One Harry Potter, Please

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Thank you for your reviews!

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One Harry Potter, Please

(If Possible, Seduced and Ready)

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III

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The last time Harry felt like this he had been in a cold, damp hut and a giant man with a beard had told him he was a wizard. Elation was the word that described his feelings accurately. Then, even though he had been eleven, he knew his life was about to change for the better. Nothing had ever managed to replace that particular memory; he had never felt quite that happy, that excited, not until this moment.



For several glorious seconds, Harry was in heaven. Despite the evidence to the contrary, despite common sense and logic telling him otherwise, for those few seconds he actually believed that Draco Malfoy wanted him, admired him, loved him.



It should have happened in slow-motion, like in the cheesy movies. Malfoy should have approached him slowly, prolonging Harry\'s happiness, letting him get a good look at what he was about to get, but in no time Malfoy was sitting at Harry\'s table, smiling a wide but obviously fake smile.



"Potter." Malfoy nodded, extending his hand to offer Harry the rose. "You\'ll catch flies like that," he sneered.



Harry stared at the rose, his reason returning to him gradually. Malfoy\'s voice had broken the illusion, the sound of it reminding Harry that this was real and not one of his fantasies. And in the real world, Malfoy hated him. Harry\'s conclusion that Malfoy wasn\'t his secret admirer had been based on solid evidence.



Malfoy\'s smile faltered and he dropped the rose on the table, then hid his hands, placing them in his lap.



It took Harry more than a few minutes to find his voice. The waitress had come and gone, and then returned to bring Malfoy whiskey before Harry managed to speak.



"What did you do to him?" Harry asked, his teeth pressed so tightly together Harry was sure he would never be able to unclench them.



Malfoy blinked and cocked his head. "Pardon?"



"To my real secret admirer?"



Malfoy blinked again and then looked around as though to say, "I don\'t see anyone else here."



"What did you do to him?" Harry growled so loudly that a man and a woman sitting several feet away turned around to glare at him.



"Dropped him into the sewer." Malfoy took a sip of whiskey, staring at his glass for a second. He took another sip, then downed the entire content.



"Is this your idea of a joke? You think this is funny?"



Malfoy leaned back in his chair, eyeing Harry through his lowered eyelashes. His expression was tight, but otherwise he presented a picture of perfect nonchalance. "I understand you\'re disappointed, but —"



"Disappointed? Try furious."



"Well, I hoped there was a chance you\'d react differently. I\'m sorry to see I was wrong." Malfoy had the nerve to look truly insulted.



"What exactly did you expect? That I\'d congratulate you for purposely ruining my date? That I\'ll thank you for meddling in my life? Were you actually worried that I\'ll die and ruin your career? Or are you getting some sort of kick out of this?"



A muscle in Malfoy\'s jaw twitched and his lips pressed into a tight line. He leaned in and placed one hand on the table, nearly touching Harry\'s fingers. Momentarily distracted, Harry held his breath as Malfoy\'s hand moved closer. Harry\'s hand was already trembling in anticipation of the touch, but Malfoy reached for the rose.



"Did you miss the moment when I walked in holding this?" Malfoy waved the rose around, glaring at Harry. That had probably been a bad moment to notice Malfoy\'s eyes looked especially dark in the candlelight, the blond lashes emphasising the black of his pupils, the soft light making his features seem softer and his hair especially vibrant. It almost made him look vulnerable, almost a little desperate. Which proved nothing except that Malfoy was a good actor. Which must have been the real reason he sounded so honest when he said, "This is supposed to prove I\'m the person who secretly cares for you, and that I\'m the one who wants to be here with you. And that is true."



"This only proves you\'re a scheming bastard you\'ve always been."



Malfoy had no answer to this; he merely clenched his fist, destroying the stem of the rose.



Harry tore his gaze away from Malfoy\'s hand and looked at his face, trying in vain to read his mind, trying to figure out why Malfoy looked so angry in one moment and so desperate in the next. Was this act too difficult for him?



"You really expect me to believe you\'re in love with me?" Harry dug his nails into his palm, trying to concentrate on that pain rather than the pain that shot through him when he said the word love in front of Malfoy.



Malfoy looked utterly shocked, but then he looked away and cleared his throat. "I don\'t expect anything. I just . . . Look, can we forget about the gifts and the letters? Can we just have dinner and talk? We\'re partners, for Merlin\'s sake! We work together every day. Shouldn\'t we at least try to get along?"



"The letter didn\'t ask for just dinners and conversations. They were love letters, but I understand you can\'t possibly be aware of that."



Malfoy opened his mouth, probably to deny Harry\'s accusation with more lies, but Harry didn\'t let him speak.



"Since when are you gay?" he asked, sneering.



Malfoy looked scandalised. "I\'m not gay!"



Harry raised his eyebrow and waited for Malfoy\'s brain to catch up with his mouth. It didn\'t take long for Malfoy to back-pedal.



"I mean, I\'m not exactly gay. I\'m simply open to trying out new experiences. I am a changed person." Malfoy nodded vigorously. "I no longer compartmentalise people. Wizards, Witches, Muggles, Muggleborns, men, women — it\'s all the same to me. My opinions these days are very, er, politically correct," Malfoy concluded, looking very pleased with himself.



"You make it sound like being attracted to your own gender is something a person can wilfully choose."



Malfoy looked honestly confused. "Isn\'t it?"



"No, it isn\'t."



"Well, I disagree. I think it\'s perfectly normal for people to have fantasies, some of them, or even most of them, including their own gender, and some of them very explicit, but if they simply decide not to act upon them they\'re —"



"Probably lying to themselves."



Malfoy\'s mouth closed with a snap and he frowned at Harry, giving him that, by now familiar "Do you have an extra head?" look.



Harry snorted and shook his head. "But clearly, this doesn\'t apply to you, Malfoy. You did act upon it."



It took Malfoy several moments to nod and assure him, "Obviously."



"I mean, you certainly know what you want. Those letters were very precise and detailed."



"I am a meticulous person."



"And poetic?"



"Inwardly."



"And you have a serious oral fixation? As indicated by the descriptions of —"



Harry quickly stopped speaking. That was the wrong thing to ask and Harry realised it a little too late. Malfoy\'s cheeks coloured in a way Harry had never witnessed before. Seeing that blush on Malfoy\'s face did odd things to Harry\'s chest, and his limbs, and his stomach, and it did a not so odd thing to his cock.



"Must we discuss the letters?" Malfoy asked quietly, sounding mortified.



"Yes, we must. I\'d like you to explain why the letter you took from me yesterday disgusted and angered you. That doesn\'t make much sense since you\'re the supposed author, does it?"



"I think . . . I think the reason is obvious."



"Oh?"



Malfoy nodded, but said nothing.



Harry waited for a minute, but Malfoy remained silent. "Whenever you\'re ready, Malfoy. But do take your sweet time and think of something convincing."



"Oh. I didn\'t realise you wanted an explanation. I did say it was obvious, so I expected you to figure it out on your own. But if you insist, of course I will explain. Though, as I said, it really is ob —"



"Quit stalling."



Malfoy raised an eyebrow and lifted his chin. "Very well." He crossed his arms on his chest and straightened, then said, "I was positive you would never go on a date with a stranger, so I tried to goad you into going. I told you it was dangerous and that it would upset me if you went. I knew you\'d fall for that and rush here, and I was right." Malfoy smiled, smug.



Harry wasn\'t sure whether his heart had been beating this fast this whole time or if it had merely just begun. Incredibly, Malfoy\'s reasoning actually made sense, in a convoluted sort of way. Or maybe Harry was just that desperate to believe him. But it was true that Harry wouldn\'t be here if Malfoy hadn\'t been so angry yesterday. That tactic, if it was a tactic rather than a lie, had worked, and Malfoy did know Harry well enough to know that.



