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"Dean, get off your arse and take your turn!" Ginny playfully shoved into him with her shoulder, swaying him until he reached out and grabbed a card from the table.

"He's the worst staller," Ron laughed as Dean turned the card and winced at it's prompt, hastily taking a swig of his beer bottle. "I swear he does it on purpose!"

"Can't believe I'm not in a hurry to 'Tell the circle whose parent you'd rather shag…'"

Harry grimaced at the thought of shagging any of his friends' parents, but couldn't keep in a snicker anyways. Dean had without a doubt drawn the shortest straw all night, being submitted to the worst dares of the entire game. From having to run naked across the front yard, to calling a random number on his phone and asking for a night of passionate loving, they had not been going easy on him as their Friday night unfolded.

He chucked the card, whose backside read 'SHOTS OR SHENANIGANS', into the impressive pile of used cards and looked up with a devious grin. "Seamus, tell your mum I'll be over once you've been tucked in for the night."

The group hollered at once, while Seamus lunged from his seat to try and tackle Dean to the floor, knocking over both their drinks in the process.

"Watch it," Ron warned, to no avail as the two wrestling guys seemed to have activated their selective hearing. He grabbed the bottles and shoved them out of the way, managing to control the beer-spill on his maroon woolen carpet. "We just bought it!"

He and Hermione had moved into a small one-bed flat a few months ago, a reasonable distance from London and close to Hermione's current internship, and had been having their old schoolmates over as often as possible - said mates thereby witnessing the absolute dad-ification of Ron; from cooking for stray friends coming over at odd hours, to selecting sturdy furniture that would 'withstand the trials of life' as he had started putting it (no one knew where he'd gotten that phrase from), and insisting that guests used coasters and put their jackets on hangers. Harry found it absolutely endearing, and deliberately added fuel to the fire by gifting him a high-quality teal-colored Le Creuset for his last birthday, and thus revealing an aggressive passion for expensive cookware that surprised all three members of their trio equally.

"Better cut it before he sends us all in timeout," George said with a wink to Ron, whose cheeks reddened a little at the mockery. "Harry, you're up!"

Harry drew a card from the pile on the coffee-table, feeling the rush in his gut from the prospect of whatever stupid dare was on the other side of it. So far he'd had to lick the foot of a player of his choosing (he'd chosen George, who had, exactly as he'd hoped, been overly theatrical about it), and rank who he assumed was the three biggest slags among the players (Seamus, Ginny, George, full offense to all three). Seamus was always on the hunt, although his success was of varying degree, it certainly wasn't due to his lack of trying, and Ginny had, since she and Harry broke up about a year and a half ago, been rather open about her numerous experimental conquests. And George had let him lick his foot, the whore.

He cleared his throat to draw his friends eyes to him, and dramatically read out his prompt with a grin.

"Create a sultry dating profile. The group decides on what app to use. Keep it until you have at least ten matches, however long that might be..."

"Grindr!" Ginny cut him off, practically yelling, surging forward. "I will literally kill myself publicly if any of you take this away from me. For all that is holy, get the man on Grindr!"

"Hard not to read anything into your subtle hints, Gin," Hermione said with a snicker, eyes darting between Harry and his ex-turned-best-friend, taking a swig of beer before winking at Harry. "I assume no one has objections, besides perhaps the damsel himself?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "According to Gin, not sleeping with half the women in London must mean you have repressed desires of the dick-shaped kind." Which he did not, thank you very much. He was just kind of in a slump when it came to dating and hook-ups. He didn't seek it out, and it didn't come to him. It wasn't a big deal.

"You couldn't pull half the women in London even if you tried," she replied, sticking her tongue out at him. "But, I guess even I think you could probably, most likely, pull just one now and again."

"Tragic, how someone that skilled at toe-licking keeps their gift from the world," George sighed with a grieving headshake.

"I should put that in my profile," Harry added thoughtfully. "I'll secure ten matches before any of you finish your dri-"

Seamus and Ron immediately both started chugging the rest of their beers. Bad friends, the lot. Harry pulled his phone from his pocket.

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"Come on, you can definitely make your biceps look sluttier than that," Ginny egged on, and Harry snorted.

"Besides the fact that that isn't something that anyone would ever know how to do — I feel like this profile-picture-sidequest is taking over what was originally a five-minute task…"

He was perched on the bathroom sink (forced by two insistent women, trying to look way more comfortable than he felt), shirt halfway unbuttoned in a faux-haphazard manner, while Ginny was instructing Hermione to roll his sleeves further up as she was angling his own phone camera at him.

"'Mione, tell him about boys with slutty biceps!"

"That does not exist," Harry insisted.

"Personally, I prefer a slutty forearm," Hermione declared in a factual manner, before sending Ginny a telling look, "especially if it's whipping around a sauté pan or a ironing board."

"Valid, but in given context, unbelievably gross," Ginny winced. "Keep your Ron's-forearms-fetish in check at least until I leave, please."

Harry groaned. He wasn't usually one to admire his own physique, or take a lot of pictures of himself, which was why the girls had quickly determined that there were absolutely no recent photos that would do him justice on a dating app - hence the impromptu modeling session in Ron and Hermione's bathroom.

"Harry, be more brooding, for fucks sake!"

He made a face he didn't really believe would look anything other than constipated. Hermione started laughing, slowly losing it until she was bent over and out of breath, while he tried keeping a serious face as Ginny let the flash blind him. By the fifth photo, he couldn't hold his own laughter in. He felt like a lunatic, as he almost laughed himself off of the bathroom counter — Ginny flailing her arms in an exasperated manner, accepting that this was as good as it was going to get.

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Fifteen minutes later, after settling against putting "Enthusiastic Toe-Licker" in his profile description, and choosing the (apparently) most brooding bathroom picture they managed to conjure up, they were all huddled around the coffee table, eyeing Harry's phone as they scrolled through the endless list of potential matches.

"How do I know if they like me?" Harry felt a slight twang of insecurity in his stomach, and looked up at the faces of his friends. Despite the fact that it didn't matter in the least, it would kind of suck if no other profile liked him, after their over-the-top (albeit ironic) efforts to make him gay-dateable. Especially now that the drinking-game was long abandoned in pursuit of his fake-dating-project.

"Don't look at me, mate," Ron shrugged. "Never been on an app, never plan to."

Hermione kissed his cheek with an overly loud smack, while Seamus and George booed.

"You absolute cavemen," Ginny sighed. "You press someones picture if you think they're fit, and then push the like-button. If they like you back, a flame icon appears."

Harry felt another twang in his stomach. "Wait, I have to like them too?"

She nodded expertly. He suddenly felt a bit nervous. He didn't know he'd have to participate like that. He would've been just fine being a brooding, passive element in this.

"But I don't even fancy blokes? How would I know which ones are fit, Gin? It's not like I walk around tallying which ones I would hypothetically jump, in case I ever needed a list!"

"Why does it matter if they're fit, if the whole ordeal is fake?" Dean spoke up from his seat next to Harry. "That guy looks like an actual ogre — you should like him!"

Harry thought about it. It didn't matter, of course, he wasn't gay. He could like an ogre or two in the name of good fun.

"Oh my god, that guy has no teeth, instant like as well, Harry," Ron chimed in.

Harry pushed the small like-button next to the toothless guys photo, and a small flame appeared. Thunderous cheers broke out around the coffee table. He had gotten his first like back.

"Calls for a shot! Can't become Mrs. Toothless without toasting to it!"

"Well go get it for me, then," Harry grinned. "Can't expect the bride-to-be to get off her ass and go get it herself, now can we?"

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As the hours passed by and they emptied more bottles of beer, Harry's dating profile was soon forgotten as they moved on to the next drunken adventure, as often happened on evenings like those.

His vision was slightly blurry when his head hit his pillow in the wee hours of the morning, and not just because his glasses were neatly folded and placed on the nightstand next to him — the shots in the name of his betrothed Mr. Toothless probably contributed to his state as well.

His phone buzzed as his eyes started to droop, a picture from Dean sent to the groupchat. It was a blurry shot of the front door of the house Seamus and his folks lived in (where Dean would often crash instead of catching the train back to the other side of London where he lived, which would take him hours), with the added text, "hope the missus kept my side of the bed warm x".

A reply immediately popped up from Seamus, "ur sleepin on the fuckin lawn u animal".

Smiling to himself, Harry noticed an array of new notifications that had popped up while he was previously distracted, drunkenly getting ready for bed by discarding his clothes on the floor around him in a neat half-circle, as one does when properly pissed. They were all little flame-icons, and as he opened the app, he noticed that they were new messages from a match.

Now, he knew that they had only liked guys who were absolutely not gifted in the looks-department, and besides that it didn't matter because he wasn't bent, but a morbid curiosity still lingered in him, wanting to see what these guys would use as icebreakers, if they thought he was fit.

He pressed the icon, and opened the chat to-

Oh god. Oh no. Oh god no, nonono.

He flung his phone across the room, but much too late as it had only taken a mere millisecond for the image of a wrinkly and weirdly colored cock to etch into his memory forever. Who in the name of all things holy, would send a picture of an erect penis before even saying 'hello'? (Mr. Toothless, apparently). What world of absolute deviancy had he entered into? Was this what dating apps were like? Was this normal for people who frequented dating apps (Ginny, for example)? Did people send unsolicited pictures of their junk to Ginny? And did she like it? The absolute madwomen. He reminded himself to severely pick on her next time he saw her.

Moving towards his phone like it was an unpredictable and (suitably) hairy spider that he hoped to swat before it attacked him, he praised his own lack of desire to participate in this whole dating madness. He was definitely the sane one here. Everyone else could bugger off.

He kept a hand over his eyes as he blindly felt for the phone on the carpet, and when he finally caught it, he only peeked through his index and middle finger cautiously, to hit the "back"-button repeatedly. He dared only look as he was back on the front page of the app, where different smiling faces, and the occasional flexing upper body, were as wicked as it was going to get; the profiles that seemingly were compatible with his own, shown in a grid.

He almost closed the app when one of the small, pixilated photos caught his eye.

A tight feeling spread in his gut as he looked at the guy in the photo; he had the feeling he knew him from somewhere, as he seemed to invoke some sort of warm feeling within Harry, like an old playmate would — but with a solid layer of beer marinating his brain, he had no clue from where he seemingly knew him.

The guy wasn't smiling in his photo. Actually, when thinking about it, he probably looked brooding! Which Harry now recognized was nothing like the facial expression he himself had put on earlier when prompted with the same word. This guy didn't look constipated at all, he looked sharp, elegant, and mysteriously moody. Bugger. Harry would have to practice that look if he ever chose to create a real dating profile (as if he would ever do that, after tonight).

His white-blond hair was pushed behind his ears, and his slender fingers were placed on his neck, as he looked off in the distance. Harry felt that his brilliant, grey, eyes were looking right through the screen and past Harry, not even sensing him, rudely uninterested in Harry's sudden desire to know who he was, and how they were most definitely acquainted, as only people dear to Harry could make him feel like he was longing for something he couldn't quite place.

