Work Text:
Harry Potter had complained when Robards had first insisted he partner with Draco Malfoy.
It was bad enough that he had to see the poncy git every day in the cafeteria, looking infuriatingly fit. But to have to share an office with Malfoy as well, listen to him complain about inferior tea and poor-quality quills, watch him brush his silky blond hair back from his sharp cheekbones–
Harry frowned.
Where was he?
Oh right. Malfoy was insufferable.
"Dammit, Malfoy, this report is fine. I'm not rewriting it."
Malfoy tossed down his quill, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms over his chest. If Harry's eyes were drawn to the muscles straining the seams of a distinctly non-regulation button-up, well, he just cared about the rules; that was all.
"Potter," he said, looking smug, "a chicken hit by a Confundus could produce a more legible report."
"It's fine, they have spells to read it anyway." Harry waved the familiar complaint away and sent the report flying out the door, and grabbed another folder
"Oh yes, I'm sure the Saviour can get away with sub-par reports," Malfoy sneered.
"Oh, come off it, Malfoy, I earn my right to be here the same as anyone else." Harry slammed the folder shut and threw it onto a teetering pile.
He watched the git try to come up with a plausible argument, but Harry knew for a fact that Malfoy thought he was good at his job. He'd overheard a conversation Malfoy had had with Robards discussing that very thing not two weeks ago.
Finally, Malfoy settled for throwing him a two-fingered salute before flouncing off, tight arse filling out those trousers in a way that had to be in violation of dress code policies.
The next few weeks passed much the same, the frequency and severity of the insults slowing, eventually becoming half-hearted before petering out almost completely. They, somehow, managed to settle into an almost companionable working relationship.
If Harry had to start wanking every morning before work just to have a hope of sitting comfortably across from Mr My-Jawline-Could-Cut-Glass, well…anyone would do the same. He was sure of it.
"Oi, Malfoy, can you get at that box there?" Harry was perched on a ladder, a book in one hand and a penknife in the other, words garbled by the wand clenched in his teeth.
After staring at Harry for a few moments, Malfoy stepped up the ladder behind him, bracketing Harry's body with his own, and plucked the wand from between his teeth.
"What?"
Harry couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Malfoy's scent, citrusy and spicy, his heat in molten waves, his body hard, muscled, and powerful, surrounded him completely.
"Box. Desk," he managed to stutter out.
Malfoy sighed and said, "Let me help before you kill yourself." He levitated the box, opened it and held it steady in the air beside them.
If, at that exact moment, Harry started to harden in his trousers on a job, in the middle of breaking an old curse in a pureblood house, because Draco-Fucking-Malfoy was pressed against him from knee to shoulder, and if Harry wanted nothing more than to turn his head, just slightly, and brush his lips across Malfoy's cheek. That was just biology, right? And could have sworn he felt Malfoy's erection pressing into his arse. Just as he was thinking of leaning back, Malfoy hopped off the ladder and quickly exited the room, muttering something about needing to talk to the homeowners.
Draco had been secretly delighted when he was ordered to partner with Potter. Potter was genuinely good at his job, fit as fuck, and Draco never tired of the thrill of riling him up.
A week into their partnership, Draco started to realise he'd got more than he bargained for. He was not prepared to sit alone in a room for eight hours a day with Potter. For one thing, the man radiated power, as in, Draco could literally feel it coming off him. Raw and slightly feral. It made Draco feel oversensitized, as if he were being edged at every moment of their workday. Like he wanted to crawl across their desks, straddle Potter's lap, and never come up for air again.
Also, while Potter was good at his job, he was also chaotic, impulsive, and rash. He dove into situations without thinking through the consequences, a skill that had apparently served him well throughout the war, but one that was giving Draco palpitations as a work partner.