"No," Harry said, trying to convince himself that Malfoy was lying. This couldn\'t be true. "The handwriting — it wasn\'t yours."



"This reasoning from an Auror?" Malfoy scoffed. "As if I wouldn\'t forge it. This wouldn\'t be much of a secret if I had used my own handwriting, would it?"



That made sense, too. Harry was having trouble breathing. "Then, if you saw me receive and read the letter and you were so sure I\'d show up, why send me another one and sign it with a D?"



Malfoy stared at him for a long moment and then said, "The letter was destroyed and I wanted to make sure you had the correct time and place. And I thought you\'d assume you\'re meeting Derek, something you\'d undoubtedly prefer. But the last time I checked, my name was Draco. See? It starts with a D."



Harry was shaking his head in denial. All of this made sense. How was that possible? "No, this can\'t be true. Why didn\'t you ever say anything? You\'re always so rude; you\'ve never even tried to ask me out."



Malfoy leaned in closer, angry now. "Really? As I recall, I did ask you out, but you stood me up."



Harry stared, shocked. "You mean . . . that night when you appeared on my doorstep, drunk, you had been waiting for me?"



"Yes, Potter." Malfoy looked truly angry, acting as though this had bothered him for a long time and he was pleased he was finally able to reproach Harry for that day. "Honestly! How could you have bought my story unless you were desperate to do so? Do you know of any wizards living near you? Wizards that could be my friends? I was waiting for you forever, and you didn\'t even —" Malfoy\'s voice broke in the end, and he fell silent, looking at the table.



Harry was starting to feel faint. This was too much. The thought that Malfoy had been waiting for him that day, waiting for Harry, expecting they would have a date not just dinner, and Harry didn\'t even show up . . .



"Where are you going?" Malfoy almost yelled and Harry realised only then that he was standing next to the table, looking down at Malfoy; he didn\'t even remember getting up.



Malfoy was staring up at him, worry clearly visible in his face, his hand clutching Harry\'s wrist in a vicelike grip.



"I . . ." Harry breathed. He needed to clear his head, to think. This was too confusing. "Bathroom. I\'m going to the bathroom."



"Oh." Malfoy was still holding him tightly. "Then we\'ll have dinner, right?"



Harry nodded automatically.



"Great." Malfoy smiled. This time the smile looked real. "I\'ll order some oysters and champagne. And pie. With strawberry jam?"



"All right," Harry said, not listening and trying not to look at Malfoy. The moment Malfoy released his wrist, he ran away.



Once he reached the bathroom, he took off his glasses and splashed some water over his face. He did it again, then lifted his head to stare at his blurry reflection.



Was this possible? Was it possible that Malfoy truly had feelings for him? Could Harry have misinterpreted Malfoy\'s every move? Malfoy seemed genuinely confused about his sexual orientation, so that would automatically shed new light on Malfoy\'s nasty jabs. If Malfoy was lashing out because he was afraid of how he felt, then that was something Harry could understand. Malfoy\'s confusion about this could explain his odd behaviour. The disgust Harry had seen would be nothing but plain fear, something Harry had experienced himself. And not only that, this would mean that Malfoy\'s hatred for Derek was caused by jealousy.



Was Malfoy really fantasising about Harry this whole time? Buying him gifts and writing those letters?



No matter how much Harry wanted it, he couldn\'t really believe that, but if there was the slightest chance that this wasn\'t some cruel joke, that Malfoy really did want him, then was this chance worth the risk of humiliation?



Yes, it was, was Harry\'s immediate response. He wanted this too much, had dreamed about it for too long. He had to take this chance no matter what the result.



With some of his initial elation returning, Harry wiped his face and picked up his glasses. Walking out, he caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror, much clearer now that he could see. His eyes were bloodshot — irritated by the water, Harry concluded — and his face was deathly pale; his hair was a complete mess, sticking out at odd angles as horridly as it normally did. The chance that Malfoy could really want him seemed even slimmer suddenly.



Determinedly pushing those thoughts away, Harry stepped out of the bathroom, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.



As he walked past the reception area, intending to join Malfoy at their table, out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught something odd. The hostess and the waitress were huddled closely together, whispering furiously. That in itself wasn\'t that strange, but they were constantly throwing suspicious glances in Malfoy\'s direction. Harry looked at Malfoy, seeing only the back of his blond head, but he saw nothing suspicious. Harry almost dismissed it and walked away, thinking they were just gossiping about two men having a romantic dinner, but when he looked at the waitress more closely, he noticed she looked truly worried.



The hostess spotted him and smiled widely, coming closer.



"Is there a problem, sir? Your dinner should arrive shortly."



Harry eyed the waitress who looked liked she wanted to tell him something. "I don\'t know. Is there a problem?" Harry asked, shifting his gaze between the two women.



The waitress quickly shook her head, but then looked at Malfoy again, frowning.



"Maybe I could help?" Harry offered, reaching into his back pocket. "I\'m a detective," he assured them, showing them his Muggle detective badge. Every Auror had one of these, though, unfortunately, most found it easier to ignore, Confound or Obliviate Muggles, than trying to persuade them that they were one of them.



The hostess looked at the badge and smiled at Harry widely. "Oh. So you are."



Harry tried not to fidget; the woman sounded too intrigued.



The waitress bit her lip and asked, "And your friend? Also a detective?"



Harry nodded and the waitress looked instantly relieved. "Oh, never mind then," she said, smiling.



Not willing to let it go, Harry still stared at her expectantly.



The hostess smiled, apologetic. "Marie here thought we would be robbed or something. Honestly."



The waitress, Marie, gave the hostess a nasty glare. "It could have been true."



"Because . . .?" Harry prompted. He had a bad feeling about this. A corner of his mind almost made the connection, but Harry didn\'t want to make it, so he pushed the thought away, concentrating on the waitress\'s words.



"Well, see, earlier I saw your friend outside talking to another man. And well, for a minute there it looked like he was pointing something at him and I thought I saw a flash, but of course it couldn\'t have been a gunshot as I heard nothing. It just made me uneasy. But the man looked unharmed, if a little unsteady on his feet. And he just left. Now that I think about it, he was probably drunk. Why, your friend probably saved us from —"



"What did he look like?" Harry breathed, feeling somewhat unsteady on his feet as well.



The waitress frowned. "Well, pretty much the same. Tall and blond and handsome —"



"The other man," Harry groused, trying to sound patient.



"Oh." The waitress blushed. "Well, he was tall and dark-haired. Small nose. Big smile. A cheery sort of person. Though, I suppose, he was drunk . . ."



Harry was barely listening. It was Derek. It had to be. Not that it mattered. This meant Harry\'s first conclusion had been the right one — Malfoy wasn\'t his secret admirer. Malfoy just came here to ruin his date. He had hexed or Confounded Derek, or whomever, outside the restaurant and then had the nerve to take the rose and walk inside.



"— he could have robbed us. I told you this could have been dangerous."



Lost in his distressed thoughts, Harry almost jumped when he felt a hand caressing his bicep. "Oh, but you would have protected us, wouldn\'t you, sir?" The hostess was smiling at him, blinking slowly.



Harry gave her a tight smile, but it probably looked like a grimace because the hostess snatched her hand away. "I suppose you\'re here on a date?" she asked haughtily.



Harry nodded, regretting he had moved his head at all. It made him dizzy.



"Figures," the hostess grumbled and returned to her post.



The waitress, however, threw Harry a smile, mouthed, "Have fun," and gave him thumbs up.



Harry turned around and unthinkingly took several steps towards Malfoy. And then he stopped, his body shutting down, forcing him to remain where he was.



Why was he so shocked? He should have known. He had almost fallen into this trap. He almost believed Malfoy\'s ridiculous tale. How could he have been so stupid?



