part 2 of 3

Note: A whole mountain of thanks to my marvellous beta, Raisinous Fiendling, not only for putting much needed commas into my text but also for helping shape the story into something presentable. I would also like to give a big big hug to dragon_charmer for being a wonderful mod and more.

Harry was wrapped securely around Draco's arm, all his senses alert. Their perseverance, and Draco's talent for persuasion, had finally paid off. Draco had proven his sincerity and devotion to the cause satisfactorily and had been invited to a meeting of the "inner circle" of the Sons of Merlin. Robards had been particularly satisfied with their progress when they informed him and was expecting a detailed report of the meeting.

Harry looked around, curious. They were in a dark, overgrown garden belonging to a typical, large, overbearing, country house. An emissary had been sent to Side-Along Apparate Draco to the secret location of tonight's high-profile meeting. Harry flicked out his tongue, tasting the chilly night air and analysing their location. He tried to guess where they were, but to no avail. All he could tell was that they were now further north, and there was a distant smell of the sea.

"This way, Mr Malfoy," the bearded wizard informed Draco before starting down the garden path.

He led them all the way to the large, square, country house. It was built in roughly hewn country stone and had wide rectangular windows, which were all dark except for the western corner of the ground floor where they were headed. The wizard led them up a stone staircase to a large terrace. The soft murmur of voices could be heard from the interior, echoing out into the night through the open glass doors that led onto the terrace. They followed the sound of the voices into a spacious and comfortable room containing a number of people, seated around an ostentatious roaring fire on an assortment of sofas and armchairs.

The squat, bearded wizard cleared his throat to gain the attention of the seated group. "Mr Malfoy," he informed them, introducing Draco.

Harry studied the assembled wizards and lone witch. The witch was a regal looking middle-aged woman, perfectly coiffed and beautifully dressed with a string of pearls round her neck. She looked like someone's elegant wife, but Harry was not fooled, he could see the spark of sharp intelligence glinting in her eyes and the shrewdness hidden in the twist of her mouth. He hoped Draco didn't make the mistake of underestimating her, like too many men no doubt did.

Two of the seated wizards Harry recognised from the meetings at the manor. One was a young wizard barely in his twenties, a naïve young man blindly devoted to the cause, whose main virtue was the fact his father was a senior member of the Wizengamot. The other was an unremarkable wizard with a round face and a shiny bald patch who held a middle level position in the Department of International Magical Co-operation.

Draco smiled pleasantly at all those assembled and performed a gallant bow in the direction of the sole lady. One of the unknown wizards stood up to greet him. The man was handsome but unassuming and shook Draco's hand vigorously. "Welcome, Mr Malfoy." His voice was pleasant and smooth. He introduced himself as Plato Beaufort before introducing the others.

None of the names were in the slightest familiar to Harry. He did note, however, that the serious looking gentleman with the moustache and the military bearing was a foreigner. From the slight shifts in Draco's posture and heart rate, he could tell that most of the names meant something to his partner. That was just one of the many reasons why Draco was better equipped for this task than any of the Aurors they could have tried sending undercover in his place.

Draco took a seat on one of the sofas, and a house-elf immediately brought him a brandy. Beaufort offered him a cigar and expressed his admiration of the blond's familiar. Draco politely declined the cigar, but couldn't help preening in satisfaction as he showed off his brightly patterned – and highly poisonous – snake to the others. Harry tried, and failed, to roll his eyes in exasperation and flicked out his tongue in a hiss. He noticed that the foreigner remained as unmoving as a statue, whereas the other new faces were relatively successful in suppressing their instinctive flinches.

Easily enough the company fell into what superficially resembled an easy, casual discussion, but held many layers of hidden undertones. Harry realised early on that Draco had appreciated Lady Lennox's importance and was actively pursuing her good opinion and alliance. Harry observed, intrigued, as he masterfully charmed her. Even though she was obviously aware of being played, she seemed to appreciate his efforts and was visibly won over by the end of the night. This play was not invisible to all others present either. Beaufort, and Jarvis Hardcastle, a taciturn man who nevertheless seemed to share the unofficial leadership of the group with Beaufort, observed the proceedings with as much interest as Harry. As for the foreigner, Gyula Huszár, Harry found him impossible to read.

