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“So, we have a horcrux,” Harry said, refusing to acknowledge the elephant in the room as he spoke, trying to avoid his friends’ eyes. “That’s new, huh?”
Ron and Hermione just stared at him.
“And Snape sending it. Didn’t expect it, you know?”
Still just stared at him.
“That’s like…whoa, right?”
Their expressions didn’t change, not a whit, and finally Harry sank down into one of the kitchen chairs and put his arms over his head. “I know,” he groaned. “All right? I know. Malfoy lied to me about why he was here and I slept with him again even though I knew that. There’s something wrong with me.”
Hermione eased into the chair across from him. She was using her let’s be mature and talk this out even though you’re being a moron voice. “Like a spell?”
“No, like I’m weak and horny,” Harry said, sitting up. “Gods, Hermione, I hear myself saying things about how he can be useful to us, and how he knows the dark arts and could help us destroy the horcrux, and I know they’re true, but that’s not why I’m saying them.”
“Where is this coming from?” she asked.
Ron, standing over them with his arms folded across his chest, said, “Besides your pants, she means.”
“Ha,” Harry said sourly. “And I wish I knew. But it’s not a spell or a potion. I already thought of that, and it doesn’t make sense. I think it’s just Malfoy.”
“You’ve been sleeping with him for less than six hours,” Ron snapped.
“After six years of foreplay,” Hermione said, and both boys looked at her. She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me neither of you realized what’s been going on since we were kids. You stalked Malfoy all through sixth year, Harry, and you were abnormally preoccupied with him well before you had a good reason to be following him into bathrooms.”
“Abnormally?” Harry asked, squinting. “Are we saying ‘abnormally’?”
“Yes,” Ron and Hermione said in unison.
“All right,” Harry muttered. “But Ron was preoccupied with him too.”
Now both Ron and Hermione raised their eyebrows at the same time.
Harry studied their identical expressions a moment. “You know, I don’t think I like you two as a couple. You’re mean as a couple.”
Hermione laughed even as Ron turned bright red. “It’s kind of obvious, Harry, and really, it always has been. If he was a girl, you’d have been pulling his hair and pushing him down on the playground.”
Harry pictured Malfoy in a skirt and knee-high socks, then imagined pushing him down on his hands and knees in that outfit, and felt himself flush. He cleared his throat. “Your point?”
“It’s normal. We can’t help who we’re attracted to, believe me, I know. And sometimes, we do stupid things just to avoid acknowledging our feelings.”
“Who are you speaking of?” Ron asked casually.
“You,” Hermione said.
“Oi! I don’t do stupid things to avoid my feelings!”
“Two words, Ronald. Lavender Brown. Now let me finish. Harry, you’ve had to be the Chosen One for so long that you’ve never really had a chance to get all this normal teenagerhood our of your system. We get that you want Malfoy.”
Ron snorted.
Hermione sighed. “We get that you want something of your own, something private that no one else can get in the middle of. And to be honest, I’m not remotely surprised that it’s Malfoy. Just promise me, that you’ll remember that no matter how…intimate you and Malfoy may be, he’s a very good liar. He might mean every word that comes out of his mouth. But he might not. And we can’t afford to find out that he was playing you all along when you’re standing on the battlefield with Voldemort.”
*
For the next few hours, they sat in a row at the table, the horcrux in the box in front of them, and debated theories. First, because Hermione was notoriously obnoxious about these things, Harry reiterated everything he’d seen and done in the cave. They looked at the note from R.A.B. again even though Harry had long ago memorized it. They debated what protection spells might be on the horcrux, how they might destroy it, and until they managed it, how they would keep it safe.
And then they argued about Snape and his motives until Harry was tempted to put his fist through the wall.
That was the point when Malfoy came downstairs, freshly showered and dressed in his black trousers and a crisp white button-down.
He paused in the doorway, all but striking a pose, entirely too graceful to be an actual person, and said to the room at large, “Shouting is a sign that your argument is unconvincing. It is also rather uncouth.”
“Thought you were sleeping,” Ron grunted, as if he thought Malfoy should return to doing that immediately.
“Turns out getting woken up twice for sex makes it difficult to get back to sleep.” Malfoy ignored the dirty look Harry sent his way and said, “Besides, I’ll never sleep tonight if I’m in bed all day. Are you cooking, Granger? I’m hungry.”
Hermione looked offended. “Why should I be the cook? Because I’m a girl?”