He should go and try to find Derek to make sure Malfoy hadn’t done something horrid to him. Though the waitress did say that Derek walked away, so he was probably fine, perhaps a little Confounded. It disturbed Harry how little he cared about Derek in that moment, but the only thing he could truly focus on was Malfoy\'s lie. Why had Malfoy done this? Why not hex Derek and leave? Why this pretence?



Did Malfoy hate him so much he was willing to go through this charade just to see Harry hurt? How could anyone be so sadistic?



Harry was possessed with a sudden urge to cry. He couldn\'t believe he had almost convinced himself that Malfoy was having some sort of orientation crisis.



"Are you all right, sir?" someone asked and Harry didn\'t even turn to find out whether it was the hostess or the waitress.



"Yeah," he replied, his own voice unrecognisable to him.



He should turn around and leave and never look at Malfoy again. It hurt so much he was almost positive that he\'d be able to suppress and forget every positive feeling he’d ever had for Malfoy.



But then Malfoy would stay here and laugh himself silly. Congratulating himself on terrifying Harry so badly he ran. Why give Malfoy this satisfaction?



Staring at the blond head, Harry made his decision. He wouldn\'t run. He never ran and he wasn\'t about to start. Harry\'s eyes narrowed, his mind clearing, re-focusing on revenge. He didn\'t know what Malfoy was trying to achieve, but Harry did wonder: How far was Malfoy willing to go? How far did Harry have to push to make Malfoy run away? Because Harry was ready to push as far as he had to.



Forcing his legs to move and letting a wide smile stretch his lips, Harry walked towards Malfoy with a firm plan on his mind. If Malfoy wanted to play a game, Harry would play.



And he\'d play it better.

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oOo

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Things were going well, Draco concluded. They could have gone better, but they could have gone worse. Potter was disappointed and clearly uninterested in Draco romantically — as if Draco would agree to anything romantic anyway — but he had believed him. Or so Draco hoped. Draco had surprised himself by his sound reasoning. He had almost convinced himself that he was Potter\'s secret admirer. Potter was undoubtedly hiding in the bathroom and planning his next move. When he returned, he would try to explain to Draco that they couldn\'t be together because he wasn\'t interested, and then Draco would make a very sad face and would look like a kicked puppy. And then Potter would feel terribly guilty about all this, and he would try to make things right by being overly kind to Draco.



Draco smiled. This had been a good plan after all.



There was just one little thing that bothered Draco. A tiny thing. Well, two things. One, he wasn\'t very pleased with Potter\'s declaration that fantasising — excessively and sexually — about someone of your own gender made a person gay. Honestly, by that reasoning Draco, too, was gay. And that was just crazy. Besides, Draco only ever had those disturbing though intriguing fantasies about Potter, not other men. Surely this was some sort of anomaly.



The other thing that bothered Draco was Potter\'s obvious disappointment that Hogan hadn\'t been the one to appear on this date. It was just a little insulting. Why, if Draco was gay, he would not be disappointed with someone as handsome and intelligent as he was himself. Clearly, Potter preferred idiotic and unattractive types. So Draco should feel flattered that Potter wasn\'t interested in him. In fact, Draco decided he would accept Potter\'s disinterest as a compliment. This thought cheered Draco up considerably.



Now, they would have dinner and talk, and things between them would change for the better.



Draco tensed as he heard footsteps behind him. This was it; he just had to look miserable, but dignified, and Potter would be falling over himself to make Draco feel better. Draco made a sad face and allowed the corners of his mouth to turn downwards, then waited for Potter to take his seat. Which Potter did promptly, and Draco took one look at him before all his careful preparations shattered and his reason melted into insanity.



Potter\'s face contained one feature Draco thought he would never see directed at him, but there was no doubt about it: those were dimples. Actual dimples. Potter was smiling at Draco, truly smiling, all warmth and white teeth and dimpled flushed cheeks.



"Hey," Potter said, looking down for a moment, but then promptly raising his gaze to meet Draco\'s. "I\'m sorry I stormed out like that. I just . . ." Potter smiled even wider and somehow still managed to look bashful. "Well, I was shocked. I didn\'t expect this."



Draco looked around in the direction of the bathroom, fearing that someone had kidnapped the real Potter and sent this smiling version back to Draco just to mess with his head.



The waitress smiled and waved at him. Draco narrowed his eyes at her: she was now his prime suspect.



"Draco?"



Draco\'s head turned toward Potter so fast something cracked in his neck.



"Forgive me?" Potter said and cocked his head, for a moment looking like a puppy begging for food.



Draco nodded, unable to speak. Honestly, in that moment Potter could have asked Draco to give him his Manor and Draco would have probably agreed. Was Potter aware that he had this power? Were other people aware he could do that? Was that look even legal?



Potter beamed at him as though Draco really had just agreed to give him all his possessions rather than his forgiveness. Why was Potter asking for forgiveness in the first place? Draco had no idea.

"Good," Potter said sweetly. "I think we should start this evening over."



Potter reached out with his left hand and gently took Draco\'s hand in his. If Draco hadn\'t been frozen in shock, he\'d freeze all over again. After all, Harry Potter was holding his hand. Potter did more than that, however. He turned Draco\'s hand so he could pry Draco\'s fingers open and salvage the nearly destroyed rose. Draco had forgotten that he still gripped that thing.



"That\'s mine, I believe," Potter said as he took the rose and placed it next to him on the table. His left hand remained where it was — warmly surrounding the back of Draco\'s right hand, though he touched Draco\'s skin only with his fingertips. Potter moved his hand upwards and pressed his thumb against the pulse point on Draco\'s wrist.



Potter was using wandless magic. Draco was sure of it. That was the only thing that could explain why there were pulses of pleasure rushing from the tip of Potter\'s thumb through Draco\'s hand and arm. He could feel his own pulse thumping madly, and when Potter moved his thumb, circling slowly, his touch barely there, Draco\'s eyelashes fluttered and he felt himself drifting away. It had to be magic. A simple touch like that couldn\'t possibly feel so good without some sort of enchantment.



Blood rushed into Draco\'s ears and all he could hear were some odd buzzing sounds. But Potter\'s lips were moving and it took Draco several moments to realise that Potter was talking.



"What?" Draco whispered without knowing why he was whispering.



Potter\'s tongue peeked out and wetted his full lips. The buzzing sounds were even louder now. Deafening.



"Good idea?" Potter cocked his head again. He had to stop doing that.



"Good?" Draco echoed. That wasn\'t the word Draco would use to describe his current feelings. Potter\'s caress wasn\'t good. It was . . . "Brilliant."



Friends did that all the time, surely. They caressed each other\'s wrists to show affection. Not his friends, though, but maybe this was a Gryffindor thing. Gryffindors were odd. Everybody knew that.



"Excellent." Potter grinned, his lips still a little wet and shiny, catching the light of the candles. "Well then, your place or mine?"



He had missed something. Draco had missed something important here. That much was obvious. He had no idea what Potter was on about. Though that was hardly his fault — Potter was distracting him, using his thumb for nefarious, confusing purposes.



"What?" Draco asked again, utterly lost.



A hint of irritation passed over Potter\'s face, but in the next moment it was gone. "I said we should skip dinner and go straight for dessert. You said that was a brilliant idea. So. Your place or mine?"



Understanding tried to form itself in Draco\'s mind, but he pushed rational thought away. "Dessert? You mean, you just want pie?"



Potter\'s smile looked frozen on his face. "That\'s not the kind of dessert I had in mind. But I did promise you jam, I suppose. I have jam at my apartment."



As the meaning of Potter\'s words hit him, Draco snapped to attention. He didn\'t even realise how blurry his vision had been before it cleared.



