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Happy H/D Holidays mariquita_!! | Teeth of the Hydra - NC17

Title: Teeth of the Hydra
Author: celandineb
Rating: NC17
Word Count: ~6000
Warnings: Does Parselsmut need a warning?
Summary: Draco cannot understand what the very married Harry Potter is doing in a gay wizarding club.
Notes: Written for mariquita_, who had a lovely long list of kinks and requests to work with, of which several appear here. The title is taken from the lyrics to "Bang a Gong" by T. Rex.



The thick blueish haze made it a challenge to discern anyone's features from more than a couple of yards away, and so Draco had to look twice, squinting, before he was certain. Even then he didn't believe it. What could Potter be doing here?

Miles nudged him. "Finish up, Draco, we came here to dance."

"Right." Draco downed the last of his whiskey and led the way to the dance floor, slipping through the sweaty crowd all moving more or less in time to the pounding electronic beat. Charon didn't have a solely gay clientele, but Friday nights tended to lean heavily in that direction. As Draco began to dance, letting the music pulse through his body and wash away the week's tension, he glanced back at the bar and the dark-haired man standing there, looking lost.

Draco caught sight of him several more times that evening, sipping slowly at a pint and occasionally making casual (if shouted) conversation, but he never ventured out to dance. By the time Draco himself left with Miles, Potter had walked out, as alone as when he had entered.

Over the next week, Draco found himself wondering at odd moments whether it really had been Potter. He listened to Pansy's incessant gossip with more interest than usual at their weekly lunch on Tuesday; there was no chance he would stoop to actually asking what Potter was up to these days, but Pansy generally knew anything and everything that went on and never held back from sharing the juicier tidbits.

"I swear that the Weasleys are trying to single-handedly rebuild the wizarding population," Pansy said. "Even if they're not concerned with finding pureblood partners for the purpose. There was a birth announcement in the Prophet today, one of them just had twins."

"Which?" Draco asked.

Pansy waved her hand. "I can't remember. One of the boys, but that hardly helps narrow it down, does it?" She giggled complacently. "The only one still childless is what's-her-name, Ginny. She's nearly thirty, she'd better get a move on. Or perhaps it's Harry who doesn't want children – or maybe thinks kids would interfere with their relationship?" Now her laugh was sharper. "They've certainly been married long enough; Adrian and I had Roderick before our second anniversary."

"And a fine boy he is," said Draco, although privately he thought young Roderick Pucey was an unmitigated brat who could do with a good spanking. The last time he had been at Pansy and Adrian's house for dinner, the evening had been interrupted three times by the boy's tantrums. At six, Roderick should have learned to be quiet when in company. But Pansy had told Draco part of what he was curious about – that Potter was still married to the Weasley girl. He wondered if the lack of children indicated anything; it was surely no sufficient explanation for Potter's presence at Charon last weekend.

That Friday, Draco didn't want to admit to himself that it was curiosity that impelled him to return to Charon alone, though he had half-promised Miles to go with him. By midnight he had been hit on by five different wizards, including two old enough to be his father, and was dancing with a bloke called Terry whom he vaguely remembered from Hogwarts and who must have spent the intervening years working out, because his tight shirt revealed a beautifully sculpted torso. Draco had just about decided to take him off into the back hallway for a test run when he spotted Potter leaning against the bar once again.

Draco frowned, and Terry shouted over the music, "Something wrong?"

Shaking his head, Draco kept on dancing smoothly, careful to keep himself oriented so that he could watch Potter. Perhaps he was there on business of some kind? No, he vaguely recalled that Potter had tried Auror training and hadn't stuck to it, and was now a silent partner backing the Chudley Cannons. Pansy and Draco had shared a good laugh at that news; naturally Potter wouldn't have chosen to invest in a team that might actually do well. In any case, there was no reasonable business deal that would bring him to Charon. If he had come to a gay club unknowingly last week, and not fled immediately because he didn't want to look foolish, he would not have come back. But he was again only sipping at a pint, being polite but ignoring the blatant attempts of the man beside him to coax him out for a dance.

Terry put his arms around Draco's waist, and Draco recalled himself. With this prime specimen ready and willing for a shag, what the hell was he doing thinking about Potter? "Want to get out of here?" Draco asked, abruptly deciding not to bother with the back hallway.