So Draco leaned heavily on the tried-and-true defense of riling Potter up to make himself feel better. It was Potter's fault, really–he deserved it. It was quickly learned that complaining about the poor-quality supplies would have Potter rolling his eyes. Complaining about the Weasley girl dropping in unannounced, yet again, got him red in the face. And pushing the Saviour button could send him into a rage.
He also learned that Potter watched him, no, stared at him, whenever he ran a hand through his hair. So naturally, Draco started doing it multiple times a day.
When Potter complained that Draco was not in line with DMLE uniform guidelines–and who could blame him, the Ministry-issued clothes were like sandpaper against his skin–Draco took to wearing more and more revealing attire.
If, as the weeks went by, and the antagonism started to fall away, being replaced by a tentative camaraderie, well. These things happen. Right?
The first time Potter invited him over was after they had already spent a full day in the field, with reports to be filed the next morning. Potter had suggested they work while they ate takeaway. Curious to see where Potter lived, Draco agreed. After they finished the reports over spicy curry at Potter's kitchen table, Potter had offered him a whisky–Jack Daniel's, hideous Muggle stuff.
Draco had accepted the glass and, after tasting it, told Potter that next time he'd bring a bottle of fifteen-year-old Ogden's. This had started something of a routine. If they worked late, they would end up at Potter's flat, finishing paperwork and drinking whisky, talking about everything and nothing at all. They never talked about the war or past ideological differences. If they talked about their time at school, it was careful, tentative, as if each of them were stepping onto a barely frozen lake, avoiding thin spots in the ice lest they fall through and perish.
One day in late April, on-site at a job, Draco was working through an inventory of dark artefacts while Potter was up a ladder, breaking a curse on a door frame that had the ridiculous effect of turning the hair of anyone who passed through it a bright, glowing purple.
Draco's gaze kept sliding away from the collection of brooches and rings he was cataloguing to steal glances at the way the dreadful Ministry-issued trousers clung to Potter's round arse. Dreadful on Draco at any rate, diabolically good on Potter.
He had been staring when Potter spoke. Draco startled, then rolled his eyes at himself. Looking up, he saw Potter had his wand clutched between his teeth, trying to speak around it. Draco strode over and climbed the ladder behind him, plucking the wand free.
It was only once he was there that he realised the position gave him the perfect excuse to be in intimate proximity to Potter under the guise of helping. Draco stowed Potter's wand in his pocket, braced one arm on the ladder above Potter's head, and leaned forward until only a breath separated them. The heady scent of sandalwood and pine mingled with the heat from Potter's body and the intoxicating waves of his power, and Draco felt lightheaded with it. He swayed forward, hips brushing against Potter's arse.
Oh.
Oh no.
Draco gave himself a full three seconds of feeling his growing erection pressing into the firm arse in front of him before he scrambled off the ladder and excused himself to go talk to the owners of the home.
When he returned, Potter was off the ladder, scribbling notes. He gave Draco a curious look but didn't comment on his abrupt exit.
Harry had decided, in the name of magi-science, that he needed to perform a little experiment to see if Malfoy really was attracted to him. The plan was…loose at best, but Harry had always done well winging it.
"Hey, Malfoy, I have an appointment at Gringotts this afternoon. Do you think you could drop these files off at my place when you're done for the day?" Harry said casually, gathering up his things.
"I'm not your secretary, Potter." Malfoy scowled at him.
"No matter, I can catch up on them in the morning," Harry said with a shrug, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "It's just that I was going to pick up pizza from that new place on Lexington on my way home... you've said you wanted to try it."
"Well, you didn't say that, did you?"
Harry hid a smile behind a cough. "Okay, just pop by if you want. My Floo is open to you whenever."
A few hours later, when Harry heard footsteps coming from the living room towards the kitchen, he smiled and busied himself at the counter. If he had changed into a pair of low-slung joggers and a faded, too-tight Gryffindor Quidditch team tee that Ginny had once declared indecent, well, it was for the sake of the experiment, right?