Potter wanted sex. With Draco. Potter wanted to take him home and do as he had promised last night. That wasn\'t a part of Draco\'s plan. Potter wasn\'t supposed to be interested in Draco. What was Potter thinking? Did Draco look too miserable and Potter felt guilty? Was it possible that he was only willing to do this out of pity?



Draco should have snatched his hand away from Potter\'s grip. He didn\'t want to give Potter the wrong impression. He should let him know that he didn\'t have to do this. Not if this was some sort of pity fuck. Or rather, not at all, regardless. Since Draco wasn\'t interested. Wrist caressing aside. A plethora of images flashed into Draco\'s mind, his fantasies about Potter resurfacing, hanging tantalizingly in front of his eyes. Panicking, Draco pushed them away.



However, Draco\'s hand refused to listen to his brain and it remained where it was. He would just have to think of something else to show Potter that he wasn\'t expecting sex.



"I\'m hungry," Draco said. "Starving, actually."



"Oh?" Potter looked unsurprised.



Draco nodded and, right on cue, the waitress appeared, sparing Draco of further interrogation. On pure reflex, Draco tried to pull his hand away, but Potter merely tightened his grip while his thumb still caressed Draco\'s wrist tenderly.



Not willing to use force, not in front of the waitress, Draco looked down at the table. His cheeks, his head, his entire body heated up at the realisation that he was holding hands with Potter. In public.



If the waitress found that odd, she did not show it. She placed everything on the table, carefully avoiding their joined hands.



"Let me know when you\'re ready for dessert."



Draco could hear the smile in her voice and was relieved when she left.



"I\'m ready now," Potter murmured.



Draco looked up, catching Potter\'s gaze; the green eyes were full of promise. Potter wasn\'t talking about desserts.



Gulping, Draco tried to pull his hand away again, but Potter held it tightly.



"I need it," Draco claimed. Someone snickered in the distance and Draco feared that that someone was snickering at him.



"So do I." Potter\'s voice was low as he leaned in closer at the same time he moved his hand. His fingers sneaked into Draco\'s sleeve, twisting so he could caress the sensitive skin of Draco\'s forearm with his fingertips, his light touch still magical.



It was fortunate that Draco\'s plate was full of unappealing slimy food; otherwise, he feared his body would have crumbled and his face would end up in the plate. With supreme effort, he twitched his arm and extracted his hand from Potter\'s grip.



Potter didn\'t look upset. He looked highly amused.



"Don\'t you have any shame, Potter?" Draco asked, massaging and shaking his right arm. He had been clenching his muscles so hard his arm actually hurt, not to mention that the light tingling refused to stop, as though Potter had charmed Draco\'s skin to make him feel his touch for hours after the actual contact. Which was probably exactly what Potter had done. Sneaky bastard.



Potter stared at Draco\'s arm for a moment, frowning, but then his face brightened as he said, "Considering that my original plan was to sit beside you and find out whether the skin on your neck tastes as wonderful as it looks, I\'d say, yes, I do have some shame."



Draco felt goose bumps on his neck, his skin tingling even though Potter hadn\'t touched it. More magic. It wasn\'t fair.



"Though, I might change my mind yet."



Draco quickly grabbed his fork. "We\'re eating, Potter," he said in his best scolding voice and tried to detach the oyster from its shell. His hands were unsteady, but he managed to do it as expertly as ever. He grasped the shell between his thumb and first two fingers, bringing it to his lips before leaning in and slurping the content.



How this simple process turned into a bad idea, Draco couldn\'t fathom. But it was a bad idea, because he nearly choked on his oyster after he spotted Potter watching him with avid attention.



Potter wasn\'t eating, but had placed his elbows on the table, intertwined his fingers under his chin and leaned his head on them, staring at Draco\'s neck as though that was his meal rather than the oysters on his plate.



"You should eat," Draco instructed out of fear that Potter would lunge at him right there in the restaurant. Sweet Merlin, was the man a born predator or was he merely sexually starved? Was he serious when he declared he\'d shag anyone who appeared on this date?



Potter looked as though he\'d refuse, but then he smiled again and picked up his shellfish fork.



It took Draco several moments to conclude that he should not have ordered oysters. Watching Potter slurping and swallowing slimy liquids did odd things to Draco\'s brain. The fact that Potter stared at Draco every time he swallowed didn\'t help.



"Finished?"



Draco started and blinked, then looked down at his plate. He had only eaten one oyster so far. Annoyed, he set his fork on the table and scowled at Potter, who had so rudely distracted him from his food.



"I forgot I don\'t really like oysters."



Potter\'s eyes darkened, as though Draco refusing to eat oysters was some sort of personal insult.



"Are we going then?" Potter no longer sounded flirty; he sounded pissed off.



"No!" Draco yelled and then looked around, worried that he was drawing attention to himself. "I still want some pie."



Potter gave him a withering look, but raised his hand and signalled the waitress to bring them dessert.



As Potter looked back, Draco cleared his throat, his mind struggling to find a way out of this.



"You know, Potter —"



"Call me Harry?" Potter used that sweet voice again, making his request irresistible.



"Right. Harry." It was odd to say Potter\'s name aloud. Draco had planned to say something sharp, but although he could be sharp with Potter, inexplicably, it was harder to achieve that tone of voice if he had to call him Harry. "Harry, don\'t you think we\'re rushing here? Shouldn\'t we talk a little, see how we . . . fit together?" Draco took a deep breath. "We can\'t just . . . This is our first date."



"Technically, this is our second date. But I missed the first one." Potter\'s voice turned deeper. "So I\'d like to make it up to you."



A shiver passed through Draco and it took him awhile to respond. "That\'s really not necessary. Let\'s just forget about that day."



"How kind of you."



Draco frowned. That sounded like sarcasm. But Draco had no time to ponder it further because Potter continued.



"After all those letters you wrote to me, I didn\'t expect you to be so shy. You were very clear about what you wanted. Shouldn\'t you be glad you\'re about to get it?" A corner of Potter\'s mouth twisted upwards as he added, "I\'m even considering granting you that ropes and paddle wish."



Draco paled, horrified. Bloody Hogan! Who knew he was such a pervert?



Potter\'s smile was nothing short of wicked. "I honestly never pegged you for someone so . . ." Potter searched for an appropriate word for several moments, "submissive. But of course, the letters don\'t lie, do they?"



Submissive? For fuck\'s sake! If Hogan wasn\'t in the sewer by now, Draco would find him and trap him there forever.



"Here you go," said the waitress, bringing them pie and setting a fork and a knife in front of Draco.



Draco immediately liked the woman a little more. After all, she just brought him weapons. Draco picked up his fork and stabbed the slice of pie on his plate. Then he sliced it with excessive force, his mind working furiously as he tried to decide how to knock these ideas out of Potter\'s head.



He tried to keep his voice steady and not show any anger as he explained himself. "Fantasies and reality are two different things. You shouldn\'t take everything so literally. I mean, I have some fantasies that aren\'t realistic . . ." Draco said philosophically, then quickly stuffed a piece of pie into his mouth to stop himself from saying something stupid.



"Are you saying you lied in your letters?"



Draco shook his head, chewing and swallowing and stalling, before he said, "Of course not. I just . . ." Draco sighed, running out of words. This was getting out of hand. He would have to be honest. "Look, Harry, you have to take into account that I\'ve never actually . . ." Draco gripped the knife in his hand, summoning courage, "been with a man before. This is all very new for me. Fantasies are one thing, but I can\'t . . . I just can\'t rush this." It was a sound argument yet again, Draco thought, impressed. He actually sounded scared to his own ears.



Potter blinked at him, staring at Draco intently as though trying to read his mind. Just in case, Draco Occluded his mind. He wasn\'t an expert at it, but Potter was no Legilimens. For him, it would do.