“Perhaps I thought you seemed the most capable of accomplishing a delicious meal without burning down the kitchen,” Malfoy suggested.
“Is that it?”
“No.” He grinned. “You’re the girl.”
Hermione sniffed. “Get your own lunch, Malfoy.”
Harry flashed him a baleful look. “You’re not helping.”
The other boy shrugged. "It's not my fault that girls are naturally talented at certain things that I don't want to do.”
“Can I talk to you for a second?” Harry asked, and got up, catching Malfoy hard by the elbow and nearly dragging him from his chair. Once in the hallway beyond the kitchen, Harry pushed the other boy up against the wall. “What are you trying to do to me?”
“At the moment? Nothing.” Malfoy wrenched his arm out of Harry’s grip. “Although, if you keep hauling me around like luggage, that’s likely to change.”
“I’m having a very hard time getting them to go along with your presence here. It’s in your own best interest for you to behave with some semblance of not-being-a-prick.”
Malfoy smirked. “But then you wouldn’t like me.”
“Actually, that would do great things for me as well.”
The smirk widened. “You say that, Potter, but we both know it’s bull. You like that I say the things you don’t dare. You like that I get under your skin and refuse to go along with your stupid idea of goodness. You love that the only time you can beat me is when you’re fucking me.”
Through sheer dumb luck, Harry was looking at Malfoy’s lips as the word fucking crossed them. His stomach tightened and he had to fight the urge to lean in and press their mouths together. His hand lifted as if with a mind of its own, and came to rest on the wall beside Malfoy’s head. Caging the smaller boy in place did not help Harry’s willpower. Neither did the realization that Malfoy was holding his breath. A shiver raced hot down Harry’s spine and suddenly he was on the verge of throwing Malfoy down on the floor right there. From the cautious expression on Malfoy’s face, he knew it.
God, the picture of it. Malfoy on his hands and knees might just be his favorite thing to look at. Ever. And with his cock so hard it hurt, he was having a very difficult time remembering why it was a bad idea to fuck Malfoy in a hallway ten feet from his best friends on the same day they gave him a lecture about why he should think before fucking Malfoy in hallways ten feet from his best friends.
Bad idea.
Harry took a deep breath and found the strength, somewhere, to take several steps back. He took some time, practiced breathing and not grabbing other people’s cocks, and then said, “Let me be clear, Malfoy. Ron and Hermione are my two best friends in the whole world. I trust them with my life. If you make them miserable, it will not go well for you. I will pick them.”
“So all of this is conditional,” Malfoy said, trying to sneer but not quite concealing bitter disappointment. “I thought so. I can stay as long as I straighten up and join team Gryffindor and speak only sugar and light and pet little bunnies and rescue baby deer from villainous hunters. Oh, and don’t forget spreading my legs every time you blink in my direction.”
Harry took three deep breaths this time. Grabbing Malfoy wasn’t quite the temptation it had been a moment ago. “Your safety and your ability to stay here are not conditional on you letting me fuck you. However, you being able to have the run of the house and not being tied to my bed with a gag in your mouth—and not in a fun way—is entirely conditional on you not being an arse. Is it really so hard for you to just be nice?”
“Yes,” Malfoy said seriously.
Harry crowded into the other boy's space, rather aggressively this time, making Malfoy take an instinctive step back. “I’ve only got so much patience for this, little cat. Eventually, I’ll have to find a way to make you behave.”
Malfoy smirked again. “I make no promises, Potter, not where the Weasel’s concerned.”
“But not Hermione?” Harry asked.
Malfoy shrugged. “If you take away the whole mud—ah, muggle-born thing, she’s not so bad. She might be the worst know-it-all the world’s ever seen, but at least she has a brain that gets some use, unlike you and her ridiculous boyfriend, who tromp around equating reckless disregard with bravery and nobility.”
Harry closed his eyes to pinch the bridge of his nose. “There are so many things, Malfoy. So many things I should address, and I’m just not going to, because I’ll go mad.”
“All right,” Malfoy said agreeably.
“Be good,” Harry said, then paused. May as well be clear up front. “Don’t make me punish you.”
Malfoy opened his mouth, then hesitated. A strange look crossed his face, an amused mixture of oh-come-on and challenge. He tilted his head, possibly considering the benefits of further rebellion. Then he shrugged. “One well-behaved Malfoy, friend to uncivilized creatures great and small, Weasel and muggle-born alike, coming right up.”