A thought suddenly struck Harry. If he liked his profile, and it was a match, he could just ask him in the chat!

He quickly clicked his profile, to learn that his name was Draco (which oddly didn't ring any bells, even though that struck Harry as a name he would've remembered), and they were the same age. Draco lived reasonably nearby, liked classic novels, summers in France, playing the piano, and pillow princesses (whatever that last one meant).

Harry pressed like. Nothing happened.

He waited a minute or so. Still nothing.

A small sting of disappointment spread in him — probably because he wasn't particularly good at dropping things, and he'd really put his hazy mind to figuring this mystery out. Whatever. Maybe he'd remember him in the morning, when he'd sobered up and could more adequately map out his life up until now.

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Hermione had this crazy ability to pick out restaurants. They'd usually go to one that she would've randomly walked past a couple of days before, remembering sort of where it was and vaguely what the theme was, and it would be the most incredible food Harry had had in a long time. So, they often went to lunch when Harry didn't have class, and the campaign office where she interned had let her off early.

This one was Ethiopian, the lamb stew was deep and flavorful, it was Tuesday, and Harry's phone had just vibrated in his pocket.

"—what I don't agree with, Harry, is that Mulligan signed off on the campaign budget before taking into account all the footwork that we have neither the interns nor the volunteers to get ahead of, and yes, he absolutely regards us interns as someone who only does manual labour without contributing to the structure at all — and it's not that I don't value manual labour tasks, Harry, you know I do—"

Harry swallowed a mouthful of stew, and sneaked a peek at his screen while Hermione thoughtfully waved a piece of flatbread around as she talked.

He had a new match. On Grindr. Not that it mattered.

"—and I might be in over my head, but I think that we need to account for the presence that these other means of communication have in today's political landscape! Our generation just doesn't respond to physical media as well as the target audience of our opponents campaign—"

It could be nothing. It could be one of the countless ogres from Saturday night, already parading his phone down his pants, about to send Harry another limp surprise in his inbox. It was probably nothing, not that it mattered anyways. His hand twitched, and he put it over his pocketed phone, as if he could telepathically feel whether the match was another oncoming trauma, just by hovering over it.

The phone vibrated once more. Harry had never been less focused on neither a meal nor a conversation.

"—he would've known that if he'd actually listened to our HR-reps advice on filling more board-positions with women, it's such a boys club in there sometimes, which just translates poorly towards the voters, I mean, more than half our population is women, Harry, and that reflects in the—"

It was probably nothing. It didn't matter anyways. It was just an itch he had to scratch. He felt itchy, in his chair.

"— but then again, what do you think?" Hermione finally came to a stop in her rant, and paused to take a couple of bites.

"I think … that your insight is more useful than you're credited for," Harry said, casting a wide enough net, conversationally, that he was probably within the limits of what was an appropriate answer.

"Exactly," Hermione said with a frustrated expression. "I knew you'd understand the complexity of it!"

Harry gave himself a mental high five, before turning his focus back to his phone, that felt burning hot in his pocket. It was probably nothing. Most likely.

"Gonna run to the loo real quick, alright 'Mione?"

He was a bit embarrassed to have gone to the bathroom only to check his phone, but in his defense, he'd be a much better conversation-partner once he'd confirmed that the match on his phone was of no particular interest, and he could turn his unwavering attention back to badmouthing Hermione's hardheaded campaign-manager.

🔥 Draco liked you

🔥 Draco sent you a message

Harry felt an ecstatic rush through his stomach. Probably because he could finally secure himself some relief from the wondering that had been nagging at him since this weekend, because it had. He had been told more than once, that he was more stubborn than what was good for him, and the blond man had returned to his mind more than once in the passing days, distracting Harry with his unexplainable magnetism. It had been quite frustrating. As soon as Harry could chat him up, learn what kind of bloke he was, and remember where they'd met before, he could forget about this whole ordeal and delete his profile. He'd ask him about it, get some peace of mind, and they'd both go their merry ways. His plan was working out perfectly. He would soon be back to normal, blond locks and silver eyes wiped from his hard drive.

"Hello, Harry."

Harry didn't know how to respond. How did you tactfully tell someone that you weren't gay, you just didn't recognize them and thus the swoop in your stomach upon seeing their picture must've meant that you had rudely forgotten them, and now you needed to know where you'd met before to settle a nagging ache in your mind, without seeming like a dick? Maybe he should wait a minute before telling that part.

"Hi, Draco."

"I'm neck-deep in a spreadsheet so boring I'm actually withering in my seat. Distract me, and I might reconsider ending it all while my boss is out on his client-lunch."

"Why would you kill yourself while he's out? Wait until he comes back and make a statement of it. Personally, I'd go for a letter-knife."

"Who in their right mind still has letter-knives lying around? What obscene amounts of mail are you receiving? Do you know that they invented texting?"

"It's obviously not to open letters, it's a secret weapon hidden in plain sight. I open all my hundreds of devoted love letters from past affairs with a regular knife. Makes it more dramatic."

"Obviously! And what does one have to do, say, to become one of these frenzied lovers of yours? Besides, of course, not succumbing to neither spreadsheet, letter-knife or those dangerously emerald eyes of yours. "

Harry blushed, a little flattered. He liked his own eyes, although maybe he felt that his glasses made him look slightly nerdy. He should probably let Draco know that the flirting was futile. They'd probably make good friends though, Draco seemed funny, quick on his feet with replies. It made Harry even more confused — why wouldn't he have remembered meeting some funny, uniquely named bloke who knew how to look brooding. Draco's demeanor made him want to push back, to level with his sarcasm and create little inside jokes with him. Like friends did. Before Harry though of a good reply, another message ticked in.

"That was so corny, I'm actually throwing my phone in the bin. Sorry, I usually try and save the poetic stanzas until at least a couple of dates in."

"Oh, so that's what second base is! I've always wondered!"

"Glad I didn't scare you off, Harry — third base is an epic about your lips, can't say I haven't warned you."

It didn't scare Harry off from further pursuing conversation, at least. He did feel a little bit like a fraud, not having told Draco that he wasn't into men, but the moment wasn't really there yet. He'd get to it. For now, he'd get to know Draco, in his pursuit of the hidden truth.

"I consider myself warned! So, are you from around here?"

"Raised in Oxfordshire, recently finished uni in Lyon. Very picturesque, and the best part is that now I get to manage business accounts for the most boring people on earth, with my hopelessly numskulled boss who says 'Cash Cow' and 'Customer Lifecycle' eight gazillion times a day!"

"A truly confusing destiny for a born poet like yourself, the likes of which only known in the Shakespearean Age."

"It's only confusing if you've yet to realize how much money it costs to live in a castle where every room is a library."

"And here I was hoping that when I graduated, UCL Main would be in my past and not haunting my living room forever."

"What do you study, oh you, who is afraid of books?"

"PGCE, so not technically, really a student… I try and push books onto others instead, you see, as corporal punishment for merely existing."

"That's hot. And a little bit mean of you to be that fit, and expect those poor bastards to be able to focus on quadratic formulas and whatnot."

"Luckily, I'm in rotation with second graders this semester — they'd hardly notice if I sprouted a third arm, that's how little they pay attention to me as a concept."

"Can't relate. I'd have had the fattest crush on you if you were my english-teacher — might've even made me sit up front and raise my hand and all."

The idea of someone (his own age, mind you) fantasizing about him as a teacher was a bit intriguing. He'd have to remember that, the next time he went on a date with a girl. He imagined himself as a stern and rugged looking english-teacher, and laughed a little to himself. He wasn't nearly cool enough to be an english teacher. Those were the badasses in the teaching-world. Harry was more destined to become a dorky but lovable history or physics teacher, who wore t-shirts with bands the students had never heard of, and used slang intentionally wrong to embarrass them.

"A model student, I have no doubts."

He smiled to himself. Draco's messages made him feel a little airy, even though he was a guy and it wouldn't lead anywhere. He wasn't trying to lead him on or anything, it was just - Harry was a little worried that Draco would become upset and delete Harry from his app, if he found out he wasn't gay, and he didn't want that, he liked Draco. He'd just tell him later, after his platonic, non-sexual charm had won him over, to a point where he wouldn't mind having been lead on a tiny bit. Plus, all the flirtatious compliments he'd received over the last couple of minutes made him walk out of the bathroom an inch taller, at least. He never did come around to find out where he knew him from, it didn't seem like their paths had likely crossed up until now, so the lingering feeling of excitement and warmth he got when he looked at him must've come from something else. Weird. He'd been sure that was it. Maybe Draco looked like someone Harry knew. That was probably it.

When he sat back down at the table and continued his discussion with Hermione, the one that he'd vowed to participate more actively in, he quickly found himself falling short. He was far too preoccupied with imagining himself as a cool and aloof English Teacher, one that someone would sit up front to be noticed by. Maybe with a leather jacket, which was probably what Draco had imagined in his head when he'd said that.

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Thursday nights he met up with Ginny and Seamus, and practiced basketball behind the local youth center after it closed. Supposedly, it was comradely back-and-forth, although Harry estimated that they probably exchanged more foul cursewords during that singular hour once a week, than most people did in a month.

"The next time you don't open your fucking eyes and pass to me, I'm gauging them out and eating them for protein!" Ginny's forehead was dripping with sweat, as she was coming at Harry with her finger pointed accusingly at him.

"Passing is for people who aren't blocked, and who aren't god damn delusional," Harry roared back, not yielding at her approach. "What, were you going to jump over Seamus, you fucking muppet?"

"We'll never know, will we? Because your massive, fat, ego won't let go of the ball!"

"How high do you think you can jump, Weasley?" Seamus narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms.

"What are you, one sixty-five? That's doable," she replied, her frown now twisting into a menacing grin at Seamus.

"I'm one seventy-three, you daft slag!"

"I need water before we switch — Mr. One-Sixty-Eight-On-A-Good-Day isn't known for pulling his weight when it comes to jumping," Ginny grinned, and headed towards the fountain by the centers back doors.

"This is why no one passes to you," Seamus grumbled, as he retied his shoes while Harry followed Ginny.

"We talked about going again Saturday — George said he might come too, that it'd be good for him to 'give the old bones a rattle'," Ginny said in between splashing water in her face.

"He's barely two years older than me, what the fuck is he on about," Harry laughed. "Can't do Saturday, though."

Ginny's head shot up, her hair sloshing water onto the asphalt. "Why not?"

"Plans," Harry shrugged. He reached out to fill his bottle, but Ginny slapped his hand away.

"What plans? You never have plans," she frowned. Ouch. Also, annoyingly true. Harry was usually at home or at Ron and Hermione's on the weekends.

"Just plans," he insisted.

"With whom?"

Harry kicked the ground with his trainer, and fidgeted with the lid of his bottle. "A friend."

"I know all your friends."

"I can have other friends!"

Ginny flailed her arms animatedly. "I know! I've been saying that! You don't, though!"