Draco didn\'t see it before, but the moment Potter\'s eyes softened, he realised that Potter had been angry until that moment. However, both his eyes and his voice were gentle when he said, "I\'m just teasing you. Don\'t worry, I\'ll be slow and careful." Potter\'s voice was especially soft when he added, "I plan to savour every moment I get."



The honesty in Potter\'s declaration didn\'t shock Draco as much as the sadness in his tone. Why was he sad? For a reason Draco couldn\'t understand, Potter\'s sudden sorrow had upset him.



Draco sat, staring, until his fingers touched something hot and sticky. Annoyed, he tore his gaze from Potter\'s distressed expression and looked down, then gasped. His hand had somehow fallen into his plate, the jam smearing over his fingers. Disgusted, he set down the knife and reached for a napkin, cursing his suddenly nonexistent table manners.



However, in a matter of seconds, Potter rudely kidnapped Draco\'s hand again.



"I can wipe my own fingers, Potter!\' Draco snapped, trying to free his wrist from Potter\'s magical grip. The tingles were already spreading through his arm.



"I got it." Potter grinned at him, leaned in, and pulled Draco\'s forefinger and middle finger into his mouth.



Was it possible to perform magic using nothing but your mouth? Because Potter was. His mouth was too hot, successfully heating up Draco\'s entire body, pushing all of Draco\'s blood south, making him feel truly aroused for the first time that evening. Potter\'s lips looked absolutely perfect like this, parted and surrounding Draco\'s fingers, moving up and down suggestively. Potter\'s penetrating green gaze was fixed on Draco\'s face when he stuck out his tongue, forcing Draco to look at the slick muscle as it wrapped itself around his fingers, swirling and catching every drop of the red strawberry jam. The tongue teased the tender skin between Draco\'s fingers and then slowly retracted into Potter\'s mouth as he pressed his lips tighter and pulled back, sucking, and in the process making Draco\'s insides melt.



Potter\'s tongue licked Draco\'s fingers wetly a few more times, caressing Draco\'s fingertips and sending pleasure straight into Draco\'s cock. Then, Potter pulled back and pressed a final gentle kiss to the tips of Draco\'s fingers before letting go of Draco\'s hand.



Potter looked very pleased as he licked his lips and said, "I loved my dessert. You go well with strawberries."



Draco blinked, dazed, and then inhaled sharply when he heard a chair scarping the floor somewhere to his right. A woman said, "Honestly!" sounding scandalised. As the sound of footsteps echoed in Draco\'s head, he remembered to lower his hand and hide it beneath the table, his cheeks burning.



Potter narrowed his eyes, but looked amused. "I think I shocked her."



"You shocked me," Draco mumbled, trying in vain to calm down.



The waitress appeared next to their table and said, "Er."



"We\'re leaving now," Potter said, not unkindly. "Aren\'t we?" he asked Draco, smiling because he probably knew Draco would be very keen to leave now, after Potter\'s spectacular but embarrassing performance.



Draco nodded gloomily and stood up, carefully not looking around. He regretted they hadn\'t even touched the champagne; he could use a glass. Or the bottle.



Draco\'s head cleared only after he stepped outside the restaurant and took a gulp of much needed fresh air. He didn\'t remember paying for the dinner, but Potter must have taken care of it because when he appeared on the pavement next to Draco no one was chasing him.



Feeling refreshed and deciding he was now capable of rational thought, Draco tried to find a way to get out of this. It seemed that the only thing that had made Potter pause was Draco\'s proclamation that he had never been with a man and that he wanted to take things slowly. Maybe he could stall for a while. Arrange another date or two and then tell Potter that he had been wrong because it turned out that Draco wasn\'t gay after all. That was all a huge mistake and Potter didn\'t have to sleep with Draco because he felt sorry for him, or, if the only reason why Potter wanted him was his unparalleled sexual drive, he should simply find someone else to satisfy this need. Though, Draco frowned, someone else didn\'t include Hogan. Or anyone in the Ministry. Or anyone Draco knew. Or anyone Draco didn\'t know as those men could be maniacs.



Just as Draco turned, planning to thank Potter for the evening and suggest they should meet again sometime next week, Potter\'s arm sneaked around Draco\'s waist and Draco nearly lost his bearings as he was pulled into the shadows. Potter held him tight, so tightly Draco feared that Potter was trying to suffocate him. Their chests were pressed firmly together while one of Potter\'s legs insinuated itself between Draco\'s thighs, forcing Draco to remember that he was aroused. As was Potter. Draco shuddered as something hard and warm pressed against his thigh.



One of Potter\'s hands was on the small of Draco\'s back, the touch light, but Draco was sure that Potter would press harder if Draco tried to bolt. Not that Draco was bolting. He knew he should because he didn\'t want to give Potter false hopes, but his body hadn\'t listened to him once this evening and Draco guessed that it wasn\'t about to start now.



Potter\'s other hand hovered near Draco\'s face for several moments and then, tentatively, Potter\'s palm pressed against Draco\'s cheek, slowly moving Draco\'s hair out of his face, before it returned to cradle Draco\'s cheek again. It was crazy that Draco found this touch more shocking than when Potter had sucked on his fingers in the restaurant. This was more intimate; Draco hadn\'t expected this tenderness, not from Potter. The warmth of Potter\'s palm was incredible and Draco couldn\'t help himself; he tilted his head a little, pressing his cheek more firmly into Potter\'s palm.



Potter made an odd, strangled sound and then Draco felt hot breath caressing his lips. Only then did he realise that he had closed his eyes. And possibly purred. His eyes snapped open to meet Potter\'s gaze; a gaze that was no longer vibrant green but much darker, whether because there wasn\'t much light here or because Potter succumbed to his clearly desperate sexual cravings, Draco didn\'t know.



Potter\'s thumb was caressing Draco\'s cheek, circling slowly near his lips, spreading by now familiar tingles over Draco\'s face.



"I have to kiss you," Potter said so quietly Draco could barely hear him. He looked almost apologetic, his expression similar to the one he had when he arrested people he thought were innocent. "I have to," Potter repeated pleadingly, not moving closer, not kissing, just standing there looking at Draco with that same puppy look that was somehow even more powerful now.



Helpless, Draco nodded. He couldn\'t say no to him. Not while Potter was looking at him like that, all but begging for Draco\'s consent.



Potter\'s lips parted immediately, small puffs of breath ghosting over Draco\'s mouth, and then he leaned in and closed his eyes, dark lashes touching flushed cheeks. Draco, however, didn\'t close his eyes. He stared at Potter\'s face as it approached, unable to believe that this was happening, that he was letting this happen. When Potter\'s lips touched his, warm and full, but harder, rougher than that of a girl’s, Draco\'s eyes widened instead of closed. It was all so confusing: Potter\'s leg between his and Potter\'s chest pressed so snugly to Draco\'s own; Potter\'s heart beating so strongly Draco could feel it; the hand on Draco\'s cheek, trapping his head; the sight of Potter\'s eyelids, so close and pale compared to his long eyelashes, framed with glasses that threatened to press against Draco\'s face; and the feel of Potter\'s lips, still hard, but impossibly gentle as he moved them against Draco\'s, his tongue occasionally touching Draco\'s bottom lip, making Draco shudder every time it happened.



Boldly, Potter\'s hand that rested on Draco\'s back moved lower, much lower to press against Draco\'s buttocks, not gripping, not applying pressure, just lightly tracing over the curve of Draco\'s arse, exploring slowly. But no matter how light the touch, Draco still gasped at the feeling, Potter\'s words from yesterday ringing in his ears: I\'ll fuck him into the mattress, Potter had said. That thought shouldn\'t have been so appealing and in a way it was terrifying, but Potter\'s caress summoned cravings, desires buried deeply in Draco\'s mind. He found himself wanting Potter to touch him more insistently, to press harder, to grip rather than to continue with this tentative stroking.



