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He had been watching the prat all day, unable to tear his eyes away.
Merlin, he wished he was not so obsessed with someone so unreachable.
He wanted to be anywhere else, somewhere that did not share the same plane of existence as Senior Auror Harry The-Sun-Shines-Out-His-Fit-Ass Potter.
Bloody Potter whose mere presence was doing things to his equilibrium that he had not experienced since undergoing puberty and a Dark Mark. Not surprisingly, Potter was also the source of those issues back then.
He shifted uncomfortably and folded his arms across his chest. Potter was still droning on, the Ministry’s Investigative Department, of which Potter was part, had the lead for the interdepartmental DMLE meeting this month.
Draco was there representing the Magical Maladies and Remedies Department, having been roped into it under the pain of death by Granger.
He scoffed inwardly, bloody Granger and her know-it-all ways still irritating him ten bloody years later. They had followed a similar career path, with her research into spell damage and his into dark charms and curses, so they tended to work in closely, and Granger even considered Draco a friend.
A friend, for Salazar's sake!
More so since his divorce two years prior. Astoria had left him and Scorpius for some uppity muggleborn lawyer. He smiled briefly as he thought of his son, with Astoria travelling internationally for her work, Scorpius lived with him at the Manor most of the time.
It was still a bitch of a thing to deal with his ex-wife though, and Granger had been surprisingly useful in assisting with the custody arrangements. He could, he supposed, consider Granger a close acquaintance now.
Her idiot husband, on the other hand...
His name spoken above the sudden murmuring around him brought his head up sharply. Potter was looking at him with an enquiring gaze and a hint of a smirk. Draco had no idea what he had missed, and quite frankly did not really give much of a fuck, having very little patience left to deal with Potter and his attractive face, and his delectable body, and Draco’s very active response that would not go away.
He sighed inwardly and calmly met Potter's gaze.
"My apologies, Auror Potter, my mind was wandering, could you repeat the question, please?" He kept his tone even, intent on maintaining the truce they had wordlessly agreed upon after the war, when Potter had returned his wand.
"No worries, Advisor Malfoy, I was simply wondering what you had found with regards to the nequitia malus curse traces found in Diagon Alley last month."
Potter's tone was also neutral, but Draco could hear that hint of something that had been driving him spare with every encounter they had had in the last six months. It seemed to class itself as challenge/taunt/dare alongside something else that Draco could not quite define.
The only thing currently defined in Draco’s life was the uncomfortable bulge in his pants, but he refused to think about that at all. Not if he wanted to maintain an acceptable level of sanity for the next hour or so before the meeting let out.
He kept himself from closing his eyes, refusing to avoid the brilliant green of Potter's, and thought seriously to himself. What had they found about that awful curse?
"The traces degraded quickly but we were able to obtain two partial signatures. Unfortunately, these signatures have merged in a way not previously seen, and we have yet to discover a manner by which we can separate them. Hermione and I have a series of tests to conduct this week and hope that these results will offer your department a stronger lead."
Potter nodded respectfully at his response and turned to an eager-as-always Granger for her input. Beaming at Draco for using her first name, he rolled his eyes and tuned her out - he had heard it all before - and used the opportunity to surreptitiously check out Potter's profile. The man had aged well. He had grown into the lithe frame he had at the end of the war, and while not as tall as Draco, he more than made up for it in his broad physique. Potter carried himself confidently, with an ease that made Draco both jealous and desperate to fuck him up against a wall.
Or for Potter to fuck him against a wall.
There was little doubt that he would be able hold Draco's weight easily.
The vivid image created by his mind’s eye sent a jolt to his groin and he visibly flinched, drawing both Potter's and Granger's attention back to him again. He nodded to the silent worry in Granger's eyes, assuring her that he was alright, and barely managed to avoiding flushing at the query in Potter's. And the hint of the smirk on his lips.
Draco narrowed his own eyes in response, and Potter’s smirk became fully blown.
Arsehole, thought Draco, the brief panic at the interaction giving way to the knowledge that there was no way Potter could know just how fucking attracted Draco was to him. He would never, ever, live it down if it became known to Potter, that paragon of saintly straightness.
Since his infatuation had reared its stupid ugly head again, after being successfully suppressed for the past decade, Draco was careful to limit his exposure to the inanity that was Auror Harry James Potter, Saviour and Chosen Golden boy of the Wizarding World. He avoided Potter's office, with the sickening photos of Potter and the Weaselette, the various offspring and accolades, and all-round general Potterness that was wont to do his head in.