"Sure. Your flat or mine?"

"Yours." Draco never took anyone home for a first fuck, and usually not for a second or third, either.

He was pleasantly exhausted the next day and disinclined to do anything much but eat takeaway and lounge around on his most comfortable sofa watching Muggle television. The alternative was a lengthy program on the Wizarding Wireless featuring Celestina Warbeck, whom Draco loathed.

Charon's Saturday-night regulars were mostly straight, according to the unspoken etiquette that said that queer witches and wizards dominated the place Fridays but not the rest of the week. On Saturday The Blue Rose was the wizarding place to go if you were gay. At ten o'clock, restless, Draco decided to stop in, curious whether Potter might be there on a different night. He could always go on to the Rose afterward; perhaps Miles would be there and up for a bit of fun.

"Draco, darling," shrilled Daphne Cadwallader, née Greengrass. Draco allowed himself to be swept over to her table, still somewhat surprised that she had married a Hufflepuff, even if he was a pureblood. Not that it was supposed to matter any more, but it did. "What on earth are you doing here on a Saturday?"

"Oh, just getting a quick drink," said Draco. "Thought I'd mingle with the old crowd for a change, you know."

Greg Goyle slapped him on the back. "Good to see you, Malfoy. This is Chloe, I don't think you've met."

"I thought the Potter-Weasleys were going to come tonight?" Draco overheard Daphne asking her husband, even as he made stilted small talk with Goyle and his girlfriend.

"Didn't you hear the owl? She sent apologies, perhaps next time."

So. Draco wasn't sure whether to be glad or sorry that he would not see Potter here tonight, though he rather wondered why they had begged off. Ill? Potter had seemed fine last night, though of course his wife might be the one unwell.

He stayed for the drink, then a second, and then excused himself despite the good-natured ribbing he got for leaving them so early. He considered stopping in at the Rose, as he had half-intended. Even the chance of meeting up with Miles somehow didn't appeal, however, so he headed home.

When Potter appeared at Charon for a third Friday in a row, and proceeded to once more simply nurse a drink at the bar, looking uncomfortable, Draco could restrain his curiosity no longer. He ordered two whiskeys and took them over, setting one at Potter's elbow.

"You look as if you could stand something stronger."

Potter jumped. "M- Malfoy."

"Surely you've seen me here the past two weeks," said Draco, obscurely irritated. "You know what Charon is like on Fridays, everyone does. So it's obvious why I'm here; I come to meet men. What I want to know is, why are you here?"

Even in the dim and shifting light he could see Potter flush. "I. Um. The same reason, I guess."

"Liar," Draco said, instantly and without thinking.

"I am not!" Potter snarled.

"If you're here to pick up someone, or be picked up, you're doing a piss-poor job of it." Draco shook his head. "At least three men each night would have been happy to do anything you liked, I could tell; but you wouldn't even go out on the dance floor." He was half-yelling into Potter's ear over the thumping bass. "And you're married. Even Pansy, queen of gossip, doesn't suggest that you've any problems there; the opposite, if anything. So what are you really doing?"

Potter shook his head. "It's too loud to talk here."

"Oh, for..." Draco knocked back the rest of his whiskey, savoring the burn of it in his throat. "Finish that and come with me."

Potter made a little face, but swallowed the rest of his pint. "I don't want that," he said, indicating the glass Draco had brought him.

"Fine." A second whiskey in quick succession gave him a bit more of a buzz than he really preferred if he were going to try to hold a serious conversation with Potter, but Draco only bought the best and it was a shame to waste it. "Now come on."

He thought Potter might turn and run for it when he led him into the back hallway, which reeked of ancient cigarette smoke and sweat and other bodily emissions, but it was quieter than the bar and the dance floor, if one discounted a certain amount of moaning and slapping flesh. Draco had no intention of leaving Charon yet tonight; as he had told Potter, he came to find someone to shag and he fully intended to do so, once he had assuaged his curiosity.

There weren't yet too many couples back in the dimness, but Potter appeared uncomfortable as Draco pushed him against the nearest wall. "Put your arms around me," said Draco with his mouth against Potter's ear. "No one will pay attention if we look like everyone else."