Potter\'s tongue slid into Draco\'s mouth, letting Draco taste the lemon from the oyster sauce, the strawberry from the jam Potter had licked from Draco\'s fingers, and Potter\'s own taste, which was better than anything Draco tasted before, easily defeating the sourness of lemons and the sweetness of strawberries.



Potter pulled back with a sudden movement and then took a deep breath before he opened his eyes. Judging by Potter\'s heavy panting Draco concluded that Potter had forgotten how to breathe, and only after the sharp air burned Draco\'s lungs did he realise that he had forgotten how to breathe as well.



Potter\'s eyes were still dark, but alight, burning with obvious desire. "Your place or mine?" Potter gasped, his palm still pressed against Draco\'s arse. As far as Draco was concerned, it could stay there forever.



Draco didn\'t think he was gay and he didn\'t think he wanted to have sex with men, but he did want more of this. He desperately wanted more. And Potter was offering, so why not accept? This was an incredible form of magic Draco had never experienced before and if Potter wanted to show him how he was achieving it then Draco was wiling to learn.



Draco licked his lips, soothing the pleasant burn of Potter\'s kiss, and then wrapped his arms around Potter\'s waist, pulling him even closer. "Mine," Draco said in a low voice, strange to his ears, and then Apparated them away.

---

oOo

---

"I was aiming for the front door," Malfoy said apologetically.



Harry blinked, too dazed to make sense of his statement, but one look around, even though it was completely dark, showed him they were definitely in a bedroom. Malfoy\'s bedroom. Though Harry couldn’t concentrate on that, not right then. Not with Malfoy looking so flushed and confused, as though he didn\'t know what he was doing.



Malfoy released him suddenly and took a step back, his cheeks tinted red. "I\'ve been having some trouble with Apparition. My aim is off."



"It\'s all right," Harry said, surprised he was able to talk. Something painful constricted his throat. Something that had been stuck there the entire evening. It had been agony to see Malfoy shaking his hand during dinner as though trying to shake off Harry\'s touch, and it had been hard to accept the realisation that watching Harry eat oysters made Malfoy lose his appetite. But despite all that, Malfoy still hadn\'t run. Harry had been sure that Malfoy would bolt, if not right away then at least after Harry and licked that jam off his fingers. Instinctively, Harry licked his lips, remembering that moment fondly; Malfoy had looked shocked, but not revolted. Afterwards, Malfoy had rushed outside, not even worrying about paying for their dinner, and as Harry lingered to take care of the tab he was positive that when he finally stepped outside Malfoy would be gone.



But he had been there, waiting for Harry. And all Harry could do at that moment was take advantage of the situation. He had to have at least one little taste before Malfoy disappeared. And Malfoy had let him. He had let Harry pull him close and kiss him. Malfoy\'s lips had been cold and unresponsive, hard and unmoving beneath Harry\'s, but the kiss had been spectacular nonetheless. Harry could still feel Malfoy\'s touch on his lips and he feared he would never be rid of it. Malfoy had ruined kissing for Harry forever.



Shivering and tearing his gaze from Malfoy\'s distressed expression with difficulty, Harry looked around again. This was truly Malfoy\'s bedroom. Malfoy himself had brought him here. What kind of a game was this? None of it made sense. The thought that Malfoy would have sex with Harry just so he could dump him and hurt him later seemed ludicrous. Harry had concluded that Malfoy was disgusted by Harry\'s sexual orientation, but people who weren\'t gay and had no such desires didn\'t have sex with someone of their own gender just for a laugh. This was about something else. It had to be. But every reason that Harry could think of seemed sillier than the one before. Harry had been wrong; he couldn’t play this game better. He was losing because he didn\'t even know what this game was about.



"Do you want something to drink?" Malfoy asked curtly, lighting candles and moving toward the far end of the room where a small table held a bottle of some clear brown liquid and two glasses.



"No," Harry said quickly, determined to keep a clear head even though he could have used a drink. Whatever happened here, Harry wanted to remember it.



He took in the room with overwhelming curiosity. Malfoy\'s bedroom looked almost exactly as Harry had imagined it. It was enormous; the bed alone was as large as his old room at the Dursleys, and the closets would have never fit in the Dursleys\' home or Harry\'s apartment because their ceilings were much lower. The top shelves were so high someone who couldn\'t perform magic would never reach them without a ladder. There was a large fireplace on the right end of the room and two armchairs and a small table were placed next to it. On the other side, where Malfoy stood, were two chairs and a table, carved and elegant looking, and next to them a huge glass door, partially covered by curtains, led towards the balcony. A little to the left there was a massive desk with quills and parchment and in front of Harry was a high cabinet with many drawers; on top of the cabinet were at least a dozen photographs with two silver candlesticks illuminating the blond family that dominated the pictures. There were several paintings on the wall, but no portraits, just landscapes and images of some bizarre things Harry had no idea what they were supposed to be.



Even though Harry had expected this lavishness, there were two things that surprised him. One, the room wasn\'t draped in Slytherin green and silver, but was dominated by brownish tones, which made it look warm and comfortable, homey rather than cold and unappealing. Harry would never have guessed that there was a place in this Manor he would find inviting. And another more shocking thing was that the room wasn\'t very tidy. Harry had expected that everything would be polished and that no dust would be visible. And though the room wasn\'t exactly messy, there were little things that made Harry frown in confusion. The large bed was made, but badly. There were actual wrinkles on the top sheet, the kind that would make Aunt Petunia have a fit. And there was dust here and there, and not one single item gleamed. A robe was tossed over an armchair and there were wrinkled papers and quills on all three tables. It wasn\'t terribly unkempt, someone had obviously cleaned up, but it wasn\'t the immaculately sparkling environment Harry had expected.



"I haven\'t tidied up," Malfoy said defensively as though he had read Harry\'s mind.



Harry looked at him, noting that Malfoy was holding a glass of the brown stuff he had offered Harry earlier. There were a lot of ice cubes in the glass, so Harry hoped Malfoy wouldn\'t get too drunk too soon.



"Your house-elves are on leave or something?" Harry asked, confused.



Malfoy laughed. "House-elves on leave." He shook his head, chuckling. "My one house-elf is with my parents in France. The other one hasn\'t been around for a long time. But I guess you know that.”



Harry looked away, not wanting to think about Dobby right then. Instead, he tried to assimilate this new information. "You live here alone?"



Malfoy made no response, just gave him an odd look and walked closer, temporarily stopping Harry\'s breathing, but he moved on towards the fireplace. He lit the fire with his wand, set his glass on the coffee table, took off his coat, and then moved to put it away in one huge closet.



"You want to . . .?" Malfoy waved his hand towards Harry and then toward the closet, looking a little embarrassed. "I mean, if you\'re staying you should take off . . . er . . . your coat."



Staying. Harry\'s throat constricted harder and he concluded he wouldn\'t be talking anytime soon. Malfoy wanted him to stay. To stay the night? To stay forever? Harry would have agreed to anything. At that point he hardly even cared why Malfoy would offer.



"Or you could just toss it on the floor. I don\'t care," Malfoy said, irritated.



Harry quickly took off his coat and walked over, handing it to Malfoy. Huffing and shaking his head, Malfoy hung the coat, carefully fixing the collar and the nonexistent wrinkles on the coarse fabric, something he hadn\'t done with his own coat. It made Harry flustered and then it made him feel silly, because Malfoy was stroking his coat and not Harry and yet the sight of those pale fingers — fingers whose taste Harry was now familiar with — stroking the coat with care, sent a shiver down Harry\'s spine. He imagined Malfoy stroking his skin tenderly, carefully. It was odd to think like that; in his fantasies, Malfoy had always been rough, not tender.



Malfoy closed the closet door and looked lost for a moment, clearly not knowing what to do now.



