Chapter Fifteen

This chapter was written by literaryspell.

Harry slipped his shirt back on, trying to look innocent even as he sat with one ankle propped on a knee to hide his arousal.

"It was a bet," Draco said, his chin tilted skywards. "And though I lost...gracefully, I might add...it was you who taught me to never go back on a deal."

"Indeed I did, Draco." Lucius cast a look at Harry, one that said he knew too much. "And I do believe Potter is glad for the fact that some of my teachings have stuck."

Draco glanced between Harry and his father. "He was tense." Draco's tone was trying for dismissive, but there was the tiniest of creases between his fine blond brows that almost, almost made Harry think he was worried.

Deciding it was time to step in and end the awkwardness...or add to it, whatever the case may be, Harry said, "Your son is singularly appalling at video games. It was almost like I took advantage of him."

Lucius tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, taking in Harry from head to toe. "Almost," he deadpanned.

Silence stretched so long that Harry had the urge to break it with some Quidditch inanity just to end the torture, but to his relief, Draco spoke first. "I do believe I'm for bed. It is good to see you again, Father. Shall we meet for tea in the morning to discuss your work?"

Lucius dipped his head in agreement, and Draco walked past him toward the door. Harry watched him go, disappointed in the way the evening had ended for reasons he couldn't really explain. At the door, Draco turned and Harry met his eyes. Neither moved. Then Harry blinked and Draco was gone.

Lucius, unfortunately, wasn't.

"Please do join us for tea tomorrow, Potter. You might learn something." With that, he spun with more flair than was necessary for exiting a game room, and left.

Learn something? About the Malfoy 'business'? That was not something Harry wanted to wake up before noon for. Learn something about Draco, however... The way he interacted with his father was both amusing and concerning. He seemed to revert, if not to childhood, than at least to his late teens when Lucius was around. He was so much more tense and even his language became less fluid, more stilted, as if he weighed and considered every word.

Draco didn't do that with Harry.

Deciding he wasn't tired enough to go to bed but also wasn't comfortable enough to retire to his room for a wank when he knew Draco was right next door...Silencing Charms notwithstanding, it was just wrong...Harry played a few rounds of golf on the Wii. He thought about the massage. If it could be called that. Draco's hands were almost sharp they were so pointed, and Harry wasn't sure his back hadn't been bruised with the effort he'd exuded. None of that detracted from the feel of Draco's cold hands...soon warmed by Harry's skin...sliding down over the muscled curve of his shoulders, around his shoulder blades, down his spine with teasing pressure, to the small of his back. He knew he hadn't imagined it when Draco's thumbs had pressed into the dimples he knew were there before moving down to brush the waist of his trousers for a torturous moment.

Harry sighed and threw the remote on the couch next to him. Fuck Draco's delicate sensibilities. He needed a wank.

It took Harry almost ten minutes just to find his way back from the game room, stupid Malfoy Maze. To his relief, Lucius was not in any of the main areas of the house. Perhaps he'd retired for the evening. Harry spared a second's hope that his room was nowhere near Harry's, but he remembered Draco saying it was in a different wing or something ridiculous like that.

As he passed Draco's door, he noticed the light was still on within. Harry'd stayed up for at least two hours, so Draco still being awake was strange when he'd said he was going to bed. Harry wondered what he was doing. Then Harry wondered what Draco slept in. Would it be one of those old fashioned nightshirts? Did he wear a pyjama suit just as starched and proper as his robes? Did he sleep in snug black pants and an old Quidditch t-shirt that was frayed at the hem and had a small tear on the neck? Or did he sleep completely and utterly bared, just waiting for some thief in the night to sneak in and take ravenous advantage of him?

Harry shuddered and fairly bolted the last few steps to his own door. What in Merlin's name was he thinking? Had he completely lost it? This was Draco Malfoy...enemy! Draco Malfoy...twat! Draco Malfoy...everything else bad that Harry had ever called him, thought about him, or heard inferred about him. He was not someone that Harry was supposed to be thinking about when his cock got hard.