"Hey, Malfoy." Harry looked up to see Malfoy framed in the doorway, still in his work attire from that day, if one could call it that. The dark trousers were sinfully tight; Harry forced his eyes not to linger on the impressive outline at the front. The white button-up shirt was, on the surface, perfectly acceptable, but had at least one too many buttons undone, and the material looked delightfully silky, making Harry want to run his hands over it. He tore his eyes away and back to where he was getting plates from the cupboard. "Wanna eat in the living room?"
"I don't want to get sauce on my shirt," Malfoy said, glancing down at himself.
"So take it off." Harry carried the pizza box out with the plates stacked on top, calling over his shoulder, "Grab us something to drink, would you?"
Draco blinked stupidly at Potter's retreating form.
Take it off.
Harry had just suggested that he take his shirt off. Then just... what... casually eat pizza half naked on the sofa with Potter beside him looking like that? Ludicrous.
However, he reasoned with himself, he really didn't want to get sauce on his shirt; it was absurdly expensive. Catching Harry watching him all day, though, he'd deemed the expense well worth it.
So, taking his shirt off was the only reasonable thing to do. It only made sense.
Unbuttoning his shirt and tugging it off, he draped it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, grabbed two beers, and made his way to the living room.
"No whisky tonight?" Potter asked, accepting the drink and handing Draco a plate. "If you're cold, I can grab you a jumper."
"No, I'm fine." Draco shook his head. "Whisky after, beer goes better with pizza."
Potter sat on the floor, pizza on the coffee table. Draco took his usual seat on the sofa and reached forward, grabbing a slice.
He was immediately distracted as Potter took a bite of his own slice and let out an indecent moan. A deep, rumbling sound that went straight to Draco's cock and had him cursing his too-tight trousers.
He watched, fascinated, as Potter closed his eyes and chewed, tongue darting out to catch a bit of sauce from his bottom lip. It was pornographic. It was amazing.
Draco shifted in his seat, and Harry opened his eyes. "You have to try this," he said.
Draco lifted his slice to his mouth and carefully took a bite. The flavours exploded on his tongue; the bite of herbs and richness of the sauce combining with the velvet stretch of the cheese and the chew of the crust pulled a moan from his own chest before he could think to stop it.
He opened his eyes, which he hadn't realised had drifted shut, to find Potter staring at him, teeth sunk into his bottom lip, gaze fixed on Draco's mouth.
"I wonder why they never served pizza at Hogwarts," Potter said, leaning back on one hand, his shirt riding up to display several inches of toned golden skin that drew Draco's eyes like a beacon.
"Because they're stuck somewhere in the last century," Draco said. "In more ways than just food."
"Right?!" Potter sat up straight. "Like, why is there not more effort to educate Muggleborns on magical customs? Or why is Muggle Studies not a required subject for all non-Muggleborns? And why the fuck–" Potter was latched onto the topic now, becoming impassioned. "--Is there not more oversight on teaching practices? And don't even get me started on the bullying culture."
If Draco found himself watching the intense gleam in Potter's forest green eyes, the way his forearms flexed as he gesticulated, the way his hand ran through his hair, causing it to fall in a tumble over his cheekbone... well, it was only natural. Potter was objectively beautiful, after all.
Catching Draco's smile, he cut himself off. "Sorry. I know you don't like to talk about this stuff."
"On the contrary," Draco said, "I agree with everything you said."
Potter looked as though Draco had just told him he kept a pet Erumpent. "You do?"
Draco took a long drink of his beer, giving himself a moment. "I do. What happened to you, to me, to others during the war... so much of that could have been prevented. Or at the very least, responsible adults could have minimised some of the damage." He leaned forward. "Did you know Hogwarts is one of the only boarding schools that doesn't allow family to visit? Imagine if some of the parents had known what was really going on during those years!" Draco gestured with his bottle. "Not mine, of course; mine were part of the problem. But others... Granger's parents, for example. They would have had opinions."
