Chapter 1

Draco slouched against the wall, utilizing the dim light from the streetlight to his best advantage. He knew his hair gleamed silver in the flickering glow and his skin looked even paler than usual. He shifted his hips forward minutely when a small group of passersby approached, causing his shirt to ride up a bit and expose a large strip of flesh above the low-slung waistband of his tight black trousers. His shirt was barely that—a mere strip of fabric in white silk. It barely covered his ribs and hung from his shoulders to expose his collarbone. He held a Muggle cigarette between his fingers, but it was only for show. He would sooner suck the nether parts of a Blast-Ended Skrewt than put the burning piece of shit near his lips. A vile habit, but quite useful if you wanted to loiter without looking like you were loitering.

The group passed by, talking amongst themselves. They were a varied lot, both male and female, some loud and some not. One had a boisterous laugh, another had a thick Scottish brogue, and one looked like he wanted to hex them rather than spend one more moment in their presence. Without exception, their eyes turned to Draco as they walked by, some surreptitiously, some openly. He grinned at them and it was just shy of a leer.

Draco slid his fingers lazily over the waistband of his trousers, as though their tightness chafed and he could hardly wait to remove the offending fabric. The motion caused the footsteps of one chap to falter.

“Damn,” the man said. “I left my favorite quill at the club.”

“Oh, come on, Bernard. It’s a quill. You’ve got dozens,” a woman complained, turning when the man stopped just beyond Draco.

“It’s my favorite, Lucy. You know how pesky hard it is to get them to write just right. I’ll be along. You’re going to The Plump Hen, right?”

The woman pouted. Draco thought she rather resembled a French poodle, all tight ringlets, trimmed nails, and artificial glamour. The man was little better. He seemed slightly less than middle-aged with a paunch starting to rise over his belt from too much food and too little exercise. His hair was dark, receding somewhat, and slicked back in a manner Draco had once favored. No more, though. Now Draco’s hair hung over his forehead to occasionally tangle in his lashes, worn loose and flowing around his shoulders.

“Yes, damn you, and you’d better not be long or I’ll toss you over for Reginald. See if I don’t!” The woman turned and took the arm of a sticklike man, who bellowed a laugh and made a lewd comment. The fellow waved them on with good nature and soon the group rounded the corner and disappeared while Bernard backtracked toward Draco. Rather than passing, he paused.

“Waiting for someone?” the man asked.

“Waiting for you, maybe,” Draco replied seductively.

Bernard drew in a breath and licked his lips slowly before looking pointedly up and down the street. When he was satisfied that they were unobserved, he stepped closer.

“You up for a spot of fun, then?” Bernard asked. Draco’s practiced eye raked the man from head to toe. Good suit, not ridiculously expensive, but not bad, either. The shoes were top shelf. Bernard’s hair screamed conservative. Ministry, Draco decided. He could spot them a mile away. A lesser official, though. Definitely not an Auror, thank Merlin. There was always something about their eyes that gave them away. No, this fellow was an underling with a desk job. Muggle Affairs or some obscure division.

“A spot of fun if the price is right,” Draco said amiably and tossed the fag into the street as he straightened. He made sure to slouch a bit, however, as his height had been known to scare off a mark or two.

“Price,” Bernard repeated. He sounded disappointed. Draco moved forward and leaned slightly against the man. His lips skated over Bernard’s jaw and parked near his ear. He reached up and drew circles with his long fingers over the man’s fleshy abdomen as he whispered into his ear.

“Surely you don’t think anything this hot is free,” Draco said and chuckled. “Don’t worry; it will be more than worth your while.”

The man drew a shuddering breath. “How much?”

Draco smiled. It was easier than shooting babies in a barrel… or however that Muggle saying went. And it was so much more lucrative.

Harry fixed a steely gaze on the man across the table, who wiped the back of his hand across his forehead in an effort to diminish the sweat gathered there. Veritaserum had that effect, and the man had been nervous even before it was administered.

“Now, Bernard. Say we go over this once more,” Harry said in an even tone. “We know you have been nicking funds from your department coffers for quite some time. We’ll talk more about that later. What we are curious about is your memory. You seem to be under a strange variation of a Memory Charm.”

Bernard’s eyes widened with surprise that did not seem feigned.

“Memory Charm?” he asked.

“Are you admitting to knowing nothing about it?” Harry asked. He thought it was a stupid question, since the whole point of a Memory Charm was to keep one from remembering something, but people had been known to request Obliviation from others. It was prudent to ask.

“No! Of course not!”

“Have you noticed any gaps in your memory recently? Unexplained blocks of time that you can’t account for?”

He gave Bernard a minute to cast back, seeking anomalies. When he shook his head, Harry felt like gnashing his teeth. Bloody hell, but this was turning into a time-consuming cock-up. What should have been a simple case of embezzlement followed by a speedy trial, possibly some jail time, and a hefty fine now needed to be handled with kid gloves. Not only was Bernard a well-respected Ministry official, he was also the nephew of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She would have Harry’s head in a vice if he “falsely accused” her precious nephew of a crime unless the evidence was incontrovertible. The evidence itself was impeccable, but this Memory Charm business could be twisted by the defense until it smacked of possible magical coercion by an outside party. Which was, Harry admitted, entirely feasible. He simply felt in his gut that Bernard was guilty.

“All right, then,” Harry said as he repressed a sigh. “I’m going to need a list of all the places you’ve been in the past month.” That should be a long enough span of time to satisfy Bernard’s lawyers. Any Memory Charm issued prior to that would have had little effect on Bernard’s skimming tendencies.

“All… all places?” Bernard asked in a sickly tone. Harry nodded curtly, wondering what Bernard had to hide that was worse than the embezzlement they had already uncovered. The man swallowed hard. “Um… this won’t be made public, will it?”

Harry relaxed slightly. “Not unless it is pertinent to the case.” Most likely the man had something else to conceal—a mistress, illegal purchases, drug use… things any prudent man would prefer not to disclose. Harry slid a piece of parchment and a quill across the table to Bernard, who sighed in defeat and started writing.

Harry had discovered Bernard’s list to be rather tame. The man had a pretty boring life, actually. He spent most of his free time with the same group of friends, hanging out at a local pub and watching Quidditch on the new Wizardvision. He rarely made bets, drank little, and seemed quite conservative. Harry began to wonder why he had embezzled at all—Bernard did not seem to have expensive inclinations. He lived in a modest flat near the Ministry, bought nothing ostentatious, and had no bad habits. It was a conundrum. The only piece of the puzzle Harry had left to investigate drew him finally to a small street off the beaten path. Bernard had admitted to occasionally picking up a prostitute near a restaurant he and his friends frequented.

Harry had been unable to extract much information about the visits. Bernard had mentioned only that his prostitute of choice was blond with grey eyes. The man was extremely close-mouthed and absolutely refused to give Harry a name, stating only that the name was probably false and didn’t matter. Harry could only assume Bernard hoped the prostitute would not be called upon and that his secret would remain hidden from his friends and family.

It was, however, Harry’s job to leave no stone unturned. Thus he stood in his invisibility cloak beneath a tiny awning in a persistent drizzle at 11pm on a Wednesday night. He shivered as the growing chill seeped through his clothing and reflected that sometimes his job was not all it was cracked up to be. He would not trade it for the world, of course, but it made him feel better to complain, if only to himself.

Harry perked up when movement finally appeared across the street. Bernard had disclosed the location as that frequented by his blond paramour. He had not mentioned that the blond in question was a man. Harry blinked a few times to make sure his eyes were not playing tricks on him, but the person slouched against the opposite wall was every inch a male. Bernard’s close-mouthed silence suddenly made a lot more sense.

A small group of people left a nearby pub and headed down the narrow alley, approaching the waiting blond. The figure straightened slightly and arranged himself in a more seductive pose. There was something almost familiar about him, but Harry could not quite put a finger on it… He resolved to move closer and waited until the approaching footsteps muffled any sound he made crossing the street.

A woman stopped and made small talk with the blond as Harry quickly headed across the street. He had cast a Silencing Charm on his shoes, but it was always possible to slip on the wet pavement. He carefully ducked into a doorway and peered out to view his mark’s profile. The man turned slightly to chat up the woman and only Harry’s training kept him from gasping aloud in recognition.

Draco Malfoy!

For long moments, Harry’s mind spun back through time, remembering the Slytherin in school. He had been an unmitigated bastard. After the war the Malfoy assets had been seized to make reparations and Draco and his mum had dropped out of the wizarding world completely. Good riddance, Harry had thought at the time. Now, though… Had Malfoy been working as a rentboy all this time? How long had it been? Four years? Five?

He moved closer, hoping to hear the conversation between Malfoy and the girl, whose companions had paused and waited for her nearby, but it was over too quickly. She walked back to her cohorts and the group wandered down the street once more. Harry maintained his position near Malfoy and was rewarded a few minutes later when footsteps returned. Harry expected it to be the girl and was surprised to find it was one of her other friends. A bloke.

A brief price negotiation ensued, causing Harry’s brows to rise. He had not known how lucrative a career in prostitution could be, but perhaps Malfoy was a special case. He half-feared they would Disapparate, but instead Malfoy tossed his cigarette butt, turned, and walked a short distance down a nearby alley. The man followed, as did Harry.

A tiny awning marked a doorway and Malfoy opened it and courteously held it aside for his companion. Harry scowled as the door shut and waited, hoping he could find them inside the building. After what he hoped was an appropriate amount of time, he turned the door handle and eased open the weathered door. It creaked only slightly and Harry ducked inside before shutting it quietly. A short hallway and a set of stairs met his gaze, but the murmur of voices led him to the steps.

He hurried up soundlessly, sticking close to the wall to minimize creaking from the wooden steps. He shrank back when he caught sight of two pairs of feet as his head neared the third storey landing. Malfoy unlocked a door with a few quick spells that Harry memorized. Two were standard Locking Spells, but one was a bit trickier and probably contained a Malfoy twist, likely with an attached Dark Arts curse.

Harry reached into a pocket for the pair of Extendable Ears he carried, but he had no idea of the layout of the room beyond—the ear could be detected the moment he slipped it beneath the door. Besides, it was really no mystery what Malfoy and his guest were up to, was it? Although it sort of was to Harry. He wasn’t sure how two blokes would get it on. The more he thought about it, the warmer he became. To take his mind off of the idea, he seated himself across the hall and draped his cloak around himself.

It was a shorter wait than expected. Harry barely had time to acquire sore arse cheeks from the hard floor before the door opened and the two men appeared. Harry did not dare move, afraid the sound might give him away. He had positioned himself far enough away that they would not accidentally step on him when exiting.

“That was amazing,” the man murmured, clutching Malfoy in an almost tender fashion. Harry saw the blond roll his eyes over the man’s shoulder. “Can I see you again?”

