discussing the plot of the vampire novel Harry'd been unable to finish. He smiled at the thought of Malfoy reading such torrid fiction.
There was a rushing sound, the unmistakable whoosh of the floo, and Harry leapt to his feet. In the living room, Malfoy looked ashen, staring down at scroll on the floor, neatly tied with a black ribbon.
"Well, let's see who it's for, shall we?" Twining plucked the scroll from the floor and unfurled it. His lips moved as he read, and Harry's stomach tightened into a knot. "Ah, yes. Well, boys, I'm afraid my time here has been cut short. But I'll be home for Christmas." He smiled brightly, and tucked the scroll into his pocket. "I do hope you two will be able to get out today. It would be a pity to spend Christmas Eve in a place like this."
"It's Christmas Eve?" Harry asked. He'd had no idea.
"Of course!" Twining said, clapping his bare shoulder with one meaty hand. "I'll just go pack now. The Missus and kids will be quite pleased." He disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Harry and Malfoy staring at each other.
A grin spread over Malfoy's face, and Harry's stomach did a flip. He could hardly believe it.
Twining took a painfully long time to gather his belongings, and by the time he finally emerged from the bedroom again, Harry was nearly ready to shove him out the door. He wrapped up in his cloak, hat, and scarf, bid them a Happy Christmas, and walked out the door.
The moment the door lock clicked, they turned to face each other. Harry's heart was pounding, and he was already half-hard from anticipation. Malfoy took a deep breath, the only sign Harry'd yet seen that he'd been affected by all of this as well.
Something above their heads moved, and they both looked up. A sprig of mistletoe was winding down, sprouting out of the ceiling, curling and twisting toward them until it nearly brushed the tops of their heads.
"I think the house is trying to help," Malfoy said, grinning at Harry.
"I don't think we're going to need it," Harry replied, and launched himself at Malfoy.
When they came up for air, the light in the room had changed. They turned their heads to see a beautiful Christmas tree in the corner, its colorful lights sparkling as if lit by tiny fires.
"Come on," Malfoy said, taking Harry by the hand and leading him to the sofa. The fire and the tree provided the only light, and it was undeniably romantic.
Not that any romance was required. Malfoy pulled Harry close and kissed him, and Harry moaned, still hardly believing this was happening. He buried his hands in Malfoy's hair and cherished the burn of stubble on his chin, and lips and tongue and heat, and god, how long had it been since he'd done this? He couldn't remember, but he was certain it hadn't felt this good.
Just when he thought his knees would buckle, Malfoy pushed him back onto the sofa and worked his way down Harry's bare chest, catching a nipple between his teeth and flicking his tongue across it before continuing to move down. He settled back on his heels and pushed Harry's knees apart. Harry's cock was rock-hard, tenting his pyjama pants and creating a wet spot on the thin fabric. Malfoy leaned forward and pressed his open mouth over Harry's cloth-covered prick, and Harry nearly melted in the sofa.
"Fucking hell," he gasped, his hands in Malfoy's hair again.
"What do you want?" Malfoy whispered, nibbling his way down the shaft, his teeth pulling at the fabric.
"Anything. Everything."
Malfoy looked up and grinned mischievously. "I need you to be a bit more specific, Potter. What do you like? I want this to match up to your fantasies, after all."
Harry was too far gone for a witty retort. "You can start by taking these off." He lifted his hips and Malfoy tugged the pyjama pants off.
Malfoy's eyes darkened at the sight of Harry's stiff prick, but he looked up once again. "So what do you want?"
"Your mouth," Harry whispered.
Malfoy's grin became a bit wicked. "Where?"
"Sorry?"
"Do you want me to suck your cock?" He licked a strip up the shaft and briefly mouthed the head, and Harry moaned. "Or lick your balls?" He pushed Harry's thighs apart and tugged his hips forward on the sofa a bit, and his tongue tickled Harry's scrotum. "Or do you want me to eat your arsehole?" He flicked the tip of his tongue against Harry's hole.
Harry felt his entire body shudder with pleasure. This was something he'd never done, had never had done to him, and he'd been fantasizing about it for years. "Yes," he whimpered.
"Yes, what?" Malfoy replied. He was clearly enjoying this.
"Yes, please?"
"You're hopeless, Potter. Good thing I was planning to eat you out anyway."
And then Harry felt a tongue circling his arsehole, circling, flicking the skin all around but never quite dipping into his hole. He squirmed and hooked his hands under his knees to open himself up, wanting this more than he'd wanted anything in a long time.
"Merlin," Malfoy whispered, his lips brushing against sensitized skin. "You're so hot like this."
His tongue circled again, closer and closer, and just when Harry thought he'd scream from frustration, the point of that tongue flicked lightly across his hole, and he groaned. Malfoy's tongue moved lightly at first, and then he blew gently. The sensation of cool air on his sensitive skin was glorious, but Harry needed more.
"Please," he moaned. "Please just do it."
