Princes in Exile

This chapter was written by keppiehed


Draco let his hand move faster, encircling the engorged shaft fully now. He was achingly hard and had been for what seemed like hours—he needed relief. He stroked himself a little desperately; the lubrication charm was wearing off.

Draco grunted and took a deep breath, renewing his efforts. He had been in a foul mood the last several days. Since Potter's arrival, in fact. That was no coincidence.

He had realized that he was in need of some time alone. His body wanted release. Lately, his dreams were filled with salacious images, fuelling a growing desire. But when he woke up, he could never remember anything beyond the fact that he was frustrated. If he didn't come soon, he was in danger of going insane.

The problem was that all of his usual fantasies seemed to fall short of closing the deal. Nothing excited him the way it used to. Draco didn't want to wonder why all the centrefolds in Velvet Veelas Weekly seemed drab, he just wanted to find something to do the trick, and fast. He couldn't take another afternoon of walking around hiding his erection. Stupid Potter would no doubt think that was hysterical. He probably never had this problem!

Draco redoubled his efforts. His arm was starting to get tired.

He began to feel a flicker of pleasure rather than just stimulation, and he was concentrating on that when he heard something. Draco paused in his personal ministrations. What was that?

Out of convenience and economics, Draco had assigned Potter the room next door to his own. He was, after all, in charge of the finances while his father was away. It didn't make good fiscal sense to open up a whole new wing just to accommodate Potter. He also didn't like the idea of Potter snooping around to see how the other half lived. He was surely curious about the lives of his betters, and Draco wasn't about to provide fodder for his no doubt depraved imagination. All of the favourable rooms were right here, anyway, and so far Draco didn't think that Potter was even aware of their proximity. Draco had been careful to use the exit of his room that was around the corner, and Potter, the stupid sod, still seemed confused about logistics. Since Draco didn't want to run into him any more than necessary, it had been a reasonable arrangement.

Until now.

Draco heard the unmistakable sounds of Potter jerking off on the other side of the wall. A picture flared to life, unbidden, in Draco's imagination. He could see the room that he'd given Potter, could imagine him in bed. His headboard abutted the wall that Draco's did—a detail that had escaped his notice.

Until now.

Potter apparently didn't feel it necessary to perform a Silencing Charm on his quarters, having been given the mistaken impression that he was alone in the entire wing of the mansion. Draco's ears burned as he listened—heard!—Potter's voice calling out. He was getting more impassioned by the moment, groaning and generally making a lot of indecent noises.

Draco's cheeks flared in the darkness. Who knew Potter was so—uninhibited? Draco himself was usually restrained and silent, the picture of control. If Potter was like that by himself, just imagine…

Stop it! Draco clenched his teeth. He was not laying here in his bed in the middle of a perfectly good wank, thinking about Potter, damn it!

It didn't escape Draco's attention that as the noises from next door became louder and more passionate, his own cock throbbed. He was harder than he could remember being since his younger years, the sounds of pleasure going straight to his groin. He sucked his breath in and held it. This was not happening! He was not going to masturbate to the sounds of Harry Potter beating off!

Draco's body thought otherwise. He trembled with the effort not to jerk his hips. His cock was rock hard and pulsing on its own. He could hear himself making little panting noises in the effort not to touch himself. He couldn't do it, not while Potter was. He wasn't going to.

Think of something, anything... think of McGonagall here in bed with you. Draco's old stand-bys that got him through his randy Hogwarts days fell apart when he heard Potter moan next door. Draco's mouth went dry, and he grabbed at the sheets in desperation. Merlin, would Potter never come?

Finally, with a cry that heralded a satisfying orgasmic experience, Draco heard Potter reach his completion.

The sound of that alone was nearly his undoing. He hadn't been this turned on in a long time. His hand barely got around his cock before he was spurting into his palm and all over his stomach, his hips twitching on their own. It was almost beyond his control, it was that fast and unexpected.

Draco let his head fall back on the pillow until his breathing returned to normal. This was just proof that he had been without a girlfriend for too long. The Boy Who Lived To Jerk Off was cramping his style. Would this week never end?

