Recipients Name: awaywithpixie
Summary: 'The journey from enemy to less than an enemy is so slow as to almost be imperceptible; this was probably the first stop.'
Word count: 8500.
It was awkward, but in his own careful – and awkward, of course – way, Harry Potter had managed to navigate three train carriages, stooped over, and with his pockets full of Extendable Ears. It was a beautiful evening for a train trip, he decided, pleased with his efforts; he could afford to be generous now – he had got through a tiny kitchen packed with chefs making midnight afters for late night travelers and not been detected at all. Life was good.
Like something of a wizarding Orient Express, the train, whose carriages progressed from states of grandeur to decay the further along one got (much like how its passengers progressed from states of minted to parsley), covered what its timetable called “a majestic scenic progress of Europe”. Harry looked out of a window as he passed it and saw the majestic scenic black of night and considered sending an owl to the timetable writers asking what they thought evening travelers were supposed to look at. They were open to that sort of critique, weren’t they? From non-paying passengers on covert missions? Who stooped along carriages in their Invisibility Cloaks? Who made a point of sitting with their feet on the seats where possible …?
And this is my life.
Harry was trying to be wry; he was trying to be flip. He wanted to approach this potentially unpleasant situation with as little care as possible, so that when it was imperative that he care, there would be enough care on hand for him to act with requisite – and, if need be, more – care.
Harry pulled a face as he shifted from one foot to another, realising his feet were the only things he probably shouldn’t be moving at that moment. He was too tall for his Invisibility Cloak now, but – and he smiled with dry amusement – that was partly why he continued to use it; it was ridiculous and had fewer practical uses than a Golden Snitch in a leper colony … He used it, anyway.
‘It still makes things invisible,’ Ron had said on behalf of the cloak to Hermione a few weeks ago. ‘That’s not exactly not-useful.’
‘Oh?’ Hermione had responded in a just as supercilious a tone. ‘And what exactly do you plan on making invisible with that? A chair you absolutely must hide from an approaching enemy? Or maybe that stack of fire hazard in the sitting room?’
‘Yeah, well … yeah? I can tell you one thing that has done less than the stack of “fire hazard” in the sitting room!’
‘Don’t you dare!’
Ron had backed off; he wouldn’t dare. His relationship with Crookshanks had never been a perfect match, but he knew Hermione’s cat meant more to her than his battered copies of old Canons programmes that he refused to get rid of and which also occasionally caught fire (“I need to live in a place where I can have fire wherever I want to have it!” Ron had said after the last fire had engulfed the 93-94 season and half of the curtain behind it).
Ron was right, though: the Invisibility Cloak did still make things invisible. It covered about three quarters of Harry now (or maybe two thirds?) – if he knelt or squatted it covered him completely. He’d be keeping hold of it, thanks very much.
Besides, there was something bold about walking around invisible that Harry enjoyed. He never blushed when people asked with joking smiles if he ever walked around in public naked with the cloak on – what were they, mad? Of course he did. The misguided notion that the daily grind of the Order was anything but a daily grind meant time-killing activities often came in the form of wagers and general silliness – silliness that often featured being naked (well, it would, wouldn't it?).
It wasn’t all wagers for the younger members of the Order, though – sometimes they learnt useful things. There had been the time Seamus Finnigan had happily investigated with him whether or not the phrase “hard as a rock” was an accurate simile (somewhat accurate, they had both judged after a thorough study – but a rock simply was not as nice as a cock, on that Seamus and Harry had both agreed).
All in all, Harry was happy with his career choices – he enjoyed being in the Order, for those reasons and more, even if it meant he was required to go on boring missions sometimes. Missions like this one, where he was following Draco Malfoy and his associates – he sighed when he reached the door to Draco’s compartment and bent down.
Harry squinted through the keyhole – it was large enough for him to see anything directly in front of the door; right now, he could see Draco sitting in a chair. If he changed angles he could also see well enough to a cabinet at the left and a large bed to the right, the latter of which had Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott milling around it. Even with his miniscule view, the room looked opulent – certainly more inviting than the draughty corridor he found himself in.
His hearing was limited to much the same – some things he could hear, but most he couldn’t … Was that a gasp?
Harry’s eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed as he re-considered what he knew: there were three people in there. An image of Draco, Theodore, and Blaise passed through his mind. What he had done to deserve that mental picture, he did not know.
Harry retrieved an Extendable Ear and pushed it under the door; it wasn’t quite like being there, but it was much better, and he could now hear exactly what was being said. The gasp was a laugh – a delighted laugh from Blaise, who appeared to be amused by a story of his own telling.
‘You should get some rest.’
That was Theodore.
‘I’m all right.’
And that was Blaise, calming down from his laughter. Harry could see that Draco, worn and still, remained seated with his back to the window.
In front of Draco, and at the foot of a four-poster bed that occupied a third of the carriage, was a chest (large enough for someone bent over to squeeze themselves inside) that Draco’s eyes were avoiding. He would look around the car- to Theodore, to Blaise, with an upward glance at the window behind him, but his eyes always returned to the chest.