After making sure the Silencing Charms were still working, Harry settled on the canopy bed...it still made him feel like a kid in a fairy tale...and drew his cock out of his trousers. It was aching. Though he closed his mind entirely to images of blond prats with smart mouths and quick, cutting tongues, he couldn't completely avoid remembering what had reduced him to such a state of mindless arousal in the first place. The massage. Hands touching him in neither desire nor loathing. Hands that were cool and seemed to know exactly where he'd needed them.

Harry's own hand quickened its pace over his prick, any thoughts of edging out the pleasure lost in the decisive need of the moment. He imagined his hand was more slender, bonier, less warm, less familiar. Precome spilt from his slit and he quickly gathered it to round the head of his cock, hand flying now. In his head, Harry saw an inexplicable image, all tied up with thoughts of fucking and sucking and rubbing...five or six flames dancing in the grass, power and control.

Harry came.

*

"This is absolutely ridiculous. I simply cannot work under these conditions. I don't think anyone could expect me to. You couldn't even litter-train a kneazle...I've no idea why you thought you were capable of teaching me. I need someone with more experience. You can't keep holding me back! I know my own limits and yet I have to sit here and listen to you act as if you know them better? No. No person was ever as tried as I have been this past week. Forget this. I refuse to go on. Refuse!"

Through Draco's tirade, Harry sat on the sofa in the sitting room. His arse was starting to go numb...Draco had been ranting for at least twenty minutes. Harry had to admit he was impressed. Draco rarely used the same slurs twice, and his sheer vocabulary when it came to complaining was unmatched. If there were a World Cup for whingeing, Draco would bring home the gold every time.

Now, though, it seemed like he was running out of steam. Harry had no intentions of giving in, so Draco had two choices: continue bitching until the end of time (Harry didn't much like that option, but it did seem the more likely one) or give in and let Harry run the lessons as he saw fit.

"If you want me to continue to teach you, you'll have to do as I say. That's all there is to it, really. I'm sick and tired of fighting and you're way too worked up for a lesson."

In response, Draco went still and seemed to focus. Harry knew what he was doing, or was about to do...show Harry who was boss by throwing around some wandless magic...so Harry rose and closed the distance between them. He grabbed Draco by the shoulders, startling him out of his concentration.

"Unhand me, Potter," Draco snarled. He looked less in control of himself than Harry had ever seen, perhaps with one vivid, school time exception.

Beneath Harry's hands, Draco's muscles were bunched and tight, his shoulders drawn up protectively. He looked furious.

"You need to calm the fuck down," Harry said, patience at its end. "I've listened to your insults against me for long enough. Even you have to say I've been very patient with you."

Draco's cold, biting eyes told Harry that he would admit no such thing.

"But this is enough. You know why it has to be me. I'm not only the only one who can teach you and protect you at the same time...and don't make that face, you do need protection...but I'm also the only one willing to. So give it a rest. I'm all you've got."

Draco jerked away from Harry's hold, crossing his arms over his chest. He probably though he looked standoffish, but Harry could only see him as vulnerable and frustrated at himself over a lack of progress.

Instead of apologising, which Harry wouldn't hold his breath for unless he ever gave up altogether and decided to end it all, Draco said, "Let's get back to the lesson. I think you've wasted enough of my time."

Knowing by now that Draco didn't actually mean a good chunk of the rude things he said, Harry let it go. "No way. No more lessons for you until you can relax and give yourself a break."

"I've had a break," Draco insisted. "A very refreshing one."

Harry had to chuckle. Of course it had been refreshing for him...he'd done nothing more strenuous than berate Harry without end. Harry, though, was mentally exhausted.

"Well, then I need a break," he said. "I'm going to play darts in the game room." He made no comment as to whose head he'd be picturing the dartboard as.

As Harry began to walk away, Draco harrumphed behind him. A moment later, Draco was walking beside Harry, arms still folded in front of him.

"You know, a wizard invented darts." Draco paused, obviously waiting for some disbelieving interjection from Harry, who gave him no such satisfaction. Undaunted, Draco continued, "But the inventor, a friend of the Malfoy family as a matter of fact, had a Squib brother who stole the idea and brought it into the Muggle world, where he took all the credit. Disgusting, isn't it?"