“If you bring the Galleons, you can see me any time,” Malfoy purred and stroked one hand up the man’s spine. He shivered like a cat and Harry’s mouth went dry.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” the fellow promised. He pulled away and tried to kiss Malfoy, but the blond head tipped slightly and the man’s lips pressed into the smooth cheek instead. He chuckled. “Sorry, I forgot.”

“Forget again and you’ll wish you hadn’t,” Malfoy warned. His tone was teasing, but there was enough iron beneath it that the man stepped back. He swallowed hard and then waved awkwardly before turning and ducking down the stairs. Malfoy sighed heavily and leaned against the doorframe for a moment. Harry felt a flare of unwelcome pity. Malfoy no longer looked like an arrogant prat. He looked tired and worn and dejected. Harry wondered how low the Malfoys had sunk for Draco to have taken up such a profession. It had to have been drastic to force the pureblood into selling himself to strangers.

Malfoy turned abruptly and went back inside, closing the door softly. Harry got to his feet and departed, vowing to check into the Malfoys. He had completely forgotten the case that had driven him to the alley to begin with.

The news was grim. Lucius was dead—of course Harry had not missed that newsworthy event several years back, although now he felt almost guilty for his feelings of satisfaction at the time. Lucius had been a complete prick, but he had still been a father that seemed to care greatly for his son. Draco had probably taken his death hard.

Narcissa had dropped out of the social scene completely. The Ministry had swooped down on the Malfoy fortune even before Lucius’s death—he had died in Azkaban, after all—and the remaining Malfoys had spent untold Galleons trying to keep their home and their possessions, to no avail. Harry remembered feeling another flare of approval when Narcissa and Draco had been booted from Malfoy Manor. It served them right, he had thought.

The knowledge of where Draco had ended up made him nearly ill. Harry had not lifted a finger to stop the travesty of justice that had laid claim to the Malfoy fortune, and now a former schoolmate of his was selling himself to anyone with enough coin. Harry wondered what he would have done if the positions had been reversed. Would he stoop to prostitution?

Of course not. I have friends. They would take me in and help me get on my feet.

As expected, the knowledge only made him feel worse. Malfoy's “friends” had likely abandoned him the moment the Galleons disappeared. And where was Narcissa?

Several hours and a gigantic stack of papers disclosed no additional clues. It was as if Malfoy and his mother had disappeard completely from the wizarding world until Harry had spotted the blond in the alleyway. There was no help for it; he would have to spy on Malfoy again and try to determine what had become of his mother. Harry did not examine his reasons for wanting to do so. Because of the case was justification enough.

Malfoy was in the same place the next night. Harry’s invisibility cloak served him in good stead once more. This time Malfoy’s client was a young woman, although it was difficult to tell through the thick robes she hid beneath. Obviously this one had no wish for her identity to be disclosed. Harry could tell it was a woman by the way she walked, however. A delicate saunter of her hips betrayed her as she walked beside Malfoy to his room. Harry thought about dashing ahead of them and hurrying inside, but the thought of observing Malfoy in action, as it were, made him feel slightly nauseous.

She returned surprisingly quickly. So much so that Harry felt their negotiations must have gone sour, but she did not seem displeased. She waved to Malfoy as he leaned against the doorframe and smiled at her retreating form. Perhaps they had made an assignation for another day. Malfoy did not return to the street, instead retreating back into his flat. After waiting a few minutes, Harry turned the doorknob and pushed the portal open a handsbreadth. When no warning sounded, he pushed it open further and slipped inside. Malfoy was not in sight, so he shut the door quickly, taking care that the latch did not click.

The place was small, but tastefully decorated, if rather austere. A highbacked sofa sat against one wall, flanked with small wooden tables. Two comfortable looking chairs faced the sofa with a tea table between them. A small kitchen area was visible, with a round table large enough to seat two tucked into a space near the door.

Harry started when a sound reached his ears, but he quickly recognized it as the shower. He hurried to an open doorway and peeked inside, but the bedroom was empty. A huge bed dominated the room, romantically lit with floating fairy lights in pale green, accenting the dark green coverings on the bed. Slytherin to the end, Harry thought wryly.

Another door was open across from Harry and he walked quietly in that direction, driven by curiosity. What he saw froze him where he stood.

Malfoy was in the shower. Harry had expected a curtain, but the shower was enclosed in glass, giving him a full view of Malfoy’s lean body as he stood beneath the spray.

Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana, he thought in awe as he watched Malfoy soap his blond hair. Suds trailed in lazy rivulets over Malfoy’s neck and shoulders, sliding across lean ribs and an incredible arse before oozing down Malfoy’s long legs and joining the pool beneath his feet. Malfoy’s arm muscles flexed languidly and he turned to face Harry for a moment before continuing the motion and tipping his head beneath the spray to rinse.

Harry stared at Malfoy’s cock, fascinated by the pale curls and wondering how Malfoy would look fully erect. The thought made a delicious quiver ripple through his midsection. Bloody hell, no wonder people paid to have sex with him. He was fucking gorgeous. Harry would pay to have sex with him. The thought made his heart nearly trip out of his chest for a moment—a moment too long, as it turned out, because Malfoy finished rinsing his hair and turned away to fumble for the controls.

Harry fled, thinking Malfoy meant to turn off the water, but the sound continued as Harry returned to the central room. He let out a breath in relief and then spied a tiny desk in one corner. He hurried over and found it locked and warded. Before he could swear, he noticed a letter on top addressed to Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry snatched it up and committed the address to memory just as the shower shut off. He replaced the letter, hurried to the door, and departed.

Chapter Two

Narcissa Malfoy lived in a lovely cottage tucked away in a remote corner of Bath. The lane that led to her house was overgrown with gigantic trees that shaded the street and the immaculate sidewalks. Each property bordering the lane was closed off from prying eyes by huge stone or brick fences crawling with ivy or wisteria. The residences might have been small, but the area itself would have been far from cheap. It was the sort of place that demanded full time gardeners and at least one maid for upkeep.

Either that or house-elves, Harry amended and realized he had no idea what had happened to the Malfoy house-elves when the property had been seized. Had they been freed?

Harry lurked outside the wrought-iron front gates and peered at the quaint white cottage set far back into the property amidst a riotous selection of flowers. He bit his lip for a moment and wondered what the hell he was doing. This had nothing to do with the case—this was curiosity bordering on stalking. Like dozens of times before in his life, he wanted to know what Draco Malfoy was up to. It might have something to do with the case, he rationalized almost desperately. After all, Bernard had been a client of Malfoy’s.

“Are you going to come in, Mr. Potter, or do you plan to pace before my gates all afternoon?” Harry jumped when the voice issued from what seemed to be a standard Muggle speaker box nestled into the brick gatepost.

“Um… yes, thank you,” Harry said and mentally kicked himself. How the fuck was he going to explain this visit? He had not expected to go inside. The gates swung open soundlessly and Harry walked up the white gravel path to the front door, which also opened to admit him. Narcissa Malfoy sat on a velvet divan, looking as regal as ever in immaculate robes of aqua coloured silk. Her long pale hair had been pulled into a jewelled comb atop her head. If any grey dared show there, Harry could not find it. She looked as beautiful as ever and her resemblance to Draco was obvious. His features could have been stamped from hers, but for the eyes. Draco had apparently inherited his expressive orbs from Lucius, for Narcissa’s were shadowed and gave away nothing.

“Do sit down, Mr. Potter. To what do I owe this unexpected visit? Have I done something wrong?” She gasped suddenly and her blue eyes widened as Harry stepped forward nervously. “Has something happened to Draco?”

The panic in her voice was obvious and Harry hastened to reassure her. “No! No, he’s fine! I’m… not really here in an official capacity.”

She relaxed immediately and sank back into the cushions as Harry sat down opposite her on a plush settee. “Would you like something to drink?”

Harry shook his head. “No, thank you. Actually I would like to ask what you know about Memory Charms. Of the Darker variety.” Inspiration had, thankfully, struck through his panic.

“Can you be more specific? I am quite certain they teach you how to Obliviate at the Ministry.”

“Of course, but this one has even the Obliviators baffled. They cannot break it without severely damaging the subject’s mind. It does not seem to be a case of simple memory erasure—the man has no time lapses or moments that he cannot account for. According to him, he’s not missing any memories at all, but the Obliviators insist the signs of a Memory Charm are there.”

She nodded. “The obvious drawback to utilizing a Memory Charm—the traces are identifiable to the highly trained. I believe it is the residue of the modifier’s magical signature, especially if memories are implanted.”

“Implanted? Is that possible?”

She rolled her eyes. “It quite astounds me the wealth of information that is kept from public knowledge simply because the Ministry is afraid it will be used for nefarious purposes. Pretending Dark Magic does not exist will not help you to counter it, you know.”

“Sometimes knowledge of a spell doesn’t help counter it, either. There is no counter curse for Avada Kedavra, after all.”

“There are always exceptions. But for most spells there are reversals or counter measures.”

“Is there a counter measure for a Memory Modification Spell?”

She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “I am no expert on Memory Charms, Mr. Potter. Do you think because I was married to someone well-versed in the Dark Arts that I have this knowledge at my fingertips?”

Harry flushed and pulled at his forelock before he could stop the nervous gesture. He dropped his hand. “No, of course not. I… I’m really not sure why I came, actually. I think I was mostly curious to see how you and Draco fared. Is he here?”

Narcissa’s expression became positively glacial. “Not at the moment.” Harry realized that with a casual question the reason behind his visit had become suspect. He had nearly forgotten how dangerous it was to deal with Slytherins. When he left, she would be tracking over every moment of their conversation, probably in a Pensieve. Fuck. Harry got to his feet.

“Thank you for seeing me, at any rate. I apologize for disturbing you.”

“How did you find me, Mr. Potter? This address is not common knowledge; I value my privacy these days.”

Harry smiled enigmatically, pleased that he had recovered enough aplomb to prevent a guilty flush from staining his cheeks. “I am a passable Auror, Mrs. Malfoy.”

She laughed and the sound startled Harry. Narcissa had a genuinely beautiful laugh. It made him wonder what a real laugh from her son would sound like.

“Good day, Mr. Potter.”

“Goodbye.” With an awkward bow in her direction, Harry made his way out, leaving her alone in her expensively furnished cottage. He wondered if she ever left the place.”

~~O~~

Draco towelled his hair and strolled into his tiny living room. He paused suddenly, catching a whiff of a strange scent in the air. What the hell? He sniffed and tried to identify it. It was a slightly musky, masculine odour, barely detectable and almost tantalizingly familiar. He frowned. It could not have been left by his last client… her scent lingered, as well, an overindulgent lavender perfume. This was… something else.

Draco walked to the door and snatched it open, quite uncaring that he wore nothing but a green towel around his shoulders. Most of the people in the building knew what he did for a living and none of them cared. The hallway was empty, regardless, but Draco noted that his door was unlocked. Had he locked it when the girl left? Damn. He couldn’t remember. He shut it and fetched his wand before casting a Locking Spell and looking around the room carefully. Had someone been here? Nothing looked out of place.