Harry quickly got tired of being wrapped around Draco's wrist. The blond's scent was so overwhelming and arousing that the effort of ignoring it was giving Harry a headache. He unwound his sleek body to slither down his host. He slid down Draco's leg on the way to the floor, trying his best to pay no attention to the proximity of the other man's groin; the image of that beautiful cock was burned into his retinas and haunted his waking and sleeping hours.

The snake's movement drew the attention of the company. Draco laughed away their worries.

"He's a very curious snake, far too fond of exploring and poking his nose in dark corners. There's no need for the slightest worry; he's very well behaved and doesn't bite unless I tell him to."

Harry slunk across the plush Persian carpets, trying to take in as much of the room as he could from his low vantage point, his eyes constantly on the lookout for possible clues. In the meantime the discussion continued, and Harry kept his ears open so as not to miss anything.

The consensus was that even though their agenda was similar to the Death Eaters', their similarities ended there. Their group was a co-operation of like-minded wizards and witches whose ultimate goal was the greater good of the wizarding world. It was a purpose that surpassed national borders – which were mostly Muggle-imposed anyway – and individual self-serving objectives. Their main aim was the accomplishment of a "gentle revolution", a smooth transition to a new, and better, world order, one where the Statute of Secrecy would become obsolete as the Muggle and wizarding worlds merged into a harmonious unity where everyone knew and accepted their place in the order of things, and their limitations and responsibilities.

Unfortunately, they explained, the movement was still fledging, and the world needed to be shocked into realisation and pushed in the right direction. That was why at present they were forced by circumstances to resort to vulgar violence like common Muggles. They hastened to reassure Draco that he need not take part in such distasteful activities, for they already had an efficient network for such work. Draco was being invited to be part of the public face of the movement. At least half the battle would be fought in the political arena. They planned on rising to power using legitimate avenues as an opposition party to the present administration. Draco was offered the position of figurehead of their opposition party. Though never stated, it was obvious that Draco would be accountable to the inner circle and take all his cues from them. Also left unsaid, but understood to everyone present, was that he was effectively being offered the chance to become the Minister for Magic in the brave new world they were working to bring into existence.

Harry could easily tell that Draco was honestly flattered, and he wondered if the blond would have been seriously tempted to accept if Harry weren't present. He curiously raised his head to look at the other man, only to see that a delicious, faint blush covered his cheeks, and he had his head slightly lowered. "You flatter me," he murmured.

The group hastened to assure him that he needn't be so modest; they had every confidence in his abilities and many reasons to prefer him for this position over others that might seem more qualified. He was a public figure from a family with a history of involvement in politics. He was a survivor of the previous war, and even though he had been officially on the "wrong" side, he had managed to salvage his reputation and become a respected and recognised member of wizarding society. There was a symbolic value, too, to his choice: he was a member of an old pure-blood family that was known to always support the old wizarding values. What's more, he was relatively young, but not inexperienced, and they wanted to show a contemporary and fresh public face.

The only problem was his unstable and highly public private life. Whereas they appreciated that his frequent appearance in the Daily Prophet, and the easy recognisability of his face were assets, they kindly requested he conduct his affairs with more discretion.

Draco agreed, saying that now he had been given a worthwhile goal, he no longer needed to immerse himself in frivolous distractions to such a degree. However, he warned, he never would be an angel. The last was accompanied with a saucy wink in Lady Lennox's direction. She laughed delightedly and clapped her hands, declaring that she really liked this new addition to their little circle.

Quill and parchment were procured and heads brought together as they all began seriously deliberating who else would be an invaluable member of their soon-to-be formed opposition party.