"Halfway to a fuck, you mean?" There was a bitterness in Potter's chuckle. "Fair enough."

"So why are you here?" Draco could smell Potter's cologne, a little spicy but not overwhelming.

"I told you why." The response was resentful.

Draco suspected that the only way to get him to talk was to insult him; it had worked, sometimes at least, back at school. His voice dripped incredulity. "You're married, and yet you're here to pick up men. The great Harry Potter, a common adulterer, and a shirt-lifter to boot. No wonder your wife wouldn't appear in public with you last week."

"Ginny knows I'm here. We talked about it." Potter's breath was hot on Draco's neck. "I've been... wondering for a long time. I love her, but lately I only get, well, I think about men when she and I are together. So she finally agreed that maybe I could pursue this, to see if I really wanted it. But I don't... don't know what to do, how to act."

"That's apparent." Draco laughed and shifted to Potter's other ear, keeping up the pretense that he was kissing him. "Well. The Golden Boy has feet of clay after all. Oh, I believe you; it's too improbable to be a lie. So you've come to Charon three times and those clay feet have been too cold for you to actually try anything that might let you learn what you want to know, like maybe dance?"

Potter nodded.

"Then I'm going to drag you out onto the dance floor. I trust that you've improved somewhat since that Yule Ball in fourth year?" Draco was surprised that he even remembered the occasion, and that Potter had been with one of the Patil girls, who had been by far the better dancer then.

"I hope so." Surprisingly, Potter smiled. "Ginny's been working on me for years."

"All right, then." Draco moved back to let Potter step away from the wall. "Follow me."

He didn't know the words to the Muggle song that was playing, though he recognized it from previous visits, but it had a suitably pulsing beat, quick enough to get the blood moving but slow enough to be sensual. Even Goyle could have danced to this one. Draco put his hands on Potter's shoulders and shouted, "Dance, if you're going to!"

And Potter did, melting into the rhythm and moving with Draco, holding his waist, their thighs brushing past one another. That song was succeeded by another, with a slightly slower tempo.

"Want to stop?" Draco asked. "You've attracted at least some attention, now." He nodded toward a man standing nearby, plainly staring at them. "He'd love to get his arms around you, no question."

"No," said Potter, biting his lip. "Maybe later."

They danced out the song, and then another, and then Draco said, "I'm parched, have to have a drink."

He intended to let someone else have a chance at Potter, while Draco looked for possibles more his own type, but Potter followed him over to the bar and paid for two pints before Draco could stop him.

"Cheers."

"Not so hard as you thought, dancing with a bloke, is it?"

"I guess not." Potter drank, the muscles in his throat moving and gleaming with sweat. "But I know you."

"Yeah." Draco considered what he'd felt, out there on the floor. He was almost sure that Potter had been hard; he knew that he himself had been. Which was ridiculous. Potter, of all people, who was not only married but had no clue about what he was doing. Draco liked his partners experienced. He liked fit men who were unashamed of their sexuality. He liked...

"Want to dance again?" Potter asked. He was running a finger around the rim of his glass, and wouldn't meet Draco's eyes.

This could be a very bad idea. If nothing else, dancing with Potter meant not dancing with someone else, someone he could go home with at the end of this night, someone with whom he could have a satisfying and undemanding shag.

"All right," he heard himself say, and saw Potter's face light up with a smile. Damn. But maybe, if the music cooperated...

He was lucky. As they returned to the dance floor, the song changed to one whose rhythm was frankly erotic, with words to match. Even in the uncertain lighting Draco could see that Potter had turned red, listening.

"Come here." Dancing to this song might embarrass Potter enough to decide whether this was really what he was after, or if he should go home to his wife. Potter trembled as Draco's thigh thrust between his legs and they began to move. He was enough shorter that Draco was able to ensure that Potter's erection rubbed against him without Potter being able to tell just how aroused Draco was too.

Potter's eyes were half-closed as they gyrated, his lips slightly parted, and Draco suspected that he had moaned more than once but couldn't be sure over the music. Potter looked positively delicious when the song ended – and several of the men nearby were noticing. One tried to catch Potter's eye, and when he failed, looked at Draco instead, eyebrows raised. Draco gave a tiny shrug in return, settling Potter more firmly against him as the next song began to play.