Harry sighed. "I'm going to a concert."

She stared at him profoundly, grin creeping up on her face, as she took a deep breath. "Harry Elizabeth Potter!"

"Don't start with the-"

"Harry Evelyn Elizabeth Potter! Are you going on a date?" She was basically crowding him up against the doors to the youth center, giddy and loud, as he desperately tried to shush her and diffuse the excitement. "A proper, human date?"

"It's not a date, Gin, it's just a concert."

She batted her eyelashes at him. "A concert with a secret friend."

"It's not like that! It really isn't," he attempted. Because it really wasn't.

"Then what is it, say, dear Harry?" She towered over him, something she had always had the ability to do, physically and also somehow spiritually. He had always liked it too, especially when they were together — she was tall and muscular and fast and could be absolutely brutal; if more girls were like that, he might've gone on more actual proper human dates in his life. Which was not what this was.

"It's complicated!"

It wasn't really that, either. Draco had sent him a message the night before, asking what kind of music he was into, and after almost an hour of effortless, back-to-back messages, he'd asked if Harry wanted to go to a show later that week, and Harry had immediately agreed.

Harry knew that to Draco, it most definitely was a date. And he probably hadn't done much to make it clear that it wasn't, but it was like the right time to say it never really came, and the band sounded incredible, and the venue was fun, and Harry liked that maybe he was someone that could have plans, on a God Given Saturday, none the less. It was probably easier to mention in person, anyways. He would just bring it up come Saturday, and they would have a good laugh about it, and they would enjoy their night out as friends. Not complicated at all!

At his obvious turmoil, Ginny backed off a little.

"Complicated can be fun, though," she shrugged. "I really, really hope you decide to have fun."

Harry hummed, in neither agreement or disagreement. They started walking back towards the court, where Seamus was practicing dunking (something he was not very elegant when attempting).

"Question, Finnigan, would you like to go to a concert this weekend, just you and I?" Ginny asked while putting her hair back up into her ponytail.

"Why?" He scowled mistrustfully.

"To spend time together, of course," Ginny said with feigned innocence. Harry rolled his eyes and dragged his hands through his hair resignedly.

"Are you asking me out, Weasley? Because while not on my bingo card, like at all, I'm not opposed as long as we lay down some ground rules…"

"That's what you would assume, right?" She asked, while looking mostly at Harry, who ignored her, picking up the basketball from where Seamus had dropped it. Seamus himself, was too occupied with tallying on his fingers to notice neither the ball nor the point Ginny was making.

"-second of all, I'm not Harry, or some bird from one of your nightclubs, so you're not pegging me, not even if you ask nicely, and third of all-"

"Wait what-" Harry quickly dropped the ball again, almost giving himself whiplash from looking so rapidly between Ginny and Seamus. "Why would he think that you've… y'know…"

Ginny just shrugged with a pointed look at Harry and mouthed 'don't look at me'.

"-so if you're cool with that, I reckon we could go out…" Seamus wrapped up his terms and conditions and crossed his arms. Ginny snorted.

"Massive dealbreaker that you're not begging for a pegging mate, alas, the only one going on a date this weekend is Harry," she grinned, and Seamus looked at Harry.

"It's not a date," he argued again. "He's a friend, and we're going to a concert, and it's not a date, because I'm not gay."

"He? Hmm, that's new," Seamus said inquiringly, and Ginny nodded with tormenting delight. "Weasley, is this the same concert you're trying to sodomize me at? Like one big backdoor-blowout?"

"She's not going to the concert, she doesn't want to date you, no one is dating anyone this Saturday, she's just being a dick" Harry revealed flatly. "And speaking of, Gin has never put anything… y'know, up my nether regions."

Except a thumb, once or twice. Which wasn't a big deal, or something that needed to be brought up, like ever, in front of their friends.

"For real?" Seamus raised his eyebrows, seemingly not too bummed about his hypothetical date falling through. "It's kind of difficult to envision it the other way around."

"Well, luckily you don't have to envision it either way," Harry snapped crossly, and snatched the basketball back up, throwing it firmly towards Seamus. "I'm neither fucking nor getting fucked by anyone at all. I am chaste as all hell! I can't believe that's somehow my winning argument! Now stand still, so we can put an end to the eternal question of whether Ginny can jump one fifty-nine or not."

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"What are you wearing?"

"I'm not sexting you, by the way, I'm actually inquiring about your choice of outfit. I have this debilitating fear of simultaneously being both over- and underdressed for any occasion."

"Unless you want me to sext you, of course?"

"That wouldn't help with you wardrobe-related anxiety though. I'm wearing a tee over a turtleneck and slacks. Approved? Or am I only making things worse?"

It was a trick question. Harry had already sent pictures of his first, second and third attempts at outfits to Ginny and Ron respectively, and they had both told him off several times until they were each satisfied (Ron, who was generally into heavier music than Harry, with whether or not he was wearing appropriate concert-attire, and Ginny, with whether or not he looked sexy enough (not that he was trying to look sexy, because that would be weird, but it was nice to look good for his very seldom occurring night out)). He knew his outfit was acceptable.

"Jacket?"

"Brown leather."

"Shoes?"

"Boots."

"Hot. I'm drooling."

Harry blushed. Maybe it was slightly above acceptable.

"What are you wearing, then?"

"You'll have to wait and see ;)"

"Because before I leave in about twenty minutes, I'm going to try on nine different things while in complete hysterics and then resort back to the first one I settled on. It's a well-rehearsed and crucial routine."

"Alright, I'll try not to perish from anticipation in the meantime."

They had agreed to meet outside the venue, and even though Harry definitely had the impression that Draco was the kind of guy to be somewhat fashionably late, he was still pacing a bit back and forth outside the entrance. People dressed in various degrees of alternative clothing leisurely passed him by, some with venue-plastic-cups filled with drinks, some with cigarettes, and some on their phones, probably awaiting a friend like himself. The deep waves of bass-heavy music escaped every time someone swung the entrance-doors open. He listened, to see if the track was one he recognized, but to no avail.

When he spotted Draco, he instantly knew it was him, his face looking strikingly and unfairly alike to his very model-esque pictures. Harry's stomach flipped in a weird way, as he was once again hit by an overwhelming and warm feeling of intimacy, and the strange sensation that they knew each other closely and devotedly reappeared. Like being dear, lifelong friends was why he felt genuinely excited as the other man approached, and recognizing the skillfully tousled way his hair fell and the shape of his jaw was from countless hours spent in each others comfortable company, and not from studying his profile pictures in between strings of messages. Harry had built up a habit of doing that, in particular, in the few days leading up to the concert. Not because of anything weird, that was. The pictures were just insanely good, it was as simple as recognizing well-executed projects, so he took to admiring them in a artistic way. It wasn't any different from the way he'd admired the statues of ancient Roman gods, that summer he, Ron and Hermione had visited Florence, which was a completely normal and rational thing to do. Everyone who went to Italy and had functioning eyes and/or brains did that.

Draco smiled when he saw him, a sight that had been left to the imagination from his pictures. Which was fair, because no matter how skilled the photographer, it was probably difficult to capture the way his eyes narrowed and sported a slight twinkle, and how his canines were a little bit sharper than expected. Harry felt himself grin back at him.

Draco was dressed in a short-sleeved button-up with colorful flowers embroidered in intricate patterns across the front of it, and dark blue corduroy pants. He was wearing several pieces of silver jewelry (which Harry noticed, as he wasn't much one for wearing jewelry himself; he tended to lose it), that gleamed in the evening sunlight.

Draco had been right to pick this particular outfit, whatever iteration of his ritual it happened to be, as it made him look tall, slender and cool. Harry suddenly felt a twang of doubt that his own outfit could compete. He rarely looked neither tall, slender nor cool, with his rumpled sweaters and shirts, messy hair, shorter legs and broad shoulders.

He didn't have time to spiral any further, because Draco pulled him into a hug. Maybe they really had known each other in a hundred lifetimes and just forgotten about it, because it felt so… Natural, the way Draco's arms and cologne alike embraced Harry, and both overwhelmed him with their warmth and comfort.

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's waist. It seemed like the polite thing to do. It was slender and firm and manly, and Harry forgot any and all ways in which he had ever hugged any of his friends, feeling stiff and awkward, even though this wasn't different at all! He was just hugging a friend, like whenever he hugged Ron, or George or Dean, settling his hands on said friends back, where muscles were flexing slightly underneath the soft fabric of his shirt. Had he ever noticed Ron's muscles during a hug? He was positive he had not. Maybe Ron was just weak, as a person, without muscles worth noticing in his back. That was probably it. Harry would have to ask him to come practice basketball before he shrunk down to nothing, leaving Hermione widowed.

"I need to tell you a secret before we go inside," Draco said with a wicked grin, as he pulled back from hugging Harry, whose hands suddenly felt a little cold without Draco's shirt underneath them. He would've thought that it was still too warm in London to be glove-and-scarf season, but maybe he was wrong.

"I actually have a secret too," Harry said, feeling a little less guilty now that he knew that they'd both been hiding something from the other. "You first, though."

"I know the girl who works the bar, she's my cousin's girlfriend, and if we tip well she gives us double liquor in our drinks for free, and if we stiff her, she spits in them," he explained.

"I mean, my usual go-to is a pint of lager, but this health-code-violation gamble of a drink sounds like a riot!"

Draco laughed. "Now, your secret?"

The sound of Draco's laugh was dry, like he didn't mean to laugh but it just happened. It was full of sharp charm, and Harry kind of wanted to hear it again. He thought about telling his secret. It could wait another hour, honestly.

"I like it when mean girls spit in my drink," he said, feigning deep seriousness, and Draco laughed again , short and sudden, and pulled Harry towards the entrance with him. Harry smiled.

Once settled at a slightly grimy table, covered in old band-stickers, marker-grafitti, various mandatory venue-dirt and a half-hearted paint-job, Draco indeed brought him a drink that tasted like it could likely moonlight as jet fuel (which hopefully meant it was spit-free), and the band was on stage, pulsating deep rhythms and dark synthesizers out over the crowd.

"There's a long way from classical piano to industrial house synth," Harry intrigued, stirring his drink with his straw.

"I like classical music, it's what I grew up with, but once I hit my quote-unquote rebellious phase, I ditched the piano to experiment with more modern things," Draco explained, gesturing towards a leather-clad band-member. "But once I'd pissed my parents off enough, I grew fond of the classics again too."

"I played the guitar for one entire, terrible, summer. My friends still, to this day, has my heartfelt, fifteen-and-angry rendering of Good Riddance, memorized to perfection. It comes up more than you'd ever expect, at parties, get-togethers, funerals, really any occasion."

"Tell me, and lie to me if you must, that you had a streak of angry red in your fringe," Draco said, and at that, he reached across the table and fondly drew a few strands of dark curls out of Harry's eyes. He went completely still at the touch, not really knowing whether to lean into it, like a normal person would, or scoot away, like a normal straight man might do. Which resulted in him doing neither, and just freezing in his seat, like an actual lunatic allergic to human touch. Draco tilted his head at Harry's obvious inner battle. "No? Was it green, perhaps? Would've brought out the defiant sparkle in your angry, emo-eyes, probably."