Harry shook his head. Malfoy would learn soon enough that he should take Harry seriously.
They returned to the kitchen, where Malfoy sat down on his chair and aimed a pleasant smile at Hermione. “I apologize for my earlier insinuation that you’re most naturally suited to cook, Granger. It wasn’t a comment on you or your femininity so much as expression of a concern that our patriarchal society would no doubt make certain assumptions about your skills and values based on your gender. On behalf of all men—”
“That’s far enough, I think,” she interrupted, but a small smile broke through her otherwise stern expression.
Ron aimed a very suspicious look at Malfoy. Harry did too, for that matter.
“So,” Malfoy said. “Lunch?”
Kreacher picked that moment to deliver a tureen of French Onion soup, sliced crusty bread, fresh grapes and steamed asparagus.
With that, they returned to the question of the locket.
“So what is it?” Malfoy asked, wiping his mouth neatly with a linen napkin.
Harry exchanged a look with his best friends. “It’s a cursed locket, Malfoy.”
“Of course it is,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. “Which is why the three of you started flapping around like happy chickens as soon as you saw it. It’s obvious Snape sent you something you actually wanted. I’m simply asking what it is.”
Harry studied him. “You’re smarter than I remember you being from class.”
“Don’t try to distract me by insulting me,” Malfoy said. “Just answer the question.”
“No,” Ron said. “You don’t get to know.”
Malfoy sneered and tossed Ron an obscene gesture.
Harry exhaled and shook his head. “You’ll pay for that one later,” he said to Malfoy softly. His mind was abruptly filled with the ways he could punish Malfoy for his bad behavior—all of them very enjoyable to imagine.
Malfoy started to say something to him, probably something cavalier and cutting, but Harry’s intentions must’ve been clear on his face, and he hesitated. His cheeks flushed and he swallowed. And he closed his mouth.
Ron and Hermione watched this with wide eyes. Ron’s lips twisted into a grin and he began to speak, no doubt to make some comment that would undo Malfoy’s too-late attempt at good behavior, but Hermione was quick. She grabbed Ron’s wrist and he subsided sulkily.
“Isn’t this nice?” Hermione said brightly.
*
As they ate, they grilled Malfoy about the locket. He claimed to know nothing about it or its protections. In fact, he admitted that he wasn’t even sure Snape had cursed it. It had been an assumption, based on Snape’s apparent loyalties, the choice of recipient, and the unpleasantly bleak feeling that the locket carried with it, that it must be an attack.
This, Harry found rather believable.
It was harder to discuss Snape with Malfoy without giving anything away. In fact, it was so difficult to speak about any of it without hinting at either Snape’s potential loyalties or the horcruxes altogether that very quickly they gave it up as a bad job.
As Harry pushed his empty bowl away, however, the note from R.A.B. got caught under the edge. Malfoy reached out with an elegant hand and snagged it, absently glancing at it. Harry reached out to take it, trying to look casual, but Malfoy caught enough to frown and jerk away.
“Give it to me, Malfoy,” Harry said evenly.
Malfoy stepped away from the table out of reach, reading furiously. Then he looked up at Harry. “What is this?” he asked.
“It’s nothing,” Harry said.
“Is it true? Is the Dark Lord immortal?”
“Not…no. Not…really.”
“It mentions horcruxes,” Malfoy said thinly. “That sounds like immortality to me.”
This comment shocked all three of them.
“How do you know about those?” Harry asked.
Malfoy turned to look at the locket in its box. “That’s not…that’s not one, is it? Gods, we have to get rid of it. Get it out of the house.”
“Why?” Hermione asked.
Malfoy turned back around to look at her, appalled. “Because he’ll come for it. He could be on his way now! Snape…” Malfoy’s brow knit as he thought furiously. “Gods, he knows what it is, doesn’t he? And that means that he…all this time? No, that…that’s impossible. He killed Dumbledore. But if he’s not…why else would he give it to you? So Snape must be on the side of the light…so he killed Dumbledore for me…and the Dark Lord is bound to notice it’s missing…and then he’ll think…”
Malfoy went absolutely grey. “Potter,” he said, sounding slightly sick. “He’s going to think I took it.”
“The horcrux?”