He made a quick circuit of the room, shrugged, and went to dress. Visits to his mother always required special care.

Draco Apparated directly to her garden. She spent most of her time there these days, weather permitting. True to form, she was pruning the peach-tinted roses with her wand. Draco had hired a gardener to maintain the lawn and the plants, but she insisted on caring for the roses herself.

“Hello, Mother,” he said and walked forward to kiss her on the cheek. She slid her arm around his waist and pulled him close for a brief hug before turning back to her flowers.

“Hello, darling. Are you staying for dinner this evening or just popping in for a brief visit?” The words were innocuous, but Draco picked up on the reprimand beneath them.

“I would stay longer if I could, Mother,” he said dryly. “You know I have to work now.”

Her lips set in a grim line and he bristled, expecting another tirade against the bloody Ministry and their greedy, underhanded snatching of the Malfoy fortune. Surprisingly, she said nothing of the sort.

“Your friend Harry Potter stopped by earlier today.”

Draco blinked at her, uncertain that he had heard her correctly. Friend? Potter?

“Harry Potter?” he repeated stupidly.

“He asked about you.”

Draco felt a cold mask slip over his features. What the fuck did the Super Auror want now? Had he not done enough damage to Draco’s life? Potter and the Merlin-fucked Ministry he worked for? “How did he find this address?”

“I assumed you told him.”

Draco glared. “I haven’t seen him in years! What did he want?”

“He asked me about Memory Charms, of all things.”

Draco’s blood froze and his brows shot upward. He barely stopped himself from blurting a panicked question and schooled his features into impartiality, aware that his mother watched him closely. He managed a normal tone of voice. “Why?”

She shrugged and snipped another rose to add to the basketful at her feet. “Something to do with a case, apparently. He asked specifically about Memory Modification Charms.”

“What did you tell him?”

She looked at him sharply. “I have no intention of helping Harry Potter and his Ministry with anything, Draco. You of all people should know that. I am curious, however, as to why he sought me out. You are certain you have not seen him in years?”

“Positive. I have not even bumped into him on accident. We no longer travel in the same circles.” Draco kept the bitterness out of his voice, although his heart clenched at the unfairness. Potter was now the one attending high class social functions while Draco lurked in the shadows and whored himself out for every precious coin.

“Do you have anything to do with this case of his?”

Fuck. Memory Modification Charms. It was more than likely. “Not that I am aware of,” he said truthfully.

His mother made a humming noise, but said nothing other than, “You did not answer my question earlier.”

“Yes, I’ll stay for dinner.” His regular client was not scheduled until later in the evening. Draco should have enough time to make it home and prepare, as long as his mother did not insist on dragging out dessert.

Years of habit allowed him to carry on a conversation with his mother as they ate, but his mind was occupied with thoughts of Harry Potter. He had not even thought of the Auror in years. Bloody hell, if Potter was sniffing around now, it might be time for Draco to pull up stakes and find a different location for his activities. Better that than have the Auror put a crimp in Draco’s business. He needed the money. Fucking Potter.

~~O~~

Harry staked out Malfoy’s location until the wee hours of the morning with no sign of the blond. He even ventured into the hallway and listened at the door, but apparently Malfoy had gone out for the evening. Harry gnawed his lip and worried that his visit to Narcissa had tipped off Malfoy to Harry’s presence. Still, he could not have guessed that Harry would be watching from the cover of his invisibility cloak, could he?

Frustrated, Harry finally went home and crawled into bed trying not to think of the blond naked, angry, and writhing beneath him. He hissed and tossed himself off, wondering if Malfoy had cast a spell on him. It seemed he could think of nothing else after seeing him in the shower.

He had better luck the next night. Malfoy was in his usual spot and Harry felt an almost crushing sense of relief. He had feared the blond would flee, forcing Harry to track him. Bloody hell, Malfoy was dressed like… well, like a high-priced rentboy. He wore low-cut trousers that nearly exposed his pubic hair and a pale shirt that revealed a substantial amount of flat abdomen and smooth chest. Harry’s cock rose at the sight and he cursed himself for letting Malfoy affect him so easily. He watched as the blond lit a cigarette and then let it burn itself slowly out. Clients seemed to be slim pickings. Several groups walked by but no one stopped, even though Malfoy drew several interested glances.

Malfoy flipped the cigarette to the pavement and trod on it as he levered himself away from his pose against the wall. Harry felt something constrict as he realized Malfoy might be calling it a night. Giving in to a sudden impulse, Harry shrugged off his invisibility cloak and stashed it behind a nearby rubbish heap.

Resolutely, he marched across the street and straight up to Malfoy, who watched him approach expressionlessly.

“Potter. What a delightful surprise.” The drawl was sarcastically familiar.

“You don’t seem all that surprised,” Harry replied.

A noncommittal grunt was Malfoy’s response. His shoulders rose and fell, drawing Harry’s attention to the pale skin of Malfoy’s chest. His shirt was held together at the throat with a small grouping of silver links. A swell of lust rocked Harry, causing him to grit his teeth.

“How much for the evening, Malfoy?” Harry asked conversationally.

A huge grin split Malfoy’s lips. “You can’t be serious.”

“What if I am?”

Malfoy laughed, but it was not the beautiful sound Harry had longed to hear. Instead it was the same cold, bitter laugh he had heard dozens of times. “Fuck you, Potter. I’ll be damned if I accept an offer from you only to be hauled off to your precious Ministry. Haven’t you taken enough from me? Why don’t you just bugger off?”

“I won’t arrest you.”

Malfoy pushed past him, but Harry grabbed his arm and whirled him around.

“I’m serious, Malfoy.” His voice was rough with need and Harry inwardly cringed to hear it.

“Fuck you, Potter! You expect me to believe the Holy Savior of the Wizarding World is interested in a gay rendezvous with a former Death Eater? How stupid do you think I am? Do you plan to Obliviate me afterward to keep me from running to the papers with that ugly little story?”

Harry’s jaw set. “I think you might be the expert on Obliviation, Malfoy.”

The grey eyes flashed although the colour was impossible to see in the darkness. Malfoy’s lips twisted into a snarl. “The truth comes out. Mother told me of your little visit, Potter. What the fuck do you really want?”

What Harry really wanted would be more than obvious if he leaned into Malfoy just a bit more. He stepped closer, wanting, but not quite willing to betray his desire. He raised a hand and splayed it over Malfoy’s breastbone. He was startled at how cold Malfoy’s skin felt—an obvious drawback of being scantily clad on cool nights. Malfoy’s face drew closer to Harry’s and he held his breath as the blond’s lips neared his neck. Disappointment flickered when he felt nothing except a ghosting of air over his skin before Malfoy drew back.

“How long have you been stalking me, Potter?”

“What?”

“You’ve been in my flat.” It was not a question.

“Once,” Harry admitted. Malfoy shoved him away hard and then his fist flew out and slammed into Harry’s jaw, knocking him on his arse.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” Malfoy’s voice was thick with hatred. He spun on a heel and fled.

“That went well,” Harry muttered as he got to his feet and massaged his aching jaw.

~~O~~

Draco paced his flat in agitation. Fucking Potter! He rubbed his raw knuckles and grimaced at the memory of slamming them into the bastard’s jaw. He should have broken Potter’s nose instead—it could have become his signature. Draco’s eyes scanned his flat nervously. Potter had been here. Draco now recognized Potter’s cologne as the elusive scent. What had the Auror been searching for? Obviously he had discovered Mother’s address and gone to question her. Memory Charms. Fuck and double fuck.

He threw himself into a chair and pulled out his wand nervously. He triple checked the locks on the door and then buried his face in his hands, fearing he might completely and utterly fall apart. He had known the Ministry might get involved eventually. It was nearly a guarantee in his line of work and it was possible he had gotten careless. He had half-expected the Ministry, but not Potter. Never Potter.

How much for the evening, Malfoy? Draco drew a shaking hand across his brow. Bloody hell, the prat could not have been serious!

Draco ventured out an hour later, assuming the Auror to have fled with his tail between his legs. To Draco’s horror, the idiot was still there, leaning against the wall in Draco’s usual spot. He ground his teeth and wondered if a permanent Hex would rid him of the Auror, but he would most likely just deflect it and laugh at Draco for the attempt.

“What’s the quickest way to be rid of you, Potter? Besides Avada Kedavra and believe me that is tempting.”

“You know the answer to that, Malfoy,” Potter said in a teasing tone.

Draco glared and thought about giving the Auror a matching bruise on the other side of his jaw.

“I already gave you my answer. Will you please leave?” Draco tacked on the please to appeal to Potter’s Gryffindor sensibility. Apparently Potter had misplaced it.

“I know that Bernard Carversham is a client of yours. I also know that he pays you one hundred Galleons per session, which I found to be outrageous.”

Draco leaned against the wall next to Potter. His thoughts whirled. Bernard Carversham. One of Draco’s regulars. The man had become rather obsessed and met with him at least once a week, usually more. Draco realized he had not seen poor Bernard for some time.

“Bernard, eh? What happened to him? I thought he was one of your Ministry clowns.”

“Not mine. He’s in a spot of trouble,” Potter said noncommittally. Draco nodded, suddenly piecing together Potter’s sudden resurgence in his life. Bernard had talked. He reached into his pocket and shook out a Muggle cigarette before lighting it with the tip of his wand and taking a single puff. He detested the filthy habit, but it had opened conversations more than once. He hoped the smoke would drive Potter away.

“Pity. He always paid,” Draco said.

“I’ll double his price,” Potter offered.

Thankfully Draco was not puffing on his cigarette or he might have choked. “You are an imbecile.”

He pushed away from the wall and Disapparated. He spent the rest of the evening in a dimly lit London club where he finally succumbed to the advances of a persistent auburn-haired witch. She bore an unpleasant resemblance to Ginny Weasley, so Draco charged her double. He allowed her to make him breakfast the next morning, and then Apparated directly back to his flat, where he decided to spend the rest of the day looking for a new residence.

Potter was ridiculously persistent. “Five hundred Galleons.”

“What do you really want, Potter? If you want to know about Bernard Carversham, perhaps you should just ask.”

“Did you use a Memory Charm on Bernard?”

“Did he tell you I was the best fuck of his life?”

“Eventually, yes.”

“Then why would I need to Memory Charm him?”

“Perhaps he was getting too chummy. Maybe he wanted a relationship.”

Draco snorted. “Are you accusing him of stalking? Is that not rather pot/kettle?”

Potter looked away. “I’ll give you seven hundred Galleons.”

“For one hour?” Draco was amused.

“For one night.”

“Go away, Potter.” He had stopped looking for a new flat. Other than the Auror’s never-ending presence outside his flat scaring away potential customers, Potter had basically left him alone. Draco was curious to see how far Potter would go with his increasingly ridiculous offers.