Harry snorted. Draco was good at avoiding awkwardness, so much that, Harry started to wonder if he had already figured Harry out, and was just being nice about it. With the crisis averted, they finished their drinks and Draco grabbed Harry by his arm and gently dragged him towards the dark blur of the swaying and jumping crowd.

Talking to him was scarily easy, and it turned out that standing shoulder-to-shoulder, clapping and roaring and dancing as the set progressed, was equally as easy, as if this was something they did every Saturday, and not something that had had Harry in internal knots for days

As the singer screamed on about violence and destruction and death, Harry felt Draco's hand around his waist, sliding into his left back-pocket of his trousers. His breath got stuck in his throat and he suddenly felt a bit out of balance, so he did the only thing that came to mind and grabbed onto Draco's shoulder, which helped his unsteady feet, but also secured Draco's hand deep in his pocket, warm against his arsecheek.

He was in a complete state of panic, he had never meant for it to go this far, his little charade with the dating profile and the omitting certain truths and the he'll-like-me-as-a-friend-anyways, and now he was grabbing on to Draco for dear life, as Draco's long, slender fingers caressed his behind through the fabric of his slacks, and he was sweating, throat feeling swollen and thick, and he had no idea what he was doing, and the strobe-lights from the stage were blinding him, and he felt like he was going to pass out, so he looked over at Draco to tell him as much.

Draco's skin looked almost ghostly in the flashing lights, and his jaw was sharp, and his lips were curved into a grin, upper lip slick with sweat, a drop settled in his cupids bow and Harry wondered what it would taste like, he was clearly dehydrated and in delirium, and Draco's eyes looked over at him, glistening with heat and mischief under thick, blonde lashes, colorless like the cloudy sky before a thunderstorm, and charged with as much energy, and Harry didn't know if he was floating or falling, and then Draco was kissing him.

For a second, or two, or a thousand, Harry was thinking nothing, completely degaussed by the magnetism, his brain having shut down from overheating, or overprocessing, or overthinking, or everything all at once, and he was just suspended in thin air between the stage and the bar, holding on to Draco's shoulders as to not plummet to his death a million meters below them, as the floor had unquestionably vanished beneath him.

Then, it was soft. So, so, so soft. How could someone so angular, so tall and with back-muscles that moved like that when he hugged, so much a man and so sharp and with edges and a dry, piercing laugh, have lips that moved so tenderly against his own. It was supposed to feel rough and uncomfortable, like two puzzle pieces that don't fit, and kissing girls was what was supposed to feel this pillowy and sweet and softsoftsoftsoftsoft.

Draco's let his free hand slide over Harry's jaw and backwards until it settled in the curls at the nape of his neck, and Harry opened his mouth with a small gasp when Draco tentatively licked inside. His tongue was soft and firm at the same time, and it felt so good against Harry's own, exploring his mouth slowly, like they had all the time in the world, their lips moving steadily against each other. The warm, swooping feeling in his stomach was back, except it was tenfold this time, climbing to his head and making him dizzy, as Draco sucked lightly on his bottom lip before pulling him a bit closer, letting the fingers in Harry's back pocket grab on to him a little tighter. Harry broke the kiss and looked up at Draco.

"I couldn't help it, the music was so romantic," Draco whispered, smiling sheepishly with kiss-swollen, pink lips, and to Harry's surprise, he found that the concert was still going around them, music blaring, world still spinning on it's axis. Strange, he could've sworn it'd all stopped. "Want to head out before the encore? Beat the crowd?"

Harry knew what that meant. He knew what it all meant, the hand on his arse, the tongue in his mouth, the caressing of his hair. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. "I've gotta run to the bathroom."

"Alright, I'll wait for you outside," Draco nodded, and before Harry could turn around and bolt in whatever direction he'd imagine the bathrooms to be in, Draco pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

🔥🔥🔥

Running to the loo to talk to someone on his phone while at a social event was probably not a very becoming habit, but once again Harry found himself locked in a toilet stall, frantically digging his phone out of his pocket.

Ginny picked up before the first ring had finished. Looming over the phone, probably, like some prey animal, the absolute lunatic, why didn't she have plans herself. On a Saturday.

"How's it going?" She was feigning casualty, Harry knew it, waiting for him to tell her something juicy, scandalous.

"I'm having a crisis," Harry said drily, leg bouncing restlessly off of the floor as he sat on the closed lid.

"Elaborate," she ordered. Harry took a deep breath.

"We, uh, we kissed. He asked me back to his place. He put his hand on my, uh, on my-"

Ginny was screaming in overt ecstatic joy, words completely unintelligible although Harry was pretty sure he got her point. He tried to shush her, as her voice started falling in and out of the phone line, as she was apparently transcending to a frequency that only bats, dogs and maybe some exotic birds could hear. Harry cussed her out and hung up.

Hermione was a bit slower to pick up, and Harry's stomach was turning itself inside out, it felt like. He didn't even know what to ask her.

"Ron's here too," she called, and Harry could hear pots and pans banging in the background.

It struck him, then. "Don't laugh, okay, 'Mione."

"Hmm," the reply was non-committal, refusing to promise anything binding.

"When you hug Ron, do you like, pay attention to his … uh, muscles? Like, do you, like that?"

Hermione coughed (but didn't laugh — win!), and Harry could imagine the top of her ears reddening.

"Uh yeah, I like that very much," she admitted, lowering her voice as if Ron wasn't allowed to hear her disgraceful thoughts about his loving hugs. "He has nice muscles."

That ruled out Harry's otherwise bulletproof theory that Ron was just a no-good twig that couldn't hug properly. Bugger.

"In his back?"

"Well yeah, and his shoulders, and his arms."

She didn't ask him why he was asking about it. Which was nice, as he assumed she knew, courtesy of either Ron or Ginny, where he was and what they believed him to be doing. She probably knew why, anyways. She was perceptive, like that.

"What does it feel like when he kisses you? Like, really, really kisses you?"

"Like I'm on a bed with the softest, newly washed sheets, but also like I'm running a thousand kilometers an hour," she whispered. He could tell she was smiling, as Ron was clanking on in the background. "Does that make sense?"

"I just didn't know it would be soft," Harry mumbled, more to himself than to Hermione, zoning out from their conversation. "I really didn't."

"What would, Harry? Are you alright?"

He zoned back in, eyes on the scribbles on the door in front of him, telling him to go fuck himself, and the police, and the government and the likes.

"Look, I've got to go 'Mione — I promise I'm not in love with Ron or anything weird!"

He hung up, and called Ginny again.

"I have collected myself," her voice sounded instantly. Harry was skeptical, but desperate times, and all that.

"I don't know what to do, Gin, he's outside waiting for me!"

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't know! I don't know anything, if I knew shit I would be out there, not in here talking to you!"

He was sounding a bit frantic.

"Don't get crass with me, missus," Ginny scolded. "Be nice or I'm hanging up."

"Gin, now is not the time, just help me!"

"Oh my God, Harry, it is not that difficult. Do you think he's fit?"

"Yes. He looks like a roman statue, for fucks sake."

In hindsight, that comparison earlier on, was probably not his straightest thought.

"Did you like it when he kissed you?"

"Yes. I just thought-"

"Well, Harry, you think too much, that's your whole deal. You'd already be getting a handy in a taxi, instead of getting scolded by your sexy, womanizer ex-girlfriend in a grimy toilet stall, if you'd just shut off your stupid fucking brain for four seconds! Do what feels good! Don't do what doesn't feel good! Stop thinking!"

"Why would you, in this particular moment, need to describe yourself-"

"For fun!" She cut him off with a groan. "Because I do things that are fun, without thinking for a gazillion years about it, and so should you! Go have fun, you absolute bell-end!"

"He doesn't know, though, that I've never uh-" Harry was stammering. "I've never, with a guy, y'know-"

"Oooh no, a virgin," Ginny said in a mocking tone, but he could hear her smile through the phoneline. "Men famously avoid those like the plague."

The call ended before he could object any further. He put his phone back in his pocket, and exited the stall to stare at himself in the mirror above the sinks. He didn't look any different than when he looked at himself one last time before he left home, earlier. He didn't know if he felt any different either.

He splashed a bit of water in his hair, and exited the bathrooms.

Draco was outside, sitting on a staircase leading up behind the venue, picking at the hem of his shirt. His eyes lit up when he saw Harry.

"I almost thought you'd run off, changed your name, started a new life and all," he called as Harry walked up and plopped down next to him.

"There was a line," Harry lied, letting his shoulder touch Draco's. "They've stigmatized sex, drugs and rock 'n roll so much that people hide out in the bathrooms to do it now, truly a cattle market in there…"

"Bugger, I knew all those people in the crowd looked too preppy, I should've guessed something was up," Draco huffed, as he let his ring and pinky fingers rest on the outside of Harry's thigh. "So you didn't mind that I kissed you?"

"No. And I think you should invite me back to yours," Harry said, smiling tentatively. Do it if it feels good. Don't do it if it doesn't feels good. It seemed simple enough, when she put it like that. Do it if it feels good. Talking to Draco felt good. Talking more to Draco would most likely feel even better. Talking to himself like a caveman, apparently, made his brain make sense. They should study it, the scientists, see what kind of ridiculous wiring they could locate up there. Do it if it feels good. "For a drink, or something."

"Can I spit in it?"

"Preferably."

Draco laughed.

"I need to tell you the real secret," Harry hurried the words out of his mouth, as if they'd disappear for the nth time if he didn't. "Before we, uh, go anywhere."

Draco tilted his head, observing Harry with his heated gaze, listening. Do it if it feels good.

"I didn't know I was into men until, about," he checked an imaginary watch on his wrist, "twenty minutes ago. And about twelve of those minutes I spent having a minor freakout in the bathroom-"

"Knew it!"

"Which means I've had less than eight minutes to think about all the things I don't know how to do, so I get it if you maybe would rather, y'know, hang out with someone who knows how to make you feel good-"

"Harry-"

"-seeing as you're, y'know, you look like that, I mean you're probably like the prettiest guy I've ever seen so if like-"

"Harry!"

He was doing it again, overthinking, and apparently he had evolved his terrible habit even further and started doing it out loud instead of in his head. "Yes?"

Draco looked smug. "You think I'm pretty?"

He blushed. Handsome. Striking. Hot. He could've used any word, and now 'pretty' seemed so trite. Was that even something that guys told each other?

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "Is that okay?"

Draco laughed, but in a way that made Harry feel bubbly inside. Then he leaned over, put his hand on Harry's face and kissed him again and oh. Oh, wow.