Malfoy snickered, but then that tongue was back with more pressure and maddening stokes across his hole. He licked and circled, and then his fingers pulled Harry's cheeks apart until the skin was taut. Harry felt Malfoy's face press into his arse then, and realized that Malfoy's lips were pressing around his hole, kissing him. Kissing his arsehole -- Harry thought he might come right then and there. And then he felt that glorious tongue again, now pressing gently into the center of the hole, probing, prodding, and ever so gently working its way into him.
Malfoy's lips were moving on his skin, and he was sucking Harry's arsehole and pressing in with his tongue, and it was incredible: Malfoy was kissing his arsehole the way he'd kissed Harry's mouth earlier. Malfoy pulled away for a moment and Harry whimpered at the loss of contact, but then Malfoy whispered a word and Harry felt a strange sensation.
"A spell to relax you," Malfoy said, and dove back in. The difference was immediate: Malfoy's tongue slid easily into Harry's arse now, and Harry's body opened up to him. His tongue pushed far inside and pulled out again, soft and hot and amazing. Malfoy's mouth covered his arsehole, his teeth even pressing into the skin, and he fucked Harry slowly with his tongue, pressing in, wriggling and twisting, and then pulling out again.
"Oh god, yes, fuck me," Harry groaned, writhing and pressing his arse against Malfoy's face. He didn't care how wanton he must look, all he knew was that this was possibly the most incredible sexual experience of his life.
Malfoy moaned and Harry felt the vibration of it as that tongue continued to plunge into his arsehole. Malfoy pressed in as far as he could and remained there, and Harry felt the tip of his tongue moving, wriggling. Malfoy reached up with one hand and grasped Harry's prick, and started massaging the foreskin against the underside of the head in small circles. His tongue fucked Harry in small movements, in time with the movement of his hand, and his lips moved against Harry's arse in that gloriously obscene kiss.
Harry was teetering on the edge, torn between desperately wanting to come and wanting the sensation to last forever. He heard himself moaning and swearing, and Malfoy's movements sped up, and then it was all over: he saw stars, his hearing momentarily left him, and he came harder than he ever had before.
He was shaking when his body stopped throbbing, and he couldn't speak. He just grinned lazily up at Malfoy, who was already on his knees. Harry felt something cool and click against his arsehole, and then felt two of Malfoy's fingers push inside, meeting no resistance. A moment later the head of Malfoy's cock was pressing into his hole, slowly, gloriously slowly, stretching his arsehole open without the usual burn. He really needed to learn that spell.
Malfoy pushed all the way into him, then pushed Harry's knees into his chest, burying his cock deep in Harry's arse. He stopped then, and looked down at Harry with fire in his eyes.
"I didn't ask if this was okay."
"After eating me out like that, you could do just about anything to me," Harry replied with a grin. "Fuck me all night if you want. Spank me, tie me up, whatever. I'm all yours."
Malfoy moaned at that, and then his eyes closed and his mouth fell open as he started to move. He fucked Harry slowly at first, as if trying to make it last, but after a minute seemed to lose control. He pounded his cock into Harry, so hard and fast that Harry knew it would have hurt like hell if not for the spell he'd cast earlier.
"Come on, Malfoy," Harry gritted, "Fuck me. Harder."
Malfoy moaned incoherently at that, and then he bent Harry nearly double. His movements became erratic, and he gasped and then collapsed onto Harry, groaning. After a moment of struggle, Harry managed to get his legs out from under Malfoy and around his hips, and then he could breathe again. He wrapped his arms around Malfoy's torso and sighed.
They stayed like that for a moment, and then Harry felt the odd sensation of Malfoy's softening prick slipping out of his arse. Malfoy pressed a kiss to Harry's neck and then sat up.
"That was fun," he said, smiling at Harry.
Harry grinned in reply, afraid to speak for fear of what he might say. If he knew it would ensure him having this experience again, he would ask Malfoy to marry him right now.
"I think dinner will be ready soon," Malfoy continued, grasping Harry's hand and pulling him up to sitting. "After that I think I'll be ready to go again." He raised an eyebrow.
Marry me, Harry thought, but what he said was, "Fantastic."
"Oh, and I'd better undo that spell," Malfoy said, fishing for his wand in a pile of discarded clothing. He waved it and Harry yelped as his arse tightened back to normal. "Otherwise… well, you don't want to know."
"Thanks." Harry hoped his blush would be hidden in the dim light. His hand brushed against something hard and smooth beside him, and he picked it up. It was a small bottle. "Do you always keep lube on you?"
"It's not mine. It was sitting on the side table."
"I fucking love this house," Harry said, grinning. "Can we just live here?"
*****
Harry stretched his arms over his head and smiled. He'd been having a lovely dream about Malfoy sucking his prick, and it was almost a shame to wake up. The dream was still fresh in his mind, and he could almost feel--
He looked down with a start -- Malfoy was under the duvet, and there was a warm, wet mouth on his cock, moving slowly.
"Good morning to you too," he said, lifting the duvet.
Malfoy came off and smiled. "No reason to let a morning erection go to waste."
"In that case…" Harry tossed the duvet aside and moved to lie opposite Malfoy. Malfoy's cock was already hard, jutting out from the nest of blond hair at his groin. Harry's mouth watered.