Much, much later all the brandy had been drunk and all the lists completed and set aside. A new meeting at a later date was planned, and Draco rose to say his goodbyes and take his leave. Harry had been dozing on the warm granite hearth in front of the fireplace for the last half hour, letting the softly spoken discussion wash over him. Draco leaned over and gently picked him up to cradle him in his arms.

"Silly creature," he told the others fondly. "It seems like it's past his bedtime. It's about time I took him home."

He shook the wizards' hands and kissed the back of Lady Lennox's hand before letting Beaufort lead him back into the dark garden he had arrived in to Apparate home.

"You must excuse our insistence you join us. I'm sure we became insufferably rude and obnoxious, and for that I sincerely apologise," Beaufort told Draco, his well-modulated, pleasant voice breaking the not-quite silence of the slightly chilly night. "The truth was that in your person we saw a truly invaluable champion for our cause, and the only wizard we believed capable of leading out party to success. If you hadn't finally accepted I don't know what we would have done."

Beaufort was a nice enough bloke, and yet Harry could not help but feel some sort of instinctive wariness or dislike toward him. The man was far too friendly to Draco for Harry's liking. With his curly brown hair and finely chiselled face, he seemed like the exact type of wizard Draco preferred. And with his well-bred manners, smooth hands and vocabulary that put Harry's to shame, Harry was sure that if it came down to a competition for Draco's interest the other man would surely win. Harry's stomach began to clench uncomfortably as the familiar feeling of jealousy bloomed once again.

Draco, as polite as ever, thanked the other man for his vote of confidence and gripped Harry harder as he Apparated them back to the manor. As soon as they blinked back into existence in one of the manor's less formal drawing rooms, Draco set Harry on the floor.

Harry transformed back into his human form instantaneously, propelled by a sense of exhilaration and accomplishment from the meeting's success, but also a feeling of uncomfortable resentment, bordering on irrational anger from the easy camaraderie Draco had developed with Beaufort. He stood in front of Draco like a tightly wound spring, ready for action and vibrating with pent-up energy.

Draco smiled at him, a brilliant, wide smile showing off his perfect, white teeth. He looked so pleased and victorious it took years off his age and he almost looked boyish again. He threw his arms wide in one of the ridiculous over-the-top gestures he favoured, and Harry secretly found adorable.

"Admit it, Potter, I'm brilliant. I'm brilliant and they want to make me Minister for Magic! Too bad I'm going to have to disappoint them."

Draco radiated so much good cheer and excitement that it fairly melted away all of Harry's residual resentment. Harry couldn't help but gaze, enraptured and besotted, at the glowing man that filled his daydreams and haunted his slumber.

Draco grasped Harry by the elbow. "Come on," he ordered, "let's have a celebratory drink. What would you like?"

You, thought Harry and without even knowing what he was doing he grabbed Draco and pulled him into a crushing kiss, holding him in place with one hand at the small of his back and the other at the nape of his neck.

There was a strange ringing in Harry's ears and his brain was filled with loud static that drowned out all thoughts and any possible voice of reason. All he could feel was the rapid beat of Draco's heart under his fingertips and the soft velvet of his lips against his own. After stiffening in surprise at first, Draco eventually melted into Harry's embrace and wound his arms round his neck, opening his mouth to let Harry in. Lights flashed behind Harry's closed eyelids, and he could no longer feel the floor under his feet. Draco's warm, hard body, as it wound itself round Harry like a vine around a tree, was the only thing anchoring him in place.

Harry opened his mouth as wide as he could, twining his tongue round Draco's, delving into all the corners of his mouth, trying to taste as much of him as he could, trying to taste his very soul. The hand behind Draco's nape was like a vice keeping him in place as Harry devoured him hungrily. Their lips kneaded against each other, breaking apart only to gasp a common breath. Draco tightened his hold on Harry, almost crushing him, as he let out a series of pathetic-sounding whimpers and moans.