Eventually he wrested his gaze from it, focusing briefly on Theodore again, who was speaking, and then settling his eyes on the door. Harry knew that he could not be seen and hadn’t been detected, but he felt nervous about being discovered, anyway. The number of times he had been on such a mission before were too great to recall an exact number for, but anyone who truly cared and was truly careful always worried about discovery.
‘Excuse me?' Blaise said after Theodore had told him and Draco the name of their contact on arrival. 'What was that name again?’
Blaise wore a sly grin and Draco gave him a cool look. ‘Really, now, grow up.’
Blaise’s amusement didn’t relent. ‘What does that mean, anyway?’ he asked, looking to Theodore and then Draco. ‘Hundreds of years ago this family was well-known for its three cocks?’
Theodore’s expression remained neutral. ‘They could have been roosters.’ Blaise scoffed, but Theodore preferred his explanation. ‘Well, that’s what it seems like to me …’
Amidst this, Draco was cool. ‘Three of the other kind is more your speed, isn’t it?’
‘Draco,’ said Blaise, sauntering towards him. ‘You’ve been really fucking boring lately. Can I help you with something?’
From behind the door, Harry grimaced. That discussion of the Trebilcock name had been juvenile enough, but this come on was cheap and it really didn’t have to be – Blaise could have just said “please Draco, put your cock in my mouth” and that would have been far less aggravating for all involved.
Draco seemed to agree, as he didn’t respond to Blaise’s advance at all – he merely directed it elsewhere with the point of his raised chin at Theodore.
Harry rolled his eyes – he knew this drill. He had seen Draco do this before – several times with Blaise, other times with other people. Everyone always calmly obeyed and got on their knees or stood up as directed. Periodically, Harry had wondered if Draco was using a mild version of the Imperius Curse, but there was nothing mild about governing the behaviour of people in such a fashion, so he had to assume there was a large number of Death Eaters and their sympathisers who enjoyed random head and didn’t mind being watched while it was done.
Years ago this sort of realisation would have shocked Harry (it really did, now that he recalled the first instance with Terence Higgs and that nobody Vaisey), but he had been following people for so long now that nothing really surprised him anymore – nothing about what they did in private, anyway. In private, and almost disappointingly, Death Eaters were no different from any other people.
Theodore remained where he was and didn’t move until Blaise stood in front of him- it was a small movement, not quite a flinch, but Blaise noticed. If Draco did, he didn’t care – he simply watched.
‘What’s the matter, Theodore?’ said Blaise, his voice heavy with attraction. ‘Too good to get your love-lolly out in front of the boss?’
Harry pulled a face; he didn’t need to be here for this. Where were the encounters where people didn’t say something stupid? Love-lolly, indeed.
‘Blaise,’ said Theodore lightly. He seemed neither threatened nor turned on by Blaise; Harry had a lot more respect for him at that moment- ‘Come here.’
Then it vanished in an instant.
Harry held his breath to keep a snort of disbelief inside him, and in the same moment the door that shielded him from the occupants of the car felt invisible, as though he was much closer to them – and to being detected – than he had been seconds earlier. He realised it was probably very self-important of him to feel that way, that anyone could be specifically looking at the door in fear that he, Harry Potter, might be on the other side – such a fear (real or, quite likely, imagined) had to be clouded by the definite reality that very shortly someone was going to get their cock out.
It looked like that someone was Theodore, and Harry had to hand it to him – he certainly knew how to handle Blaise. Blaise looked ready to crawl on top of Theodore, with his left knee perched on the end of the bed, but Theodore sat up and met him with a kiss and slowly guided him back to where he was, keeping the pace on his terms.
If Blaise objected, he didn’t much show it, and while one hand supported him as he and Theodore met in an oddly-matched kiss of passion and a sense of duty, the other hand relieved Theodore of his belt and of its own need to be stroking someone’s cock. The noise Theodore made went to Blaise’s head, because he kissed him more deeply, and it went to Harry’s head, because he decided when he made that noise, Theodore Nott was his favourite Death Eater ever, and to Draco …
Blaise stopped and Theodore stopped and Harry stopped and all of them focused on Draco; Theodore sat up.
‘Not there,’ Draco said.
Harry thought he noticed a very small frown on Blaise’s face, but, like Theodore, he stood and walked across to the other side of the carriage. Unlike Theodore, whose trousers had been loosened for the act, Blaise’s trousers did not fall to the floor.
And there, there it was – un-hidden for the entire world (who happened to be in that carriage) to see, and right in front of his face:
It was an expression that Harry knew well, too well, perhaps (maybe it was even getting boring). Even in his quietened mood, Draco could not help put smirk as Theodore carefully navigated his way across the car with stiff grace, stiff cock, and his trousers around his ankles. Harry wasn’t completely certain why, when Theodore’s cock was clearly the thing in the car that he didn’t see all that frequently, he was still concentrating on Draco’s expression.
Theodore Nott’s cock is not your concern, he gave himself a stern reminder. What Draco does is the point of the mission; you’re focusing – that’s what you’re doing.