Potter was staring at him. Again.
Harry had fallen victim to his own experiment. It had been going really well; he'd seen Malfoy checking out his abs when his shirt had ridden up and had felt his eyes on him as he left the room.
He hadn't planned on seeing Malfoy impassioned, ranting for change in favour of a more open and inclusive magical world while shirtless...
The man was stunning on any given day, but that, well, no one in the world would blame Harry for his reaction.
"Are you seeing anyone?" The words slipped out of Harry's mouth without passing through his brain first.
Malfoy looked startled at the abrupt change of topic.
"I mean, it's just... we work a lot, and I wondered if you had a... girlfriend... out there getting jealous." Harry tried to recover and probe at the same time.
"Harry, I'm gay. There is no girlfriend." Malfoy said. "No boyfriend either." He paused. "What about you? Are you and Ginevra still a thing?"
Malfoy busied himself with his pizza, not looking at Harry.
"No, Gin and I haven't been together for ages. We're better as friends. And I'm bisexual. Not that you asked, but... yeah." Harry wanted to bury his head in his hands, but forced himself to keep looking at Malfoy, gauging his reaction.
"Yes, I had heard," Malfoy said vaguely. "Want another beer or are you ready for that whisky?"
"Another beer, I think, for now, I'll get them." Harry stood and took Malfoy's empty bottle.
Malfoy followed him to the kitchen with their plates and the almost empty pizza box.
Harry opened the refrigerator and bent to retrieve two more beers from the bottom shelf. When he felt Malfoy's hand on his back, he froze.
Oh.
"You could have this for breakfast tomorrow," Malfoy said, leaning forward and sliding the pizza box onto a shelf. The movement pressed his crotch against Harry's arse. The little sound that squeaked out of Harry's throat when he felt that Malfoy was half hard... well, that was just a natural reaction, surely.
"Breakfast, yes. I like breakfast." Harry said, inanely, closing his eyes as Malfoy's hand trailed down his spine before drawing away. When Malfoy stepped back, Harry stuck his head fully into the cool confines of the refrigerator. The central heating was on the fritz; that was the only explanation for the sudden heat flooding his body.
"I've just remembered," Malfoy said abruptly, "I've a firecall appointment that starts in a few minutes. I must be going. Raincheck on the drink?"
Malfoy was already starting for the Floo before Harry could respond.
"Sure…" he said weakly as the fire flared green and Malfoy was gone.
Draco fled. He'd made up some inane excuse that sounded fake even to his own ears. He couldn't tell Potter the real reason he needed to be at home immediately.
As that reason happened to be a desperate need to furiously wank over the remembered feel of Potter bent over in front of him, tight arse on full display, narrow waist practically begging for his hands to span it.
The next few days at work were torture. It had been bad enough before, but now that they were actually getting along and genuinely liked each other, Draco's self-justifications were becoming more threadbare by the hour. Reaching over Potter to get a tea bag from the cupboard when there was an open box on the counter. Letting his fingers linger as he passed him a book.
By the time he arrived at work on Friday morning, his nerves were shot, and he was walking around with a permanent erection. He just needed to get it out of his system; that was all. He hadn't gotten laid in months. At lunch, he'd chat up that bloke from Magical Sports and Games who had asked him out several times. Hollace, or Horace, maybe? It was irrelevant. He'd invite him over tonight and get some relief. That would do the trick.
Except Draco spent the entirety of his lunch hour with his eyes glued to Potter, who sat with his head bent close to some unbearably fit bloke from the International Portkey office.
Obviously, he was simply curious about where Potter was planning on travelling. They would need to adjust their work schedule around his holiday.
Draco was so intent on what was going on at the other table that he didn't even notice when Hollace/Horace left.
Oh well, he'd been dead boring anyway.
By mid-afternoon, Draco needed a break.
"Potter, can we finish this tonight?" Draco pushed the case notes away, rubbing his eyes. "If you don't have plans, that is."