It was all too much for Harry; he felt like he was going to short-circuit any moment. He wanted to break away, to get his breath back, to let the wild beating of his heart subside, and yet he never wanted to stop what he was doing. He slid his wet mouth over Draco's face, tasting his left cheek, the side of his nose, his pointy chin, his Adam's apple, the side of his neck where the chord of muscle was pulled taut. He flicked his tongue out, tasting the other man's skin and sweat and trailed it all over Draco's neck and into the dip at the base of his throat, trying to sate his ravenous hunger. Draco's moans had become hoarse and broken as if his throat was raw and painful, and Harry realised distractedly that the other man was grinding his clothed erection against Harry's thigh in small, desperate circles.

Harry blindly searched for Draco's mouth again. He felt dizzy and disorientated. He wanted so much. He wanted everything Draco had and more. He clasped Draco to him possessively as he tried to tell the other man with his lips and tongue what he wanted.

"Sirs, please, sirs! I'm sorry, sirs! Mr Robards is here, Master. He wants to see you and Mr Potter, sir. What do I do?"

The high pitched plaintive voice cut through the haze in Harry's mind, bringing him back to the present like a bucket of cold water. He sucked in a long gasp of air and jumped away from Draco.

The blond was flushed and rumpled and looked just as disoriented as Harry felt. Draco combed a shaking hand through his tousled hair and glanced at the trembling house-elf who was busy wringing his hands and pulling his ears.

"Yes, I see," Draco said, his voice only slightly hoarse. "Escort him to my office and tell him we will be right there."

The house-elf disappeared with a pop, and Draco looked at Harry, eyebrow raised in question.

Harry flushed and looked away. "We really should go and find Robards," he said.

"Let's go then," Draco answered and swiftly smoothed himself down before turning towards the door.

Harry trailed after him, feeling awkward and guilty. What have I just done? his conscience wailed.

*****

The salmon was cooked to mouth-watering perfection, the steamed vegetables were exactly as he liked them – not too soft and not too hard – and the wine was one of his favourites. In short, the meal was exquisite, and yet he was not enjoying it. How could he with Potter's morose face opposite him, eyes intent on his plate as he decimated the beautifully presented meal with his fork, turning it slowly into mush? Potter was enough to turn anyone off their lunch.

Draco elegantly speared a bite-sized piece of courgette and popped it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and tried to savour his mouthful but it was hopeless. He could still feel Potter opposite him simply radiating standoffishness and discomfort and all other manner of unpleasant feelings. It made Draco want to scream in inarticulate frustration and disappointment. Instead he carefully modulated his voice to polite blandness before speaking.

"This evening you will be dining alone. I have an engagement."

That got Potter to lift his eyes from the carnage on his plate. The frown marks between his dark brows deepened into an expression of wary curiosity.

"Don't wait up for me either. I expect I'll be late," Draco added.

"Is it a date?" Potter ground out, his voice vibrating with a repressed emotion which Draco couldn't pinpoint but which made him smirk in satisfaction nevertheless. "Is it another Quidditch player half your age?"

Draco smiled smugly. "He's a Chaser, actually. And yes, he's delightfully young."

He gave Potter a meaningful look, insinuating all the things he planned on doing with the gorgeous brown-haired Chaser before the night was over.

Potter glared menacingly. "And what about your promise to the Sons of Merlin that you were going to stop being so shamelessly promiscuous?" he growled.

Draco bit his tongue hard to stop himself calling the other man a frigid, hypocritical prude, like he'd been wanting to for two weeks now, ever since the morning after the kiss. Instead he took a deep, calming breath.

"Actually, I only promised them to be discreet. We can't all be virtuously celibate. Don't worry, I'll be very proper while we're in public. For afterwards I know a couple of very good silencing charms, so we won't be disrupting your sleep."

Potter growled low in his throat and viciously stabbed a carrot with his fork before violently shoving it in his mouth.

The rest of the meal was passed in chilly silence. Draco prayed for the fortitude to put up with the insufferable Potter, while the dark haired Auror viciously mutilated his meal.