Yet watching Draco watching Blaise and Theodore was a lot like watching Draco watching anything—a bit dull. His eyes were concentrated on the two, but apart from Theodore’s trouser-shackled limp across the room, he otherwise seemed unmoved by the display. Harry was unmoved by the display, too, but he was busy “working”!
Go? Harry squinted through the keyhole at Draco, who had just finished nodding when another delighted moan was forthcoming from Theodore. Harry shifted slightly so he could see better – Theodore was half-perched against a Credenza—Credenza, Harry mused, the first time in my life I have ever thought of a type of furniture with a specific name- hope it’s the right one—, and Blaise was kneeling, having already taken almost half of Theodore’s cock inside his mouth.
Harry pulled a face; he had seen Blaise do better. Where are your hands, Blaise? Harry’s view of this encounter was dim; Blaise’s hands seemed to have not fallen off in the last few minutes, so he wondered why they weren’t pleasuring Theodore (or Blaise himself) in any way at all. It wasn’t as though Blaise had never done this sort of thing in front of Draco before – Harry had seen him doing it (with several different partners, even). Was he nervous? Did he actually care for-
Harry’s eyes narrowed briefly, his expression softening as he considered what occurred to him: was there something between those two? Harry recalled the last time he investigated Theodore – the few of his owls that could be traced were followed to Blaise, but there had been nothing of interest in them. Ron had spent days trying to determine the significance of “dinner” (‘It’s obviously code for something, Harry!’) – had it merely been an invitation? Death Eaters were forbidden from using their specially trained owls for personal contact. Harry smiled at the idea that straight-laced Theodore Nott would break such a rule for a more specific sort of personal contact.
The only person who seemed to gain no enjoyment from the spectacle on any level whatsoever was Draco; his expression remained fixed in a state of disinterest. Harry supposed there wasn’t really much he could do without seeming like a disgusting pervert—‘That’s what it is, Harry,’ Hermione had said. ‘Do you really think they would do that because they want to? Blaise Zabini, maybe - he did let Seamus suck him off in The Leaky Cauldron once-' ('Hermione!' a shocked Ron had cried) '-but Theodore Nott? He spoke at a forum about restorative treatments for dark magic curses!’—, although this was no more or less disgusting in Harry’s opinion than any of the stuff non-Death Eaters got up to …
With one last gasp and the sort of restrained exhalation one might expect from a wizard like he, Theodore Nott came, and in something of a mixed “aw” and “hrm” moment, Blaise immediately stood up and kissed him. After all of that, the only vaguely useful thing Harry had learnt was that he now knew what Theodore Nott’s face looked like when he came - when that information would serve him, he did not know, but he made a mental note of it, anyway.
There was no answer to Blaise’s call; Draco merely stared as Blaise and Theodore straightened themselves up.
Blaise came and stood in front of Draco, obscuring Harry’s view.
‘What’s wrong?’ Blaise asked, actual concern in his voice.
‘Nothing. Go outside.’
Blaise turned his head slightly towards Theodore, a dark look on his face. Theodore made no movement – all fixed up and returned to a poised state, he simply stood where he was. Blaise seemed put-out by this, but he made his way to leave without remark – Harry wondered if he could take time out of his Draco-watching duties to see what came of this exchange between Theodore and Blaise …?
Exit was imminent, and Harry quickly retrieved his Ear and moved aside just before the door slid open, revealing Blaise’s figure. He looked much taller from Harry’s crouched position, he noted.
‘Wait,’ Theodore said, as Blaise was about to close the door.
Harry couldn’t hear what Theodore heard when he walked over and leant down towards Draco, but he kept his ears as trained as possible in that direction while he avoided Blaise in the corridor.
This was his moment – he could try to run into the car, avoiding Blaise in the corridor and Theodore inside (who could easily exit on any path in any sort of mad fashion, catching Harry off-guard if he broke into a skip or a waltz on the way out), and making as minimal an amount of noise as possible (and how possible was it? Harry was wearing his least noisy articles of clothing, but what if the carpet in the room was different from that outside of it? A difficult decision), or he could stay where he was and contend with Extendable Ears.
He hadn’t got this far in his career by doing little and hoping interesting pieces of information strolled up to him while he was crouched under an Invisibility Cloak in the corridor of a swanky train carriage, and when the door at the end of the carriage slid open (revealing a passing porter), allowing the noise outside to come in, Harry took his chances.
The world was always different from the inside, Harry noted as he fled to the corner of the car closest to the doorway – his new hiding spot (hiding – if he could do so undetected, he would laugh) was in front of a full-length mirror trained on the bed.
After the two had left (and a suitable pause was made to make sure they didn’t return for anything), Draco broke his cold composure, a small frown and a look of concentration on his face as he made absolutely certain for the last time no one was coming.
Harry rolled his eyes as Draco moved to the bed and removed his belt; Blaise and Theodore’s activities clearly affected Draco more than he let on – typical! Why don’t you just lock the door?
