Princes in Exile

This chapter was written by keppiehed.


The scrape of the silverware on the plate made Draco want to wince. Not only was this good china—though not the heirloom set, of course, Potter wasn't that exalted of a guest—but the sound was grating in the otherwise unbroken silence. He watched Potter take yet another sip from his water glass and wondered if the other man were as nervous he was. This whole dinner was awkward. They hadn't said two words to each other after this afternoon's debacle of a lesson. Draco cleared his throat.

“What?” Potter asked.

“What? Oh, nothing. Merely a crumb.” Draco waved at the air in front of his throat. He took a small sip of Chardonnay. “The fish, I think. Was it dry?”

“Oh. I thought you said … something.” Potter said.

“What? No.” Draco frowned. “It was the fish, as I said.”

“My mistake.” Potter took another drink of water. They lapsed back into silence.

Draco concentrated on cutting his asparagus into surgically precise pieces. He felt the weight of this evening on his shoulders. As a rule, he usually ate in solitude. Even if he had guests, he preferred silence. He was able to entertain, of course, but it was his personal preference to maintain order and dignity during the meal, if he was given a choice. Thus, silence during dinner had never bothered him before. He concentrated on his meal, which he usually enjoyed consuming in an unhurried way. Manners, in his opinion, were highly undervalued these days, as was a well-prepared meal. There was nothing wrong with savouring the finer things in life.

So why was tonight so different? Why did he feel so uncomfortable?

Draco sneaked a glance at Potter. He hadn't looked directly at him since the whole snogging incident. He looked like Draco felt: bored and uncomfortable. Draco frowned. It occurred to him that he was failing as a host if he was not keeping his guest properly entertained.

“So, Potter, what—” Draco pursed his lips in consternation. He might've thought this out a bit before he started talking. All of the things that he normally discussed at dinner parties were not exactly applicable here. What could he even say to Potter? What did the rabble discuss at dinner? Draco didn't know. He'd have to wing it and hope for the best. “—is your favourite colour?”

Potter's eyes widened in incredulity. “Is this a joke?”

Draco had the grace to blush, but it was dim enough in the dining hall that Potter, thankfully, couldn't detect it. “Just making conversation,” he said defensively. “I assume it must be burgundy, since you wear it all the time.”

“Oh, is that what we're going by? Then I know what yours is,” Potter shot back. “That's not how you start a conversation, Draco. That's what pre-teen witches ask at slumber parties.”

“Well, I didn't have a lot of slumber parties.” Draco didn't realize how that sounded until it was out. The words sounded small and sad, and he wanted to take them back immediately. He could feel Potter looking at him, and he didn't want his sympathy. He cast about for something to say. Anything was better than pity. “There were no families in our social circle appropriate for me to associate with, of course.”

“Of course.” Potter's voice gave nothing away. “So, what do you do for fun, Draco?”

Peachy came in then with the dessert course. She held up the platter and Draco selected a few pastries. She went around to Potter, who looked at them suspiciously. “What are they?”

Peachy stared back, panicked. “Nutty cakes?”

“Petit Praline Croquantes. Holy Harpies, have you never eaten anywhere but Hogwarts? These are pretty standard fare.” Draco shook his head.

“Don't be such a stuck-up prick all the time! What's wrong with having 'normal' food once in awhile? You know, just plain old food? Not everyone knows what's in this weird stuff!” Potter wrinkled his nose.

Draco considered that. He hadn't thought to ask if he enjoyed the food. This was the best, so he had naturally assumed … he was failing quite miserably as a host. Draco took a deep breath and endeavoured to do better. This was the task that was entrusted to him, after all. And if there was one thing he could do, it was sparkling conversation and decent fare. “What kind of food would you prefer, Potter?”

Potter looked surprised. “I don't know. Just… regular stuff. You know, like, burgers and fries. Pizza. That sort of thing. It doesn't always have to be gourmet.”

“And for dessert?” Draco was curious.

