Untamed Heart

Over the span of his teenage years, Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa
Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune and trustee to a small fortune set aside by
his grandmother, had built himself quite a reputation. Not just as the son of a
billionaire or budding businessmen but also a ‘Don Juan’, of sorts. He was the
man that every man or woman went to when they wanted to be charmed, dazzled and
seduced in monumental proportions.

After all, everyone knew how the blonde acted. It was in his blood; Malfoy’s
never did anything by half measures. Be it in business, like his father, whom
over the span of his lifetime had ruined, bought-out and otherwise over thrown re cre competitors than anyone else in over two decades; His mother, whom had
society firmly in her grasp, could set socialites on their knees simply by
smiling and sway the fashion industry as if it were a feather in the wind; Or,
Draco, who could not only seduce anyone into his bed, gender and sexual
preference be damned, but also come out of an otherwise non-negotiable business
deal with a knee weakening smile, besotted “business-partner” and a unbreakable
contract signed, sealed and delivered.

It was what being a Malfoy was. A credo, of sorts, that got his foot into the
door and bedroom of anyone he wished. And, sometimes, he didn’t even have to do
the work. They would seek him out. They would come to him. They
would try to seduce him.

If anyone had truly knew the blonde, they would have laughed at the naiveté
those people showed. Draco Malfoy was not a prize to be caught, no matter how
“good” you thought you were. Draco Malfoy was -- the un-catch able catch.

Which was more than a reason for power hungry idiotic imbeciles to seek him
out. They knew that they would be the ones to tame him. They would
bring the capricious, cunning, sly blonde to his knees.

Some were even silly enough to believe they could win his heart and, in turn,
his pocket book. If they only knew how much of a waste of time that was...

There were others, of course, that merely wanted the chance to share his bed.
Something he was more than amicable about. What did he care if they wanted to
whore themselves to him? They were just tools to be used.

There were others still, that just wanted a piece of him, any piece they
could get. Be it a business deal that would undoubtedly go sour for them, a
small acknowledgment of their existence on his part or just to be said ‘hello’
to in passing. It was the little things that society remembered, not the big.

But, they all had something in common: they wanted to something that only
Draco Malfoy could provide; money, power, influence.

And that was a he game he knew well.

When he had been younger and guileless, he’d played his role in the game for
his father. He’d danced with the right people, chatted up the daughters and sons
of other billionaires, went to the right places at the right time. He did
everything that was expected im aim as the Malfoy heir.

Then, the agonizing cruelty of reality came crashing down around him and...he
grew up. Draco Malfoy grew up and did the only thing of young man of his
position could do -- He rebelled.

He did all those social taboos that people would be shocked and appalled
about but, instead of shunning him, society had embraced the change. He was a
Malfoy. He could sway the mold; push the limits.

After that, when he was completely emerged in the glitter, smoke, drink and
sex, his father had given up on him. In his father’s words, he was a “socialite
waste of talent”. He didn’t mind that in the least, even if it had stung at the
time.

Now though, he was glad that was what his reputation was what it was. There
was no mothers or fathers breathing down his neck or on his heels in hopes for a
politically-budded romance. He just didn‘t have the patience for debutantes any
way. They all pretended to be so innocent -- most of the ones he’d been
‘courted’ had spread there legs so fast it made his head spin.

There was no one hoping to become a permanent lover -- he never stayed with
anyone long enough to be counted as a affair much less more.

And, last but definitely not least, there was absolutely no way anyone would
win his ‘true love’. He’d give up on that idea a long long time ago. He’d
wizened up those years ago to the cold hard reality that anyone who said “I love
you” were either selling something or looking to use you.

Now, when anyone tried to get him to use that phrase or use that phrase on
them, he either got rid of them as quickly as possible or shoved them to their
knees so their mouth could be put to better use. He didn’t have time for
romantic ideologies.

But here and now, in this moment, with a scrumptious feast for the eyes
farm-boy sitting next to him, crunching and sucking ice chips from his glass, he
would have cashed all of it in; his reputation, money and beliefs, if he could
lift the boy off his bar stool, lay him over the bar top and rim him till he
passed out. Sweet Merlin, he could just imagine the dark haired boy laid out
over the bar top, back arched, hands bracing on the other side, thighs spread
wide as he sat where he was sitting now, hands smoothing over silky cheeks to
part him open and glorify in seeing that quivering opening ready and waiting for
his fingers and tongue.

Draco shuddered. He could just imagine the way Harry would whimper and gasp
as he used his fingertips to tease him, to slip past that tight ring of muscles
and massage him from the inside. To squeeze and massage those warm cheeks as he
buried his tongue into that sweet heat...

‘Fucking hell. Not again.’ Draco moaned to himself, eyes riveted on
the working muscles in the other boys jaw as he feel his member twitch. He
couldn’t be getting hard again already. It just wasn’t possible.

Lifting his glass to his lips, Draco tried to steady the shaking of his hand
eh toh to gulp down the icy contents. Fuck, he couldn’t keep thinking like this.
It would get him into another predicament that his body just wasn’t ready for
again. At least, his body shouldn’t be ready for it again so soon.

Draco glanced at Harry as the other boy lifted his glass again, his pink
tongue snaking out to pull another ice chip into his mouth. Fuck, he was getting
hard again. He couldn’t be getting hard again...

“Not bad, huh?”

Draerkeerked, cursing himself silently as some of his tea sloshed out onto
his hand. Oh yes, that looked dignified...

“Pardon?” He asked after a moment, shaking his hand slightly to rid it of the
tea. Now he was going to have to walk around with a sticky hand.

“No, it’s -- quite refreshing.” He murmured, licking his lips as he watched
the other boy lifted his sinewy frame up and over the bar top reach something
out of view. God, all that clean golden skin laid out before him. Wasn’t this
what he’d been daydreaming about moments before? Harry laid out before him?

“Here ya go.” Harry said, pulling back and holding out a folded napkin
between blunt rough fingers. Draco swallowed.

“Thank you.” He husked, reaching out his hand to pluck the napkin from the
boy’s hand but not before letting his own fingertips ghost over that warm flesh.
Merlin. It felt rough, hard, satiny.

Unlike Draco’s own downy fingers, manicured and glossed, Harry’s fingers were
blunt, roughened by years of work, no doubt. A patch on his middle finger was
callused and scraped against Draco’s palm making a groan of pleasure want to
pass from between his lips.

God, he couldn’t wait till he had those hands all over him. It’d be heaven.

“Uh...you’re...um, welcome.” Harry stuttered, his perpetual blush
intensifying till it disappeared down into his shirt. Draco thought he’d never
seen anything so fetching before.

“So,” Draco began again after a moment, not ready to deprive himself of
that voice for one second, “do you and your mates come here often?”

Draco wanted to grimace. ‘No, that didn’t sound like the stupidest fucking
pick-up line ever...’

Instead, he rubbed the moisture off his fingers and smiled charmingly at the
other boy. That blush was going to be his undoing for sure. It made Harry’s jade
eyes dance and his skin seem so inviting.

Harry shifted. He looked to be seriously considering the question. Maybe.

“Sometimes.” The bespectacled boy said finally, “Actually,“ he hesitated “I
work here.”

Well, that explained it then. No wonder the boy had been so surprised when
he’d said he was coming here a few minutes -- had it really been only a few
minutes? -- ago.