It was all Potter's fault anyway. He deserved to suffer, to suffer as much as humanly possible. That kiss had been wonderful, mind-blowing, so much better than Draco had imagined it would be. Potter had been perfect: strong, powerful, demanding and yet strangely gentle and unsure. The kiss had been so overpowering that Draco had been left in a staggering daze in its wake, scrambling to pull himself back together after completely flying apart at the seams. He had thought of the kiss as a promise, a promise of the wonderful things to follow. He was sure that Potter had felt the spark as much as he had, he had initialised the kiss after all.

And yet, as soon as Robards left, Potter had disappeared into his room so fast Draco was left reeling. Next morning, with an over-abundance of stammering, humming and rambling syntax, Potter had given an incomprehensible speech that boiled down to the kiss being a terrible mistake. The flushing man had said that he hadn't been thinking and it would never happen again. He was very sorry.

For the two weeks after that, Potter moped about the manor, awkward and moody, hiding in his room, escaping to the garden in his Animagus form or being silent and uncommunicative over meals. Whenever Draco tried to light-heartedly flirt with him, he either silenced the blond with a quelling look or else left the room. Now Draco had gone beyond confusion and disappointment. He was angry and frustrated. How dare Potter take it back?

In any case, Draco was certainly not going to sit around pining over the other man. He was free, thanks to an ill-thought-out indiscretion a decade ago, and he had a very healthy sex drive. And, unlike Potter, he never much fancied repressing his desires. It wasn't hard finding a date. Despite the receding hairline, he was still in very good shape and definitely attractive enough. For tonight he had found a good-looking young man he had been out with once before. Like all Quidditch players, for whom Draco had a penchant, he was fit and athletic, but most importantly, gratifyingly eager and irrepressibly horny.

*

The dinner had gone well, all things considering. His companion may not have had much of interest to say, but he more than made up for it in good looks and a pleasing eagerness to go along with whatever Draco proposed. Thus once Draco had finished the last of his panna cotta and paid the bill, he proposed they return to his manor and take advantage of his large double bed. His companion agreed immediately. Draco loved getting his own way. He loved it almost as much as he loved getting laid.

As soon as they reached the restaurant's foyer, Draco put his arms around his companion's waist and Apparated them into the drawing room he favoured. Once they were in the safety of the manor, he tightened his arms around the slim young man and began kissing and nipping on his neck. The other man hummed in satisfaction and bent his head to offer Draco better access. Suddenly Draco felt the body he was flush against stiffen but he paid no attention, beginning to earnestly nibble his way down the delicious throat.

"Good evening." The sound of Potter's voice suddenly echoed through the room.

Draco stiffened and stopped what he was doing. He didn't lift his head, however, but left it buried in his companion's neck, his arms still wrapped around the defined torso.

"Mr Potter..." the silly star-struck youth stuttered.

Draco tightened his hold in annoyance. Did everyone have to worship bloody Potter? All he needed now was for his date to ask the Saviour for an autograph.

"If you don't mind, I would like to speak to Mr Malfoy alone," Potter demanded without preamble.

Draco finally lifted his head, outraged. "Yes, we bloody well do mind! You have nothing to say to me."

He observed that Potter sat sprawled in a large armchair, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. On the small table beside him sat a bottle of one of Draco's finest Firewhiskys, more than half empty.

"Will you please excuse us?" Draco sneered. "We have pressing business elsewhere." He went to leave the room, his hand gripping the Chaser's wrist like a vise.

"Draco," Potter ground out in his most authoritative voice, and Draco could barely suppress the shiver that went down his spine. "We have to talk. Tell your friend to go home."

Draco spun around, eyes flashing, ready to tell Potter off once and for all, when his date spoke. "Actually, Draco, I think I really should be going. I'm sure you and Mr Potter have important business to discuss." His words tripped over each other in his rush to get them out. "Umm... Owl me sometime." And with that, he extricated his wrist from Draco's grasp and bolted, leaving Draco alone with Potter.

Draco advanced towards the other man, so angry his vision was blurring around the edges. "This better be good, Potter, because you just wrecked what started out as a very promising evening."