*


Draco cleaned himself up and calmed himself down. He had an appointment with Potter this afternoon in the solarium. He was supposed to have been spending the time after lunch resting and clearing his thoughts in meditation, a method Potter regarded as highly useful for their practice. Draco just knew that he couldn't have a clear mind with a raging hard-on, and he had spent the entirety of his meditation period trying to deal with it, only to have Potter do the same thing! The double standard for break time unaccountably ruffled Draco. And to make matters worse, he was grumpy because he didn't, in fact, feel better. He still felt as frustrated as ever. And he now had visions of Potter wanking in his head. He didn't want Potter polluting his thoughts that way. Draco felt slight panic rising at the idea of Potter mixed up in his fantasies, even accidentally. He hoped it was a one-time thing and not a trend.

He wasn't feeling very clear at all. He was more muddled than ever before.

Draco stepped around the corner, lost in thought, and realized his error too late. Just exiting his room was the self-same idiot who had ruined his wank-time! Draco glared. He had hoped not to have to face Potter until he got to the solarium. Now he supposed he'd have to walk with him there.

“Oh, Draco!” Potter spotted him and laughed. He ran his hand through his hair. Two pink spots stood out on his cheeks. “I didn't know you had a room down this hallway.”

Draco smirked. It was a good look on him, he knew. He tried not to overdo it, but sometimes the occasion called for it, and this was one of those times. Potter was nervous. And with good reason. They both knew what Draco had heard. “Yes, I do. Right next door, neighbour.”

Potter went white. “Just next door here?”

Draco's smirk was in danger of becoming a smile. He tamped it down, but it was close. Potter's embarrassment was exquisite. Served him right, the loud little bugger. “We share a wall, in fact. Didn't I mention it before? Must've slipped my mind.”

Potter swallowed. “Well, I hope you got some rest. We have quite an afternoon ahead of us.”

“Yes, I was trying to open my mind, but it was rather—loud. I found I couldn't concentrate with all the noise.” Draco tilted his head to catch the exact reaction.

Potter scowled, his face bright red. “Oh, come off it, Malfoy. Quit being such a nancy boy! You act like you've never lived in a dormitory or had a good wank yourself. Get over it and let's go to the lesson.” Harry stormed down the hallway.

Draco felt a flare of ire. Leave it to Potter to spoil his fun like that. “That's the wrong way!” He should just let him wander. That way would take him to the Sitting Rooms, and then he'd never find his way, Draco thought petulantly. “And anyway, I rather thought you liked being heard. You know how to cast a Muffliato, otherwise.”

Potter partially turned in the hallway, looking disoriented. “You know, Draco, that doesn't make a bit of sense. I didn't even know you were there! And being without a wand isn't an excuse to be rude and listen in. I rather think you are the one who liked it.”

Draco gasped. “Well, there wasn't much I could do about it, was there?” he huffed. “What did you want me to do?”

Potter whirled to face him fully, and Draco had the oddest idea that he was about to say something monumental. His eyes were wild, and Draco strained to hear what could only be something they would both remember, before Potter seemed to recall where he was and deflate a little. “Nothing. There's nothing you could do when a man is having a private moment except give him his space and stop talking about it. Merlin, Draco. You can be such a prat sometimes.”

Draco was strangely disappointed. He wondered what Potter was going to say, but there was no way to know without asking, and he certainly wasn't going to admit wanting to know what he thought about anything. Draco jerked his head. “It's this way. You'll only get lost if you go that way yourself,” he said, and turned on his heel. He didn't bother to see if Potter followed or not.

*


“That's not on the agenda!” Potter exclaimed.

“I need a break from all of this moving stuff around. Besides, Legilimency is more interesting. I think I have a real talent for it,” Draco said.

Potter crossed his arms. “You actually have less aptitude for that than anything else we've tried.”

“Then it stands to reason that I need to work on it,” Draco pointed out.

Potter rubbed his forehead. “Fine. Whatever. You are … exasperating, you know that?”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn't a compliment.”

Draco picked a comfortable chair in the solarium, of which there weren't many. This wasn't meant to be a room for lounging around in. It was more of a glassed-in porch. “Why did we have to meet here?” he whined.

“I like it. I was hoping to put you in mind of lightness, airiness. Apparently all for nothing, since we're doing Legilimency now instead,” Potter said.

Draco cracked his neck. “So, what do I do?”

Potter thought a minute. “You want to be the Legilimens, right?”

Draco nodded.

“Then why don't we start with some contact. I read that it helps at first. Here, help me pull this chair over—”

“Why don't you just use your wand?” Draco asked. He tried to keep the pout out of his voice, but somehow it crept in anyway.