Do it if it feels good. So Harry kissed him back with full force, tasting the maddening sweet and salt of his lips, and he reached out to put his hands around Draco's neck, running them over his shoulders and upper back and upper arms, feeling the planes of his broad, lean body underneath, mapping them out with his hands and searching for nothing in particular, except more — and this was something that he had thought he would have to get used to, that he'd have to warm up to slowly, but then the feeling of Draco shifting beneath him, his arms flexing as he grabbed harder onto Harry, made electricity shoot through his veins, downwards, downwards, rapidly, and, oh fuck, his thoughts were blurring together and he was getting a hard-on in public. He was warmed up, alright.

Draco pulled back this time, reluctantly, and looked at him with blown eyes, pupils wide and breath ragged.

"I don't care about all that, y'know, you said before." He was mumbling, pushing his mouth against Harry's jaw as he spoke. Harry shivered. "About not having done this before. I just want to make you feel so fucking good, Harry, I'll do whatever you'd like me to, just want to take you home and put my hands and mouth on you."

He ran his hand down Harry's chest, under the jacket, over the shirt, and Harry groaned, fully erect, his cock tight against his slacks, and only a little embarrassed about it. He had no idea if the concert was over, if people were scattering around them as they exited the venue, if anyone had eyes on them at all, as he could only fixate on so many things at once, and Draco's breath against his neck, the words he were saying, and his hand across his chest, were all of them and then some.

🔥🔥🔥

Turned out that there was no need to even get a taxi, because Draco didn't live that far from the venue, and they could just walk. The sun had set, and the misty, blue light that wrapped the streets, was a harbinger for the darkness to come — just like Draco's hand that tentatively found Harry's and made his insides buzz with nervous excitement, was making him anticipate whatever was to come. He didn't remember the last time he was so completely overflowing with giddy, horny, dizzying desire for someone, just from a single point of contact.

Draco filled the brisk air with curious questions, making the transit from making out, to walking together at least semi-aware that they were still in public, smooth and casual.

"You didn't know it was a date?"

"It's, I mean, I guess I kind of did, but then again I'm not," he huffed a small laugh, "I'm sometimes a little too much in my own head, jumping to very wacky conclusions and confusing myself. I don't know if that makes sense. I usually get other people to talk sense into me, I have a pretty solid panel for that, actually."

"Is said panel also the Good Riddance choir, by any chance?"

"You get it!"

"So why the Grindr-profile? If you allegedely hadn't come to terms with that, uh, part of yourself?"

Harry laughingly cleared his throat. "Dare in a party-game."

Draco feigned hurt, gasping dramatically, "so it was all a drunken joke to you?"

"Actually, your profile didn't pop up until I was back home alone in my bedroom."

"Oh," he pulled Harry closer by their interlinked hands. "Do tell me more about you, a repressed, confused and drunk man, staring at my pictures while lying in bed. Were you naked?"

Harry shouldered him a bit, smiling sheepishly, "it wasn't completely like that."

"So, still wearing underwear, then? Did it make you want to covertly shove a hand down your pants, rub your own cock while pretending not to think about anything in particular?"

"Oh my God," Harry said mockingly, but Draco's brazen choice of words made him feel a little out of breath. "Just make me out to be a pervert, will you?"

"Oh, I'll make you a pervert all right," Draco grinned slyly, pulling him all the way in, kissing him slowly on the corner of his mouth. Harry sucked in a quick breath. "Nothing I'd rather do, actually. This is me, on your left."

They haphazardly reached the front door, and made it up two flights of stairs to Draco's flat, where their jackets and shoes were quickly abandoned in the hallway.

Draco walked him through a beautifully decorated living room, towards a comfortable-looking navy blue couch, with pillows in various beige shades strewn across it. Harry sat back in it, and definitely let his eyes linger on Draco's shapely trousers as he went to grab two beers from his fridge. It felt so instinctive to follow his movements, as he moved across the room and handed Harry an opened bottle, and Harry barely registered the drink in his hands as his eyes ran over Draco's silhouette from his chest to his waist to his hips. He stood still in front of Harry, his thighs and slender hips in Harry's eye-level, which was making his mouth dry and his collar feel tight around his neck.

"Is IPA okay?"

"Yeah," Harry said, taking a sip without moving his eyes from Draco, not registering a single thing about how the beer tasted. He had actually forgotten, at this point, if he liked IPA. Draco knelt down in front of him, and rested his underarms on Harry's knees, looking up at him with glistening eyes. Harry's heart was hammering so hard in his chest, that the neighbors could probably hear it.

"How do you feel?"

"Good. I like this," Harry whispered, as Draco ran his hands up his thighs. "I like when you touch me."

"Fuck, Harry."

He took another sip. His throat didn't feel any less dry, though, but Draco followed the movements with his eyes, which made his stomach do something funny.

"I think you're so fucking fit. Can I kiss you again?"

Harry nodded, and Draco gently took his bottle from his hand and put it down on the coffee table, before crawling onto the couch with sudden vigor, pushing Harry lightly back before straddling his thighs and attacking his mouth. His kisses were deep and a little bit aggressive, biting and licking at his lower lip and tongue, hands grabbing onto the front of Harry's shirt, and Harry wrapped his hands around his waist, becoming acutely aware of the burning feeling that were all the places that Draco's body were touching his own. His inner thighs were right on top of Harry's crotch, and his cock was thickening rapidly, just knowing that Draco's was right there.

His cock. Another thing that Harry had, first of all, had very little time to conceptualize in his swiftly escalating sexuality, and second of all, with that limited time had fully expected to take ages to actually come around to wanting. Except Draco's was right there, only centimeters from his own, which was fairly easy to conceptualize, and Harry could tell it was hard against his trousers, bulging the fabric outwards, pressed against his abdomen, and there was only very few, thin layers of tight clothing between them. And it was hard. His cock. Because of Harry. The thought made heat rise to his cheeks in a way that made him feel so hot that he could pass out.

Not wanting to get completely ahead of himself, he let his hands roam, simultaneously shutting off his brain completely, trying just to act on whatever felt right, and also being completely engulfed in his train of thoughts which was an entirely nonsensical string, tied directly to the path of his fingers, consisting mostly of ohmygodhisbackfeelsgood(andhiscockishard)ohmygodhishipsohmygodhisarseohOHhisarsefeelsnice((andhiscockishard)andohmygodohmygod.

He slid his thumbs into the waistband of Draco's trousers, grabbing onto the upper part of his arsecheeks and caressing his bare skin with the back of his thumbs. To his delight, Draco let out a breathy moan into his mouth, and Harry felt his hips give a slight roll at the sound, acting completely autonomously, and Draco hummed as he felt the friction against his tenting trousers.

"You like that?" Draco taunted, moving his kisses sloppily down Harry's cheek, grabbing onto his earlobe with his teeth and nibbling at it. Harry hissed against neck. "You want me to touch you like that?"

"Yes, please," Harry moaned, hearing how breathless and undone he sounded himself. And Draco chuckled, running his hands over Harry's torso, pinching his nipple though his shirt and tugging playfully at it on their way down.

"One could get used to that," he purred. "Hearing you say 'please' while all hot and bothered."

That, he could do. "Please, Draco, touch me."

"Fuck," he mouthed, biting down on Harry's neck and making his cock throb slightly as he ground his hips down onto Harry. "Fuck, you're gonna kill me like that."

Draco slid his hands under Harry's shirt, running them over his stomach and pushing upwards, and Harry immediately got the point, lifting his arms up and regrettably letting go of Draco's backside, so he could tear of his shirt.

As he sat back shirtless, Draco hovering above him, he saw the blonds eyes stray hungrily over his chest. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss towards his collarbones, his lips wet and warm on Harry's naked skin, and Harry let out a soft moan.

Draco started licking and sucking a swirling path downwards, stopping to bite his nipple, sucking and nibbling at it, and Harry let out a string of embarrassingly horny noises, in response, his hands shooting up to entwine themselves in his hair, tugging playfully as Draco teased him.

Harry could feel himself leaking, the front of his pants growing damp, and he would've closed his eyes in sheer overwhelm, if it wasn't because he couldn't take them off of Draco, who lazily mouthed his way down Harry's stomach, eyelids heavy and cheeks flushed. It was the most godly sight Harry had ever seen, and as he felt his cock pulsating, he realized that this was probably also the horniest he had ever been in his life — a tingling, burning pressure within his abdomen was spreading out into his limbs, as Draco's mouth moved closer to the edge of his slacks, the pattern it made edged into his skin as a burning trail.

Draco's hands were roaming over his hips, thumbs circling the jut of his hipbones, grabbing onto him once in a while when he sucked down on a particularly sensitive spot of skin, guided by the noises Harry was steadily letting out, a small 'oh' or a 'yes' as tell when he hit somewhere good.

"Open up a little for me, pretty," Draco mumbled as he slid off of Harry, and back onto the floor where he'd been sitting at first. Harry eagerly parted his knees, letting Draco take up the space in between them, his mind going haywire at the affectionate name. So guys definitely called each other 'pretty', and it felt divine. "Like that."

He was abruptly brought back out of his thoughts, as Draco started working the button on the front of his trousers, bringing his mouth down to hover over Harry's groin, feeling his hot breath on through the fabric. "Can I?"

"Yes, fuck, yes please-," Harry rambled, cut off by a throaty moan as Draco put his mouth over the fabric stretching across Harry's needy cock, the heat from his mouth seeping through Harry's already damp pants, his saliva mixing with Harry's precum and staining the fabric further.

As he fished working the buttons of Harry's trousers, and slowly opened them, tugging at the hem of them until Harry lifted his hips a little and let him slide everything down below his arse, Harry looked down at Draco, taking in how he eyed his cock as it sprung free, red and wet and leaking, bobbing against his abdomen, and he looked so hungry, like he wanted to devour it, and maybe he did, fuck, it hit Harry what was about to happen. He could feel himself staring, just taking in the scenario before him, Draco's thumbs back to massaging his hipbones, moving inwards towards his prick, and he carefully kissed the skin next to it. His face looked downright sinful next to his own hard member, and his brain actively wanted to participate in said sin, immediately, preferably.

"Have you ever had someone-"

"Not ever like this," Harry stammered, letting his hand slide from Draco's hair down to his jaw, caressing his cheek, and Draco playfully sucked Harry's thumb into his mouth. "No one like you."

Draco smiled, deviously, and Harry licked his lips in anticipation. "That makes me a little bit crazy, I think."

"Yeah?" Harry grinned, feeling a wave of unexpected confidence sprout through him. "You like that I'm all blue-eyed and inexperienced?"

"Christ, yeah," Draco whispered, looking up at Harry through his lashes. "I want to be your first, I want you to remember this."

"Oh, I'll hardly forget this."

"Hardly? I'll make sure you never forget this."

At that, he dove in, grabbing tightly onto Harry's thighs, and licking a sloppy stripe all the way from the base of his cock to the tip. Harry threw his head back and heard a filthy sound escape his throat, knowing that he was surrendering the control of his own body to whatever deity had brought him here. Draco mouthed at the tip, kissing it gently and making small sucking motions that just barely brought it inside his mouth, and Harry tried to restrain his hips from bucking upwards, but couldn't help but push the head of his cock a little bit against Draco's lips.