Potter put down his glass and stood up. "Why do you waste your time with boys like that, Draco? It's not becoming."

"I can waste my time however I see fit. And for your information, most people do not find sex a waste of time, but rather an enjoyable experience. You had your chance, Potter, if I recall, and you turned it down. You were the one who didn't want to sleep with me, not the other way round. So you can just..."

Draco was just getting into his stride when suddenly a warm, demanding mouth was crushed against his own. Potter's hands came up to grab Draco's arms in a painfully tight grip. "Shut up," Potter growled against his lips and then forced his tongue into Draco's mouth.

The kiss quickly turned violent and almost painful. Somehow one of Potter's hands found its way to Draco's arse, where it cupped round one cheek possessively, while the other twisted into his hair, using it to bend his head back to give Potter better access.

Draco felt like he was drowning. Potter was overwhelming him with the sheer intensity of the kiss, and Draco was left scrambling not to fly apart but somehow to regain some sense of self under the onslaught. He battled Potter's determined tongue as best he could and slid his hands under his shirt to let them roam over smooth, hot skin. He explored each joint in Potter's spine all the way up to the nape of his neck and all the way down into the dip over the swell of his arse. He slipped curious fingers under the waistband of Potter's trousers and the other man broke away from the kiss gasping, his forehead leaning against Draco's, their noses touching. Draco breathed in the same air, moist with Potter's exhalations.

"Potter..." he began shakily.

"Harry," he was corrected in a husky undertone.

With an effort Draco forced his mouth to form the unfamiliar sound. "Harry..." he began again, the 'h' coming out like a breathy sigh.

He never managed to finish his sentence because Potter, Harry, crushed his mouth against his own once again, stealing his breath and making his knees tremble. Draco couldn't remember the last time anyone had kissed him like this. Potter kissed passionately and thoroughly and slightly desperately. He kissed like he really meant it.

After what felt like an eternity Potter broke away once again, burying his nose in Draco's tangled hair, and held him close in a crushing grip. Draco felt the familiar squeeze of his insides and the even more familiar disorientation of Apparation, and with a sharp crack Potter had relocated them to the guest bedroom he was using.

The dark-haired man, his face a mask of desire and determination, grabbed hold of Draco's robes and with a swift violent movement, and the sound of fabric tearing, pulled them over Draco's head and threw them into a messy pile in the corner of the room. The slightly chilly air of the room suddenly hit Draco's exposed chest, and he felt himself goose-bump. Before he could react, Potter had shoved him forcefully backwards until he was sprawled on his back on the bed in nothing but his shoes and boxers. Potter stared at him, eyes wide, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, as Draco yanked off his shoes and socks and threw them across the room.

The blond spread himself on the bed in an inviting pose, shivering slightly from the chill. Potter smiled predatorily as he toed out of his own shoes, and with a gleam in his eyes he pounced on Draco like an attacking lion or tiger, or perhaps better a springing cobra. And then Draco was no longer cold because Potter was burning hot as he covered him, determined to touch every inch of Draco's body, first with his hands and then with his tongue.

After exploring and laying claim to Draco's mouth yet again, he tasted behind his ears, down the side of his throat, along the slightly darker skin of his shoulders. He scarcely paused for a breath before continuing to Draco's heaving sternum, his right and then his left nipple, which had pebbled tight first with cold and now with arousal. Potter slowly explored each of Draco's ribs with the same attention and almost reverently traced the faded line of the silver scar that slashed a diagonal line down his chest and side.

Draco had long given up any semblance of control and clutched desperately at Potter's thick hair, his hands twisted into the coarse strands. He arched his back and curled his toes, whining and whimpering pathetically as his assailant mouthed his flat stomach and belly-button. He yelped, high-pitched and desperate, when that hot tongue trailed ever so slowly over the quivering skin under his belly and just over the waist-line of his fine silk boxers. He wanted to push Potter's dark head lower till it reached the part of him that throbbed and ached and longed for that promising wet heat, but his hands felt like lead and he couldn't make them cooperate.