~~O~~

Harry began to hate himself more than he had ever hated Draco Malfoy. His wayward desire had grown into a full-blown mania. The foolish impulse to buy Malfoy for one night had turned into more than want. It was now a craving, an obsession, a ludicrous, mindless fascination. He could think of little else. He needed to own the blond. Malfoy was for sale to everyone but him and it was driving him fucking wild.

He no longer cared about Bernard Carversham, or the case, or the bloody Memory Charms. He merely used them as an excuse to get close to Malfoy, who acted like his offers were the most ridiculous things he had ever heard.

Finally his resolve snapped.

“I’ll give you five thousand Galleons for one night.”

Chapter Three

Potter was insane.

It was the only explanation. Five thousand Galleons! That would pay Draco’s expenses for a year. He would be an absolute fool to turn it down and Potter knew it. Draco set his jaw angrily. Fuck.

“All right, Potter. Tomorrow night. I expect dinner first, so I will meet you here and you will escort me to a place of my choosing. Try not to dress like an idiot. Or an Auror .”

Potter nodded soberly.

**

Draco spent most of the day cursing Potter and his overwhelming stupidity. Five thousand Galleons. What the hell was he thinking? If Potter’s intent was nothing more than an elaborate setup, Draco would at least make him jump through every hoop imaginable. He planned to extract his pound of flesh from Potter before the hammer fell.

He met Potter at the designated spot and was reluctantly impressed to find the Auror dressed in well-tailored robes of soft-looking cream. The collar stood up stiffly and made Potter’s hair look blacker than midnight. He offered Draco his arm with a sheepish grin . Draco wanted to gnaw his lip with nervousness , but he merely took Potter’s arm and Apparated them to a very expensive restaurant in wizarding Dover. Potter had combed his hair well over the famous scar, likely hoping to hide it and remain anonymous. Draco was willing to play along—outwardly.

They ordered dinner and Potter tried to make small talk. Now that he had made the inevitable decision to sleep with Potter, Draco found himself evaluating the man with new eyes. The hero was almost ridiculously fit. Even with his stupid hair and his stupid scar and his stupid ability to make Draco feel like a blight on the face of the , Potter’s smile was very nice and lit up like a Lumos across the table. Why shouldn’t he be happy? Draco thought sardonically. He finally got his way, as usual. The hero wins. Once again he had bested Draco, although this time it was with cold, hard cash and a ludicrous amount of persistence.

The meal was exquisite but Draco could manage no more than a few bites. He was hellishly nervous and the terror grew exponentially with every moment. His hour of reckoning was at hand. He pushed his plate away, despite the knowledge that dragging out the meal would prolong his impending execution.

“Are you all right?” Potter asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Draco nodded and gulped his wine to fight nausea. He would get through this. Somehow . Potter bit his lip and looked worried as he studied Draco’s face. Draco stared at him and found the expression strangely enchanting . Even though he expected Potter’s offer to be part of an elaborate scheme, he did not think the Auror had enough acting skill to pull off his current attitude.

“Do you want to… go for a walk or something? Get some fresh air?” Potter offered.

Draco felt almost ridiculously grateful and he scowled to cover it as he shoved his chair back. “Whatever you want, Potter. I’ll be outside.”

He did not wait for the Auror, but fled for the street where he leaned against the wall and drank in deep breaths of the cool night air. It was beginning to rain. Potter appeared after paying the bill and he seemed almost surprised to see Draco waiting . The Auror cast a quick Umbrella Charm and motioned for Draco to precede him. Draco walked down the damp street and Potter fell into step beside him.

“You seem different than usual,” Potter noted aloud .

Draco attempted a smirk and failed miserably. “How so, Potter?”

“I don’t know. I’ve seen you with your other clients and you are always so polished and confident. Tonight you seem… out of sorts. Is it because you’re with me?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s because I’m with you, Potter. With my other clients there are no hidden agendas. I know exactly what they want and I give it to them. I have no idea what you want.”

“I want the same thing they want, Malfoy. How can I convince you of that?”

Draco shook his head and then Potter grabbed his arm to halt him before pushing him against the wall, but gently . Potter leaned in and his face loomed closer. Oh Merlin, he means to kiss me, Draco thought with a frisson of panic . He turned his head at the last moment and Potter’s lips grazed his cheek.

Draco hissed . “No kissing, Potter. Don’t you know anything about whores?”

Potter did not pause, but allowed his lips to travel over Draco’s jaw to his ear.

“All right. No kissing on the lips,” Potter said. “But everywhere else is fair game, right ?” Draco felt soft kisses pressed into his throat. Potter’s hands slid over his chest and ribs before clenching in the material of Draco’s shirt. “Bloody hell, I want you so much .”

Draco found it hard to breathe. He tried to dredge up his rentboy personae, but it was difficult to concentrate with his pulse racing.

“Do you prefer your place or mine?” Potter asked, moving closer, trapping Draco against the wall with his body and giving him no doubt whatsoever that the Auror was aroused.

“Yours,” Draco decided impulsively. “You know where I live. Apparently you have been inside.” He could not resist the dig at Potter’s less than ethical behaviour, although he supposed Potter was not particularly concerned about his virtue if he was willing to seek out and hire Draco for a one-off.

Potter’s lips halted on Draco’s neck, but he recovered quickly. “Fair enough.”

Before Draco could suggest a different course of action, he felt the lurch of Apparition and staggered slightly when the wall no longer supported his back. Potter’s arms slid around him and held him up . Draco felt a new sort of panic as he looked around and took in Potter’s domain . It suddenly seemed like a grave error to put himself in the lion’s den where everything was unfamiliar. Draco’s need for control began to scream like a banshee . Potter’s lips fastened onto his neck once more and his hands moved over him possessively.

“You feel so good, so incredibly good. Merlin, I want you to suck me off ,” Potter said huskily.

Draco was nearly paralyzed for a moment. Suck him off? Potter drew back and looked at him quizzically, probably wondering why Draco had stopped breathing .

“Malfoy?”

Draco shook off his stasis and tried to get a grip on himself. He needed to regain his wits or he might as well Apparate straight to Azkaban and ask them to lock him up.

“All right, Potter,” he said and swallowed hard. He forced his hands to move and they crawled as slowly as possible over the soft cream coloured robes and down to Potter’s waistband. He tugged on the metal buckle and listened to the clicks as each circle slipped across the silver bar . Potter’s breathing sounded ragged in Draco’s ear and the Auror’s hands stilled on his shoulders . Draco loosened the belt completely and then waited as long as he dared before moving his fingers to the buttons that would free Potter’s hard length from its confinement.

The buttons were stubborn, forcing Draco to finesse them though the holes while his knuckles dragged over Potter’s erection, earning a gasp for every touch. Draco hoped the Auror would come without the necessity of doing what he requested . When the trousers were fully unfastened, Draco loosened them and allowed them to fall. They slid to Potter’s knees with a whisper of sound.

Draco dared not look at Potter’s face—or anything else. He kept his eyes closed and his mind fixed on the task at hand, holding his breath as he tucked two fingers into the waistband of Potter’s pants. He pulled the material out and then pushed it down, freeing Potter’s erection before he reluctantly opened his eyes. Draco’s gaze fixated on it immediately and his eyes widened as he took in Potter’s glory. Bloody hell, did the bastard have to be better at everything? It was totally fucking unfair.

Potter’s cock was perfection. It was smooth and straight and beautiful, possibly longer and definitely thicker than Draco’s. It seemed suddenly enormous, considering what Potter wanted him to do.

“Is something wrong?” Potter asked, snapping Draco’s gaze upward. He met the Auror’s eyes without thinking and was surprised at the expression on Potter’s face. It was uncertain and almost nervous, and so foreign to Draco’s experience of Potter that he soaked it in for a moment in bemusement. Potter was nervous? He felt the fingers tighten on his shoulders and forced a smile.

“No, Potter. Nothing is wrong.” For some reason, seeing Potter less than confident steadied him somewhat. Without thinking too hard about the action, Draco slowly lowered himself to his knees. Salazar help me, he thought fervently as he opened his mouth and tasted Potter’s cock. The moan that issued from the Auror’s throat helped. Draco moved his lips lower, taking the length of Potter as deeply as he could manage—which wasn’t far before his gag reflex kicked in.

He pulled back abruptly and accidentally dragged his teeth over Potter’s cock with the movement .

“Fuck, Malfoy!” Potter cried and his hand jerked in Draco’s hair.

“Sorry,” Draco said and flushed scarlet . He felt completely out of his element. If he could not get a grip on himself and pass himself off as an experienced professional, the game was up. The last thing he needed was Potter finding out he had been Obliviating his clients and casting Memory Charms to make them think they’d had the best sex of their lives. In truth, Draco had never had sex with any of them. He received endless enjoyment from the knowledge that he was a virgin, despite thousands of Galleons in his account testifying to the contrary. He had been tempted a few times, but feared the complication of becoming involved with one of his clients in that way. What if he enjoyed it? Or worse, what if he became emotionally invested, or even more foolishly fell in love?

Now, however, his lack of actual experience could be his undoing.

“Maybe it’s not the best idea to tempt you into unmanning me ,” Potter murmured and tugged Draco to his feet by judiciously pulling his hair. Draco winced. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

Draco’s moment of relief at the cessation of the blow job turned into a block of lead in the pit of his stomach. Bedroom. His virginity was about to be sacrificed, one way or another, to Harry Potter. The irony was not lost on him.

Potter toed off his shoes and left his trouser’s and pants in a heap on the floor. His hand looped over Draco’s and pulled him down a short hallway to a predominantly burgundy bedroom. It was not quite Gryffindor red, but doubtless comforted the Auror with the similarity. The lights, which had come on automatically, were too bright. Potter dimmed them with a word and then turned to Draco.

“How do you normally do this?” Potter asked, sounding somewhat uncertain. “Do you undress or should I…?”

“Whatever you prefer, Potter. It’s your Knut .” Draco was gratified to find that his voice was steady, giving no sign that Potter’s words had shaken him.

“Then I… I want to do it,” Potter said. Draco felt a flash of relief . He was afraid his hands would shake obscenely if he tried to unfasten his clothing .

Potter turned toward him and Draco tried not to notice the way Potter’s perfect cock jutted from beneath the still-buttoned, pale robes. Potter’s hands reached up to Draco’s collar and began to push the tiny black buttons through the holes. There were quite a lot of them and Draco was surprised to find his nervousness turning into impatience . Even so, Potter maintained his slow pace until Draco’s robes gaped open and then he slid them gently over Draco’s shoulders. He expected Potter to allow them to drop to the floor, but the Auror lifted them away and folded them carefully before placing them on a corner of the bed .

He turned back to Draco and smiled ruefully before starting on the lacing that held Draco’s shirt together. “It’s sort of like unwrapping a present, isn’t it?” Potter murmured .