“Yes. He’s going to realize it’s gone. Snape took it to give to me. And Snape’s on your side or he wouldn’t have done that. So he’s a spy, and to keep his cover he’s going to have to pretend he didn’t take it. The horcrux went missing when I did, so the Dark Lord’s going to think I took it. He’s going to come for me.”
"No, he won’t,” Harry said in his firmest voice.
“I’ve seen what he does to people who betray him, Harry,” Malfoy said. “We have to get it away from me. I shouldn’t even know where you put it, because I’ll end up telling him everything. I won’t want to, but I’ve seen what he does, and I won’t be able to hold out—”
“The house is under Fidelius,” Harry interrupted, “and we have good reason to believe he doesn’t even know the horcrux is missing. I promise, he’s not going to get anywhere near you and you’re not going anywhere.”
Harry went to Malfoy and pulled him close. Briefly, he could feel Malfoy’s breath against his throat, hot and quick, and he was surprised by the surge of protectiveness he felt move within him. It was nearly as strong as that which he had felt at times for Ron and Hermione, if different in nature, because Malfoy was his in a way that his friends were not. His to kiss and touch and keep safe.
Then Malfoy was shrugging him off, scowling. “I’m fine,” he snapped, abruptly heading for the door to the kitchen. “I just want out of this ugly house.”
A second later, they could hear the creak of floorboards as he climbed the stairs.
“Harry,” Hermione said tentatively.
“Maybe a break, Hermione,” Harry said. “Anything else can wait. Please?”
“Yes,” she said, nodding in understanding. “All right.”
With a grateful smile for his friends, Harry followed the other boy up. Malfoy had closed the door to the bedroom, but Harry didn’t bother knocking.
Malfoy was sitting on the edge of the bed, and he aimed an annoyed glance at Harry as he came in.
“What now? Going to convince me that a teenager who can’t even work a spell to fix his vision is going to save the world from the most powerful wizard ever?”
“If you want me to.” Harry reached down, took Malfoy by the wrist, and hauled him up. “I rather had another idea in mind.”
A slow, exasperated smile grew on Malfoy’s pale face. Harry hadn’t been sure the other boy would go for it, but the fact that Malfoy did spoke volumes about how badly he wanted a distraction. “Really, Potter? Again? What did you do when you were in the dorms and you couldn’t find any privacy? Wank in public?”
“I’ve never been quite this…”
“Needy? Desperate? Horny?” Malfoy suggested.
Harry was pleased to see the fear and anxiety dissipating. Here was the fire he’d spent so many years thinking about. He tugged the other boy close, resting his hands on slender hips. “All of the above,” he replied. “There’s something about you, Malfoy. Whether we’re fighting or fucking, I just can’t seem to stay away.”
“We’re going to end up killing each other.”
Harry was delighted to find that beneath Malfoy’s jawline was a lovely, elegant throat that seemed to beg for kisses. So he delivered. Several times. Then he nipped with his teeth. Malfoy sighed, his head tipping back slightly.
“How do you do it?”
“Do what?” Harry asked, distracted. He was rather more interested in unbuttoning Malfoy’s shirt than listening to him at the moment.
“Just go about your business like there aren’t people out there trying to kill you?”
Harry shrugged. “Sounds bad to say it, but you kind of get used to it.”
“I won’t,” Malfoy said.
“Give it time. You survive a few attempts, you even start to get a little blasé.”
“I’m impressed you know that word, Potter.”
Harry laughed against the other boy’s throat. “There’s my sharp-tongued little cat.”
Malfoy spoke to the ceiling, his arms wrapped tightly around Harry. “I’m not yours.”
“Yes, you are.”
“It’s been a day, Potter. We’ve been fucking for a day. That’s not a relationship. You shouldn’t feel this way about me.”
“Hermione says we had six years of foreplay. If we add that in, it makes a lot more sense.”
“Oh.” Malfoy blinked, thinking. “I don’t want to know anything about her and Weasel’s relationship if she calls what happened in that bathroom last year foreplay.”
Harry laughed again. Then he looked at Malfoy curiously. “Were you really going to use the Cruciatus Curse on me?”
The other boy was silent for a long minute. Then, “Yes. But you nearly killed me, I’ll remind you. Despite the fact that you now claim we were in the midst of foreplay.”
“After…when I had time to think about it…the fact that you were crying cut me up. It just took me a while to realize why.”
“When did you?”
“Not long after I realized I was gay. I liked Ginny Weasley a lot, up until I kissed her. Then I realized I’d somehow acquired a sister. And once I realized I liked boys and started looking around, my eyes sort of kept coming back to a particular type.”