He made use of all his Slytherin cunning to get out of the various collaborations and meetings that Potter seemed to want to arrange with him, and had developed an uncanny ability to spot and avoid Potter in the halls of the Ministry.
The less he had to apparate home at lunchtime to furiously masturbate in his bedroom, the better. The knowing glances of his mother at the dinner table were almost as irritating as Potter himself.
For all of his cunning and intellectual prowess, however, he had not been able to get himself out of this meeting, thanks to the meddling of that bloody Granger. She had gone to his boss. Bloody, sodding, interfering Granger. There was a small suspicion in the back of his mind that she was up to something, but he had yet to give it some serious thought.
Potter merely offered another of those shallow smirks, so Draco briefly dipped his head, and Potter turned to address the room once more.
"Let’s have a ten-minute break, and then we’ll move on to the Magical Misuse reports for the remainder of the meeting."
Potter smiled briefly to the room’s occupants, nodded at Granger, and then to Draco's complete horror, starting heading in Draco’s direction.
Sweet fucking Salazar, this could not be happening. Not with Draco so close to the edge.
Draco had chosen to hide himself and his burgeoning erection at the back of the room when he first arrived, claiming the seat in the back row of the meeting room closest to the exit. Thankfully, said now-fully-realised erection was covered by Draco's folded robes on his lap but he still struggled to keep still, trying to simultaneously ignore and relieve the increased pressure as Potter strode closer towards him.
It was almost painful now, and he despaired of how he was going to escape at the end of the meeting, unless he miraculously calmed himself down. But entertaining disturbing thoughts of death eaters/stupid muggleborn lawyers/dumbledore’s wrinkly body/fiendfyre was doing little to ease his discomfort, and he was pondering whether he should just apparate home right now, citing some bullshit emergency.
Surely facing his mother was better than Potter. Hell, Voldemort would be preferable at this stage…
He finally looked up as Potter paused beside him, tilting his head slightly asking permission to sit, and Draco gave the required huff and acquiesced, gesturing to the empty seat to his left.
Straight face, straight face, straight face, he thought frantically.
He stifled a groan as Potter brushed past him and then sat, his right arm nestling snugly against Draco's left, the blatant contact making Draco's cock jump. Thankful for Potter staring straight ahead for the moment, engaged in another round of the bizarre Potter/Granger super-creepy silent communication with Granger at the front of the room, Draco took the small moment to make especially sure he appeared calm and collected.
His mind was fair screaming at Potter's proximity, begging him to plant himself in Potter's lap, grab Potter's face, stick his tongue down Potter’s throat, and grind against Potter's groin to ease the relentless pressure of his cock, regardless of the people in the room, but Draco courageously ignored his mind, and waited on Potter to address him.
Finally, Potter ceased his conversation with Granger - Potter with a slight glare and Grainger with a determined smirk - and turned his head towards Draco.
"Soooooo,” drawled Potter, clasping his hands for effect, “Long time no see, Draco," as his defiant eyes bore into Draco’s.
Theirs was a practiced script of barely concealed insults and somewhat-mellowed animosity that had not changed over the years. Today, however, Draco deviated from said script as his brain ceased to function when he heard Potter call him Draco.
Holy fucking Merlin, his brain wheezed, he had certainly never expected Potter to call him by his given name. Ever. For a moment, all he could hear/see/think was Potter breathing it into his ear as Potter pounded into him.
Fuck.
He had to use all his willpower to stop his hips from thrusting into his jacket. And keep breathing. And keep holding Potter’s gaze.
And then he noticed Potter’s eyes had widened slightly.
Double fuck.
Draco relished the cold shower of panic that coursed through his blood, which allowed for a modicum of control, so he took an unobtrusive-but-deep-as-possible breath and prayed that his voice would remain steady.
"Well, Potter, there are those of us who lead incredibly busy and important lives, and have little time to spare for meaningless interactions..."
Take that, stupid primal urges, he inwardly crowed.
Potter's eyes darkened and unclasping his hands to place them on his thighs, he turned his whole body towards Draco, with his thigh coming into sharp contact with Draco's.
Draco was officially dead.
He could feel the heat of Potter's thigh through the thin material of his trousers, he could smell that uniquely Potter scent, and he could not tear his eyes from the hand that was so tantalisingly close to his cock.
So.
Fucking.
Screwed.
His cock was pulsing now, like it had its own sodding heartbeat, and honestly, each breath Draco took inwards was causing actual pain to his groin. He just wanted to grind down/jump potter/crucio himself, anything to just make it stop.