From where Harry sat, he had an excellent view of almost everything in the car – the Credenza (or was it …?), the entry to the bathroom, pieces of furniture that held bugger all (well, it wasn’t a long journey for these particular passengers, was it? Was there a point in unpacking?), the windows with their blinds closed and with flashes of light coming through at the edges, Draco’s cock …
Yes, the matter of Draco’s cock – it had revealed itself when Draco got on the bed, facing the head of the bed with his back to the rest of the car. It wasn’t the first time Harry had seen it, and he was fairly certain it wouldn’t be the last. He had grown past making amusing observations about the cocks he saw in the progress of work, but Ron hadn’t, and it was Ron’s voice he heard when he looked upon Draco now. He had never been this close to it before – not without layers of clothing, of course, as he had stood closely to Draco before, and obviously his cock had been extremely nearby on those occasions …
How big do you think it is? Ron’s voice spoke in Harry’s head; Harry smiled – this certainly was not the first time they had had that conversation before. Ron had given him a bizarre look when Harry had suggested Draco’s cock had a nice shape – it was worth saying it just for that look alone, but Harry stood by his appraisal. He got the feeling Draco would agree with the appraisal, too, the way his hands were currently stroking its length – he had managed to get his trousers off, but the lure of himself was too much to bother with undressing completely, it seemed.
Before third year, Harry had wondered – why, he didn’t know – what other people sounded like when they wanked. He barely knew what he sounded like, as all of the noise he had allowed himself to make was carefully strangled – all it really amounted to was a few deep breaths well after the main event had occurred. He was lucky that Seamus Finnigan was such an opportunist – whenever he thought he was alone he was at it, and Harry had been surprised to find that Seamus made such pleasing and revealing sounds. He learned all about Seamus’ fantasies that year – it was also the first time Harry had ever come just from listening to someone gasp his name.
Draco’s breaths were strangely … happy. It was odd, because Harry didn’t really think of Draco as a happy person, even though there was certainly an argument to be made that a good wank could make even the most unpleasant of people happy. Draco seemed peaceful as his chest rose and fell, the breaths coming shorter as his strokes came quicker. Harry was watching intently when he thought they were reaching the moment Draco would come, but instead of that happening, his eyes flew open and he stopped.
Harry froze. Could Draco see him? He had underestimated Draco in the past, but he had learnt from those lessens … hadn’t he?
Well, he thought he had!
If Draco can see you, why is he putting on a show, then? A wave of guilt and apprehension washed over Harry and trickled down his back. Was he enjoying it?
Harry pulled a face; no, he wasn’t. Not really. Not in an enjoyment way that things were enjoyed – when he thought about it, as he had time to do at the moment, what he enjoyed most was that he would be able to tell this story over and over again, and, even if it did make Harry himself seem unseemly, he did not care. This was the sort of story people made up to write into a “gentleman’s weekly” with – obviously it would bear repeating at the drop of any sort of garment, hat or otherwise.
As Draco started again (perhaps concerned that someone was coming? Apart from himself), he made another quiet exhalation; Harry recalled he was sitting in front of a mirror. This just made the story better: was Draco wanking over himself? Harry continued to watch.
Draco’s hand began to maintain a slower pace while he looked into the mirror (admiring your own cock! Harry accused, amused and disbelieving), a mental flash occurred in Harry’s mind: in this flash it was his own cock Draco was stroking.
Harry’s eyes widened in a mixture of disgust and bewilderment: where did that come from? Harry rolled his eyes and pushed the thought aside, but there was no place his eyes could be moved that didn’t put Draco and his cock right in front of them. Briefly he regretted all of his observation training over the years.
After a few minutes, in which time Draco had made a noise that sent a shiver through Harry, the feeling of apprehension returned to Harry, this time coupled with dread. There was no getting past it: he was having some sort of reaction to Draco. He hoped it was one of discomfort and disgust, but he wasn’t feeling ill enough for that to really be the case.
Harry’s thoughts returned to an incident at last year’s Christmas party: Terry Boot had got “drunk” and sucked his cock. Harry smiled at the memory; he smiled at other memories where Terry had subsequently got drunk again and again and fallen onto his cock, too. Oops, he supposed.
With grim amusement, Harry realised that for Terry it was preferable to be considered an alcoholic who got carried away and tried it on with anyone, than a boy who liked to give head and consequently be fucked. It seemed a prevalent attitude, as Harry wouldn’t have known that Theodore and Blaise liked it like that had he not seen it with his own eyes. He wondered if it was really just for Draco’s benefit (or perhaps it had started that way and become more?). Would two people really go that far to please a … whatever Draco was to them in the hierarchy they had established?
Harry couldn’t imagine having sex with Hermione just to please Ron, though he didn’t think that would much please Ron, anyway …
Was this how pedestrian a wank had become? Harry had to wonder at the level of tangents his mind was wandering off on – there was Draco, cock out, and yet he found himself thinking about Hermione and Ron.