“Blonds?” A smug eyebrow lifted.
“Blonds,” Harry agreed, moving now to nibble an earlobe. “One specific blond, actually. I remember thinking that you were very nice to look at, but that it was a shame that someone taught you how to talk. When did you know you were gay?”
Malfoy shrugged. “I don’t know that I am. I never thought about boys that way before.”
“Then why did you have sex with me?” Harry asked, frowning and lifting his head slightly.
“I wanted to,” Malfoy said, as if that was reason enough for anyone to do anything. Hell, for Malfoy, it probably was.
“Spoiled brat,” Harry said. That reminded him of Malfoy’s earlier snotty behavior—and the punishment Harry had promised him. The thought alone made him painfully hard. He let his hands slide down to cup Malfoy’s spectacular arse, groaning as he felt the firm flesh in his palms. Without meaning to, he squeezed, bumping his hips against the other boy’s.
Malfoy sighed again. “Although, I think it’s rapidly becoming clear that if I’m not gay, my body has a very strange way of passing that information to me whenever you’re nearby.”
“I’ll take it,” Harry managed, and then he drove his hands into Malfoy’s hair, tilted the boy’s head in the right direction, and kissed him, hard. Tongues and lips dueled, fast and hot, in short, biting kisses and long, wet kisses and every other kind in between. It wasn’t long before Harry had manuevered Malfoy back toward the bed, never letting go of that succulent mouth. Somehow they ended up on the mattress, still without breaking free.
A few minutes later, Harry realized that he’d gotten lost in things. The feel of all that smooth skin against his had made his brain short circuit— they’d both lost their shirts and he barely even remembered doing it. He’d left dark red marks all along that white skin. And his hands were knotted tightly in Malfoy’s hair.
Once again, he’d gotten side-tracked from his responsibilities. He’d thrown down the gauntlet earlier, and now he had to carry through or Malfoy would never take him seriously again. Harry forced himself to pull his hands back and rise.
“Malfoy,” he said, swallowing hard. The boy was laid out on the bed like an offering, eyes closed, head thrown back, torso bare and flushed, one knee drawn up.
“What?” Malfoy asked, sounding dazed.
“Stand up.”
Blinking, Malfoy turned his head. “What? Why?”
“Because I said so.”
The air between them seemed to waver; Harry looked at Malfoy evenly, and Malfoy looked back with trepidation. The other boy cleared his throat.
“Potter…” He hesitated, apparently uncertain. Then he rose.
“Take your trousers off.”
Malfoy turned slowly and elegantly, kicking his loafers off and removing his socks with a grace Harry couldn’t have replicated to save his life. He then unbuttoned his trousers with a single hand, his eyes on Harry all the while. He moved slowly. Deliberately. Teasing. Trust a Malfoy to take the game and run with it, Harry thought. When the other boy did a sexy little wriggle to reveal that the only thing under those trousers was bare skin, Harry found his mouth going dry.
Completely naked, one eyebrow raised, Malfoy offered a suitably cheeky, “Is that all, sir?”
“Come here,” Harry ordered. Yes, it would be quite satisfying getting some of that sass under his thumb. “And take my jeans off.”
With his erection bobbing, Malfoy obeyed, bending to help Harry kick the jeans off his bare feet. Then he straightened, smirking, and waited for the next order. Harry decided to push him a little.
“Who do you belong to?”
The smirk vanished. Malfoy shifted his weight uneasily, then finally rolled his eyes. “You can’t possibly expect to hear that, you neanderthal.”
Harry shook his head and tsked. “Not the right answer, Malfoy. Not even close.” He took Malfoy’s hand and walked him to the bed. He sat down, but stopped the other boy when he began to sit beside him. Instead, Harry yanked gently on the arm he held, turning him to the side, while cupping the far hip and pulling him in. In seconds, Malfoy was sprawled, face down, over Harry’s lap.
“Potter,” Malfoy said, sighing, seemingly unconcerned. At least, until Harry’s palm came down hard on his buttock. The look of utter disbelief and offense on his face then nearly made Harry laugh out loud. He struggled to stay stern, even as the corners of his mouth twitched up.
“I think the defiance you’ve shown here and the crude gesture downstairs have earned you six more.”
As Harry began to bring his hand down again, Malfoy put his free hand back, blocking the blow, striving, at the same time, to get back to his feet.