Potter straightened up from where he had been attempting to move a pre-Raphaelite wingback. There weren't any furnishings at the Manor that weren't heavy furniture. “You should know better than anyone, Malfoy, that not everything requires the use of a wand.” He sighed. “Can't you just give me a hand for once instead of whinging about it all the time?”

Draco gave him a speculative look. Potter did manual work when he didn't have to? How… rustic of him. Draco hauled himself out of his chair, and between the two of them they managed to lug the wingback until it was in an arrangement that suited them. Now both men could sit comfortably facing each other, close enough that their knees were nearly touching.

Draco looked around. He just now realized that nearly every room in the Manor was set up in this fashion. The chairs were at a respectable chatting distance, but nothing was ever closer than that. These two chairs were the closest pieces of furniture in the entire place. For some reason, it seemed awfully intimate.

“Okay, ready?” Potter asked. “Here's what you do. As the one attempting to gain access to my mind, you have to concentrate.”

“Really? Concentrate? I never would have guessed.” Draco said sarcastically.

“Come on.” Harry frowned. “To learn it, the best way is to put your hands on my face and look right into my eyes. It will help you focus.”

“What?” Draco yelped.

“What?” Harry asked, looking confused.

“But … there's no touching in Legilimency!” Draco protested.

This time Harry smirked. “What's the matter, Malfoy, afraid I've got cooties?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You'd better not be messing with me, Potter. A lot of people want my hands all over them. If I find out—”

“You are unbelievable! You think I want your hands all over me, touching me like that?” Potter shouted.

Draco frowned. Potter needn't sound so offended. “Well, yes. I mean, you don't have to make it sound like such a chore for you. I was known as the Slytherin Sex God for a reason, you know.” Draco frowned. Wait a minute. Was he trying to convince Potter to let him touch him? Draco was momentarily horrified. How had this conversation taken a left turn?

Potter didn't seem to notice. “For Merlin's sake, Draco, you are such a braggart! I'm not trying to scheme up a ploy to sexually harass you. Can't we just do this thing already? This is the fastest method, and I think we can both agree that's what we both want. Right?”

“Right!” Draco was more than happy to agree, especially since Potter didn't seem to notice that Draco had appeared to be begging for a chance to touch him. Where did that come from? He couldn't stand the other man, and the very idea of laying hands on him was making him nervous.

“Okay.” Potter took a deep breath. “Here's what you do: first, give me your hands. No, get closer. You're too far away.” Potter took off his glasses.

The sight of Potter's naked face discomfited Draco. He looked so… vulnerable this way. Draco didn't like it. He didn't want to think of Potter as anything other than his enemy. Which he was. And an annoying git with a big mouth. Glasses or no glasses, his mouth was still fully functional—Draco was sure of that much.

Draco scooted closer and offered his hands as if he were put out. Potter took them in his own and held them up to his face, arranging the fingers in places surrounding his eyes, cheekbones and forehead. Draco realized that he had never touched Potter before, not skin-to-skin like this. It was disquieting and surprisingly intimate to have someone's face under your touch, to have them stroking your fingers …

“There, you're in place. It doesn't have to be perfect. These are just the best energy points.”

As Potter spoke, Draco could feel his skin move under his fingertips, the bones and muscles shifting with each syllable. Draco swallowed. Was it getting hot in here? He shouldn't have worn a sweater. Peachy must have turned up the heat. She didn't know that he preferred to keep it cool.

“Are you listening to me, Draco?”

Draco snapped back to attention. “Yes. Pay attention and concentrate.”

Potter sighed. “You aren't, though. What if I tried Legilimency on you? What would I find?”

Draco's eyes flared in panic. “That's unethical!”

“Well, some people aren't ethical. As you well know,” Potter said.

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'What are you saying?”

“Just—pay attention. I said, look into my eyes. Don't break the contact. And then think about breaching the barrier. Whenever you are ready.”

Draco made himself look into Potter's eyes. He took a few deep breaths and just let himself fall into them. This was the first time he had been this close. There was no animosity between them, which was a first. He could feel Potter's warm skin under his fingertip and see himself reflected in Potter's eyes.