Draco wished he could think of a witty comeback, but his mental facilities seemed to have locked up the minute his focus had narrowed to Potter’s long fingers.

~~*~~

Harry waited for Malfoy to speak, but for once the blond had nothing to say. In fact, Malfoy had been oddly out of character all evening. He seemed nervous to the point of terror. At first Harry had thought it to be an act, but now he was not so certain. He tugged the shirt gently over Malfoy’s head, slowly revealing the perfect abdomen, smooth chest, and long, muscular arms. The silk turned Malfoy’s platinum hair into a halo of static and Harry smiled as he folded the shirt and placed it atop Malfoy’s robes. He reached up to smooth down the erratic strands and met Malfoy’s eyes for a moment. They reminded him of the huge, terrified eyes of a wild creature. Why was he so nervous? Certainly he had done this dozens, probably hundreds, of times? Was Malfoy really expecting Harry to spring some elaborate trap?

He put his hands on Malfoy’s shoulders and allowed his thumbs to trace over the hollows between chest and shoulder muscles before sweeping over the frail-seeming collarbones. Harry’s fingers curved around the back of Malfoy’s neck and his thumbs caressed the line of his throat before moving over the straight jaw line. Fuck, but he was beautiful. The mere act of touching him was better than any of the fantasies Harry’s fevered mind had concocted recently. He wished he could kiss the lips that were currently stretched into a thin line. Instead he leaned forward and pressed a kiss on the tip of Malfoy’s nose.

“Don’t,” Malfoy breathed and Harry pulled back to find the grey eyes shuttered. A flush was faintly visible, covering Malfoy’s cheeks. Harry was glad he had only dimmed the lights and not dispelled them completely. He wanted to watch every nuance of expression.

“You said kissing was permitted everywhere but your lips,” Harry replied quietly.

A scowl wrinkled Malfoy’s brow and Harry was almost relieved at the return of a more familiar expression. The quiet Malfoy had been making him somewhat nervous. The blond huffed a breath that wafted over Harry’s face in a flutter of warmth that made him want to lean forward and taste the flavours hinted at by the scent—spice and wine and something richer. He wondered how much Malfoy would charge for a kiss .

“Fine, Potter. If you must indulge your odd kinks …”

“Nose kissing is hardly a kink. Besides, you have a very kissable nose.” He placed another on the tip and then followed the bridge of Malfoy’s nose up to the crease that had formed between the grey eyes. Harry kissed Malfoy’s patrician brow and stopped at one temple to feel Malfoy’s heartbeat thudding against his lips. It was slower than Harry had expected, given the blond’s apparent nervousness.

His hands left Malfoy’s neck and slid down over the pale chest, pausing briefly to circle Malfoy’s nipples with his thumbs. They were hard nubs, probably due more to the chill of the room than excitement. Malfoy’s skin already felt cool to the touch. Harry suspected he wanted nothing more than for Harry to finish so that he could escape, but Harry had no intention of rushing. For the price he had paid, he intended to take his bloody sweet time and savour every moment .

He moved his hands lower, amazed at the hard, flat plane of Malfoy’s abdomen. He wondered how the blond kept so fit given his current occupation . The question was irrelevant; nothing mattered at the moment except the feel of Malfoy beneath his hands . Harry’s fingers tucked into the waistband of Malfoy’s trousers—a tight fit, but worth the pinch as he pulled Malfoy’s pelvis against him. His erection pressed into Malfoy’s groin and he drew in a breath when he realized Malfoy was not at all aroused. Shit. He supposed he should not have been surprised considering how strangely nervous Malfoy had been acting, but it was a bit disappointing. He had hoped the blond would feel something in response to Harry’s obvious desire .

He quelled his disappointment with a surge of determination. He quickly unfastened Malfoy’s trousers and pushed them down gently, followed by the pants. His hands followed the material all the way down the long legs and held them open while Malfoy removed his feet. Harry kept his eyes fixed on his task until he straightened and folded the trousers to place them with the rest of Malfoy’s clothes. He did the same with the dark boxers and only then allowed himself to look at Malfoy. His gaze travelled from the slender feet up over calves and thighs until they stopped where the blond curls cradled Malfoy’s nice—very nice—cock. Harry tore at the buttons of his own clothing, suddenly impatient. He did not quite dare to meet Malfoy’s eyes, uncertain what expression he would find there. Embarrassment? Disdain?

He finished ripping at his shirt buttons and yanked the material over his head before tossing it haphazardly aside. He risked a glance at Malfoy’s face and saw nothing there; his visage might have been carved from marble. Harry sighed. At least there was no sneer. He moved forward again and slowly dropped to his knees in front of the blond. Without considering his actions for more than a moment , he pressed his lips fully against Malfoy’s cock. Thank Merlin, he thought when he felt it twitch beneath his lips—it felt like satin. He opened his mouth to flick the tip of his tongue over the soft flesh while his hands rose to touch the underside. His fingertips moved over the vein that stretched and grew into a hard ridge as Malfoy’s length thickened and rose.

Harry risked a glance upward and swallowed hard at the sight of Malfoy’s transfixed stare. Unacknowledged tension loosened its tight grip somewhere in Harry’s gut and he relaxed slightly. That was the reaction he had been hoping for. He nearly gasped as the pads of Malfoy’s ice-cold fingers touched his shoulder—to steady him? Encouraged, Harry moved to take Malfoy’s hardness completely into his mouth while keeping his eyes locked on Malfoy’s dark orbs. Merlin, he never imagined sucking another man’s cock would be so thrilling. Then again, Malfoy was not simply “another man”; he had been Harry’s obsession long before fascination had turned into lust.

He turned his attention to the task at hand, suddenly determined to make the blond forget everyone that had come before. Harry wanted to wipe out the memory of every other man—and woman—that had dared to touch Draco Malfoy. He closed his eyes and took Malfoy as deep as he could bear, earning a soft cry for his effort and the minute tightening of fingers on his shoulder. Yes, like that, he thought . Fuck, the feel of Malfoy’s curls against his face and the scent of soap, cologne, and something heady and distinctly Malfoy—it was brilliant. Harry sucked eagerly and longed to touch his own dripping cock, but the night was young. He kept his hands on the blond, fondling the taut testicles and touching every bit of skin within reach. Mine, he thought suddenly. At least for tonight, you’re all mine.

~~*~~

Draco stared when Potter dropped to his knees. He barely suppressed a cry of shock when warm lips touched his previously-uninterested cock. Bloody fucking hell! A yearning surge shuddered through him and he felt his prick stir with sudden interest as Potter’s tongue trailed over the top while warm fingers explored the underside.

The emerald eyes rose suddenly and locked with his. It was difficult to breathe as a sense of unreality assailed him. Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Savior of the Wizarding World, the Vanquisher of Voldemort was sucking his cock. Draco’s knees threatened to give way, so he put out a hand to steady himself. His fingertips pressed into Potter’s shoulder as lightly as possible. It was like touching a hot cauldron; the Auror was a bloody furnace.

Potter finally looked away, breaking the intense gaze, and Draco thankfully closed his eyes. The heat of Potter’s mouth took him in completely and Draco bit down on a moan. A soft cry escaped and it seemed to inflame Potter, who redoubled his effort. Draco had no idea if the Auror was experienced or not—all he knew was that it felt incredible. He gave up coherent thought in favour of savouring every flick of Potter’s tongue and every brush of his fingers. It was hot and wet and utterly delightful. Merlin, surely Potter would stop soon? He would stop and laugh and Draco would have to Crucio him.

But Potter did not stop. Draco’s fingers twined in the thick black hair, urging him on, but taking care not to distract the Auror by tugging . Potter’s hair was surprisingly soft considering it looked like a home for sparrows most of the time. He barely had time to register the random thought before Potter’s brilliant mouth eradicated coherency. Oh Merlin, he was going to… oh yes, yes, fuck, he was…

Draco nearly bit through his bottom lip to suppress a shout as he came explosively—straight down the throat of the Ministry’s Paragon of Virtue. Shudders careened through him, seeming to go on forever. Potter’s mouth stayed fixed in place until Draco thought he might collapse from the aftermath of such a spectacular release, and then the Auror pulled away to plant a kiss against Draco’s abdomen. It was a strangely tender gesture and it disturbed Draco more than it should have. His fingers were wrapped tightly in Potter’s thick hair and he noted the Auror’s arms twined around his hips, holding him tightly. Potter’s cheek rested over Draco’s navel and he said, “I think I need a thicker carpet.”

Draco stared down at him and Potter glanced up with a grin. His lips were red and his green eyes seemed ridiculously bright, probably because he had shed his spectacles somewhere along the way. He looked strange without them, but far more handsome than Draco would have expected. He decided he was merely feeling euphoric after the sterling blow job.

“You do this often enough to warrant a new carpet ?” Draco asked dryly and then thought about cutting out his own tongue. What did he care if Potter gave out blow jobs seven days a week?

“No, but I might consider taking it up as a hobby,” Potter replied .

A flare of something—not jealousy—flashed through Draco and he scowled. “I’m sure the recipients of your talent will be more than pleased.” He shut his eyes tightly after issuing the bitter-sounding statement. Note for future reference: do not speak after orgasm. At. All. Ever. He detached his hands from Potter’s hair with effort. The strands seemed to want to keep him in place.

“Only one recipient,” Potter said as he got to his feet. “For as long I can afford you.”

Draco ignored that, but he could not suppress the flush that crept into his cheeks. He could only hope it was lost in the colour already present from their activities. Potter tugged at his hand, drawing him toward the bed. Draco felt almost languid enough that the movement did not panic him. Almost.

He allowed the Auror to ease him onto the bed after dragging back the thick blankets. The sheets were cold against Draco’s heated skin and he shivered slightly. Potter noticed and crawled over him to lay his molten form over Draco like a Warming Charm. Potter’s erection dug into his groin, but it was not unpleasant. Hot lips nibbled at his neck until he thought he might bear the mark forever.

“Don’t mar the merchandise, Potter,” Draco muttered and then gasped when teeth replaced the soft lips and bit down gently. The bite loosened before it became painful.

“All right, Malfoy,” Potter said and kissed the tender spot gently. His lips moved as he muttered a spell and then Draco felt cold wetness encircle his nether opening, assisted by Potter’s fingers. His tension returned like a slap in the face. “Hey,” Potter murmured in a soothing tone. “Hey, it’s okay, I won’t hurt you . I promise. Um… you can top if you prefer.”

Fuck. Yes, of course he would prefer, but he sure as hell could not admit that fact to Potter. For all he knew, Potter might have been shagged a thousand times. Draco knew it was far better to lie back and take it than expose his dreadful lack of experience. He swallowed and forced himself to relax.

“It’s fine, Potter. Your Knut, remember?”

Potter scowled and his lips drew into a thin line. “Yes, I remember.” With that, Potter inserted a finger—none too gently. Draco could not suppress a gasp.