It would be disgusting, Harry thought, if it were true. But he never knew with Draco what was truth and what was said just to make him look or feel better. So Harry only nodded, glad that, if nothing else, Draco wasn't pushing for more lessons at the moment.

Once they'd meandered their way to the game room, Draco went and opened the cupboard that housed the dartboard and darts. With chalk, he drew a quick scoreboard, with the titles 'Draco M' and 'Visitor' across the top. With a quick smirk over his shoulder at Harry, Draco gathered the darts and went to stand back beside Harry, clearly intending to go first.

"House privilege," he said, handing Harry a set of white-feathered darts while he kept the black ones for himself. "Same wager as before?"

Harry gave an easy shrug. He didn't want another massage. Not when he had something better in mind...something that would take Draco down a peg or two, hopefully making him more bearable. And it would be good for Draco, too. He was too tense for his own good, and that made him less controlled when it came to lessons, which in turn made him more frustrated. It was an unending cycle that had to be nipped in the bud.

Draco took his shrug as acquiescence and the game began. Harry had only played darts in bars while waiting for drinks or food to arrive, but he'd always been a natural. Draco was good, too...his posture was straight, one foot angled forward precisely, his eyes narrowed on the board as he tossed, his follow-through flawless as the dart pierced the outer bull's eye ring. Draco stopped chalking in the scores as Harry's grew higher and higher.

They played for almost an hour, but no matter how serious Draco took the game, no matter how learned his stance or how intense his concentration, he couldn't beat the casual throws that ended up winning Harry the game.

With a sigh of defeat that sounded just the tiniest bit forced, Draco rolled his eyes. "I suppose you'll want that massage now." He shuddered, but again, his actions didn't quite match the way he couldn't seem to look away from Harry.

Harry fingered the hem of his jumper before deciding to let Draco in on his true intentions. "A massage would be nice, but I'm actually still quite relaxed from last night." He rolled his shoulders decadently to demonstrate. "But you seem like you could use a good massage. So I think that's what I'll do." He waited for Draco to process the words, which seemed to take quite some time.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Draco said very slowly. He took a step back.

Harry pursued. "Well, I've never yet heard you say I had a good idea, so I suppose that's to be expected. Stop delaying and take off your shirt."

Now Draco was fiddling with the cuffs of his rich blue oxford shirt. He shook his head.

Then Harry had an idea. "Another wager, then."

Draco looked interested.

"I'll use wandless magic to unbutton all..." He counted. "Ten buttons on your shirt. You use your wandless magic to button them back up. If I can get your shirt totally unbuttoned in two minutes, you have to let me massage you. If I can't..." Harry knew he had to give Draco something good in order for him to risk the bet. "I'll let you dictate your own terms for the next three lessons."

First Draco counted the buttons on his shirt...eight down the front, one on each cuff...and then he narrowed his eyes at Harry. At first, Harry thought he was contemplating all the ugly and violent ways he could reject Harry, but then Harry saw the first and then second button on his shirt squirm through their holes. Draco then squinted, and the buttons flew back through the openings, sealing the shirt shut once again.

"I accept," Draco said, a smug smile on his face. He obviously felt his little practise attempts made him ready to go against Harry.

Harry smiled. "Ready?" Draco nodded. "Okay. Go!" Immediately, he unbuttoned the first button. Almost as soon as he did, Draco buttoned it back. Then Harry did one cuff button and rapidly moved to the bottom one in the row. Almost as fast as Harry undid them, Draco wandlessly set them to rights.

Harry let the game go on for over a minute. Then he upped the ante, using his wandless magic to undo two and three buttons at once. Draco tried to keep up, but he was soon five buttons behind, then six, then seven.

As the second minute approached, Harry went for broke. He let Draco catch up and secure every single last button; he looked so very victorious that Harry almost wanted to let him have the win.

Two seconds before the time ran out, Harry wandlessly undid every last button...and just to cement his win, he also unbuckled Draco's belt, opened his trouser clasp, unzipped his fly, untied his shoelaces, and loosened the watch around his left wrist. Draco scrambled to catch his trousers before they fell to his ankles.