Potter's eyes were different from his own, he noticed, as he looked at them in closer examination. Where Draco's were famously gray, it was the dark ring around the edges that made the contrast so striking—he ought to know, he'd spent a fair amount of time checking himself in the mirror. Now that Draco was close enough to see the other man and really look at him, he saw that Potter's eyes were green through and through. They were the most startling shade Draco had ever seen, made more brilliant without the filter of his ever-present glasses.

Draco felt himself falling into those eyes, seeing the various flecks that painted them. There were endless gradients of colour there. He drank in the sight of the infinite shifting shades; it was like looking at sunlight shining through the forest primeval.

“Er, Draco? I'm not feeling anything. You have to really push with your mind,” Potter prompted.

Draco blinked. He must have needed a nap more than he realized if he was waxing poetic over Potter's eyes. Draco drew his brows together in concentration and stared at his nemesis, refusing to be distracted this time. He pushed.

Potter's expression didn't change.

Draco focused his magic into what he imagined to be a tiny, strong stream. He directed the needle into Potter's eye and pushed again. He concentrated all of his effort on breaking through into Potter's mind. He was so close … he could almost feel the barrier giving way … he just had to want it enough ...

He felt like he was falling. He could hear things, see things whizzing around. He wanted to grab onto one ... Bleary-eyed sot. He managed to hear something. Draco focused harder and pushed through a silvery wall of thought.

He saw himself, stretching, a sliver of his stomach showing. His hair falling forward over one eye. It was yesterday just before dinner and he—

Potter jerked away, and the connection was broken. “You did it,” he said, his voice shaking. “That was … unexpected. You must have really wanted in.”

Draco couldn't make sense of what he'd seen and heard. That was Potter's thought? Him at dinner in an obviously ill-fitting garment? Draco made a mental note to get rid of the shirt now that he could see how it fit. It was unflattering when it rode up like that, so much so that Potter couldn't stop thinking about it. Leave it to him to notice! Draco's face flushed with embarrassment.

Potter stood up. “That's enough for today. I'll see you later.” He left Draco sitting there without another word.

Draco was confused. Potter seemed even more embarrassed than he was. Why was that? Probably because Draco had so easily broken through his defences. Draco grinned and headed for his room. Now he really did need a nap.

*


“Draco.”

Draco stirred.

“Draco.”

Draco opened his eyes and looked around the room. He swore he had heard his name. What was going on? He listened. Was Potter calling for him? He didn't hear anything. Draco closed his eyes. He really was weary. This wandless magic was more draining than he could have predicted.

“Draco … mmm … ”

Draco sat up. He had heard Potter's voice, right inside his head. His heart beat faster. What was going on? Was Potter mucking about inside his thoughts? Was he poking inside there, trying to see what Draco was thinking? The thought enraged him, and he jumped up to find that jerk. All those pointed references to ethics, and he was one to talk!

Draco slammed into Potter's adjoining room. The more he thought about it, the more incensed he became. How dare Potter take liberties with his power? Draco was going to find him and give him something to be sorry about!

Potter's room was empty. Draco's nostril's flared in ire as he took in the stillness. There was a crack of light under the far door. Ha! Trust Potter to squirm as far away as he could to perform his misdeeds, like a worm on a hook.

Draco strode across the room, making the trip in five big steps. He was seeing red by the time he got there, and without any further thought other than smashing his fist into Potter's face, he flung the door open. “Potter, you—”

The sight that greeted him made him drop his jaw in absolute shock. Potter was getting out of the shower. He had just wrapped a towel around his hips. His hair was still wet, the droplets coursing down his neck and joining other wayward rivulets on their trail south.

Draco just stood there.

Harry looked as stunned as he felt. “What the hell, Malfoy?”

Draco wanted to sink into a puddle of mortification. “I—I'm sorry, Potter. I thought I heard you calling me. I'll … leave you to it.” He turned as fast as he could and slammed the door.

His heart was racing faster than it ever had in all his life. This didn't mean anything, just because he'd seen Potter nearly naked. Like Potter himself had said, they'd been in plenty of dormitory showers before. No need to panic.

Why couldn't he get the idea of that towel—and what was behind it—out of his mind? Draco groaned and hit his head against the wall of his bedroom. This was all Potter's fault! He was messing him up, planting ideas in his mind and getting him all flustered. Draco couldn't wait for him to leave so that things could go back to normal.

He was desperate for a little bit of normal after this week.