Maybe it was the noise? Or the lack thereof, perhaps? The train was not always generous where quiet little sighs were concerned – in normal circumstances, Harry thought Draco's moans could have been heard from the other end of the country, but on this train there were only a few catches of sound here and there. For the most part, though, Draco seemed quite restrained – he was murmuring to himself, and while it truly made the moment private (as far as such a moment truly could be private when one was being spied upon), it truly made it a bit boring for Harry. This wasn’t exactly the first time he had watched someone relieve themselves on a mission.
If only he would say something – something audible.
It wasn’t as though Harry was expecting Death Eater secrets to escape in a moment of frenzy, but there certainly would be more to make of the situation if there was something else. Anything. A name. The name of who Draco fantasised about while he did this. Even that would be something.
The door slid open without warning, making a slight mockery of the times before when Draco had tried to listen in for intruders on his privacy. Theodore entered and closed the door. He could see what Draco was doing, but it appeared to have no effect on him – he simply entered the room and closed the door! Unbelievable.
Draco didn’t flinch at all, not even when Theodore sat the head of the bed, directly in front of Draco.
Harry baulked, and Draco continued to stroke himself while Theodore informed him of a message he had just received.
‘When?’ Draco was asking.
‘As soon as we arrive,’ replied Theodore, who really did a marvellous job of seeming completely unfazed by seeing Draco’s cock in his hand, just as Draco had done a marvellous job of being unfazed while Blaise put Theodore’s cock in his mouth.
Theodore made to leave, but there was something in Draco’s expression that made him sit on the bed, his back against the headboard while Draco continued with his pleasure.
It was a leisurely wank - that was really all that could be said for it, particularly since it was taking ten billion years. How Draco could stand it for that long and at that pace, Harry didn’t know, but all three of them had to cope with it – Harry suspected Draco was the one dealing with it the best.
Sometimes Harry heard things, things that surprised him or made him look twice; things that caused him to stand up and say ‘what?’. Sometimes he liked to crack his knuckles. None of those were things he could do when he heard what he heard next.
‘Harry,’ Draco gasped.
Harry’s eyes widened – doubly so in the next moment when he heard what Theodore said.
‘Oh … oh.’
Malfoy? Theodore never called Draco “Malfoy”, to his face or otherwise – he, Harry, did!
That look, that horrible, smarmy look he got, came so easily to Draco’s face that Harry wanted to hit him.
‘Harry,’ said Draco, smiling at Theodore. ‘Are you well?’
‘I am, thank you,’ Theodore said, his voice stiff.
‘Good,’ Draco nodded, his smile still pleasant. ‘Will you go down on me?’
‘I will, thank you,’ Theodore said, his voice obviously not the only thing stiff.
Harry wanted to hit Draco even more now. He was caught between thoughts that resembled a mix of profanity and exclamation points and others that were boring and included words like “mission” and “objective”.
At the same time (the same time that Theodore met Draco for a brief kiss before he lowered his face), Harry was of half a mind to object – how dare Draco put cocksucking onto him and his proxy? The absolute gall.
And now Theodore was being rejected by Draco. He looked confused – or he seemed confused, whether he was or not in this bizarre little roleplay was up for debate – and he paused for a moment; he appeared to be weighing up his choices.
If it were a film, Harry would be throwing popcorn at the screen, as it was blatantly obvious to anyone watching the scene unfold (him) that Theodore (or Harry …) had no choices.
Harry was backed up immediately when Draco placed his hand on Theodore’s shoulder and gently pushed him down so that he returned to his position at the headboard. It was the plot twists that really counted in a film, Harry thought, and when Theodore began to loosen his belt (my, it was certainly getting a work out that day!) and Draco bent down, that was something. That was a plot twist.
… or perhaps it wasn’t? Theodore had moved from going down to loosening his belt fairly quickly. Had he been expecting this? Was this the sort of thing he and Draco got up to in their spare time? Would Blaise return in a moment and play the most unlikely Ron in the universe? The only thing that made the situation even more surreal was that, in effect, Harry was there to witness himself being sucked off by Draco Malfoy.
He couldn’t make this shit up, and that was the first thing he had in mind when he thought about how he would recall this incident to others. He could imagine Ron’s response – after disbelief he would remark that Theodore was lucky to get so much head in one day.
Harry narrowed his eyes and gave Theodore a closer appraisal than he had done before; he seemed almost the same as he had on all of the previous occasions Harry had spied (and spied on) him. There was one difference, and he hadn’t given it much weight because it hadn’t seemed important – maybe even now it wasn’t that important? But everything Theodore and Draco were doing- the role Theodore had been placed in (and the one he had chosen to go into), made every change relevant, particularly this one, Harry felt:
Theodore was growing his hair.
It had seemed perfectly in place and perfectly in keeping with Theodore when Harry first looked through the keyhole, but now it did not. Now it had gone through his encounter with Blaise, and now it was going through an encounter with Draco, and Draco was having a marvellous time of running his hands through Theodore’s hair and making it seem … messy.
If Theodore started wearing glasses next, Harry would decline any future missions involving him or Draco.
It didn’t surprise him at all when a breathy Draco straightened up before Theodore had come – before I have come, Harry amended, insulted on his own behalf.
Draco pulled Theodore up and pressed their foreheads together. ‘I want you to fuck me again-’
Again? “Again” today?