“Struggling? That will add three more,” Harry said, as if dissatisfied, when really he was elated. Keep it up, he thought. Malfoy, very kindly, continued to push and kick and snarl.
He knocked the other boy’s arm out of the way and brought his palm down again, quite a bit harder than the first time. Malfoy let out a cry of outrage and protest. He wobbled on Harry’s knees, nearly scrambling free, and Harry had to use quite a bit of strength to keep the squirming boy in place.
“Here,” he said. “I’ll make it easy for you.” He got both of Malfoy’s wrists behind his back, held tightly in his left hand, then tipped him toward his face slightly so he was off balance and risked falling if he continued to fight. The scuffling stopped, even if the disobedience didn’t.
“Potter, you let me up, right this second.”
“I don’t know, Malfoy,” Harry said, chuckling a little. “The view from here is spectacular.” He ran his free hand down over a firm cheek, stroking gently, then cupping, then patting the underside just enough to see it bounce. “Christ, that’s pretty.”
“Potter, I mean it.” Malfoy sounded a bit high-pitched.
“Accio lube,” Harry said, and as soon as the jar landed beside him, he opened it one handed and dipped a finger in. This finger then slid neatly between Malfoy’s buttocks, tapping and then pressing against the tight little pucker. “You’re beautiful here, did you know that?”
“Potter,” Malfoy whispered.
Harry slid his finger inside, feeling Malfoy’s legs and back strain, even as the muscle around his knuckle tightened. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Open up for me, little cat.”
“Don’t,” Malfoy said, but the warning in his voice was beginning to waver.
“If you insist,” Harry said, and pulled his finger out. Instead, he brought his palm down on Malfoy’s arse again, hard enough that Malfoy let out a grunt. He did it again, and again and again. “Four left.”
“Goddamnit, Potter.”
“If you curse me again, I’m going to add another three.” Harry paused. “So, do you have anything else you’d like to add?”
“Fuck you,” Malfoy said instantly.
Harry laughed, and delivered the spanks immediately, hard and fast. “Anything else?”
“Fuck you!” Malfoy said, sharp and loud.
Another three, even harder. His hand stung sharply, and Malfoy’s buttocks were a deep red now. “Keep it up, Malfoy. I can do this all day. You’ve got the sexiest arse. And I can see your hole, all hungry and pink. Why don’t you be a good boy and behave so I can fuck you?”
Malfoy tried to struggle again, and only subsided when Harry began to spank him again.
“That’s all of them,” Harry said momentarily, trying not to feel disappointed. Maybe, with a little prompting, he could wrangle a little more resistance? “How’s that, then Malfoy? Are you properly cowed yet?”
“Damn you,” Malfoy snapped.
“Ah, that’s three more, then,” Harry said, secretly thrilled. He delivered the three blows in short order, leaving Malfoy out of breath and furious. “How about now?”
Malfoy hesitated, and Harry leaned back, making room for his hand to trail down beneath the flat belly to find a hard, dripping cock. Most excellent. Harry gave him a single squeeze and released him.
“Potter, if you don’t let me up this minute—”
“You’ll what? Beg? Oh, I like the sound of that.”
“Never fucking happen.”
“The way you keep cursing, Malfoy, I’m starting to think you’re enjoying this a little too much.” He brought down his hand once, twice, thrice, so hard that Malfoy’s breath had a slight catch to it on the last one.
“That really hurts,” he said, sounding surprised.
“Of course it does,” Harry said, rubbing the abused flesh tenderly. “It wouldn’t help you remember how to behave appropriately if you wanted it to happen.”
This was obvious bullshit, to Harry’s mind at least. If Malfoy didn’t want it, Harry had absolutely no intention of ever doing it again. But Malfoy didn’t need to know that. Or, if he did, as long as he didn’t say anything, the game could go on with each of them wilfully misunderstanding.
Harry didn’t give Malfoy a chance to complain. Instead, he slid his finger back between the hot, red cheeks, and pushed back inside, rocking his hand in and out over and over. Then he added a second, slow and easy, figuring Malfoy had to be sore. This was the—he had to count in his head, then felt a little impressed with both of them—the fifth time today. With that thought in mind, he got a little more lube before easing a third finger in.
Malfoy was still now, except for his quickened breaths.