He bent to yell into Potter's ear, "I think you've been recognized." There were other ways to make him think twice, too.

"What?" Potter stiffened and tried to pull away, but Draco wouldn't let him.

"Surely you didn't expect anonymity. Half the wizarding world knows your face," said Draco in the most reasonable tone he could manage while nearly shouting. He found he quite enjoyed seeing Potter flustered, just as he had back in school.

"I didn't... oh, fuck. You don't think there's anyone from the Prophet here, do you?" Potter looked almost panicky. The music quieted, shifting to another song, and Potter was tugging Draco towards the bar.

"Relax," Draco drawled, resisting. "They've had me in the gossip column plenty of times. It's not that bad."

"Yeah, but... Ginny." Potter took off his glasses and scrubbed a hand over his face. "We didn't think about that possibility. I guess this wasn't a good idea." His whole body drooped as he put the glasses back on. "Thanks for the dance, anyway. I'd better just leave."

"Wait." Draco heard himself say it but hardly knew why, except that Potter looked so appealingly vulnerable. "Look, you came here to find a bloke to shag, right?" Potter nodded. "Well..." He grinned self-deprecatingly, an expression he knew from experience was very effective. "How about it?"

"You mean you?" Potter straightened, but his face was wary. "Why?"

Suddenly Draco remembered that Potter was – well, claimed to be – a virgin when it came to men, and with the mention of the Prophet, he probably was worried about Draco's motives too. They'd reached a tentative truce after the fall of Voldemort, but it was not as if they had ever been good friends.

"Because you're fucking hot, Potter, why d'you think?" Draco shot back. It was only the truth. Even if Potter wasn't his usual type, there was something about the way his throat caught the light when he tilted his head that made Draco want to bite it, suck the blood to the surface of the skin just to hear Potter's reaction.

Potter moved closer. "You think so?" His lips were almost against Draco's neck.

"Yeah, I think so." Draco twisted his head and brought his lips to Potter's, pulling him around and pressing against him so that Potter could feel the certain proof of that.

A gasp, and Potter's arms encircled Draco's waist, his mouth opening to Draco's tongue. When Draco broke away, Potter looked dazed, his eyes dark and wide.

"Is this what you want?"

Potter nodded, still holding on to Draco, their bodies swaying together to the pounding rhythms of the music.

"Come on, then." Draco maneuvered them towards the exit.

As they emerged into the cool night air, he realized that there was something he hadn't thought about – where to go now. Instinctively he'd known that Potter was unlikely to be willing to shag in the public space of Charon's back hallway, not for his first experience, but that meant having to find someplace else. Somehow he didn't think Ginny Weasley would be keen on having her husband fuck another man in their own house, so Potter's place was out. Potter had been concerned about gossip, too – understandably, but that meant taking a room at a pub, say, was no good either; unless it was a Muggle pub, which Draco preferred to avoid since the restrictions on using magic in Muggle spaces wasn't something he cared to have to worry about. No, the only choice was his own flat. At least it wasn't far away.

"Where are we going?" Potter asked as Draco guided him along the street.

"My flat," Draco replied briefly. "Unless you've a better suggestion?"

"No." Potter was silent for a few minutes. He seemed unsure how to act now; more than once Draco saw him reach as if to put his arm around Draco, but he always let it fall back again.

Fine with Draco. He wasn't planning to let this turn into something deep. The idea of shagging Potter was one he had toyed with occasionally since their schooldays, but he'd always assumed Potter was straight. He had never expected to have a real chance to do it – certainly not to be Potter's first.

At his flat, he unlocked the door and ushered Potter in, flicking his wand to turn on the lights, then wincing and promptly turning half of them off again. Potter waited, looking nervous once more.

"You've never done this before, have you?" Draco asked, wanting to be sure, and Potter shook his head.

Draco stepped close and began to undo the buttons of Potter's shirt. He was in decent shape, if nothing like Terry whatever-his-name-was of last week. Some muscles, belly a bit soft, a nice scattering of dark hair over his chest and a line of it leading down toward his groin. Draco ran a finger along that path and stopped at Potter's waistband, waiting for a nod before he began to unbuckle and unbutton and unzip Potter's trousers.