"Impatient, huh?"

"Sorry," Harry panted, mentally weighing down his hips. He wasn't going to survive this.

"Don't be sorry," Draco mumbled, lips against the glans, saliva stretching between his mouth and Harry's cock. "You have such a big, gorgeous cock. You can show me that you like it when I suck it."

He whimpered, pushing up against Draco's mouth again, with far less restraint this time, sliding the wet head across his bottom lip, and Draco's fiery eyes met his. "Fuck, that's good, Harry. You're doing perfectly for me."

Harry didn't know if he was the one deserving praise, as Draco was the one who was actually doing the work, but he was eating it up anyways, letting the words hit him like small bursts of ecstasy, running up and down his spine, making the inside of his head whirl around.

"Am I?" He tried making his voice as coy as possible, not wanting the praise to stop.

"Yeah, so pretty, so hard and wet for me, making those filthy noises just for me, rubbing your thick cock against my mouth. You're so good, all spread out and ready for me to swallow you."

"Yes, please," Harry whined, he could feel his cheeks going hot and red from Draco's words, but in a way where he never wanted it to stop. Draco sent him a wicked grin, before spitting directly on the head of his cock, a sight that made Harry tremble, and then taking as much as he could into his mouth, sinking down all the way until his nose was touching the hair at Harry's pelvis. Harry let a broken moan escape, and felt his hips jut upwards again, and Draco made a tiny gagging noise. Before he could apologize though, Draco pulled back a little, and sunk down again, spit dribbling all over Harry's base and scrotum, clearly not phased by his sudden movement. He carefully bucked up again, and to his absolute delight, he heard a deep moan escape Draco's throat, vibrating around his cock. He was absolutely not going to last.

Draco drew back once more, and settled in for a steady rhythm, in which he let Harry push his hips upwards at the glide in, messily opening up and letting him inside. Harry was electric, mind completely blank with how good the tightness of Draco's throat felt around him, how the small swallowing motions he made pulled him deeper in just the right way, how good it looked to have him drooling saliva all over Harry, how fucking gorgeous he looked on his knees like that. When Draco reached down and grabbed his testicles, carefully squeezing every time he sunk his head down, rubbing his thumb over Harry's base, he could feel his orgasm rapidly approaching.

"Draco, I'm close," he groaned, feeling his own rhythm becoming unsteady, muscles spasming with pleasure as his abdomen started feeling tighter, heat rapidly building. "Really close."

Draco hummed again, slipping off and letting his hand pick up where his mouth left off. "I can't decide if I want to swallow all of you, or have you watch me as you cum in my face."

"Oh that's, oh," Harry stammered, the english language suddenly far from his cognitive ability. "Do I have, uh, can I have a say?"

He was actively willing his orgasm back mentally, trying to think of nothing, especially not Draco saying those four last words, as they did some unholy thing to his bottom half, making it curl up and tighten.

"You want to cum in my face, gorgeous?"

He was smiling, mouth all red and swollen and fucked out, and that was enough. Harry barely strung together a broken "I'm gonna-" before he was hit like a wave crashing, coming so hard his knees were drawing together, tightening around Draco's shoulders, spilling his load all over Draco's face, and he just kept smiling, closing his eyes and parting his lips, letting streaks of cum paint his mouth and tongue, and Harry was crying out, "Draco, fuck, Draco," as he was finishing, cum dripping from Draco's chin and down onto his shirt. The sight of him, skin sticky with spent, mouth hanging agape, still grinning a little, opening his eyes and looking up at Harry with a cocked eyebrow, sitting back on his heels and still rock hard in his trousers — Harry was going to be ill with how erotic it all was. He had a hard time believing that it was real, that this was happening to him, and that something was allowed to feel this good.

Dazed from the orgasm, but agitated by Draco's state, he let himself slide of the couch and into Draco's lap, wrapping his arms around him and kissing him deeply. Draco swallowed before letting Harry lick into his mouth, but he still tasted salty and bitter, like sex tasted, and Harry was going mental about it. Draco let him push him backwards, his back hitting the floor and Harry on top of him, melting into his touch, kissing, and kissing, and kissing him, hands in his hair, on his neck, on his arms, intertwining with his fingers. It was like touching his skin was even more enticing, now that he knew the ridiculous amounts of pleasure he drew from it.

He could feel his cum smearing on his own face, which somehow wasn't gross at all, it made it even hotter, and Draco let his hands sneak around Harry and grab his arse again, pulling him tighter and grinding his hips against him.

"Come to my bedroom?" Draco asked when Harry pulled off of his mouth for air (a traitorous concept, he felt), and he wiped a sticky smear off of Harry's cheek, licking it off his finger in a tender manner. With very little coherent thought, Harry felt his cock stir at the sight.

"You need to stop saying come," Harry sighed, resting his nose against Draco's. "It's doing things to me, even out of context."

"I'll clean it off of you, if you'd … happen to end up in my bedroom," Draco said playfully. "I'll even use my mouth, if you want."

"Well obviously that's not better," Harry groaned, rolling his hips against Draco's, enjoying the strained sound he let out at the friction. "Maybe I do wanna end up in your bedroom."

"Fantastic," Draco exclaimed, and reluctantly rolled Harry off of him before getting to his feet, pulling Harry up after him, and planting a kiss on his jaw. "I have this feeling you'll go great with my bedding."

Harry blushed, and Draco grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom as he led Harry towards the furthest room in the apartment, and even though he did solemnly lick another smear of cum from Harry's face, he ended up wiping them both down with the washcloth too — Harry wondered how he managed to get anything done if he was just half as horny as Harry had been, and probably still was, actually.

He stopped wondering about anything when Draco proceeded to strip down, discarding his clothes in a hamper by the door, and then pulling Harry's trousers the rest of the way off him. It wasn't slow or showy, but more matter-of-factly, determined, and like someone who was about to get down to business, which made Harry's stomach twist as he let Draco push him backwards on the bed. He was, in this case, business.

"Lay back for me, pretty," Draco asked, and Harry attempted to do so while completely swallowing every inch of Draco with his eyes. "I'm going to get you all hard for me again."

His chest was lean and broad, his stomach was soft and flat, and Harry briefly wondered what he did to stay in such delectable shape when working in an office all day, but following the golden dusting of hair down his abdomen, he quickly forgot about that inquiry.

Below was Draco's cock, long and slender and a delicate shade of pink, hard and straining, leaking milky droplets and making Harry feel like someone punched him in the stomach. He'd seen cocks before, obviously, but never thought them to be interesting. Of course he'd never stared in a locker room or at the beach, like he did now, maybe that was it, or maybe Draco just had a mouthwateringly, gut-wrenchingly captivating cock, that was so hard it was basically dribbling, all because of Harry.

"You like it?" Draco followed his eyes and smiled.

"Yes," Harry said without missing a beat. "Fuck, Draco, I like it so much."

"Mmmh," Draco hummed, moving onto the bed and running his hands up and down Harry's shins. "You make me so fucking hard, looking like that. Spread your legs for me a little, Harry, let me see you properly."

Harry suddenly felt very naked, this was not an angle that many people (or any people, really) had had him in before, but the almost predatory look on Draco's face as he let his knees fall slightly apart, made his cock feel tingly and suddenly very heavy, albeit still a little feeble from his very recent mind-blowing orgasm. Draco ran his hands down to Harry's ankles, and slowly eased them further apart, exposing him completely, and let his mouth fall open, breathing heavily, as he stared at Harry, spread out and laid bare for him.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Harry," Draco whispered, and Harry felt his cheeks burn and his cock harden. Rapidly. "Look at you."

Harry evidently knew that there were different categories when it came to sex between men and who did what, and he was starting to maybe get an inkling of which one Draco fell into — although he had no clue if he himself had any preference or if he'd have to try both to know what he were. What he did know was that the way Draco's eyes flickered over his most private area with heated fervor, so unguarded that it felt like the most natural thing, salivating, cock throbbing, was driving him absolutely mad. If he could turn himself inside out he would, given that Draco would keep on looking at him like that. Maybe that was an inkling in and of itself. He'd reflect on that later, probably.

Draco reached out and stroked Harry's inner thigh, let his fingers run lightly over his balls, toying with one and then the other, before ghosting his thumb over the tight skin around Harry's entrance. Harry gasped, head whirring with the cocktail of new sensations.

"Can I taste you?"

It took a few ragged breaths and Draco stroking his thumb over Harry's perineum, before the question really registered with him. It was hard to listen actively while being subject to fingers like that, touching him so feathery and still sending shock-waves through his entire being.

"You- what?" Harry almost hiccuped. "You want to, uh, there?"

Draco hummed, deep and appreciative in agreement, as he slowly leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Harry's scrotum, hands settling on Harry's thighs. "If you let me, of course, I'd really, really like to put my mouth on you."

Harry almost choked on the moan that came from deep within him as Draco popped one of his testicles into his mouth and sucked gently on it, as his brain was trying to catch up with the turn of events. His cock was leaking, a white drop running from his tip, completely hard and pulsating with need for anything and everything that was being offered to him. He wanted it, he definitely did, it didn't even really seem dirty; not when Draco was licking slow strokes just below his ballsack, letting small grunts of pleasure escape in between. It just seemed really, really hot.

"I've never done that before," Harry confessed, a little shaky. "Like never, ever."

"I know," Draco mumbled against his skin. His mouth was so warm, leaving a wet sensation wherever it went, making Harry feel waves of pleasure from not only where his tongue was right now, but from everywhere it had just been. He shivered. "You'll be so sweet, so delicious for me."

"I want to," Harry whispered. "Do I, uh, what do I-"

"Just lay back and let me make you feel good, and keep letting me hear you, you turn me on so fucking much, the way you look, the way you sound, God, Harry."

"Yeah?"

Draco replied by squeezing his hands tight, quickly, reassuring Harry, before letting his mouth wander further down.

He let the tip of his tongue dart carefully over the puckered skin, the warm sensation eliciting a drawn out moan from Harry, at which he did it again, slower, longer. The tickling, tingling sensation of it was instantly shot through Harry's entire body, his head spinning with pleasure, each nerve-ending in his body wound tight.

Draco suckled a wet kiss at his entrance, and let his tongue playfully lick at the hole, letting each millimeter of Harry's skin have his devout attention, hands firmly around his thighs, holding his legs spread, opening him up, leaving little welts down his skin from the tips of his fingers. Harry could feel the wetness of his spit spreading, dribbling down towards the sheet, smearing on Draco's cheeks and chin. His hands were grasping the headboard behind him, and he could feel his back arch with each ingurgitating wave of pleasure, and between the sturdy feel of the wood in his hands and the debilitating, overpowering feeling of Draco's tongue teasing his hole, the rest of the world had ceased to exist around him. He was mewling, "Draco, Dracodracodracofuck, fuck, that feels so good."