"No plans. Come over whenever," Potter said agreeably.
Draco went home and absolutely did not spend the next several hours fixating on what to wear, how to style his hair, or which bottle of wine to bring. He was simply detail-oriented.
Harry didn't mean to leave the bathroom door open while he showered after work. He was just so used to living alone that he didn't even think of it. Didn't remember that Malfoy was coming over to work on the case. He'd had a long week and couldn't be faulted for forgetting a few details.
When the sound of footsteps rang out over the hiss of the shower, Harry pretended not to hear them.
His turn to fully face the doorway was purely coincidental.
Harry's Olympic-level self-delusion held strong upon seeing Malfoy framed in the doorway, looking edible in tight jeans and a forest-green Henley, hair perfectly tousled.
It started to fray when he felt his own hand slide slowly down his stomach toward his already hard cock... it might have been generously labelled washing. It wasn't.
It unravelled almost completely when Malfoy tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. By the time a naked Malfoy was sliding the shower door open, Harry had kicked the denial so far to the side it wasn't even in the same postcode any longer.
Malfoy settled on his knees in front of Harry, gazing up at him with a hesitant expression, the steam curling the ends of his hair and beading on his slightly parted lips.
Harry cupped his jaw, swiping his thumb across one of those killer cheekbones, and whispered, "Do you want this?"
"So much," Malfoy whispered back.
Harry nodded, and Malfoy's hands rose to his hips, grasping them firmly as he leaned in and sucked Harry's cock into his mouth.
Harry's hand went to Malfoy's head, where the steam was dampening his hair, and threaded his fingers through it for the first time. It felt like coming home.
"Draco... that feels amazing." Harry kept his touch gentle. His other hand rose, and he traced a finger around the stretch of Draco's lips. Draco made a needy sound and took Harry to the back of his throat. Harry's hand dropped to Draco's shoulder as his nose hit the tangle of dark hair at his base.
Draco moved his hands from Harry's hips to his arse and pulled him in, encouraging Harry to rock into his mouth.
"Fuck, are you sure?" Harry growled, restraint becoming a nebulous concept.
In response, Draco took both of Harry's hands and placed them on his own head, pressing his fingers into fists in Draco's hair.
Harry's reserve snapped. He resettled his grip as he watched Draco's eyes roll back. He began to move with slow rolls of his hips, fucking into Draco's hot, wet mouth. Draco worked his tongue along the underside of Harry's length, and Harry's breath hitched, heat shooting through him and gathering low in his stomach.
"I'm not going to last like this. You look so beautiful." Harry was fascinated by the line of spit leaking from the corner of Draco's mouth, tracking down his chin; by the water droplets darkening his lashes; by the way Draco didn't take his eyes off him for a single moment.
Draco dug his fingers into Harry's arse and pulled him in tight, holding him still as he swallowed, his throat massaging the head of Harry's cock in a way that took him from teetering on the precipice to leaping off it entirely, falling into space, stars sparking at the edges of his vision. Coming so hard that he swore, just for a moment, he blacked out.
When Draco eventually drew back and wiped his mouth, Harry had to brace a hand against the tile to stay upright. Draco rose and pressed himself close, aligning their bodies under the warm spray.
Harry raised his chin and finally, finally, kissed Draco. It was everything. Draco pressed him back against the wall and dipped his tongue into his mouth, exploring in alternating soft and rough strokes. Tasting, consuming, claiming.
Draco rolled his hips, and Harry felt him hard against his hip. "I want you." Draco's voice was wrecked, and that alone had Harry clinging to his shoulders. He'd done that.
"Then take me," Harry said into Draco's shoulder as Draco started biting down on his neck.
Draco flicked the water off and pulled Potter from the shower, quickly drying them both off. Potter was deliciously compliant.
Draco led him to the bed and gently pushed him down. Potter scooted back against the pillows, his thighs falling open invitingly.