Potter shook his head for some reason and leaned into Draco’s space, apparently not noticing Draco’s imminent sensory overload.
"Gee, Draco, I'm almost offended. It's like you're saying I'm meaningless..."
The fucker had actually lowered his voice. It was absolutely, stunningly – well, to Draco’s frazzled mind - sultry. Draco’s eyes were not the only thing beginning to glaze.
Draco called upon all of his innate stubbornness, that which refused to ever cede ground to Saint Potter and sneered back, going for that special ginger kill, just to make Potter leave.
"Well, I am certain the Weaselette thinks you have some worth..."
Draco was quite proud of how unaffected he sounded as he threw out the rarely-used gold-digger comment. Normally, Potter would snarl, narrow his eyes, spit out a bitter retort in a ‘how-dare-you-offend-my-wife’ manner, and storm off.
But Potter did not react in his usual offended-Potter manner.
Potter did not even bat a fucking eyelid.
Harry Fucking Potter fairly destroyed Draco with what came next.
"Hardly, we're divorced," Potter snorted, with another shit-eating grin blooming on his face, and that hidden something in his eyes suddenly blazed with an intent that Draco would have been hard-pressed to misinterpret.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Draco was bereft of words. He was in a state of disbelief, with his mind adrift in a lustful ether, and his body that understood completely that Potter wanted to fuck Draco.
Draco was done.
And when Potter stood suddenly, with vague word-like sounds that assailed Draco’s ears, and then clasped his hand firmly on Draco's shoulder, and Draco to looked up into those endless green depths?
Draco was gone.
No sound was uttered.
In an absolute cliché, time ground to a halt for Draco, and a scorching inferno of sensory bliss seemed to envelop every nerve in his body, before releasing in a wave of pure sexualised energy. This. This was everything and more. Nothing existed beyond himself and Potter, and he never wanted it to end.
The strength of the orgasm that hit was like nothing Draco had ever experienced, so overwhelmed was he by blazing green eyes, the firm hand on his shoulder, the low timbre of voice. The very presence of one Harry James Potter contributed to the most mind-blowing sensation he had ever felt spurt out of his cock and into his underwear.
Fuuuuuck, his mind breathed, and his eyes rolled back into his head.
Speechless beyond words, a thick humming in his ears, and oh-so-sticky pants, Draco slowly felt the return of his sanity.
He was still staring into Potter’s eyes.
Eyes that had blown wide open, pupils dilated, as Potter made motions with his mouth in a poor parody of words.
"Jesus fuck" Draco heard Potter mumble under his breath.
Draco quite agreed. There was no embarrassment yet. Just a saturated heaviness that seemed to envelop and soothe his very soul. He could quite happily stay in his bubble of Potter-induced heaven forever.
Then a movement at Draco’s eye-level allowed his eyes to finally disengage from Potter's and draw level with Potter's own rapidly engorging crotch.
Oh. Draco blinked. Apparently, his conscious mind had been misinformed on a few pertinent facts.
Ignoring the interested twitch his cock gave in response to the erection before him, Draco braved a look up at Potter's face again. Potter, who stood stock still, had yet to remove his hand from Draco's shoulder, and was still suspended in his own bubble of apparent disbelief.
Could Potter really be on the same page as Draco? Surely not.
Then Potter blinked, and an absolutely delighted grin overtook his face and he beamed at Draco.
With a sense of foreboding, Draco stared owlishly back.
Potter appeared about to say something, but they both started when they heard Weasley's voice calling to Potter from the front of the room, and reality crashed upon them both.
Potter grinned again, and before he slowly withdrew his hand he fucking caressed Draco's shoulder. A world of trouble, aimed squarely at Draco, shone from Potter’s face.
What was that saying about being careful what you wished for?
Draco was beginning to feel more and more uncomfortable. Not just from the ejaculate seeping through his pants - likely into his bloody expensive robes – and how the hell he was going to leave this meeting without anyone noticing the damp patch on his grey fucking pants, but also from the gleaming knowledge in Potter's eyes. Oh, and how about the fucking fact he had fucking cum like a fresh-faced teenager from a fucking touch of Potter’s hand in the middle of a fucking monthly Ministry meeting.
With a dull flush working itself up from his neck, his mind could only repeat the same word: Fuck.
Potter was certain to hold this over him for a very long time to come.
Potter leaned down and breathed into Draco's ear.
"Don't even think about escaping at the end of this meeting."
Jesus fuck, indeed, Draco sighed to himself, as he watched Potter and Potter’s fine ass saunter back to the front of the room, and his cock began to rise once again.