He knelt on the rug to ease the fabric down over Potter's hips, belatedly tugging off Potter's shoes first. Potter allowed himself to be stripped down to his pants without demur, even though Draco was still fully dressed. His prick bulged under the soft white cotton, and Draco rubbed his cheek against the firm warmth of it without yet doing more. Potter's hand touched his head.

"D-Draco."

"Yes?" Draco repeated the motion, inhaling. He loved the smell of cock; something about it made him want to stay like this forever, nuzzling the warm skin that leapt and pulsed against him, making his own prick strain in return.

"Um, maybe not here?" Potter's voice was embarrassed.

Draco would have preferred to fuck Potter right there on the sofa. His bedroom was a private space, his sanctuary, but his lube was in there and if Potter was going to be uncomfortable and uptight out in the living room, well, they'd come too far not to go farther. He led Potter to the bedroom.

"It's so... ordinary," Potter murmured.

"What did you expect, a mirrored ceiling?" Draco glanced around. Pale grey walls, white curtains, dark oak wardrobe and bed, the posts carved with twining snakes. A deep green duvet covered the white linens.

"I don't know." Potter ran a thumb along the length of one carved serpent. "I never really thought about it." He sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at Draco. "I guess I've had a lot of wrong ideas about you."

"Like what?" Draco started to take off his clothes, waiting for an answer that never came. When he realized how intently Potter was watching him, he slowed down, showing off a bit. Probably Potter hadn't seen another bloke naked since his schooldays; even if he'd been fantasizing about it, maybe looking at magazines, that wasn't the same as the real thing, and Draco knew without conceit that he had a body worth looking at. Not heavily muscled, but trim and fit, with a prick that none of his lovers had ever complained about. Potter's breath caught as Draco pulled off the last of his clothing, and a spot of dampness appeared where the head of his cock was outlined against his pants.

"I think you should take those off, don't you?" said Draco, and Potter stood up hastily to comply.

He had quite a nice prick; a bit shorter than Draco's own, but thicker, engorged as it now was, and nestled in a thatch of curly black hair. Draco once again knelt, this time not holding back, but licking around the base, taking in the scent, learning the texture of Potter's skin as Potter moaned and grabbed for the nearest bedpost.

"Oh, fuck yeah."

Draco smiled to himself as he continued to work Potter over with his mouth. His private theory was that no woman could ever learn to suck cock the way another man could. Potter's reaction lent further credence to that notion; it seemed plain that he'd never had it so good before.

With one hand Draco held onto Potter's hip, and with the other he started to tease behind Potter's balls, even as he sucked and slurped his way along the throbbing length of Potter's cock. He'd make Potter come first this way, trusting to the other man's Gryffindor sense of fair play not to leave before Draco got off, too. What Draco really wanted was his cock up that arse, although he would be amenable to having it the other way around if Potter wasn't prepared to bottom his first time out.

Potter was making breathy noises now, trying to push his cock deeper into Draco's mouth.

"Fuck, please Draco, so good..." His words trailed off into a series of guttural hisses that Draco recognized as Parseltongue. Now that was unexpected, even more so than having Potter turn out to be queer to begin with. Draco remembered dueling with Potter their second year in school, hearing him call out in Parseltongue. The sound had affected him so much that afterward he'd gone back to the Slytherin dormitory and wanked twice before he could get to sleep, even though he'd been so young that he'd only tossed off a handful of times before in his life. For years that had been one of his favorite fantasies. To hear it again now made him harder than he would have thought possible, given that Potter hadn't even touched his prick yet. He redoubled his efforts and felt triumph when Potter groaned, his spunk pulsing into Draco's mouth.

Draco swallowed the bitter fluid and stayed there, licking Potter clean. A hand came to rest on his head, the touch tentative, and Potter said, in English to Draco's mild regret, "That was amazing." He sounded abashed as he added, "I guess you've had a lot of practice. Um. I don't... I mean, I'm sure I won't be that good."

"Did I say you needed to be?" Draco eased back onto his heels and looked up.

"I thought, I supposed that you'd expect me to reciprocate," said Potter. His face was red. He moved sideways, a little away from Draco, and sat down on the bed.

"There are other ways. I don't insist that you give me a blow job."

"What do you want, then?"