He was babbling, just absolute nonsense from his whirlpool of a brain, which might have been embarrassing, except Draco was humming, letting small grunts of his own escape whenever he gasped for air, encouraging him and letting him know that he was doing good. And he wanted to do good for Draco, he wanted to please him and make him shower Harry with praise and attention — if this was how he could make Harry feel with just his tongue, he'd do anything he wanted, he'd let him do anything he wanted, the way he was overwhelmingly attentive, wanting Harry to feel good most of all, anything that came from him could only be divine.

Harry was falling apart, feeling the telltale heat in his guts, and he knew Draco could tell too because he let his hand wander up to Harry's weeping cock, and smugly wrapped his fingers tightly around the base, keeping Harry from the edge with what had felt like only seconds to spare.

"Soon, but not yet, beautiful," he mumbled against Harry's inner thigh, looking up at Harry, whose eyes were falling shut, breath ragged and cheeks burning. "You taste so fucking delicious, I could eat you out all night."

"I want you to," Harry sobbed as Draco went back in and kissed his entrance, deep and sloppily. The tightness around his cock mixing with the tingling around his rim, was making him feel like he was falling, his stomach leaping and his cock twitching under Draco's hold.

"Mmh," Draco smiled as he felt it, "you want to cum too, really badly, don't you?"

Harry whined in agreement.

Draco dived back down, and among small licks and teasing kisses, Harry felt him push the tip of his tongue inside him, only briefly, and only just enough to tighten the muscle in his rim, and yet Harry could feel himself burning from head to toe with want, with filthy, greedy knowledge that that was something they could do. Forgetting his own need for release, his straining, untouched cock, and possibly also his own name, he shuddered as Draco pulled back, a plead falling from his lips.

"I want that," he stammered. "Please do that again, Draco, please."

And to his delight, Draco complied instantly, letting his tongue slide back inside, and pushing a bit further this time, the wet tightness growing inside Harry. He started working his tongue back and forth, pushing further inside, stretching the rim ever so lightly, and making Harry gasp for air, high-pitched moans escaping his throat. If the feeling had been maddening on the outside, it was tenfold on the inside. and he could feel himself pushing downwards actively, using the headboard for leverage, virtually begging Draco to tonguefuck him deeper, wanting to feel the heat of him deeper inside.

When Draco drew backwards, leaving his spit to cool on Harry, who desperately missed the feeling of Draco's tongue, he didn't let go of Harry's cock, still closing off the bloodflow, blocking him from his gravely needed release. He hovered over Harry, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. Harry kinda liked that he tasted like sex, like him, like exactly what he had just been doing. Just knowing that Harry's scent lingered on him was driving him crazy.

"Harry," Draco groaned, leaning his forehead on Harry's, closing his eyes. Harry could've closed his eyes, but instead caught himself staring at Draco, his eyelashes resting on his cheeks, his lips red and swollen, and his pale chest reddening with arousal, and he couldn't help but put his mouth to Draco's, kissing him again, licking into his mouth.

Draco moaned at the gesture, and Harry remembered that his cock was completely untouched, which was a real shame, actually. "Do you want me to get you off? I'd like to, y'know."

"You are getting me off, so god damn perfectly," Draco panted. "You don't even know what you do to me, laying back for me and just letting me take care of you."

"You like that, huh?" Harry was burning up on the inside, blushing at his words and feeling a light pressure within him from his release being withheld.

"Yeah," Draco said with a earnest grin. "It makes me go crazy, just getting to look at you lie there and receive, while I do anything I can to make you fall apart."

Harry licked his lips, smiling back, nervously. "Are your partners usually, uh, receivers in other ways?"

"Have you thought about that?" Draco grinned wider, and his hand squeezed around Harry's cock, making him gasp out a broken breath.

"It crossed my mind, recently," he said, biting the inside of his cheek. It had crossed his mind, earlier, and then Draco had crawled on top of him just now, and since then, it wasn't so much crossing, as it was circulating his mind rapidly, the centrifugal force of it making him dizzy, galloping in confident strides around his head, eclipsing every other thought he'd had up until now. "I've never really, uhm, explored my own preferences." He could feel his blush deepen.

"We don't have to do it tonight, Harry, I'm having plenty of fun with you as is," Draco reassured, kissing him gently, once, twice. "And even though I prefer it one way, both can be very hot anyways."

"So you are?"

"A top? Usually, yes," he nodded with an inquiring look. "How does that make you feel?"

"Horny," he sighed. His cock twitched between Draco's fingers. He reached his hands up and wrapped them around Draco's shoulders, as Draco huffed a laugh.

"Couldn't that be a pre-existing condition?"

"Sure," Harry said, feeling a spinning feeling in his chest. The vision his imagination had conjured of Draco was etched into his brain matter, sweaty and out of breath on top of him, moaning and praising him, thrusting hard, tense in every muscle so clearly defined under his skin. How could it not make him feel like it was his sole mission to have that happen to him? How could it not make him come apart at the seams with pure lust? How could that not feel fucking divine?

Do it if it feels good. Do it, say it, try it.

He looked up at Draco and licked his lips. "But thinking about you like this, fucking me? Your cock where your tongue just was? Making sure I feel so good, and so pretty, the whole time? It makes my brain melt."

Draco's eyes darkened, and he drew a deep breath. "Fuck, Harry, don't say things like that."

He felt bolder. Do it. Do it. Do it. "Don't you want to? Fuck me into your mattress, make me cry out your name so loud, all your neighbors will know exactly what you're doing to me?"

"Holy shit, fuck, Harry, you're going to kill me," Draco groaned, and before Harry knew what was happening, he was flipped over onto his stomach, Draco using his free hand to spread his legs out, bending his knees a bit and, oh, Harry was wide spread and on display for Draco. "Much better. So fucking gorgeous, your tight, little hole."

Then his tongue was back, aggressively pushing inside, licking at the inside of him, dragging along the walls as it retracted before licking back into him. Harry didn't even register that he was moaning, cheek against Draco's pillow, strings of whiny, begging noises escaping his throat, his cock pulsating, almost painfully full.

He vaguely registered the sound of a nightstand drawer being opened, but didn't care to think further of it, as he was currently levitating off of earth's surface and being sent into orbit, by how disgustingly good Draco's tongue felt, and how tightly his abdomen was wound, how sore his cock was, how horribly bad he needed to cum.

It wasn't until a cold sensation at his entrance rested where the base of Draco's tongue was, that he was drawn back to what was actually happening. The coolness gave him goosebumps, but was far from unpleasant combined with Draco's continuously piercing tongue. He gave an encouraging moan, and subsequently he felt what he assumed to be the tip of Draco's finger, covered in lube, slowly slide inside him, below Draco's mouth.

"Oh my God, oh, wow," Harry whined, as Draco's middle finger worked it's way inside of him, slippery from cold lube mixing with warm saliva, reaching past Draco's tongue which was still tense and tight as it fucked him. It was a strange sensation, and albeit he'd tried this once before, the context of it was so very different from this, a myriad of sensations all over his body, making the breach of it happen without much discomfort. Harry was just very aware that now Draco was not only tongueing him, but fingering him too, and he could reach deeper with his finger, all the way inside Harry, stretching him the slightest bit more open than before. He kept moaning loudly, overwhelmed by pleasure, everything happening to him seemingly all at once.

"You ready for one more?" Draco kissed his arsecheek before giving it a playful bite, and when Harry nodded and "please"-d in response, he went back to licking at his hole, while slowly working his index inside of him too. This one, he could feel more than the first, and it stung a bit — he took a deep breath and arched his back a bit more, and at this, Draco hummed against him. "You're doing beautifully, taking my fingers so well."

"Yeah?" Draco's words made his next deep breath hitch.

"You should see yourself, all spread open and wet for me, your tight, pink, little cunt with my fingers inside, like an angel, bent over and with a needy, dripping cock. Fuck, Harry, I could cum just from looking at you."

"Fuck Draco, fuck, let me cum, please, I can't hold it back anymore," Harry begged, his vision starting to go blank at the sides, Draco's filthy string of words ringing in his ears, defining his very being as he let them consume him. "Please."

And at that, Draco put his mouth back on Harry, and curled the fingers inside him lightly, scissoring him open as he let go of his cock with his other hand, and grabbed onto the back of Harry's thigh with it instead. Harry barely registered the movement, before his orgasm hit him like a brick wall, making him yelp into the pillow, unable to contain the desperate sounds he was making as he painted the sheets with cum, cock untouched, Draco working him with fingers and mouth simultaneously, moaning as Harry tightened around him again and again as he rode out his peak.

Draco's fingers slowed down, but didn't stop gently sliding back and forth inside him, and as Harry was coming down from his high, Draco kissed the skin above his entrance, then his cheek, then his lower back, then his shoulder. It felt a little sensitive, a little overwhelming, to still have fingers inside of him after coming, but he was also so relaxed, that he could feel the slide growing easier, slicker, and Draco being able to curl his fingers tighter. He let out a heavy sigh, lifting his head from where it had been buried in his own arms and Draco's pillows, as he felt Draco slide up next to him, burning warm and tense. He pressed a kiss to Harry's ear.

"Almost made me cum too," he mumbled raggedly, "letting me eat you while you came for me, I could barely hold it together, tasting you like that."

Harry hummed, turning to his side so his back was against Draco's chest, and Draco slowly and teasingly dragged his fingers in and out of Harry, drawing small, delicate moans from him as he balanced between pleasure and sore pain. Harry could feel Draco's wet, straining cock against his arse, flush up against him next to his fingers, and just the feeling of it, so close to him, knowing how turned on Draco was, it was making Harry feel crazy. Needy.

He was thinking about it, how it was nested between Draco's legs, long and hard and ready for Harry, but only if he wanted to. And he did — want to. He couldn't stop imagining it, a continuous replay of Draco in between his legs, cock stretching him open instead of fingers, moaning in his ear and whispering the filthiest words about him, for him, because of him. He wanted that part the most, the way Draco talked to him, the way he genuinely made it sound like he was lucky to have Harry here, as if it wasn't the other way around without the slightest doubt. He wanted to make Draco feel just a fraction as good as he had made Harry feel up until now, he wanted to make him groan, and sweat, and he wanted to make him come, wanted to hear what kind of noises he made, how he felt, and looked, and how it would feel inside of himself.

As he let his mind wander, while Draco leisurely fucked him with his fingers and mouthed at the crook of his neck, he felt himself subconsciously push back against it, wanting Draco's fingers to go deeper, now that he had gotten used to the stretch of them inside of him. It had started feeling like something that was just this side of feeling really good, like if Draco just gave him a little more, he would push him over some edge, drag him somewhere he was longing to go.

"Hm, needy little hole, huh?" Draco's breath was hot and coming in quick successions against his neck, and Harry was certain that he was hanging on by a thread, even though he was taking it so slow, being so gentle and cautious not to hurt him. "You want more?"