"You cheated!" Draco cried, fighting between fastening his trousers again and stomping toward Harry, almost tripping on an errant shoelace. He put one finger in Harry's face. "You hustled me."

Harry shrugged, unapologetic. "You let yourself be hustled. Now stop buttoning your shirt...I want it off."

With slow, almost timid movements, Draco let his shirt fall from his shoulders. Any hesitation he showed was contradicted by the fierce glare he was treating Harry to whenever their eyes met.

"Over on that sofa," he said, pointing to the one he'd lain across the night before. A strange thrill coursed through him at the thought that Draco's bare chest was touching the very same spot his own had...and maybe Draco's erection would dent the same place as well.

Once stretched out, Draco seemed more relaxed. He hadn't fought as much as Harry'd predicted he would, and for that, Harry was glad. He wasn't in the mood to coerce Draco, though he would have to get his way.

"Open your legs a bit," Harry said. Draco threw him a look of such disdain that Harry just shrugged and grabbed the leg closest to him and yanked it outward, creating a space on the sofa between Draco's slender legs. Harry half-knelt there, one knee sinking into the couch, bracketed by Draco's thighs, the other foot braced on the floor. He leaned over Draco's back and started the massage.

He knew he wasn't as good as Draco had been. He was made for rougher things, like darts and Quidditch and videogames. He wasn't good with his hands. His massage was really more like foreplay, he mused...all caressing and soothing and not really much more. Draco didn't protest, so Harry didn't let it bother him.

Draco's body. What was there even to say? He was pale, almost strangely so. Not a single freckle or mole graced the entire expanse of his back. The knobs of his spine protruded gently, and Harry traced each and every one as he learned the feel of Draco's body. Draco's skin was cool...or maybe Harry's was just too hot.

When Harry's hands moved to Draco's lower back, Harry's mind was overtaken. This, he thought as he gripped Draco's waist, this is how I would hold him to fuck him.

As Harry was trying to erase that unwelcome thought...and accompanying imagery...Draco moved. His hands were holding the arm of the sofa, and he used them to hold his upper body still as he stretched and rolled his lower body. There was a satisfying crack somewhere in his spine, but Harry barely heard it. The languid movement pushed Draco several centimetres down the sofa, bringing Harry's knee directly between his legs and against some very important body parts.

They both froze...Harry's hands on Draco's side, gripping; Draco's crotch pressed against Harry's knee. The strangest urge to slide his knee against Draco's groin hit Harry, and the wind left his lungs in a rush.

Before he could act on...or run from...any such desire, Draco was, with the grace of an erumpent, climbing over the arm of the sofa and away from Harry. He stood, his face and bare chest flushed, the bulge in his trousers unmistakable. He looked angry as hell as he snatched up his shirt and donned it, leaving it untucked to hang over the front of his trousers.

Before either could speak, Peachy the house-elf popped into the room. "Dinner is ready, Master Draco. Peachy is made it to your exact specifications." She gave Draco a wide-eyed look, seemingly waiting for dismissal, and when it didn't come, she looked to Harry. Her eyes became rounder still, and Harry almost worried they'd fall right out of her head.

"Thanks, Peachy," Harry said when it looked like Draco couldn't form words at all.

With a nod, she popped out of the room, taking with her some of the tension. "Dinner, then?" Harry asked, hoping to completely ignore everything that had happened...at least until he was alone in his rooms amidst his trusty Silencing Charms.

Draco waved at him, and Harry took that to mean he was to go ahead. He hesitated a moment, wanting to ask if Draco was okay or if he planned on committing some dramatic form of pure-blood hara-kiri as soon as Harry left. But Draco didn't look suicidal, just massively confused. Since Harry was feeling the same thing, he decided to leave Draco to his own thoughts.

He managed to make it to the dining room in much less time, now that the way was becoming familiar. He was disappointed to see Lucius seated at the head of the table, with Harry on his left and Draco to his right. Harry sighed. Gone were the days of rearranging the plates to create a friendlier atmosphere.

He nodded at Lucius and took his seat, sipping water from a goblet as he hoped against hope that Lucius would remain silent until Draco came to take the focus off Harry.

Of course, Lucius had no problem with making Harry uncomfortable. "Another one of your games?" he asked, a quirked eyebrow aimed at Harry.