Potter paused. His eyes met Draco's for the first time since that kiss. Draco felt his pulse flutter. He was glad that Potter couldn't remember that night. “I like ice cream. Or strawberry shortcake. My favourite is treacle tart, though.”

“Treacle tart? Isn't that a bit … sweet?” Draco didn't know why he was holding his breath.

“I like it that way.” Without breaking the eye contact, Potter reached over and picked up a little cake. He let his tongue peek out and taste the edge. Not enough to be rude, just enough to enchant.

Enchant? Draco put his fork down. It was a bit too forceful in the big room and the resulting clatter was louder than he had intended.

Potter raised an eyebrow at the noise and then opened his mouth. Draco couldn't tear his eyes away as Potter devoured the whole thing in one neat bite. “Although this is good, too.”

Draco didn't know what had just happened, but he knew he didn't like it one bit. Something was wrong with him. He must not be feeling well. And why was it so damn hot in here? He kept forgetting to ask Peachy to turn down the heat. The Parkinsons might like to live in a house as hot as Hades, but he certainly did not.

“So, you never answered my question. What do you do for fun?” Potter leaned back in his chair.

“Since you ask, I enjoy cards. I like Solitaire,” Draco answered.

“What a shock.”

Draco ignored the jibe. “I also enjoy whist, should you care to play.”

“Whist? Like, the old person's game?” Potter stared blankly.

Draco sniffed. “Certainly not. It takes a lot of skill—”

Potter laughed. “But it's for old people! What about poker? That's fun.”

“Poker? I don't know that game.” Draco waved his hand in dismissal. It couldn't be too much fun if he'd never even heard of it.

“That's a shame, because I'll bet you'd have quite a poker face.” Potter smirked.

“Thank you. I do get a lot of compliments on it, especially my strong jawline. One time they even asked me to be on the cover of Warlock Wear, but that's just so common.” Draco wiped his mouth and stood up. “Shall we retire to the Game Room?”

Potter's eyes widened. “You have a game room? Why didn't you mention it before?”

“You never asked.” Draco walked towards the West Wing. Potter was still sitting there. “Of course, if you'd prefer something else, we could do anything you like.”

“Anything I like?” Potter stood up. “How do I know what my choices are if you don't tell me?”

Draco felt the air turn in the room. Suddenly it was as if there were two different conversations going on, but he wasn't entirely sure what they were. This insecurity was entirely foreign to him. He was normally so assured and facile in any situation. He had never had a moment's doubt when it came to conversation. He could steer anything in the direction he desired. He was glib and charming. This was a whole new feeling. When had Potter got better than him at anything? Why did he feel so uncertain just talking about games? Draco didn't want to think about it, but neither did he want to make a fool of himself. He felt trapped in some sort of net that he never even seen descending. He didn't relish Potter thinking he was slow on the uptake, either. “I haven't kept anything from you.”

“I beg to differ, Draco.” Potter crossed the room and as he got ever closer, Draco could almost feel some sort of magnetism radiating from him. He had to be using his wandless magic. That was the only explanation. “You've kept a great deal from me.”

Draco clenched his fists. “I can't show you everything. Not all at once. It takes time.”

Potter cocked his head. “I know. So, where are we going to start?”

Draco felt like he had been let off the hook, but he didn't know what hook he'd even been on. “Didn't you say you wanted to see everything? A tour? Would you please speak plainly, Potter? What is it you would like?”

Potter sighed. “What would I like? Just show me the game room, will you? That will have to do for now.”

Draco knew he was missing something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. “Fine. It's this way.” He walked down the hallway. The path to the game room was a complicated one, as it was considered a less-important part of the house. Also, it had been built after centuries of additions, so it was in a more remote part of the house. When they arrived, Draco was glad to be there. The awkward silence had descended again.

“Well, here we are. The Game Room.” Draco opened the door and flipped on the switch.

“Wow!” Potter stepped in and seemed suitably impressed. It was an enormous room, equipped with every type of entertainment that could be conceived of. The Malfoys spared no expense in pursuit of the best. The Game Room was no exception.

“You have a Wii! Why didn't you say?” Potter rushed over to a big black rectangle in the corner and examined it.