Draco shrugged and rose. He moved closer to Potter again, crawling up onto the bed and stretching out there, curled partly behind the other man so that Potter had to turn to look at him. He took his own cock in his hand and fisted it lazily, holding Potter's gaze.

"You could let me fuck you."

Potter's eyes went huge and his mouth opened, but it took a moment before he said, "That's, um, awfully direct."

"Of course." Draco didn't stop looking at him. "Why beat around the bush? That's what I want, that's what I'm going to ask for. But I don't absolutely insist, mind you. If you'd rather fuck me, I'm happy to wait a bit until you're up for it." He smirked. "You can talk to me in Parseltongue in the meanwhile."

"Parseltongue?"

"Like you were just doing a few minutes ago, yes. I don't actually understand the language, mind you, but hearing you speak it is rather delicious. Call it one of my little quirks." Draco reached out and touched Potter's lips. "So? What are you willing to do?"

Potter flicked his tongue against Draco's fingertips. "Would it be all right if I just touched you, to start with? I'm not quite used to this yet."

"If you want." Draco stretched, enjoying the way that Potter looked at him, a dog after a juicy bone.

"I want." Potter gave a long, shuddering breath and reached a hand to stroke along Draco's chest, his expression intent.

No, no loose flesh there, Potter. Nor are the nipples all that sensitive, though there are certain spots that are... yes, that's one of them. Draco bit his lip and his hips jerked as Potter's fingers grazed just below his navel. Potter smiled a little; it shifted the shadows on his face, causing him to look suddenly older, sly and knowing, in stark contrast to the tentativeness of his touches.

He avoided Draco's cock, instead running one hand along Draco's thigh, then back up again and cupping the fullness of his arsecheek. Draco shifted, inviting Potter to slide his fingers along the crack, and sighed at the lightness of the caress.

"I'm not exactly going to scream like a banshee if you touch me there," he said pointedly, and Potter flushed.

"Sorry." He repeated the motion, fingertip barely prodding into Draco's arsehole. "If I fuck you, you have something to use, I expect."

Draco pushed back against him, and felt Potter freeze as his finger slid inside. "Of course. I've several sorts of Muggle-style lube; charms are all right in a pinch, but lube is better, I've always found."

"Me, too." Potter's tone was absent. He'd started to move, hesitantly in the clinging tightness, but in his fumbling he brushed across Draco's prostate and seemed to recognize it for what it was, for he did it again, his tongue darting out to moisten his lower lip.

"Watch that," Draco warned, wondering what Potter had been using lube for if he'd only been fucking his wife. Perhaps women's natural juices weren't always enough... or perhaps Potter had been doing a little experimentation all on his own. "I'd rather not come quite yet."

"Oh. Right." Potter pulled his finger out altogether, but he kept his hand there, just behind Draco's balls, and turned his head so that he seemed to be looking past Draco himself at the headboard. He blinked a few times, then opened his mouth as if to speak, but what came out was a broken hissing, warm breath against Draco's chest.

Draco's cock leaped; he hadn't thought it was possible to feel any more aroused than he already had been, but Potter was speaking Parseltongue, speaking it because Draco had asked, and it didn't really matter what he was saying. For all Draco knew Potter was reciting his last week's grocery list, but the sound crawled under Draco's skin and set every nerve ending to tingling. He repressed a groan, but couldn't hold back altogether, so what emerged was a kind of strangled grunt. Potter looked up and smiled, still making that hiss that made Draco want to come right now, the touch of Potter's hand against his arse the only thing keeping him from writhing shamelessly against the duvet.

He reached down to tug at Potter's shoulder, pulling him up and whispering hoarsely, "Damn. If you're going to do that, fuck me while you're at it."

Potter stopped hissing, swallowed, and said, "I can't. Not this soon."

Ah... Draco could feel Potter's cock against his leg, and true, Potter hadn't recovered yet from his previous orgasm.

"Then let me fuck you. Please," he added, a little grudgingly. It wasn't something he often had to ask for. Most of his partners assumed that Draco preferred to top: usually an accurate guess, although he occasionally went the other way.

Potter's breath was shallow, beads of sweat forming around his hairline as he looked Draco in the eye, and finally said, "Yes, all right."