It took Harry a moment to realise he was talking about what they'd been doing in the game room. He nodded. "Darts."

"Ah," Lucius said, inclining his head. "Invented by a wizard, you know?" He proceeded to tell Harry the story, ending it with, "Disgusting, no?"

Harry wondered how much of Draco was Draco and how much was Lucius.

In response to Lucius, Harry only nodded. Then, "How do you like being back in England?"

Lucius' upper lip twitched. Apparently he didn't like being reminded of his exile. "It is preferable to be on one's home soil," he said stiffly.

Harry snorted. "I bet it is."

There was only silence after that, until finally Draco entered the room, looking as put-together as he ever had. There was no evidence of the charged moments between them...unless you knew where to look. And Harry did. As Draco sat, he tugged on one of his sleeves, something of a nervous habit with him. Harry watched as Draco realised the button there was undone. His face blushed a hot red as he fiddled with the button, unable to thread it through.

Harry cleared his throat to stop Draco, and then used his wandless magic to send the button smoothly through the hole. Draco's eyes met his for the briefest moment before flying down to his empty plate, his cheeks still full of colour.

Lucius looked between the two, seeming to want to ask a question...or perhaps make an accusation...but Draco wouldn't look up, and Harry wouldn't look away from Draco.

Not until dinner was served, anyway.

To Harry's shock and unmitigated delight, a thick, juicy hamburger took centre stage on his plate, surrounding by crisp, thick-cut chips. The same food graced both Draco's and Lucius' plates. Harry laughed out loud, knowing this was in reaction to his telling Draco that food didn't always have to be gourmet. Draco smirked at him.

"What in the world is this?" Lucius demanded, a confused frown on his face. His eyes narrowed as he called for Peachy.

Harry snatched up a few chips and ate them quickly, in case Lucius had the amazing food thrown out. He groaned with delight...they were the best chips he'd ever had.

He looked up and saw Draco spear a chip on his fork and lift it tentatively to his mouth. He took a nibble, seemed to find it acceptable, and bit off a larger portion. Harry met his eyes, knowing his own had to be dancing with mirth.

Draco offered him a very small smile in return, shaking his head as he finished off the fry.

Peachy popped in, wringing her hands at Lucius' frightening visage. But Draco spoke first. "Just try it, Father. If you don't like it, send it back. But Potter and I are eating this."

Lucius did not try his hamburger and chips. He had Peachy take it away (Harry stopped her and asked her to wrap it up for him for later, to Lucius' vocal disgust) and replace it with sole and rice pilaf.

Draco followed Harry's lead when it came to eating. He put down the fork and started munching on the chips by hand, as they were meant to be eaten. At that point, Lucius threw down his fork in disgust and rose, claiming he could not sit idly by and watch his own son devolve into heathenry.

It was obviously the moment for Draco to put down the chip and call in Peachy to replace his own meal. That was what Lucius was waiting for.

Draco seemed torn for a long moment. He looked between Lucius and his plate as if the decision was life altering. Harry wasn't certain he understood the nuances of what was happening. Then Lucius turned and left the room without looking back.

With Lucius gone, Harry dived into his hamburger with gusto, convinced he'd never eaten anything so brilliant. He knew Draco was upset over something, but he didn't feel it was his place to say anything...and he knew Draco would just brush him off if he did.

Harry was just about to mention that the burger was getting cold when Draco picked up and knife and fork and sliced into it. He cut a tiny square out, eyeing it with distrust as Harry watched from beneath his fringe. He couldn't help but smile when Draco brought the morsel to his lips, biting it off the fork delicately. His expression didn't change, but Harry felt victorious when Draco cut off another piece, and another.

The best part of the evening, however, wasn't the hamburger. It wasn't even the chips. Nor was it...though it was a close call...when Harry's knee had grazed Draco's crotch. No, the best part was just after Draco polished off the last bite of his hamburger and said, "That wasn't nearly as bad as I was expecting." Then he smiled at Harry, who had to laugh...it was all so absurd. Then Draco was chuckling, too. The best part was when they laughed, without embarrassment, without history, without expectation, together.