“Oh, a Wii. Yeah.” Draco stepped into the room and closed the door behind them. He watched Potter fidget with the Muggle gadget. It was amusing, in a strange way, to see him get so much enjoyment out of it. Draco had to struggle to keep a smile—a real smile—off of his face. Potter seemed so excited and happy. It made him look years younger, like a boy. Maybe they should have come here sooner. Not that Draco cared about making Potter happy. Just that he should have stepped up his duties as host. “Feel free to come here at your leisure. Now that you are going to be living here. Er, staying here for awhile.”

Potter had abandoned the Wii and was examining the ping-pong table. After that he went over to the pool table. Eventually he made his way back to what he had called the Wii. “Fancy a game?” He grinned wickedly. He held up a little white rectangle and slipped his wrist through a loop dangling at the end of it. “Hermione taught Ron and me about this, and it is endless fun. I didn't figure you for the type to play, but trust me, I'm going to take you down.”

Draco didn't know why, but those words went straight to his … gut. Or a bit further south, if he wanted to be honest with himself. The only reason he didn't betray his complete embarrassment was his iron control, for which he had never been so glad of as he was right now. Something was definitely wrong. He needed a shag. Right now—it was clear. Potter was right, those sessions had boiled his brain. Something must have gotten damaged in the process, but he knew he needed to find a witch, and now! He felt a sheen of sweat break out on his upper lip. As soon as it wasn't conspicuous, he was going to suggest that they take a break from their lessons tomorrow so that he could call on … someone. He didn't know who, but it didn't matter. Someone like him was never without options.

“Draco?” Potter dangled the plastic rectangle in front of him. “Are you prepared to have your arse handed to you?” He smiled to show he was just kidding.

Draco took a breath. It was getting hard to breathe. “Er. I don't play.” His voice sounded squeaky. The word 'arse' was making his stomach flip.

Potter's grin faded. “What? What do you mean? Why do you have a Wii if you don't play? Is your … dad … a big fan of video games?” Potter looked incredulous.

“No, no.” Draco shook his head. “I've never played them. The truth is, I don't come in here too much. I'm not one for games.”

Potter's face turned serious. “Then why all of this? Why have everything? It takes so much effort. The Wii wasn't even around when you left! If you don't even know what it is ...”

Draco shrugged. “You know, only the best. Even if I don't want it.” The words hung out there again, another admission that seemed too intimate.

Potter looked at him. “Have you ever given it a try?” he asked.

“No. It isn't my thing.” Draco again had that indistinct feeling of double entendres that he couldn't quite grasp.

“Come on, Draco. You never know until you try. You might really like it. Try something new.” Potter suspended the controller enticingly.

Draco bit his lip. “Okay. So, it's a game?”

Potter grinned. “It's a game. And one I'm going to win.”

Draco felt that familiar competitive spark flare and catch, but for once, it was all in fun. He rolled up his sleeves and reached for the foreign device. “We'll see about that. Prepare yourself for conquest, Potter.”

Draco glanced over and saw Potter's green eyes trained on him. “You seem pretty sure of yourself, Draco. Care to make a friendly wager on the outcome of the game?”

Draco's pride asserted itself. He could almost feel it rushing forward on its own. “Absolutely. What do you have in mind?”

“Well, to be honest, I have this kink in my back. I figure you are such a pain in my neck, you must've caused it. So, it's only fair that you should give me a backrub.” Potter didn't blink.

Draco's eyebrows shot up. “You want me to be your personal masseur? Forget it!” The thought of his hands, all over Potter … it wasn't as disgusting as it should have been. That was the problem.

“It's okay. I can understand that you don't want to take a wager like that. First of all, you know you're going to lose. Second of all, I always knew you were too good to do something that the rest of us would.” Potter taunted.

Draco felt his temper explode. “So you're saying you'd give a massage? Fine, you're on, Potter,” he said before he could think. “And be prepared to pay up, because you are never going to beat me at my own game.”