Thank Merlin, although after all this Draco was probably not going to last more than three minutes in Potter's arse. What the hell. As long as he was careful, brief might be better, thinking back to his own first experience. He held out his hand. "Accio lube." The bottle zoomed over from his dresser, and Draco had it open and had rolled Potter over before the other man could demur.

"Relax," he murmured into Potter's ear as he entered him with one gel-slicked finger, quickly and expertly moving it until he found the sweet spot, recognized from both the feel and from the gasp that Potter gave when he touched it. Stroking gently, he reached around with his other hand to grope Potter's cock, which was showing a certain interest again from the stimulation of his prostate. Draco slid a second finger inside.

He could hear Potter's whimper when he added the third, but Potter's prick was hot and hard in his hand; need rather than pain produced that sound, Draco decided, spreading another dollop of lube onto his own cock and starting to push inside.

Potter moaned again, pressing back against him. "Oh, oh fuck, please fuck me yes..."

Between the dirty talk which Draco loved, and which he would not have expected to hear from the Golden Boy of Gryffindor, and the clenching heat of Potter's arse, he revised his estimate of how long he could hold back: two minutes at best. Draco let himself thrust deeply, again and again, still pulling at Potter's cock, and felt the familiar crest of rising orgasm take him.

Just before he reached it Potter quivered and came for the second time, wet and sticky in Draco's palm, triggering his own climax. He rode it out in silence, head thrown back; he never called anyone's name then, there had never been anyone who was to him more than a night's fuck, or a month or two at most.

Draco was used to getting up and going home after sex. He wasn't quite sure how to cope with Potter's continued presence; surely the man didn't expect to stay all night? He had a home to go back to, a wife... Draco wondered what tonight meant to Potter, really. He hoped no more than a simple shag, a way to find out if it was men he preferred after all.

"Thanks." Potter had wriggled himself off Draco's softening prick and rolled over.

"What for?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "A good fuck?"

Potter nodded, looking earnest. "Yeah. And for... for taking me seriously, and being kind." He flushed. "I half-expected you to make fun, you know, since I really didn't know what I was doing."

"Was it what you thought it would be like?" Rather to his own surprise Draco found himself curious to know. "You said that you'd been fantasizing about men."

"Not quite. I mean I'd looked at some magazines and so on, and I do have a pretty good imagination, I wasn't totally ignorant, but I didn't..." Potter laughed a little. "I didn't think it would be so exciting. Sex with you, I mean. Oh, hell. I'm not saying this right. It was not in any way a problem for me that it was you... I was glad, actually, not to be with a complete stranger." He peered over at Draco, blinking. "Does that make sense?"

"I suppose," said Draco.

"But I don't presume you'll want it to happen again," said Potter. "I know you play the field."

Draco snorted at the old-fashioned term. "You could say that, yeah." He felt a slight resentful twinge at Potter's assumption that he wouldn't be interested in another time, however. Not that it was an unlikely supposition, but Potter seemed to take it for granted. "But you never know, Potter, if you ask me nicely I might be willing to get together again sometime. If you haven't gotten the itch out of your system."

A shadow crossed over Potter's face. "I don't know. I'll have to think about it, talk to Ginny. She deserves to know what's happened... as soon as I figure it out myself."

"Fair enough."

Potter touched Draco's wrist. "I really do appreciate this, Draco. I, um, I guess I'll see myself out?" He sat up and started reaching for his clothes.

"Stay for a drink, first?" Draco wasn't sure what made him say that. Not the tightness around Potter's eyes, surely, a desolation held in check by sheer will. Potter would have to work out his decisions for himself.

"No, I'd better leave." Potter finished dressing in silence. Draco watched, and when Potter was settling his glasses on his nose and running his fingers futilely through his hair to flatten it, Draco stood up and pulled on a dressing gown to walk him to the door.

There Potter turned and stuck out his hand. They shook, an oddly formal moment. It looked as if Potter wanted to say something more, but he simply closed the door behind him.

Draco rummaged in the sideboard for a bottle of brandy, and sat on the sofa drinking for two hours before he went to sleep. He would go to The Blue Rose tomorrow. Maybe Terry would be there, or Miles. Or even – who knew? – Potter.
Tags: [fic], rated: nc-17, round: winter 2006
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