"Do you . . ." Malfoy cleared his throat. "Do you want something to eat?"



Harry almost laughed. "We just had dinner. Unless," Harry forced his voice to sound flirty, "that was some sort of innuendo. In that case, yes, I would like something to eat."



Malfoy\'s eyes went impossibly round and he stood staring at Harry for a while before he turned and went straight for the glass he had previously disregarded.



"Honestly, Potter," he said after a sip, "is that all you think about?"



Harry sighed inwardly and wandered towards the cabinet with the pictures. "Can you blame me?" he asked. "After all those letters I am in the mood." He grabbed a photo and stared at it to stop himself from looking at Malfoy.



"You\'re obsessed with those letters," Malfoy grumbled.



"I am obsessed, but not with the letters," Harry admitted bitterly.



Malfoy appeared next to him and Harry almost dropped the photo in his hands.



"You\'re touching my stuff," Malfoy said, clearly not pleased.



Harry bit his lip. Malfoy was making this too easy. Looking at Malfoy through his eyelashes, Harry said with a leer, "Not yet, but I plan to."



Malfoy made no comment, simply pressed his lips tightly together and looked heavenwards as though praying for patience. He did blush, however.



Harry looked back at the photo of Narcissa Malfoy, who was holding a small blond child in her arms. They were both laughing, looking happy and untroubled, and Harry stared at the tiny, smiling child, wondering if he would ever make Malfoy laugh this carelessly.



"I never expected you to look so —"



"Adorable?" Malfoy said promptly. "Of course I was an adorable child, Potter. Everybody always said so," he said proudly.



"I meant to say chubby, actually."



"What?" Malfoy snatched the photo from Harry\'s hand. "You\'re blind, Potter. I wasn\'t chubby."



"You were, but in an adorable sort of way." Harry nodded, straight-faced.



"That\'s just baby fat. Perfectly normal. Honestly, have you never seen a young child before?" Malfoy huffed as Harry turned to hide a smile. "Stop touching my . . . pictures."



"Does that mean I can touch your other stuff?"



Malfoy carefully returned the picture to the cabinet, his knuckles white as if he was gripping it too hard. "You\'re here, aren\'t you?" he said quietly. "Touching is presumed. No need to be crude about it, though."



Harry sucked in a sharp breath, shocked. Malfoy couldn’t mean that. Did he really plan to have sex with Harry? Was this really happening? Did Malfoy just give Harry permission to touch him? And more importantly, why was Harry just standing there, not touching him?



Suddenly terrified, Harry turned around and took a step away from Malfoy, worried that he would jump his partner, touch his stuff, and possibly scare him away forever.



However, Malfoy was right behind him in a second.



"Where are you going?" he asked, worried.



"Um." Harry turned, making Malfoy take a step back because they were apparently standing too close as far as Malfoy was concerned. "I\'m just looking around."



Malfoy frowned, looking even more worried.

Bemused, Harry swept the room with his gaze once more. "What? Are you hiding something here? Sex toys in the cabinet? Chains under the bed? I don\'t mind, really."



Malfoy clenched his teeth and said, "No. Idiot."



"Then, what?"



Agitated, Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair, distracting Harry, who was fascinated when the blond strands returned smoothly to their previous position. His hair never did that.



"I\'m sorry," Malfoy said, surprising Harry again. "I\'m just not used to having people in my room."



"Seriously?" Harry swallowed, watching Malfoy\'s face carefully. He looked uncharacteristically nervous. "Don\'t you bring your girlfriends here?"



Malfoy spluttered, scandalised. "Obviously not! Not while my parents lived here. Merlin, my mother was in this house, I couldn\'t bring someone here."



"What about friends?"



"I receive guests in the parlour," Malfoy said haughtily.



"Of course, that\'s only natural," Harry deadpanned. "Um, but your parents have been in France for a long while now."



Malfoy shrugged. "I was busy lately. Had no time for girlfriends."



"Oh." Harry considered it carefully. No men ever, no girlfriends lately. And Malfoy hadn\'t brought anyone else here; to this huge Manor where he lived alone, making his own bed, washing his own clothes, fixing his own dinner. That was so incredibly strange and not at all what Harry had expected. It didn\'t fit with Harry\'s theories. He imagined Malfoy living as he had lived before; spoiled rotten by his house-elves that fulfilled his every whim and surrounded by friends who were ready to laugh with him when Malfoy did something embarrassing to Harry. Harry\'s belief that Malfoy was doing this just to make fun of him didn\'t make sense anymore. But nothing else made sense, either. What the hell was going on here?



"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked, sounding panicky.



Harry blinked, realising he had moved and sat down on the bed. Malfoy\'s bed. Pleased with this revelation, Harry jumped a little, testing. The bed was squishy, but not too squishy. It was perfect for shagging, in Harry\'s expert opinion.



Malfoy was standing several feet away, staring at Harry with an anxious expression.



"We could sit there . . ." Malfoy pointed at the armchairs near the fireplace. "And talk."



"I like it here," Harry said truthfully.



"It\'s warmer there."



"I\'ll keep you —"



Malfoy bristled and raised his hand. "Stop that. I mean it, Potter."



"It\'s true." Harry grinned, his spirits lifting though he wasn\'t sure why. Well, sitting on Malfoy\'s bed probably had something to do with it. He cocked his head at Malfoy, using the tone of voice that had seemed to work on Malfoy before. "Come here," he said. It wasn\'t an order or a plea, merely a suggestion.



Malfoy stayed where he was, staring at the spot next to Harry as though there was something horrid there. At least he wasn\'t staring at Harry as though he was something horrid. That had to count for something.



Malfoy intertwined his fingers, fiddling with them nervously, almost as though he was trying to break them. It was an oddly endearing sight; Malfoy\'s nervousness was palpable. That wasn\'t an act; it couldn\'t have been.



Harry tried to remember what he had done earlier, outside the restaurant when he had asked for a kiss and Malfoy had miraculously agreed. Had he pleaded? He couldn\'t remember. Maybe he should plead now.



But to Harry\'s surprise, pleading wasn\'t necessary. Malfoy took a tentative step forward and then, as though he had suddenly decided not to be shy, he strode confidently towards the bed and sat down next to Harry, not quite close enough for their bodies to touch. Not until Harry moved his leg and bumped their knees together.



Malfoy gave him an odd look, but he didn\'t move his leg away. Emboldened, Harry reached out and grabbed Malfoy\'s hands with a fast movement, fearful that Malfoy would pull them away if Harry was too slow. Malfoy did manage to free his right hand, but Harry had claimed his left and didn\'t plan to let it go.



"You have a strange hand fetish," Malfoy accused, but relaxed and allowed Harry to keep one of his hands.



Harry smiled widely, thinking he had a Malfoy fetish rather than a hand one, but as he turned and caressed the palm in his hands, he decided that maybe he did have a thing about Malfoy\'s hands. They had always been the most accessible part of Malfoy\'s body. All those times Malfoy had sat across the desk, writing, or tapping his fingers on the desk\'s surface, Harry had been miserable, knowing that he could reach and touch those hands but he hadn\'t been allowed. He had to restrain himself and be careful not to touch them even accidentally. But here it was, Malfoy\'s hand in his grasp, stiff until Harry caressed it slowly and made it relax. Malfoy had nice hands, pale with long fingers, deceptively fragile looking; Harry knew from experience that that hand could grip his wrists firmly, and could punch him and send him flying.



As he trailed his fingertips over the lines on Malfoy\'s palm, looking for the one that could assure him Malfoy would have a long, healthy life, something touched his cheek. Startled, Harry raised his head, then froze in shock when he realised that Malfoy had pressed his fingertips to Harry\'s face, voluntarily touching him. And even after Harry\'s sudden movement, Malfoy hadn\'t moved his fingers away, nor did he shift his gaze that studied something on Harry\'s face.