"Can I taste you?" Draco asked, licking his lips.
"You can do anything you want to me," Potter said, raising his hands above his head to grip the headboard.
"Anything, Harry?" Draco asked, crawling onto the bed between Harry's legs and positioning a pillow under his hips before lowering himself to his stomach.
"I can't imagine anything you'd do that I wouldn't like," Harry admitted.
"I'll keep that in mind. Right now, though–" He pulled Harry's cheeks apart and, after casting a quick wandless cleansing spell, licked a long stripe up his centre.
Harry moaned wantonly, hand dropping to Draco's head.
"Hands back on the headboard," Draco commanded, pulling away just long enough to glance up to watch Harry obey before diving back in.
He spent the next several minutes licking into Harry, fucking him with his tongue. He discovered that Harry couldn't stay still when he made his tongue into a point and pushed it past the tight ring of muscle at Harry's entrance. He learned that flattening his tongue and lapping over his hole in quick strokes drew almost pitiful mewling sounds from him. By the time Draco conjured lube and slid a finger into his tight heat, Harry was a sweaty, squirming mess, cock hard and twitching against his stomach. By the time Draco had him stretched open on three fingers, Harry was fucking himself back onto Draco's hand.
"Draco, please," Harry begged.
"Please, what, Harry?" Draco curled his fingers, giving focused attention to Harry's prostate. The sound that fell from Harry's lips couldn't be called words; it was desperate and wild.
"Please fuck me, Draco. I need you, now, please." Harry sounded like he was hanging on by a thread.
"Well, since you asked so nicely..." Draco withdrew his fingers, and Harry whimpered. Draco slicked himself and positioned himself between Harry's legs, intending to sink in slowly, but Harry hooked his legs around Draco's waist and pulled him in, arching up to meet him.
Draco's vision hazed for a moment from the sheer overwhelming volume of sensation. His cock was wrapped in heat and pressure. Harry's arms and legs were locked around him, pressing them as close together as possible. And if Draco had thought power radiated off Harry when they shared an office, that was only a whisper of what he felt now. It was like standing on a cliff above a storm-churned sea, feeling the wind at your back and the spray on your face. Draco lowered his forehead to press against Harry's.
"Stop. I need a second," Draco whimpered, the feeling of Harry too good around him.
Harry stilled immediately. "Are you okay?"
"You're fucking amazing," Draco growled and started moving.
With Harry still locked around him, he could only roll his hips in short, deep thrusts.
"Harder," Harry whined.
Draco unwound Harry's arms from his neck, rose to his knees, and began fucking him in earnest.
After a few minutes, Draco hooked one of Harry's legs over his shoulder and repositioned, using the leverage to ensure he was hitting Harry's prostate on every thrust, as evidenced by the cries and moans as Harry thrashed his head back and forth, hands scrabbling at the sheets.
"Can you come like this?" Draco gasped between panting breaths.
"Fuck, yes. I'm almost there." Harry sounded wrecked, but he reached for Draco, threading their fingers together.
Draco watched, fascinated, as Harry came; he felt the flutter of his inner muscles as he spilt with a cry over his own stomach, eyelids fluttering. Draco fucked him through it until he could tell Harry was overstimulated, then hooked his other knee, bending him almost double, and drove into him relentlessly for another few long moments before letting the wind push him over the cliff, surrendering to the rough seas that swallowed him whole.
Draco came back to himself with Harry stroking his back and whispering against his ear. "You're wonderful. I love how I feel with you. You're so good to me."
He rolled to the side and forced his eyes open. "You're a wonder," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Harry's forehead before drifting into an exhausted sleep.
They barely left the bed the next day. Sunday, they went to Draco's place and stayed most of the day there as well.
Come Monday morning, if they looked happy and satisfied as they walked into their office together... well, that just felt right.
And if they happened to get engaged six months later? That's just what happens when you're in love.
Right?