“Salazar, perhaps you should withhold your promises, Potter!”

“Shit. I’m sorry. I thought you would be…”

Used to it? Draco’s lip curled sardonically, but he nodded. “I normally top, so it’s been some time,” he said lamely.

“I’ll be more careful,” Potter said.

Draco called upon every iota of self-control he had ever possessed. Luckily, there were many years of memories to call upon. Not surprisingly, sitting through an agonizing meal with a room full of Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort had been excellent preparation for remaining still under anal penetration by the Vanquisher of said Dark Lord. It was painful and terrifying and altogether too intense for comfort .

Only when Potter was fully sheathed did Draco realize the Auror was shaking nearly as badly. Sweat covered them both and Draco almost laughed, wondering if it could possibly be worth the effort.

“Merlin,” Potter said. “Bloody hell, you’re so incredibly tight. You’re amazing. I need… oh, I need to move, but I’m afraid I’ll lose it.”

“That’s sort of the point, isn’t it, Potter?” Draco asked and was somewhat surprised to manage a dry tone.

Potter chuckled. “I suppose. I just want this to be… memorable.”

“I assure you I will never forget it .”

“I wish I could kiss you right now,” Potter said, underscoring Draco’s heartfelt words. Should he live to be two hundred, he would never lose the image of Harry Potter hovering over him like a dark angel, black hair tipped in a halo from the dim lighting, glistening with sweat and gazing down at him with an expression Draco had never seen on anyone’s face before. If he had been a bigger fool, he would have sworn it was adoration.

Before Draco could formulate a response to Potter’s words, the Auror moved in earnest, sending a completely new wave of unpleasant sensation tearing through his insides. He thanked Merlin he did not actually do this for a living because he would rather marry some old, rich, grotesquely fat acquaintance of his mother’s. Several of them had, in fact, asked for that very thing once the Malfoys’ financial state had become common knowledge.

After a few strokes he was at the point of screaming at Potter to hurry the fuck up already, and then something changed. Draco’s eyes widened and he jolted upward with a gasp, nearly cracking the Auror in the forehead with the unexpected motion.

“What the hell was that?” Draco asked.

“What?” Potter countered intelligently. He looked dazed and Draco realized he had been lost in a Draco-induced fog. The knowledge gave him a heady feeling for a moment and then Potter continued, “Um… was it good or bad?”

“Good,” Draco admitted reluctantly. Potter’s white teeth bit into his lower lip and his brow scrunched up in concentration.

“Was it… ah… this?” He thrust forward and tore another gasp from Draco with the motion, who dropped back to the pillow in amazement.

“Yes! Merlin…”

Potter smiled in a decidedly Slytherin-like fashion and Draco almost regretted handing him the reins of control, until the determined Gryffindor set up an incredible thrusting pattern that soon had him on the edge of begging for mercy. Draco’s cock was unbelievably hard once more and trembled with the need for release. He had never felt anything like what Potter was doing to him.

“I can’t…” Potter tried to speak through explosive gasps. “I can’t hold it, Draco. Merlin… You feel… so damned…” The Auror took Draco’s aching prick in a firm grip and the added sensation was all it took. Draco came for the second time just as Potter cried out and shivered like a sail in high wind, matching Draco’s shudders. He realized his hands were clenched on the Auror’s shoulders, fingers digging in so tightly he would probably leave bruises. Potter collapsed on him, feeling too warm against Draco’s overheated flesh. Too warm, but somehow welcome all the same.

Draco’s hands slid over the sweat on the Auror’s back and dipped into the groove between Potter’s corded shoulder muscles. He had never touched a man before and gave in to his curiosity. Potter’s back was a marvel and Draco traced it with his palms from neck to arse and back again. Potter said nothing. His soft breaths huffed into Draco’s neck, growing ever slower. They stayed in that position until the sweat on Potter’s back dried into cool roughness beneath Draco’s roaming fingers.

“Am I crushing you?” Potter asked softly when Draco forced his hands to stop moving.

“No,” Draco admitted. He wanted to keep touching the Auror and was suddenly confused by his feelings. He shook it off. It was curiosity, nothing more.

Potter’s softened prick slid from Draco wetly and he grimaced. He thought Potter would cast a Cleaning Charm, but the Auror rose and went to the washroom, returning with a wet cloth. Potter spent far too long easing the warm flannel over Draco’s raw flesh. Despite what they had just done, the action seemed somehow even more intimate and personal. Draco felt exposed and wished for Potter to hurry, but he bit the inside of his cheek and said nothing.

Potter Vanished the cloth with a spell and then slid back into the bed to spoon against Draco’s backside. He dragged the covers over them both and then buried his face in the nape of Draco’s neck. “Until morning,” Potter said throatily. “You’re mine until morning .”

Chapter Four

Harry awoke in the morning to find himself alone. Malfoy was gone. He had anticipated it, but nevertheless he found a sense of disappointment gnawing at his insides. He scoffed at his foolish reaction as he sat up and put his feet on the floor. What had he expected? Did he expect Malfoy to declare his undying love and stay forever? Did Harry even want that? He forced his mind away from the question and made his way to the bathroom.

He splashed water on his face and braced himself against the sink as he watched the water swirl down the drain, unwilling to meet his own gaze in the mirror. What the hell had he done? Well, obviously he had done that, but his hope of flushing the desire for Malfoy out of his blood had backfired. Harry had awakened once in the dark hours of morning, hard with want, and woke the sleeping blond to push into Malfoy’s tight heat once more. It had been absolutely brilliant.

Harry grimaced in annoyance—his cock was quickening simply from the memory. Fuck, now what was he supposed to do? Find some other man to sate his lust? He frowned and flipped through a mental catalogue of the men he knew, rejecting them one by one. He had never been attracted to men before. Why did it have to be Malfoy he desired? He swore as he turned on the shower and stepped beneath the spray. It was epically unjust.

His libido cared nothing for justice, apparently, and he was hard and ready for the wank that had become a necessity. The memory of pale skin, paler hair, and molten heat brought him quick release. He came with a strangled cry after only a few urgent strokes and leaned his forehead against the cool wall of the shower. For a moment he thought about taking the day off, but he had a grim suspicion that he would spend the day in bed wanking himself raw. He scrubbed himself clean, dressed, and Flooed to the Ministry where he tried to throw himself into work and think of nothing else. It nearly worked.

When darkness fell, Harry found himself back beneath the invisibility cloak, lurking in Malfoy’s alley. He waited several hours with no sign of the blond. Harry quelled his concern, alternating between worry that he might have frightened Malfoy away and anger that the Slytherin had fled or found another portion of the city to haunt.

Shortly after midnight, Harry decided that he was wasting his time and even convinced himself to go home instead of storming into Malfoy’s flat. He was tired enough that he fell asleep after staring into the darkness for only a short time.

~~ x ~~

Waking up in Potter’s bed was disturbing. Waking up in Potter’s arms was even more disturbing. Draco would not have expected the Auror to be clingy and possessive even in slumber, but he had a devil’s time extracting himself carefully without waking the man. Not helping matters was the fact that it felt sort of… nice… to be cuddled. Potter’s face nestled in Draco’s hair and one arm clamped almost too tightly around his waist. Draco’s arse fit snugly into the curve of Potter’s pelvis and his radiant heat warmed Draco admirably, even given that the blankets had disappeared somewhere during the night.

The memory of how the covers had gotten tangled and lost brought heat flooding into Draco’s cheeks and nearly propelled him from the bed in a panic. Only years of Slytherin control kept him in place and forced him to gradually lift the muscular arm and ease himself away from the Auror.

Once extracted, Draco paused and stared down at the sleeping man. He had never had the opportunity to stare unabashed at a naked body before and Potter’s was a marvel. Draco’s eyes travelled over the mussed black hair and smooth forehead. Potter’s brows and lashes looked almost painted on, jet black against skin that seemed too pale in the faint light of dawn. Potter’s face was quite beautiful, especially relaxed in slumber with lips slightly parted and somewhat pink from their night’s activities.

Draco’s eyes skimmed Potter’s neck and shoulders, following the graceful lines down over arms and torso. He flushed again when his eyes met the flaccid flesh between Potter’s legs and his gaze flashed back to the Auror’s face nervously. Potter made no movement other than the steady rise and fall of his chest, so Draco boldly looked again. It wasn’t nearly so frightening in the light of morning and looked remarkably like Draco’s, other than the mass of black curls nestling it. He admitted wryly to himself that Potter had a very fine cock and—with startling honestly that would only exist in a conversation with himself—he also admitted that it had felt astonishingly good sliding in and out of him in erotic repetition.

Draco drew in a shaking breath and got to his feet, although his eyes still trailed over Potter’s form. His legs were long and lithe, ending in surprisingly delicate feet. Draco felt like trailing his fingers over them and scowled at himself as he dragged on his boxers. Potter’s body had a surprising number of scars—a small moon-shaped gouge on one shoulder, a curious indentation on one forearm, and several odd scratches over his ribs. One long, silvery line looked almost like a snake as it curled from his hipbone across one thigh to disappear from view.

Draco dragged his attention to his folded clothes. Amazingly, they had not fallen from the edge of the bed during their activities—more a testament to the size of the bed than the vigour of its occupants. Thinking of that vigour made Draco’s mouth suddenly dry and he quickly dressed before padding barefoot into the kitchen. He thought about making tea for only a moment before Potter’s words came back to him.
Until morning. You’re mine until morning.

Draco sighed and opened the front door to step out onto the walk. “Well, it’s morning. Goodbye, Potter.” With that, he Disapparated.

-

Once home, he decided to take a couple of days off. In his mind, he had more than earned it, and then there was the fact of Potter’s ludicrous payment sitting in his account poised to pay those pesky bills. A holiday sounded lovely.

He crawled back into bed after his arrival home and slept until early afternoon. When he awoke, he smirked to himself at the thought of how tired Potter would be, dragging himself to work like a good Auror. Draco stretched and took himself into the bathroom. He Transfigured the shower into a soaking tub and sank into neck deep hot water with a blissful sigh.

Potter. Damn it all, why was he thinking of Potter at all? After last night Draco should be free of the Auror forever. Surely it was only curiosity or the need for revenge that had driven him to seek out Draco. Now that Potter was satisfied he would go away.

Draco frowned and shut his eyes, but his mind turned unbidden to the previous night. Despite his intention to forget it all, the image of Potter on his knees would not be quickly forgotten, nor would the memory of their activities. Salazar, Draco was sore. Remembering how he got that way brought a flush to his cheeks. Potter had been… surprising. Draco’s cock woke up at the thought, hardening more quickly than he would have thought possible. He should have been sated after three extraordinary Potter-induced orgasms.

Draco gave in and reached down to grasp his cock, basking in the memory of Potter’s hands and lips and—oh Merlin even the feel of him driving deep… A few harsh strokes were all it took before Draco shuddered and spilled his seed into the water. Shit, he had come thinking about Potter. Merely thinking about Potter! He groaned and spelled away the murky water to replace it with clean. He soaked until his fingers were prune-like, but the warm glow he felt had nothing to do with the heat of the liquid.