Theodore said something, but Harry didn’t hear what it was. Draco was nodding. ‘Yes, like then, like you used to at Hogwarts.’
At Hogwarts? How long had this been going on for? Harry thought back to his school days, irritated that someone who wanted him to fuck them so badly could be such a colossal arse the rest of the time. He knew people frequently hurt the ones they loved (or wanted to be fucked by, he supposed), but this was a bit much!
Draco smiled again; part of Harry felt sorry for him – he seemed genuinely happy with this bizarre set-up. Happy that his fantasy of Harry had him before and would have him again.
‘But,’ said Draco, helping Theodore remove his shirt, his hand brushing against Theodore’s cock after he had got to the last button, ‘I want to fuck you first.’
While Draco and Theodore made fast work of discarding the remainder of the latter’s clothing, Harry considered the situation: Theodore and Blaise must have gone off for a quick fuck after they left Draco, otherwise there would be no way Theodore could take it so easily. He felt justified in his deductions when Theodore did take it so easily. You’re so busy, Theodore, Harry shook his head slightly.
Harry swallowed the saliva that had built up in his mouth – it was getting to him. As he witnessed it, Draco’s cock was getting to him (sort of – it was getting to Theodore as him).
Actually, from his position he couldn’t really see much of Draco’s cock – he mostly saw Theodore’s in Draco’s hand being stroked. Harry wasn’t certain if it was really in-character of Theodore to allow that – in a perfect world, Harry preferred to come simply from the fucking (whether he was being fucked or he was the one doing the fucking). Theodore made up for it with dialogue, though.
‘I hate you.’
That, Harry thought, was extremely in-character.
‘No,’ Draco eventually said with as cool a voice as he could manage. ‘You don’t,’ he said with groan. ‘You love it.’
Come on! Harry cheered himself on – how could he put up with that? Obviously he himself and Theodore both quite enjoyed being fucked (obviously, quite!), but they certainly shouldn’t let Draco know that or even give him the impression that it was being fucked by him that made the experience great.
Harry rolled his eyes. At this point things could only become more ridiculous if Draco started talking up his own cock.
‘You love my cock inside you.’
No! Harry disagreed. You love mine inside you – that’s why you were sucking me off before!
‘No,’ said Theodore, although the intake of breath and the unmistakeable expression of someone who really did quite enjoy Draco being inside of them made that seem less believable.
It was torture – absolute torture. Draco was making Theodore far too breathless for him to be able to defend Harry’s honour effectively. He wondered if Draco could just fuck him a bit less hard? Just a bit, not enough to make it less enjoyable – that would certainly be more true to Harry’s character, if anything.
Harry closed his eyes, a happier vision of himself and Ron briefly crossing his mind. Maybe if he just thought of Draco as Ron, it would be easier to get through? He could stand that – he could stand putting himself in Theodore’s place, he even wondered if he could block out the worst of this encounter by having a wank himself.
But could he do it and be quiet? Probably not.
On an occasion a couple of summers ago he had had to share a room with Ron and the twins for a few days while the population of The Burrow fluxed as Order members dropped in and out on their way to other destinations. George had got drunk (Harry rolled his eyes at that memory – didn’t they always?) and had started off being quite friendly in a fairly non-typical fashion – he gave Harry a handjob.
Harry had coughed a few times during the event when he absolutely could not breathe without it sounding like a ragged gasp, the kind of ragged gasp one made when they were being stroked by their best friend’s brother – Ron had continued to snore, and Fred had stirred but remained where he was. Harry thought Fred had given him a strange look the next morning at the breakfast table, but ultimately it was George’s face he remembered when he had returned the favour in the bathroom later that day.
Now he really felt like he was getting to a point where he either had to find a way to leave the room so he could re-live that memory, or he would have to do it there. It wasn’t helping that they had slowed on the fucking part and were concentrating on stroking Theodore’s—his—cock again.
If Harry could sigh he would have; the situation dismayed him in more ways than one. Had he been spying on people for so long that he had become desensitised to watching what was effectively (free) live pornography? He was getting off on it in his own way – well, not so much “off” as he was slightly aroused by it. Harry felt detached from the sort of shock he thought an ordinary person might feel – that he had no concept of discomfort from watching Draco and Theodore, no discomfort at knowing that it wasn’t really Theodore Draco wanted to fuck, it was him, was the only way he could explain why he was growing a little bit hard.
It couldn’t really have been from him being attracted to Malfoy, now, could it?
Harry smiled, maybe it wasn’t Draco he was attracted to – maybe it was himself. After all, it wasn’t only Draco’s actions that were making him wish he kept George Weasley in his trousers for situations like this one.
No- no – focus Harry, he berated himself, keeping a completely straight face when Theodore shuddered after Draco kissed his neck. He even managed to keep a straight face as Draco withdrew (and Theodore still hadn’t come! Far fucking out …) and continued to kiss Theodore along his spine, and down, down, down …
His straight face lapsed slightly when Theodore bent down onto his hands; it lapsed again when it became clear Theodore’s back wasn’t the only thing that would get attention from Draco’s mouth.