Harry nodded, and he quickly felt the tip of a third finger edge it's way inside of him, like Draco had just been set and ready, just waiting for Harry's green light. Which was probably the case. He moaned at the burn, knowing that the slight discomfort was to prepare him for something much better. "Draco," he said, voice strained, "I want more, please."

"Yeah?" Draco let his fingers slip out and back in with a bit more force, curling his fingertips inside Harry. "Whatever you want, beautiful."

The next time he worked his fingers inside, Harry felt his fingertips graze something, something, inside of him, and every time Draco touched it, a wave of simultaneously burning hot and tightly wound pleasure shot from that spot and through his entire body.

"Oh!" Harry gasped. "Oh my fucking God, Draco."

His cock started feeling prickly as it twitched, starting to fill out again, and Harry didn't even know he was capable of that, he'd never gone more than once before, twice was surprising, thrice was ridiculous. His bedroom activities had, up until now, been very ordinary, and very uninteresting. This was different. Extraordinary. Kinky, this was fun.

"I want that cock hard and needy for me, Harry," he sighed in between thrusts of his fingers, as his other hand reached around to toy lightly with Harry's ballsack, a shivering sensation of not-enough and almost-too-much, as his cock continuously swelled. "Can you do that?"

"Yeah," he said breathlessly, as if he wasn't already fully compliant.

"You're doing so good," he praised, before tugging Harry's shoulder to flip him on his back, and slowly pulling out his fingers, eliciting a whine from Harry as his prostate was abandoned. "I want to fuck you — I want to put my cock inside you so bad, see how beautifully you take it, how your tight little cunt swallows it up."

"Please, Draco," he whined, spreading his legs on his own this time and displaying himself, letting his hands run over Draco's shoulders and neck, pulling him down on top of him, showing him where he wanted him to put his prick.

"So pretty," he whispered, running his fingertips over Harry's gaping entrance, slick with lube and fluttering. "So pretty just for me."

Then he was lining himself up between Harry's legs, steadying his weight with one hand, and running his other through Harry's hair. He tugged at it while kissing him deeply, tongue playing with his bottom lip, licking at it, smiling when he pulled back. His eyes were blazing as he looked at Harry, hair disheveled and mouth glistening with spit — it was the most incredible thing Harry had ever laid eyes on.

"Ready?"

Had he ever been ready for anything, it was probably this. He nodded, and leaned up to give him a fiery kiss, trying hard to convey just how ready he felt.

He clenched his teeth at the first push in, as it opened him up wider than Draco's fingers had done, his fingers clinging onto his shoulderblades, holding him tight to his body as he slid inside. It felt big, which in the back of Harry's mind was hot, because it was Draco's big, hard, reddened cock that was pushing into him, and the sole reason it felt so big was because it was so hard for him. For Harry. He was going so slow, small beads of sweat appearing on his upper lip, his eyes dark and predatory, locked completely on him, encapsulating him in a world of just them. It felt a bit invasive too, but he reckoned that the fingers had done that as well, he had just been to hazy post-orgasm to really realize that something was inside of him. It felt so incredibly, mind-blowingly intimate, like he was letting down the gates and bidding a lover to come across the bridge over the moat, into somewhere previously undiscovered, which was now just for the two of them to explore. It felt unreal, like he couldn't believe he was actually doing this, he would've laughed if someone had told him this would happen just twenty-four hours ago, and now it was consuming every millimeter of his body, every cell in his brain.

It felt a bit funny, and then it felt a bit good, and then—

"Fuckfuckfuckshit Draco, fuck, right there," he babbled, as Draco slowly, slowly pushed against that spot that his fingers had teased just minutes ago, letting the tip of his cock nudge against it in an absolutely debilitating manner, which was making Harry let out noises he didn't know he had in him. "Harder, harder please, I want your cock, please."

Draco grinned, his eyes a dangerously captivating shade of storm-cloud as he watched Harry, pupils moving in zig-zags across his face, studying his lips as they begged him to fuck him, his eyelids that were heavy with ecstasy, his cheeks that were red hot with desire.

He gave another tentative, teasing push, and Harry felt his fingernails dig into Draco's skin, holding on as if it would ground him from the paramount ride of bliss he was on. He could feel his own cock caught between them, dripping from the friction of skin against it, and he was suddenly as on edge as if his two primary orgasms had been nothing more than dirty fantasies.

"God you're so tight, Harry, it's like you were made for taking my cock," Draco grunted, and when he started to pull back, Harry found himself wrapping his legs around his waist, as if asking him to stay inside, to please keep going. "You feel fucking perfect. You look fucking perfect."

He pushed in roughly, and as Harry apparently had no coherent words left in him, he merely whined and sobbed as Draco quickly set a firm pace, angling his hips so he spent as many thrusts as possible pleasuring his prostate. He could feel tears in his eyes as his body started tensing up, the muscles in his thighs and stomach trembling, his mind blank except for Draco's name, spilling from his lips like a chant that would make this last forever, again and again as Draco just kept smiling that staggering, crooked smile that Harry felt was reserved for him, right now, like this, in Draco's arms as he pounded into him.

"I'm not, ah, I'm, I'm-" he tried, but lost the remainder of his sentence when Draco grabbed onto the lowest parts of his hips, leveraging himself to go deeper, making Harry's voice crack in an embarrassingly loud moan.

"Me too," Draco panted, breaths short and rhythmic against Harry's neck. "I can't last when you lie there looking all fucked-out and willing with my cock inside you."

"Are you gonna come inside me?" Harry was stammering, words broken by forceful thrusts, feeling himself push back against them to feel them as deeply as possible.

"I'm going to fill you up, Harry," he groaned, thrusts getting erratic, losing composure. "You'll be dripping with my cum, out of your sweet, little hole, and I'll-"

"Draco, fuck," Harry cried as he felt his abdomen tighten, cramp, his prostate turning into a pulsating source of pure heat, and his almost empty cock leak small spills of cum onto both their stomachs. His walls were closing around Draco, throbbing as he came, and came, feeling it drawing out endlessly as Draco kept ramming inside him, until he groaned Harry's name, again and again, and collapsed onto him as he spilled all of himself inside Harry.

It felt strange, in the filthiest, hottest way, to be full of Draco, so much he could feel it seeping out of him around Draco's cock, wetting the sheet beneath them. He caught his breath against Draco's collarbone, clinging to him still, trying to regain his perception of the world, as if everything around him hadn't shifted into something else tonight.

Draco was panting too, head resting against the top of Harry's, his hands traveling back and forth over Harry's sides, gently caressing where he had just strenuously held on.

When he slipped out, Harry gasped at the feeling and Draco kissed him soothingly, before pushing himself off of the bed and drifting towards the door. He came back a minute later with a damp towel and their long abandoned beers from the living room.

"Alright?" He crawled back onto the bed and started cleaning Harry up, first his stomach and then carefully between his legs. It was a stark contrast, but not an unwelcome one, to the rugged movements he had just fucked Harry with. Harry laid back and grabbed his bottle from the nightstand, taking a sip of the long lukewarm beer. He was definitely an IPA-guy, especially if it could be enjoyed warm, flat, naked and in Draco's bed.

"I hope it came across that I thought it was maybe a little better than alright," Harry teased, and Draco whacked him with the towel.

"I meant you, asshole," he grinned, throwing the towel on the floor and grabbing his own beer, clinking it against Harry in a silent toast before taking a long swig. "You kind of went all in at once, there."

"In for a penny, right?"

Draco maneuvered himself so he laid next to Harry with his shoulders against the headboard, and lazily dragged his fingers through Harry's hair. "I suppose I gave you a good pound there."

"Fuck off," Harry laughed, shifting up so he was sitting next to Draco in a similar position. He felt a funny tingling behind his ribs when Draco rested his head on Harry's shoulder. "Honestly, I feel brilliant, all of this was brilliant. I didn't know, y'know, it could be like that."

"Agreed it was pretty brilliant," Draco mused. "I might potentially become a little bit obsessed with the way you look when I fuck you. You're an outright natural."

Harry could feel himself blushing. "I've had a very nurturing learning environment."

Draco fiddled with the label on his bottle, curling up the corners with his fingernails. "You'd know about learning environments, shaping the sharp minds of future England in your classroom and all."

"Maybe I'd keep out of the classroom that I've just learned in real-time that I'm a bottom. I think both the minds and I, would coexist more functionally that way."

"You don't know if you're a unwavering bottom yet. Although you're infuriatingly hot on your hands and knees, you haven't fucked me yet - you might be both," Draco said with a bit of challenge in his voice. Harry looked down to find him biting his lip with a playful demeanor, although he also had a slightly diffident air about him.

Harry's stomach did that thing again. "You'd, uh, you'd want me to do that? To you? Another time?"

"If you want to expand your learning environment, I totally get it, but yeah, I'd very much like you to do that, or this, or anything really. Other times." Draco's cheeks also had a slight blush to them, which made Harry feel better about his own burning up.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, feeling out of breath and sweaty and giddy and fuck. Draco seemed a bit flustered as well so Harry did what felt natural and put his arm around him. He felt Draco instantly relax into him, which was definitely much nicer, so he kissed his temple too. "I think we should do that, other times. Or all the time, preferably. I just maybe need time to rehydrate, have an iced tea, or something."

Draco smiled and kissed his shoulder. "I'll get you whatever you want, pretty."

🔥🔥🔥

"If you're going to be an intolerable prat about it, I'm leaving."

"I have never been more willing to demonstrate impeccable behavior than right now."

"Gin, we had sex. A lot of it, and it was stupid hot and very gay, which it turns out, by the way, so am I."

"Stupid hot and very gay?"

"I said I'll leave if you're taking the piss!"

"I'm calling you hot and gay, I have literally never been nicer to you!"

"I'm coming out to you, can you be slightly more surprised, emotional, shocked, just a sliver of any emotion, really?"

Ginny was sitting criss-cross in her armchair, a cup of tea in her hands, looking annoyingly relaxed as he was pacing in front of the couch.

"I appreciate the sentimental gesture and all, but Harry, it's like telling Armstrong someone walked on the moon."

Harry took a resigned sip of his own tea, sitting down. "That's a terrible metaphor."

"It's a simile, first of all, good thing you're not teaching english, and second of all it's an incredible simile, because not only am I a firsthand expert, but I have also been telling you about it for years. "

"I thought that was just propaganda because you're gay!"

"I can't believe I have to say this out loud to you, but the gay agenda was not out to get you, you daft moron! I was telling you because, y'know, based on the fact that we literally slept together, I had a hunch that I wasn't the only participant in that ordeal who might not have been wholeheartedly in it!"

"I just thought sex wasn't all that!" Harry flailed his arms, almost spilling his tea.

"Then why would everyone do it all the time?" Ginny looked exasperated, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Well, I know that now, obviously," he said, small grin spreading on his face. He had been smiling a lot, the last day or so. It was like he couldn't really stop it from happening, his face was just doing it without him even noticing.

"Cheers to that," Ginny toasted with her mug. "So do you fancy this mystical man who makes you see clearly through the power of dick?"

"So much it's not even funny, Gin."