“Beautiful,” Harry whispered. “So beautiful. You look so nice like this, little cat. All open and obedient and sweet. Asking for it. Look how good you are now.” He began to thrust with his fingers, making Malfoy moan softly. “Maybe that’s all you need to be a good boy, Malfoy. A firm hand. Now, I think we’ll have the answer I requested earlier.”
“What?” Malfoy asked, sounding faint and distant.
“Who do you belong to?”
A long pause, and Harry pulled his fingers out and lifted his hand, a silent threat.
“I can’t,” Malfoy said. “Not if you want me to mean it. Not yet.”
Harry considered this. However unhappy he was that Malfoy couldn’t admit it, it was better to have honesty between them when they were like this. He wouldn’t punish Malfoy for that. “As long as you know it’s already begun. You’ll admit it sooner or later. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Malfoy said, without hesitation, and Harry yanked him up, first on his feet, then pushing him so he was standing bent over, braced against the bed. Harry stepped up behind, using his knees to knock Malfoy’s legs open, and he slid inside in one fast, deep thrust.
Malfoy’s body turned to molasses. All resistance and tension vanished, and he sank down, his arms limp, his torso resting on the mattress, arse high in the air, his face turned to one side with his lips somnolently open and his eyes closed. He seemed to have no problem with his position, and Harry felt it go straight to his cock. If Malfoy wanted to offer himself up like this, Harry would take it.
With his fingers clenched at slim hips, Harry began to move, all but plowing the boy beneath him. Malfoy’s weight was shoved forcefully forward again and again, but his enraptured expression never changed, even when Harry thought it must hurt. Malfoy merely opened himself wider, breathed deeper, and took it all.
“Yes,” Harry said, already painfully close. The feel of those hot, red buttocks against his groin was driving him wild. He spoke through gritted teeth, barely hanging on. “Just like that. Let me take you. Let me own you. Give everything to me.”
Harry drove in harder, deeper, wilder, frustrated that Malfoy couldn’t admit what Harry already knew—that Malfoy was his, entirely. He pounded into the smaller boy, and in doing so, he claimed Malfoy’s body as he wanted Malfoy’s will and heart. “You want this too,” Harry bit out, trying to keep his discontent hidden. “You’re going to submit to me. You’re going to writhe under my cock, under my hand, under my belt if I want it. Your body is mine, little cat. I can do anything I want, and you’ll just crave more. You’re my little slut, aren’t you?”
Of his own volition, Malfoy reached back, took hold of his abused cheeks, and spread them open.
And that was it. Harry came. The sight of Malfoy like that, the knowledge of his willingness—with his body, at least—was overwhelming. Harry came hard and sudden and with great, stabbing thrusts, so rough and unforgiving that he knew he would leave bruises, even if he’d somehow managed to avoid tearing the boy beneath him.
He’d barely finished spurting when he used both arms to throw Malfoy further onto the bed before flipping him onto his back. Then he whispered a quick cleansing spell, leaned down, and took Malfoy’s cock deep between his lips. It took seconds only, barely a few strokes of his tongue, barely a few heavy sucks before he tasted the bittersweet fluid filling his mouth. Malfoy arched beneath him once, his hands flying to his temples as if to keep his head attached, and let out a strangled, grateful cry.
Then Harry sank down beside him, unsure how the hell he’d lost control so thoroughly. How did Malfoy do this to him, over and over? What was it about the other boy that so decimated Harry’s civilized side?
Determined to bring it back to some semblance of softness, he rolled onto his side, lifting a hand and running it tenderly over Malfoy’s back, arms, and arse, drawing circles with his fingertips, leaning over to bestow gentle kisses. He summoned lotion from his bathroom and rubbed it between his palms so it wouldn’t be cold, then applied it to the red buttocks, paying special attention to a couple places where small welts had begun to form. He whispered how pleased he was, how beautiful Malfoy was, telling the other boy how good he’d been. “Lovely,” he said. “Lovely.”
At length, Malfoy turned towards him, tucking his head under Harry’s chin, letting himself be held close and warm. He was whispering something, and it took Harry a while to realize it was his name, over and over, and not Potter, not at all, but “Harry, Harry, Harry.”
For that brief time, everything was as it should be. He had everything he needed, right there in his arms. And he wished that he could stay there, holding Malfoy, breathing in his scent, living forever in this perfect moment.
“Do you think Granger tries to keep Weasley in line this way?” Malfoy asked idly.
So much for perfect moments, Harry thought, and groaned.