Harry looked down to his lap and frowned; his nails really were getting too long. His eyes wandered back to Draco and Theodore and he tried to have an open mind about it, but he couldn’t help it; even as Draco’s face was obscured by Theodore’s arse, Harry really didn’t think much of rimming at all. It would have been unfair of him to have that opinion without having tried it, and earlier on in his career he had certainly felt bold enough to try anything once … or twice, or however many times it was he had tried it to satisfy whoever it was who absolutely and desperately wanted to do it, but it didn’t do enough for him.
Theodore and he differed on the subject, of course, as Theodore’s moans and heavy breathing told a story of “yes, this is fucking fantastic, do go on”. Out of character, Harry charged, though he supposed there wasn’t any simple way for either Draco or Theodore to have known, and, well … this was Draco’s fantasy, after all. Did it matter what he wanted? Not really.
It was lucky that Theodore was an obliging Harry – Harry wasn’t sure he would be so accommodating, even if it was for someone with a nicely-shaped cock, and even if Draco stroked him like he and Theodore had resumed stroking Theodore now.
Mid-thrust (Harry assumed – what Draco’s tongue was doing, he couldn’t quite tell, but Theodore’s gasps had to correspond to something) a clock chimed, and both Draco and Theodore sat up and back on their knees and looked at the time.
‘We’ll be there-’ Theodore gasped quietly, catching up his breath ‘-soon.’
All right? All right, what? They just stop there and-
‘Oh, oh- Harry.’
It was looking like it would be a fast-forward ending. The approach to their destination meant the end would have to be quick in order for anyone to come at all. To Harry, it seemed things had jumped from “I hate you” and “suck my cock, yes” much too fast – now they were up to “Harry, Harry, Harry” and “Yes, yes, yes” without any real development in the plot.
‘Fuck me, Malfoy.’
Previously, Harry had found Theodore’s restraint quite exhausting. His quiet breaths, that sounded as passionate as someone warming their hands on a cold morning or posting a frosted message on a window, were distinctly underwhelming. Harry was impatient.
It didn’t pain Harry as much as it probably should have to admit that if this really were a situation he was in, there would have been more to it. There was something between Draco and Theodore, but it wasn’t affection, not close affection – Draco seemed only somewhat fond of Theodore … in a way, a fucking way, at least, but neither of them touched each other with much to it all. Though Harry hadn’t really ever had a serious long-term relationship (with the exception of the only girl he truly loved – how he missed her), he had had a great deal of affection for all of his fucks, casual or long term as they might have been.
Harry’s mind wandered while his eyes remained fixed on Draco and Theodore. In reality, if ever such a strange reality could ever have existed, Harry wouldn’t have allowed Draco to have him so quickly. Well, maybe he would have, but there would have been a preamble of sorts, not simply just “sit there and let me swallow your cock, sweetheart” …
Draco would have gone to bend down, but Harry would have stopped him. He would have raised Draco’s face to his own and willed him to kiss him, and if he didn’t get the message, Harry would have kissed him himself.
Harry’s guard slipped for a moment, and he closed his eyes to picture it better.
In his imagination, though, Draco did kiss him. It was a lingering kiss, and when they parted Harry saw that Draco’s cheeks were slightly flushed and his expression was softened. He took this as an invitation to continue, and he got up on his knees and met Draco; they lingered.
If Harry had been feeling particularly light-headed at that moment, he probably would have pictured their conversation to match:
‘So, how do you like my cock?’
‘In my mouth, thanks.’
The further Draco and his proxy went, the further Harry’s thoughts swayed.
‘I always knew you liked me.’
‘I don’t like you.’
‘I know – not like that. Like this.’
Draco kissed Harry again, and this time his hand found its way to the button of Harry’s trousers. He paused when he was taken by surprise as Harry returned their kiss, and he shuddered when Harry’s lips found his neck, rewarding him for the hand Draco had placed on Harry’s cock.
And now he would allow himself to be taken.
Harry swallowed – this was not real. His eyes flew open and he saw that Draco and Theodore had moved into a non-economical slow-fucking rhythm; if they were going to be there soon, this sort of time wasting made no sense. Draco slid in and out of Theodore with ease, and Harry found himself swallowing again, particularly while Draco’s hand slid up and down Theodore with just as much ease.
In his distracted mind, Draco’s mouth worked on him with the same amount of vigour, but even more – because it wasn’t Theodore pretending, it was really Harry, and it was really Harry whom Draco wanted.
Harry would have done as Draco had asked Theodore – he would have fucked him, then and there. Like at school.
They would definitely face each other. Harry didn’t mind it the other way around, and there was nothing especially becoming about Draco’s face that demanded Harry’s attention … perhaps he simply wanted to be in charge. Harry frequently felt very in charge – his cock up someone’s arse or no, but there had never been any balance to his dealings with Draco, and what could bring more order into the world than a good face-to-face fuck?
The coming face was not one Harry would rate very highly – frankly, a good come left his face sort of open-mouthed and zombie-like and very selfish and unconcerned about what the other was thinking or saying or looking like, so it wasn’t really that that he liked about the position.