Suddenly Potter pulled away, and Draco was left cold and bereft. His hands slid out of the pitch-black hair to fall at his side and he looked down, a plaintive whine lodged in his throat. Potter was hovering over him, his hands at the waistband of his shorts, and his eyes big and green behind his glasses, looking unsure as he asked silently for permission. Draco suddenly realised that the other man had probably never done anything like this before, never kissed a man, never touched a man this way, never seen one completely naked from so close. Draco wordlessly jerked his head to signal his acquiescence, and Potter slid his final article of clothing down his slim hips, hands shaking slightly.

There was a lump Draco couldn't understand lodged in his throat and a strange fluttery feeling in his belly. He couldn't remember if he had ever been anyone's first before. He couldn't understand why Potter's inexperience affected him so.

Draco was finally completely naked, and the still clothed Potter had crawled back up the bed till his head was level with Draco's groin to stare wide-eyed, mouth slightly slack at Draco's cock. It stood erect and shiny with dampness as Potter stretched out a hand as if to touch, but let it hover, fingers only a hair's breadth away from Draco's burning skin. Draco squirmed and he felt his cock throb and jerk under all the intense attention. A small drop of precome squeezed out of the tip and sat there, glistening. He could feel Potter's soft puffs of breath as they washed over his hypersensitive skin and Potter's hand was so close, and yet so agonisingly far, that he could feel the ghost of a touch. The torture was too much.

"Please," he choked out, his voice breaking and splintering.

His torturer looked up briefly, face open and eyes wide and amazed, and finally touched him.

His touch was feather-light and unsure at first as he explored the new sensations. Soon, though, his grip tightened and he dipped his head to lick the groove where Draco's hip joined his body, and bury his nose in the wiry blond hair around the base of his cock. Draco arched his back, his fingers gripping the coverlet tight, and the muscles in his thighs straining. Potter was so close now; just a tiny bit more and he would be where Draco wanted him. Always wilful and contrary, Potter took his time, almost idly stroking the cock in his hand as he pushed his nose between Draco's balls and licked around each of them before licking one long stripe up the underside of Draco's cock. Draco cried out, first at the sensation and then at its loss. He opened his eyes, panting and desperate, ready to beg, plead and threaten.

Potter was looking at him again, gaze curious and intense. Draco was flushed and shaking; no one had ever made him feel this desperate and needy before. He opened his mouth to beg, but no sound came out. Potter smiled wickedly and bent his head again to mouth and lick at Draco's straining cock. Draco thrashed, drawing gasping, wheezing breaths, and filling the room with his inarticulate cries. He wanted so much more; Potter was so close and yet not there yet. When Potter's mouth finally, finally, engulfed Draco, he screamed in ecstasy and relief and almost came on the spot. Potter proceeded to bob his head, sucking and licking and occasionally breaking for breath. His rhythm was erratic and he was sloppy and inexperienced, but Draco didn't care, he hardly even noticed.

All he could think was that this was Potter. Potter's mouth sucking his cock, Potter's hands playing with his balls. Potter who had overpowered and overwhelmed him, who had made him give up control and turn into a quivering bundle of need. Potter who was the Ministry's best Auror, who was stubborn and capable, who was funny and talkative after a couple of glasses of wine over dinner, who avoided paperwork but adored flying. Potter who offered him advice about his son and how to stay on his ex-wife's good side. Potter, Harry, whom Draco had never realised that he had wanted so much and had never actually believed that he would get him into his bed. The combination was too much, the feeling of Potter's hot mouth and the knowledge of whose mouth it was, and with a violent explosion and ear-splitting scream, Draco came.

Potter was taken by surprise. He swallowed some and ended up choking and pulling away, getting the rest on his hands and face. When Draco came down from his high and looked at the other man, his vision clearing, he found him wiping his sticky hands on his shirt, a moue of disgust twisting his lips. Light-hearted and content, Draco couldn't help laughing.