Malfoy's lips closed around Harry's prick again as Harry took the head into his mouth. He loved sucking cock, and he especially loved doing it while his own was being sucked. They went slowly, both using their tongues to swirl and prod and play with foreskin and flick across the sensitive slit. Harry sucked Malfoy's cock as far down his throat as he could manage, and then pulled off again, slowly. He wet a finger in his mouth and reached around to press it into Malfoy's hole, slowly.
"Lube," Malfoy grunted, and the bottle appeared over Harry's head.
He applied some to his finger and it slid in more easily, and he fucked Malfoy's arse in time to his sucking. He felt one of Malfoy's fingers probing his arsehole now, also slicked with lube, and he groaned with pleasure. "Another," he said, and then felt a second finger press its way into his arse.
"You are such a bottom," Malfoy said, and Harry laughed around his mouthful.
Then they were both sucking hard and fucking each other with slick fingers, and then Malfoy's fingers found a sensitive spot inside Harry's body and he keened. He came groaning around Malfoy's cock, loving the sensation of Malfoy's mouth working his prick through it, then continuing to suck gently, as if he weren't ready to let it go.
Malfoy released him at last, and Harry swirled his tongue around the head of his prick, earning a moan. "That feels amazing."
Harry slid his finger out of Malfoy's arse and moved up a bit. "I'll bet this is nicer," he whispered, and flicked his tongue across Malfoy's hole.
"Oh, fuck," Malfoy groaned. "Wait a sec." He rolled onto his stomach and then pressed his arse up into the air, exposing his hole. His cock and balls hung heavily between his spread thighs, and Harry nearly got hard again at the sight.
"Who's the bottom now?" he asked, playfully smacking Malfoy's arse before licking his way down the cleft towards his arsehole.
"For you and your tongue, fuck yeah," Malfoy said, wriggling his arse.
Harry circled at his hole and then pressed into the center with his tongue, trying to mimic what Malfoy had done to him the night before. He'd never done this before, but found it incredibly erotic. Malfoy's hole was tight, but when Harry pressed his tongue into the center it gave just a bit, just enough for him to press the tip bit inside. He stiffened his tongue and pressed the point into the center, fucking Malfoy's hole lightly, and pressed his open mouth against his arse.
Malfoy was moaning incoherently now and pressing his arse back against Harry's face. Harry had to grasp his hips to hold him still, and then licked and sucked, wishing he knew that spell to loosen Malfoy's arsehole so he could get further inside. He went back to flicking his tongue across the hole for a moment, his lips still sealed against Malfoy's skin, and Malfoy shuddered. Harry's hand reached around and found Malfoy's prick and stroked, and then Malfoy came, howling. Harry felt his arsehole spasm around the tip of his tongue, and all he could think about was feeling those muscles clench around his own cock.
Maybe later. After breakfast. He had no plans other than to make Malfoy come as many times as possible before they had to leave.
"Merry fucking Christmas, Potter," Malfoy said, his voice slightly muffled by the bedding.
Harry planted one last kiss on Malfoy's arsehole before whispering, "Merry Christmas, indeed."
*****
They were in the middle of breakfast when they heard the sound of the floo activating. They stared at each other, both suddenly solemn.
"I'll go check," Harry said with a sigh. He walked to the living room and plucked the scroll from the floor. Malfoy's arms wrapped around him from behind, and Harry couldn't help leaning back into all of that warm skin.
"Just get it over with," Malfoy said. Harry opened the scroll.
Mr. Potter,
The Auror service is pleased to inform you that you have been awarded two weeks leave, commencing today. At the end of your leave, please report to the Ministry of Magic in London for a meeting with the Minister of Magic. Happy Christmas and best wishes for the New Year.
Sincerely,
Bartholomew Gladstone
Head, International Auror Division
Harry exhaled. "I'm on leave, and then I'm going home." He turned in Malfoy's arms and kissed him, almost giddy. As long as Malfoy's letter didn't come, they could just stay here and--
The floo activated again, and another scroll came sailing out.
Malfoy's jaw clenched, and he leaned over to pick it up. He unrolled it and read it silently, his face taut.
"Well?" Harry asked when he could stand the tension no longer.
Malfoy smiled and looked up. "It’s the same. I'm on leave as well, and then a meeting with the Minister of Magic. I have a feeling Twining had a hand in this."
"Or maybe the house put in a good word?"
"We have two weeks," Malfoy said, pulling Harry into his arms. "How do you want to spend them?"
We. Harry felt his innards flip pleasantly. Maybe he wasn't about to break his one-night-stand ban after all. "I want to spend them in bed with you, fucking until neither of us can walk. And I know the most perfect little cottage in the mountains, which we will likely have all to ourselves for the next few days, at least."
"And after that--" Malfoy paused to kiss him "--we could go to Rome for a week, or maybe Paris."
And after that, Harry thought, smiling against Malfoy's lips. Well, best to take it one day at a time.
"Come back to bed," Malfoy whispered, pulling him backwards and moving his lips down Harry's neck.
Harry grinned and let himself be led back to the bedroom.
~ fin ~
Story Notes:
EWE, rimming. Lots of rimming.