Harry had given in and slept with Colin Creevey a few weeks ago after quite a long time of furtive glances and shy smiles – Colin had been working on him for years (obv., Harry had always thought), but, as Colin later said, he had never really considered himself good-looking or simply “good enough” for Harry.
‘Not like the others,’ Colin had said quietly as he looked to the floor, though one observing eye had remained fixed on Harry, waiting for his reaction.
It was cute, a bit too desperate and a bit too pathetic, but cute, anyway, Harry supposed. Colin had had a beautiful face when he came, Harry gave him that (well, certainly he had ...), and he supposed the fantasy fulfilment part of it had something to do with that. He didn’t think Colin really liked boys at all, though – he was just a very dedicated fan.
But Draco was not like Colin – nor was Theodore, but Harry didn’t think he himself looked particularly attractive while coming, either, so Theodore was currently in-character (and good for him, Harry nodded his silent, unseen, and wry approval). Draco wasn’t like Colin because Draco was a real person – Colin was some bizarre experiment of fascination gone wrong. Harry had liked Colin’s beautiful face, but it was just something to look at and remember fondly; Draco’s face was one to be experienced – continually and continuously. It wasn’t a passing phase – it was something for keeping.
Harry froze again as he had been doing frequently throughout the journey when a realisation dawned on him; this time he marvelled at his peculiar thoughts about Draco’s face when he came and regretted that he regretted that it wasn’t really him being fucked by Draco (he also felt a bit guilty - he didn’t believe he had any real positive thoughts at all for or about Draco, but his inclination for getting it on was such that he would go past that and simply wish to be fucked by one of the people he liked least in the entire universe).
That was odd. At that moment Draco had placed a hand over Theodore’s heart – he seemed to be enjoying the notion that it was something he was doing that made it beat faster, to the point where he actually kissed Theodore’s neck with what seemed to be tenderness.
Was that affection? Real affection? Had he misjudged Draco? Or had had simply been watching this for much too long? In the normal course of pornography watching, Harry would by now be enjoying a nice wank (or perhaps more, company being present). Maybe the situation was different here, as he certainly couldn’t compromise himself by wanking during a mission (no, he really couldn’t), but it was strange that affection was on his mind as the good bits (so to speak) of this play were got to.
Draco slowly ran his hands through Theodore’s hand again, and then he did something that he really should not have done.
It was a deal-breaker, a thing that reminded Draco this was a fantasy and not reality—Draco put his hand in the one place he shouldn’t have: Theodore’s forehead. Faking a scar was not impossible or even difficult (even Muggles could do it), but faking a noticeable and recognisable one was not something Harry would consider prudent for anyone; the fact of the matter might simply have been that Theodore didn’t want to.
Draco’s movements became less tender, and it was almost like clockwork. He certainly knew how to make someone come, and he could get himself off in a heartbeat, if he had to, and that was exactly what Draco did. After all of the prolonged fucking, both he and Theodore came within moments of each other. It was a strangely empty thing for Harry to see.
There was no pause, no moment of satisfaction – it was over, and Draco stood up, once again looking remarkably composed for someone with their cock out.
‘Go,’ he said, his voice no longer breathless or filled with any sort of desire.
Theodore broke character; the expression of surprise he wore now was his own. ‘I’m naked,’ he stated.
‘I know,’ said Draco, handing Theodore his clothes and herding him towards the door. ‘Get out.’
Anyone who didn’t know better would have fought it, but Theodore didn’t, and, mustering up as much dignity as someone was completely naked and being forced out into the harsh lights of a cold, indifferent world, Theodore left without another word. This, too, seemed to darken Draco’s mood – it merely reminded him that Theodore was Theodore, and he was no Harry.
It should have been Theodore Harry felt sorry for, but it wasn’t. Maybe if Draco weren’t such a completely evil bastard, Harry would feel sympathy for him, rather than pity. As it was, all he could he was look away while Draco dressed; a very small gesture for a very small wizard.
After he left the car, Harry noted the time and waited until he was sure Draco would not return – he then removed his Invisibility Cloak and took a few fortifying breaths. It had been unbelievably hot under there.
He was about to disapparate when he remembered what it was he was doing there in the first place.
At the end of the bed was a large trunk; it was the only luggage Draco, Blaise, and Theodore had brought with them, and they had been specific with their wishes for the trunk to remain in the car for the duration of the journey.
Harry took out his wand and cast the appropriate spell; the lock clicked open and the lid flew up, revealing a very rankled Ron Weasley.
‘What took you so long?’ he demanded, holding his wrists out so that Harry could free him from his shackles.
‘Sorry,’ said Harry. ‘Lost track of time.’
‘Yeah, well, while you were out losing track of time you will not believe what I heard. Stupid tossers,’ Ron remarked. ‘They locked this stupid thing,’ he said, kicking the trunk, ‘but they didn’t seal it.’
Harry took a step back as they prepared to apparate. ‘Oh? What did you hear? Tell me about it.’