“Your own game, hm?” Suddenly Potter looked awfully amused. “And what's the name of the game? Do you even know?”

Draco scowled. “That knowledge is not required. I just have to come in first. And I will. How do I strap this on?”

Potter choked. “Just slip in on your wrist. Not so hard! You don't need to force everything. Now, get ready. I'm going to turn it on.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I've been ready. Let's go.”


*


“Fuck! Fuck!” Draco threw down the Wii remote in disgust. They had been playing for hours, and he couldn't get a win in. Not one. If you asked him, this whole damn thing was rigged. “Fuck!”

“Nice. Well, that's another game to me.”

Potter was cool as a cucumber, damn him. Draco bent over to retrieve the controller from where he had thrown it. “One more. I demand a rematch.”

“Uh-uh. It's been hours already. You lose.” Potter pressed a button and the whole system shut off. “I demand my payment.”

“I didn't lose!” Draco protested.

Potter cocked an eyebrow at him.

“You didn't give me a chance to get warmed up! I was just starting!” Draco was desperate. This was humiliating. Not a single game! And now he had to—Merlin! Potter was taking off his shirt! Draco's mouth ran dry. “Stop it! What are you doing?”

Potter looked at him as if he had gone mad. “Draco, stop welshing on the deal. Last I heard, you could at least hold up your end of a bargain.”

That did it. Draco narrowed his eyes. “I'm not welshing.”

“Good. So rub.” Potter draped himself facedown over one of the many couches.

Draco stared at the expanse of Potter's back. How had he gotten into this? Well, there was nothing for it. Malfoys didn't renege on deals. Draco approached Potter. How best to handle this? Should he sit on the edge? No. Definitely not. He couldn't just lean over. That was awkward. He would have to … Draco swallowed. Get on his knees. It was that or sit right next to him on the couch, sharing the space, and that wasn't about to happen.

Draco fell to his knees on the soft carpet. Potter hadn't moved or made a sound. Maybe he was asleep. Draco stretched out his hands. Here was the moment of reckoning; he had to do this. He touched Potter's back.

Potter hissed. “You're cold!”

“What?” Draco jerked his hands back. “Sorry, it isn't my fault that I have poor circulation!”

“No!” Potter sat up a little. “It felt nice. Please, continue.”

Draco shook out his hands and began again. He didn't know quite what to do. He thought of the many massages he'd had, and he tried to copy that. He let his hands ghost over Potter's skin, lightly at first, then with more pressure. He sought out harder spots that seemed like knots, and he worked at them. The kinks came loose under his ministrations, and before he knew it he was working up quite a sweat himself, kneading and pushing and rolling the muscles. Potter's skin was firm and unblemished; the heat of it was mesmerizing, and Draco wanted to just keep touching it …

“Mmm … Draco … feels good,” Potter murmured.

That sound of Potter's pleasure made Draco's cock stir, and he nearly froze. Those words, he could swear he had heard them before, spoken with pleasure. Was he having déjà vu?

“Don't stop,” Potter muttered. “That's so nice.”

Draco knew he wasn't in his right mind. He was clearly insane from lack of sex. If this is what abstinence did, drove him to think of things like this, then he would have to make sure to never let himself get so deprived again. For now, it seemed that there was nothing he could do except hope that Potter didn't catch on to the fact that he was being given a backrub by an undersexed pervert. Draco leaned into it and applied his hands to a tight spot near Potter's shoulder blade.

Potter moaned.

The sound went directly to Draco's groin.

Just then, as if it was amplified by a Sonorous Spell, Draco detected the click of the door to the game room. He would forever remember how events unspooled with the slow-motion memory of the traumatized.

“Draco, what in Merlin's name are you doing in here? I thought you detested—” Lucius stepped through the threshold. “—Potter.” His eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

Draco snatched his hands back. The red of his blush scalded his face, and he knew he might incinerate on the spot. He had never before so fervently wished for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He jumped to his feet. “Father! What are you doing here?”

Lucius' lips twitched. “In the Game Room? Looking for you. Otherwise speaking? I'm home.”