Two days later he had largely dispelled the image of the Auror, or at least managed to push it to the back of his mind to be recalled on demand—or whenever he had the opportunity to daydream. Or so he convinced himself.

Thanks to Potter’s largesse, he did not really need to go back to the streets for a while, but he decided that staying home any longer would only lead to sloth and make it more difficult for him to return when necessity demanded. Therefore, he prepared himself and headed back to the street.

He had barely staked out his usual place and arranged himself with sultry artifice when a familiar shape rose up before him. Only Potter’s head and chest were visible beneath the invisibility cloak he wore, making him look like a figment of Draco’s vivid imagination.
Before Draco could speak, he was enveloped by the Auror and felt soft lips touch his neck.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Potter said thickly. “One more night. Bloody hell, just one more night.”

Draco felt a surge of heat that had little to do with the warmth of Potter’s body pressing against him. Fuck, what had the Auror done to make Draco want him so badly? The scent of him alone seemed to fill Draco’s senses and short out his faculties. His inability to think was made worse by Potter nibbling on his neck, pressing biting kisses there that flooded Draco’s veins and shot desire straight to his cock.

“It’s… late, Potter,” he managed and wondered what the fuck that statement had to do with anything.

“I don’t care. I’ll pay your price. Again. You’ll just have to stay longer in the morning.”

“You’re insane,” Draco whispered.

“I know,” Potter replied, but he held Draco more tightly and Apparated them away.

~~ x ~~

Harry knew he should not have sought out Draco Malfoy. He should never have gone to the alley to find him. He should not have allowed his ridiculous libido to take over and force him to latch his mouth onto the delectable, pale neck. He should not have clutched the rentboy like a lifeline and he should definitely not have Apparated them straight into his bedroom.

All of his should nots silenced themselves when he stepped back to view his prize. Malfoy was already mussed from Harry’s hands—his shirt was askew and his hair was slightly rumpled on one side. Malfoy would probably be perturbed if he knew that, but Harry was not about to tell him, not when the silver eyes were half-lidded and he looked nearly as dazed as Harry felt.

Why in the name of Merlin did it have to be Draco Malfoy that fired Harry’s blood, fanning desire into a torrent of need? Harry had not released his hold on Malfoy’s short, decorative cape and now he used it to drag the blond forward, intending to kiss those incredible lips.
Malfoy turned his head at the last moment and Harry’s mouth grazed his smooth cheek instead. He remembered the no kissing rule and growled with frustration.

“Besides kissing, what would you like tonight, Auror Potter?” Malfoy asked in a tone that strove for cool, but Harry thought he detected a hint of nervousness. The knowledge dampened his frustration slightly, but only just.

“For starters I would like you to call me Harry,” he said tightly.

He thought he heard Malfoy’s teeth grind, but the blond merely said, “As you wish, Harry.”

Bad idea, Harry thought as he closed his eyes. Very bad idea to have him say your name. Fuck, he would never have expected it to sound so incredibly erotic. With a sigh that bordered on a moan, Harry raised his hands and began to unclothe his purchase. He wished he could stop them shaking, but Malfoy made no snide comments as Harry unbuckled the short cape and let it drop to the floor. The silk shirt followed, and then the dark trousers that—thankfully—concealed a bulge that seemed as hard as Harry’s. He let his fingers trail over it lightly and gave a satisfied grunt when Malfoy whimpered slightly and pressed forward into his hand. Fucking hell, that was hot beyond belief. For a moment Harry wondered if the action was artifice or if Malfoy truly sought his touch. He decided it didn’t matter.

Harry put his hands into the waistband of Malfoy’s skin-tight pants and pushed them away. The blond stepped out of them and stood before Harry, fully nude. Harry took a step back, hoping to regain some control, but the sight of Malfoy in all his glory had the opposite effect. It was nearly criminal how perfect the blond looked. He would have been an incredible male model in the Muggle world, selling designer jeans with the fly unbuttoned to show a hint of the glorious curls Harry longed to touch. Those curls surrounded the most beautiful cock Harry had ever seen—not that he had seen many in the flesh—but the memory of Malfoy’s had haunted him for the past two days.

“Like what you see, Potter?” Malfoy finally asked and Harry was delighted to see a flush tinting the cheeks of the normally cool Slytherin.

“Very much,” Harry admitted huskily and began to tear at his own clothing. He did not remember his shirt having quite so many buttons when he put it on that morning. In his impatience, he tore at the material, finding it nearly impossible to thread the bits back through their tiny holes as quickly as he needed.

“Stop,” Malfoy said, stepping forward and touching Harry’s hands with his own. “Let me.”

Harry quit fumbling and allowed his hands to drop as Malfoy reached for the offending fasteners. His long fingers made quick work of the buttons and soon Harry’s shirt joined Malfoy’s clothing on the floor. Malfoy then reached for Harry’s trousers. The faint brush of his knuckles against Harry’s abdomen nearly brought his heart into his throat. Harry tried to rein his libido in with annoyance. He would come like a randy third year if he didn’t regain control!

Loss of control became more likely when Malfoy dropped to his knees before Harry. He looked up at him with an enigmatic expression that made Harry want to take a photograph. Five thousand Galleons suddenly seemed like a pittance, especially when the blond murmured, “Shall I try this again?”

Harry nodded, despite the fact that he fully expected to orgasm the instant Malfoy’s lips touched his cock. He shut his eyes, unable to take the sight of Draco Malfoy preparing to suck him off. He felt his trousers and pants slide down over his thighs and knees, exposing himself to his former nemesis. His cock twitched in anticipation.

Malfoy’s hands moved back up Harry’s legs after helping him step free of the cloth, slowly travelling over the sensitive flesh behind Harry’s knees and sliding up to cup his buttocks. Harry dared to open his eyes and saw Malfoy watching his face intently. Time seemed to freeze for a moment when their eyes locked and Harry could scarcely breathe at the intensity of Malfoy’s expression. There had always been strong emotion between them and it seemed to have altered from animosity and anger to pure hunger and, in Harry’s case, insatiable need.
Harry’s hand lifted and brushed over the side of Malfoy’s cheek before he tucked his fingers into Malfoy’s soft blond hair. He knew it was a caress of unwarranted tenderness, but he didn’t care. Let Malfoy make of it what he would.

The grey eyes dropped and Malfoy leaned forward, not to take Harry’s cock into his mouth, but to rest his cheek against Harry’s flank. A rush of unexpected warmth tightened Harry’s throat and he suddenly knew that one more night would not be enough. He wondered if a thousand nights would be enough. His thumb idly caressed Malfoy’s cheekbone and he struggled to find words to break the tension. Nothing came to mind but ridiculous emotional babbling that would guarantee the return of the sarcastic, arrogant man he wanted to hate.

Luckily, he remained silent and the moment passed. Malfoy seemed to recover himself and turned to the task at hand. His lips brushed over Harry’s flank and slid through the dark curls to the base of his cock. Malfoy placed a gentle kiss there, shaking Harry’s precarious mental state even more, and then slowly moved his lips up to the tip. When he finally opened his mouth and wrapped wet heat around the head of Harry’s cock, it took every bit of Harry’s considerable willpower not to come.

Instead of taking him deep, Malfoy teased the tip with his tongue, lapping and swirling at it until Harry heard a keening whimper issue from his own throat.

“I can’t hold it!” he cried suddenly.

Malfoy took him completely then, sheathing him in heat and gripping his arse tightly with both hands. Harry came explosively, feeling as though he hadn’t wanked himself raw in the past two days. Malfoy released him and coughed slightly. Harry blinked at him and watched as the blond wiped at his mouth with the back of one hand.

“Sorry,” Harry said and dimly wondered how often Malfoy sucked off clients. He jealously hoped it wasn’t often. His hand tightened reflexively in Malfoy’s hair, but he let go when the blond winced. “Sorry,” he repeated and untangled his fingers. He moved his hands to Malfoy’s shoulders and pulled gently, urging him to his feet. Harry wanted to kiss him so badly he was nearly shaking with the effort of restraint, but he placed soft, biting kisses on Malfoy’s pale neck instead while guiding him toward the bed.

Malfoy sprawled backward and shifted until he lay in the centre; Harry admired the picture he made for a moment. He practically dove on the blond then, and attacked Malfoy with his mouth. If he was to be denied access to that gorgeous mouth, then he would kiss everything else. Every inch. Harry kissed, licked, and nipped blazing paths across Malfoy’s skin, feeling the need to mark him, to possess him.

Malfoy arched and gasped. “Don’t—mar the merchandise, Potter.”

Mine, Harry wanted to snarl savagely. He felt the urge to bite down, to put his brand on Malfoy for the world to see, but the Slytherin flexed his arm and Harry caught sight of the remnant of Malfoy’s Dark Mark. He had been marked enough. The thought gentled him instantly and his kisses softened into teasing flicks with just enough pressure to be felt and just enough tongue to tantalize.

“Fuck, Potter,” Malfoy said and moaned. His cock leaked prodigiously—Harry had fondled, licked, and sucked everything but that.

“Harry,” he ordered thickly.

“Fuck, Harry,” Malfoy replied. It was enough to bring Harry’s latent erection back to full strength. He should not have been fully aroused so soon, but Malfoy—bloody hell, how could he not be when the blond writhed so beautifully and his panting gasps warmed Harry’s blood with every exhale? Malfoy’s next words nearly undid him completely. “Fuck me, Harry.”

“I will,” he promised reassuringly. “I will.”

~~ x ~~

But Harry didn’t. Draco knew about fucking. Not from experience, of course, but because he had been inside the minds and fantasies and whims of dozens of his clients. The people Draco invited in wanted to fuck, or to be sucked off, or to pound themselves into a willing body or be pounded into. They did not want to kiss every inch of their rentboy’s body. They did not wish to bring their hired slut to the brink of orgasm and they did not look at him with gazes that bordered on adoration.

Leave it to Harry fucking Potter to be different.

“Want you so much, Draco,” he muttered, the bastard, and Draco gasped when Potter’s cheek grazed the head of his cock—most likely by accident, because he had taken care not to touch the part of Draco that was most screaming for attention.

Potter’s fingers stroked at Draco’s testicles, pulling the taut flesh there gently. Draco’s knuckles nearly cracked with the effort of holding back his orgasm.

“I want you to come all over me,” Potter said huskily. Draco crazily wondered how many others had heard that particular voice, because it was the most erotic bloody thing he had ever heard. He nearly did as Harry suggested merely from the sound of it. Draco heard a familiar spell and then Potter’s fingers moved downward. Draco opened his legs expectantly, almost surprising himself with the wanton movement, but needing the Auror inside of him even at the cost of his pride.