"You have . . ." Malfoy murmured and Harry gasped in horror. He had something on his face. Probably this whole time. Probably jam. And Malfoy chose to tell him this now after he had inwardly laughed about it the entire evening.



"Dimples," Malfoy finished.



"Oh." Harry sighed in relief, relaxing his hands that held Malfoy\'s wrist in a bruising grip. "I do? I didn\'t know," Harry said, surprised, though in that moment he didn\'t know much about anything anyway. His brain had stopped working properly, concentrating only on Malfoy\'s light touch.



"Yes, you do. When you laugh." Malfoy\'s voice was quiet, his expression unlike anything Harry had ever seen on Malfoy\'s face before. It looked almost like yearning, but Harry didn\'t dare to conclude something so bold. "I like them," Malfoy said, sounding so honest Harry believed him. Amazed, he thanked whatever deity gave him these dimples and prayed that Malfoy would find something else about Harry\'s body to like.



Malfoy\'s gaze shifted a little and focused on Harry\'s lips. Harry didn\'t move, didn\'t even breathe, terrified that a simple movement would break this moment and make Malfoy look away. His lips felt dry suddenly and Harry was possessed with an inexplicable urge to lick them. The moment he thought about it, the need became unbearable and he thought his lips would dry out under Malfoy\'s gaze if Harry didn\'t wet them.



But in the next moment, Malfoy did that for him.



His lips pressed against Harry\'s, his tongue sweeping over Harry\'s bottom lip, the touch soothing, soft, incredible, magnificent because Malfoy had done it without any prodding on Harry\'s part. Harry didn\'t even beg — something he had planned to do — and yet Malfoy was kissing him. He slid his lips slowly against Harry\'s before his tongue pushed between Harry\'s parted lips and Harry shivered and gasped; the sound choked and desperate. His whole body convulsed and pressed forward, every part of him aching to be as close to Malfoy as it was humanly possible. He thought his violent reaction would chase Malfoy away, make him edge backwards and tell Harry to stop being crude, but it didn’t. Malfoy deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring Harry\'s mouth, twisting, sliding, its every movement maddening, making Harry desperate for more.



The kiss ended too soon as Malfoy pulled back with a final lick over Harry\'s bottom lip. Harry\'s whole body helplessly followed Malfoy\'s retreat, his lips peppering kisses over Malfoy\'s mouth and chin and cheeks, and every other part of Malfoy\'s face they could reach. Malfoy didn\'t push him away, just breathed heavily, answering the short light kisses when they landed on his mouth.



"How do you do that?" Malfoy gasped, his voce muffled and odd probably, because Harry was nibbling on his bottom lip.



"Do what?" Harry asked and pressed another kiss to the corner of Malfoy\'s lips, then slid his mouth to the other side, shivering as Malfoy pressed closer, then moved his hand, cradling the left side of Harry\'s head in his palm, his fingertips caressing the short hair on Harry\'s neck.



"You\'re . . ." Malfoy sounded amazed. "Can you do magic without your wand?"



Harry frowned, temporarily distracted, but not distracted enough to stop kissing Malfoy\'s face. "No. I don\'t think that\'s possible. Is it?"



"I guess not." Malfoy raised their joined hands and pressed Harry\'s palm to his cheek as thought trying to recreate the moment of their first kiss. Harry would have gladly helped and placed his other hand where it had been before, but Malfoy was sitting down and all Harry could do was caress Malfoy\'s spine, which wasn\'t a bad thing at all. Bad things ceased to exist altogether when Malfoy tentatively slid his hand against Harry\'s thigh, stopping just before it reached the hardness that pulsed with the frantic rhythm of Harry\'s heart.



Malfoy\'s fingers dug painfully into Harry\'s leg and desire more powerful than Harry had ever felt before exploded within him, making the whole room spin violently. They kissed again, and this time Harry had no idea which one of them initiated the kiss. They must have moved together; their lips parting and tongues intertwining, as they kissed hungrily, the tentative explorations from before forgotten. And dear God, Malfoy could kiss. That was some sort of cosmic joke; it was too cruel that the best kiss Harry had ever received in his entire life came from a man who was unlikely to kiss him ever again after this night.



Malfoy pulled away, again much too soon, but in that moment Harry would have thought that forever was too soon. When he opened his eyes, after savouring the feelings that coursed through him, Harry was greeted by distressed grey eyes.



"What\'s wrong?" Harry asked before he could stop himself. What a ridiculous question. Malfoy probably thought that everything about this was wrong.



"I like this," Malfoy said, pained, confused, still gripping Harry\'s thigh hard enough to bruise. "I really like this."



"Oh." Harry\'s heart almost burst out of his chest. He wanted to say, "Me too," but all he managed to do was smile so broadly his face almost ached. Malfoy looked even more worried, his gaze flickering toward Harry\'s cheeks.



Oh, dimples, Harry thought. So far Malfoy had confessed he liked Harry\'s dimples and he liked Harry\'s kisses. Which meant Harry had two trump cards he wasn\'t aware of before. Which was good to know if they were still playing a game, though Harry was no longer sure that that was the case.



"I\'m not gay," Malfoy said, not sounding petulant anymore, but honestly confused.



"Would it be so bad if you were?"



"Yes. No." Malfoy took a deep breath. "Not if . . . if . . ."



"What?" Harry asked, desperate to know what Malfoy needed, wanted.



"Why are you —?" Malfoy stopped speaking again, driving Harry crazy.



This was beyond ridiculous and it ceased to be a game. There were no rules and no point, except that Harry was well aware that there was a potential prize. But what was the point of a prize if Harry couldn\'t keep it, if he had to let it slip between his fingers? He had to stop playing and tell Malfoy that he knew he wasn’t Harry\'s secret admirer, but that it didn\'t matter. Malfoy seemed as confused as Harry was and maybe if he knew how Harry felt about him, he wouldn\'t be so cruel as to toy with his feelings. He\'d either stop this or maybe the dimples and kisses would be enough to keep him here. Maybe if Harry made this night spectacular, Malfoy would be interested in something more. Maybe this was Harry\'s chance to show Malfoy how wonderful things could be if they were together. Maybe if Harry told Malfoy he loved him, it would mean something to him. Maybe it would be enough for him to give Harry this chance.



Terrified, Harry studied Malfoy carefully; the confusion and worry were still clear on Malfoy\'s face. "Draco, I have to tell you something," Harry whispered, losing his nerve with every word, but fighting desperately to continue. He should start at the beginning; explain that he didn\'t care about Derek or his gifts and letters, but that he just cared about Draco. "The only reason I went on this date was —"



"No!" Malfoy exclaimed suddenly, looking even more troubled than before. "I don\'t want to hear this. I know why you came and I know what you want."



"No, you —"



"I don\'t want to talk now," Malfoy growled; the hand in Harry\'s hair tightening its grip.



"But we should talk. I don\'t want you to think that I\'m here because —"



"Shut up," Malfoy said furiously and closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to Harry\'s. "I want to do this. Now. It doesn\'t matter why you\'re here. I don\'t want to hear it."



"But I need you to know — Oh!" Harry gasped, shocked as Malfoy\'s hand on his thigh slid upwards, cupping Harry\'s crotch firmly. Every thought Harry had evaporated; all he could concentrate were the incredible sensations running through him, spreading from Malfoy\'s hand.



Malfoy pressed his lips to Harry\'s and murmured, "I want you to . . . show me. That\'s all I want. I just need to know."



His breath hitching and eyes burning, Harry nodded. Malfoy was confused about his orientation and all he wanted was to experiment. And he had chosen Harry. This was just for one night, the only night Harry would ever get. He could only hope he\'d have the strength to make the most of it.

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TBC

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