Potter sucked in a breath and Draco felt coolness circle his hole, which was already relaxed and ready—oh so ready—for whatever Potter felt like inserting. The Gryffindor was thankfully gentle. Even though Draco had shoved his own fingers up there several times in the past two days, trying vainly to recreate the sensation Potter had discovered, it simply wasn’t the same. Draco wondered if watching the expressions flit across Potter’s handsome face made the difference.

Potter’s fingers slid in and out, slick with lubricant, first one and then several. Draco tried not to arch his back and push against Potter’s hand eagerly—and failed miserably.

“More,” he demanded finally, nearly to the point of begging with need.

The fingers disappeared, to be quickly replaced by the burning, stretching pain of Potter’s cock. Draco made a noise of protest and Potter murmured soothing sounds against Draco’s heated flesh. “Better soon,” Potter said. Draco knew it was true, but the burning grew almost unbearable before the Auror pulled nearly out.

“Wait,” Draco said, but Potter plunged forward in typical Gryffindor fashion, striking that magical place on the first try. Draco cried out and his hands found purchase on Potter’s hot skin.

“Are you okay?” Potter asked worriedly.

“Yes,” Draco hissed and arched in anticipation of the next brilliant stroke.

Potter complied and it was even better than their first night. Perhaps Draco was more relaxed or Potter was more confident. Whatever the case, Draco writhed and twisted mindlessly, meeting Potter’s thrusts and babbling ridiculous words that would likely come back to haunt him later, except that Potter was brilliant and gorgeous and… oh Merlin, he was coming all over Potter, as requested.

“You’re incredible,” Potter whispered and his voice verged on inaudible, except that his lips were close to Draco’s ear because Draco’s arms were wrapped around his neck, holding tightly as the Auror’s shudders merged with his, filling him with Potter’s release.

Potter collapsed on Draco’s chest and stayed that way for far longer than Draco would have expected, until they were both sweat-cooled, except that the Auror’s ridiculous body heat kept Draco warm as their breathing slowly returned to normal. When Potter finally rolled away, it was only to cast a quick Cleaning Charm and then gather Draco close, spooning his heroic body around Draco’s like a child protecting a treasured toy. Draco could not find the energy to protest. When he felt lips press into the curve between his shoulder and neck, he said nothing, but unexpected warmth filled him and he relaxed into Potter’s grip.

Stupid Potter, he thought affectionately.

When Draco awoke it was still dark. He opened his eyes and suppressed a sharp intake of breath. Harry Potter’s eyes were open, watching him. He was a mere hand span away. Their breath mingled, which should have been unpleasant, but somehow wasn’t.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked.

“Watching you sleep,” Potter replied.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Potter reached up and touched the side of Draco’s face. His thumb brushed lightly over Draco’s lower lip.

“What time is it?” Draco asked, trying not to wonder what Potter’s strange actions meant. It was stupid to be here. He should never have allowed Potter to touch him. He made as if to pull away, but Potter’s grip tightened, slipping around to the back of his head. Potter moved forward and for a moment Draco thought the Auror meant to kiss him, which he did, but his lips veered away from his mouth to press against his forehead instead.

“Don’t go,” Potter said.

Draco grimaced, fighting the stupid urge to reply that he would stay as long as Harry wanted, but he knew that path led to madness. “Loo,” he replied.

Potter sighed, but released him. “Hurry back.”

Draco fled to the bathroom and cast a Tempus Charm. It was only 3 a.m. Plenty of time to Apparate home and get some sleep. He relieved the pressure on his bladder and then ran water in the sink until it turned hot. He splashed his face and patted it dry with a soft towel. Potter’s bathroom was surprisingly clean and organized. Draco had expected wet towels on the floor and toothpaste on the edges of the sink.

Then again, nearly everything about Potter surprised him these days. He fingered his wand and debated Apparating straight home, but his clothes were still in the bedroom with Potter, who planned to pay another 5,000 Galleons for Draco’s company. The Auror would likely be upset if he did not feel he had received his money’s worth.

Draco blinked at himself in the mirror, glad that he had not cast a Lumos. He would rather not see the truth in his own reflection—that perhaps he wanted to return to Potter’s bed.

The door opened and Draco turned to see Potter looking slightly panicked. He sagged against the frame. “I was afraid you had gone,” he said.

“And be forced to give you a discount? Perish the thought,” Draco said lightly.

Potter pushed himself away from the door and took Draco into his arms. His nude body felt deliciously warm against Draco’s. He had gained a chill standing on the cold tile unclothed. “Your skin is like ice,” Potter murmured. “Come back to bed.”

He led Draco back to the heat of his bed and then warmed him once more with hot kisses, caresses, and another session of mind-melting sex. When Draco fell asleep the second time, he did not awaken until long past dawn.

~~ x ~~

Harry leaned against the bedpost while he indulged in his newest hobby—watching Draco Malfoy sleep. He couldn’t seem to help himself. Draco’s face was so beautiful when he slept. No more or less beautiful than when he was awake, of course, but so… unguarded. Long lashes fluttered against his pale cheeks like whispers of gold. His lips curved every so often, as if sleep brought him a happiness that seemed to elude him in daylight’s reality. Silver-blond hair lay haphazardly across Draco’s face and clung to Harry’s pillow. He looked like a mussed child, except for the sensuality of his features. There was nothing childlike in his beauty.

Harry swallowed hard, remembering the night. Draco was… incredible. Harry had stupidly thought to drive the blond from his mind, only to find him entrenched even more firmly. Draco was like a barbed hook, driving ever deeper once beneath the skin, unable to be torn free without pain.

Draco sighed in his sleep and shifted. His lips parted to expose a hint of even white teeth. One hand trailed out over the sheet, as if seeking a warm body. Harry frowned, wondering if Draco sought a particular warm body, or if anyone would do. He pushed away a random flash of pain at the thought and cursed himself for idiocy. Draco was a rentboy. He did not belong to Harry. He belonged to everyone… and no one. Harry wondered if anyone would ever penetrate that icy façade. Harry thought he had a few times, last night, but maybe Draco was just a very good actor, giving Harry his money’s worth.

Fuck. What the hell did he want, anyway? He wanted sex, he paid for it, Draco provided it. That’s all there was to it. Wanting more would be the ultimate stupidity.

Draco’s fingers curled, finding nothing, and his lashes moved in a slow blink. Harry sat on the bed and leaned forward, awaiting the moment when the grey orbs came into view, hoping for a single unguarded moment before the shutters fell.

He got more than he bargained for. Draco’s eyes fixed on him and focused and a slow smile curved his perfect lips into a Cupid’s bow that sent arrows winging straight to Harry’s unprotected heart. He felt something wrench and realized with a shock that he was well and truly fucked. It must have shone in his eyes, because Draco’s smile faded and the shutters dropped, masking emotion as quickly as the platinum eyes shifted away.

Come back! Harry wanted to scream, and could not stop himself from reaching out to touch the hand that was already withdrawing, curling back into the invisible shell that surrounded Draco, protecting him from Harry and everyone like him. Draco froze and Harry seized his advantage, sliding his fingers around to hold Draco’s wrist, absently noting the pulse that beat there. He lifted Draco’s hand as he leaned down. He pressed a kiss to the back of Draco’s hand and felt the delicate bones beneath his lips. His skin was so soft that Harry let his lips slide down to the knuckles and back up again, wanting to keep going, to map the smooth bits and the rough bits, and all the bits of Draco’s body.

Draco snatched his hand away and Harry smiled ruefully. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said.

Draco shut his eyes and absently rubbed at the back of his hand where Harry had kissed it. A faint blush tinted his cheeks, making him look even more irresistible.

“I should have expected you to be sappy in the morning, Potter.”

“Harry,” he corrected.

Draco frowned. “How long do you expect me to be on the clock?” He glanced toward the window as he said it, probably judging the time and hoping for the termination of Harry’s company.

“You can escape after breakfast. I cooked it for you, so I hope you’re hungry.”

“You cook?”

Harry laughed. “On occasion. Mostly when I want to eat. No house-elves, you know.”

“Oh. Me, either.”

Harry frowned, but the words had not sounded bitter. They shook him, nonetheless, with the knowledge of everything Draco had lost. Shit. On top of everything else, he did not want to feel pity for the blond. He tore the blankets away from Draco’s body playfully and grinned when the action earned a yelp.

“You’re a right bastard, Potter,” Draco said as he drew his knees up to partially cover himself. It made no difference. Harry’s gaze slid over Draco’s nude form and he began to crawl across the bed in a predatory fashion. Draco drew in a sharp breath and pushed himself backward, even though the movement caused him to expose himself to Harry, whose eyes feasted on Draco’s flaccid cock. He was even more gorgeous in the daylight.

“Breakfast, Potter!” Draco said and lifted a finger as though to halt him.

“Breakfast can wait,” Harry said thickly. He dove on the blond and curled his arms around him, enfolding him in a warm embrace.

“But I’m hungry,” Draco protested, although he gasped when Harry’s mouth fastened on one pink nipple.

“Merlin, me, too,” Harry replied and sucked. Draco arched beneath him and breakfast was forgotten.

Later, Harry sat across from him, nursing a hot cup of tea. By all rights he should have been sated. The sight of Draco Malfoy eating should have been a pretty display, but definitely not erotic. The blond was not even trying to be attractive. He slumped wearily with one elbow propped on the table and one cheek resting on his palm while he daintily placed a forkful of eggs into his mouth. He did not look at Harry, instead fixing his gaze on his plate as though it held the secrets of the universe.

Harry had picked at his food and then sat back to watch Draco, fascinated with every movement he made. Draco’s tongue flicked out and touched his lip for an instant. He chewed methodically. As if sensing Harry’s gaze, he raised his eyes. A flush tinted his cheeks and Harry gulped his tea then winced as it burned his throat. Draco straightened and pushed his plate away. He had eaten nearly all of his food and finished two cups of tea.

“Acceptable breakfast, Potter. Thank you.”

“Harry,” he reminded quietly.

Draco stood so quickly the chair legs scraped on the floor. “Harry,” Draco conceded, but it sounded like an epithet. “May I leave now?” The words rang with bitterness and Harry felt chagrin. Of course Draco did not want to stay. He had fulfilled his part of their business transaction.
Harry almost nodded, but instead got to his feet and walked around the table. Grey eyes watched him warily, but Harry said nothing as he enfolded Draco in a rough embrace. Harry buried his face in Draco’s neck and felt the soft platinum hair fall over his face as he breathed in the unique scent of the Slytherin. Draco’s arms remained fixed at his sides and he was stiff as a broom in Harry’s embrace.

With one last inhalation, Harry admitted defeat and stepped back.

“Goodbye, Draco,” he said with finality.

“Goodbye, Harry,” Draco replied quietly. He walked to the door and went out. Harry heard the faint crack of Apparition before he sank into the nearest chair.

He stayed there for a very long time.

Chapters 5-9

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