"Come here, you," he said, snickering.

He pulled Potter up and used the soiled shirt to clean up the rest of the sticky liquid off Potter's face, and then removed it completely to drop it over the side of the bed. Potter had started to laugh softly too as he lay down beside Draco, draping an arm and a leg over the blond.

They turned their heads and kissed leisurely. Draco could taste himself on the other's tongue and could feel Potter's hardness through his jeans against his hip. Draco decided it was his turn to explore, and pushed the other man to lie flat on his back. As he kissed his way down the broad chest he couldn't help but notice how different Potter was to most of his youthful lovers. His shoulders were broad and his chest well-defined, but he had the fuller figure of a man approaching middle-age, the figure Draco tried hard to keep at bay. When he reached Potter's belly-button, the dark haired man began to squirm and his pants became harsher and louder. Potter was soft around the middle and had a small podgy belly, and yet, as Draco kissed the soft swell of flesh and heard the painfully sharp intake of breath from above him, he felt that Potter's body was more erotic than any of his perfectly sculpted Quidditch players.

Draco moved lower to rub his cheek against the large bulge in Potter's jeans. The material was stiff and scratchy, yet Draco could feel the warmth of the trapped cock under his cheek. Spurred on by Potter's soft moans and his own desire for more, he turned his mouth to cover the bump of Potter's cock through the unyielding fabric. He flicked his tongue out to stroke the warm material but all he could taste was damp denim. It was not nearly enough, and Potter seemed to agree, if the noises he was making were anything to go by.

Draco sat up to attack Potter's belt and make short work of his trousers, boring white y-fronts, and socks so he could finally admire the other man in his entirety. Potter's legs were beautifully well-formed and his thighs powerful and muscled, but Draco barely spared them a glance. All his attention was centred on the magnificent organ that rose, swollen and full, from the thick, wild thatch of black curls. It certainly wasn't the longest cock he had seen, and he was sure that he must have had thicker too, yet Draco thought that it definitely was a gorgeous sight and it made his mouth water as it stood in front of him, powerful and proud, like its owner.

Never one to deprive himself of anything he desired, he buried his face in the wiry hair around the base, mimicking Potter's earlier actions, to feel the amazing heat and damp that was the essence of Potter, Harry, and to inhale his very masculine smell. When he had inhaled his fill, he mouthed up the underside of the engorged cock, pressing his tongue against the thick pulsing vein as he went, to finally come to the wet domed head. He licked all around the head before taking it in his mouth and sucking. Potter floundered like a landed fish under him, releasing hoarse cries and moans. Draco was seriously considering deep-throating, when Potter gripped him by his upper arms and yanked him up till they were face to face.

"No, stop," Potter said, voice hoarse and pained. "It's too much. Can't last and I want... I want..." Potter gasped his words out, as if speaking were an effort.

"What do you want?" Draco asked him. He had an inkling of what it might be, but he wanted to hear the other say it.

Potter seemed to be fighting for the words. "I want. I want... me... in you. Can I? Will you... let me?"

Draco rubbed his thumbs across the little brown buttons of Potter's nipples and smirked as he observed his thin long-fingered hands against the other man's lightly haired pectorals.

"You want to fuck me?" he asked lightly, conversationally.

Potter shuddered and his "yes" came out as a strange cross between a hiss and a moan. It was definitely gratifying to be wanted so much, not to mention a powerful aphrodisiac. Draco felt himself slowly begin to harden again.

"Have you done it before?" he asked, still looking at his own hands as they played with Potter's chest.

"Once," Potter gasped. "With Ginny. She didn't like it much." The mention of the other man's wife left a sour taste in Draco's mouth and an annoying pinching feeling in his chest he chose to ignore. He looked into glittering green eyes hidden by glasses, and on a whim removed the round frames to lay them on the bedside table. Potter blinked at him myopically, the question still bright on his face.

"All right," Draco said. "I don't usually bottom to virgins." Actually he made a rule of never doing it. "We'll go slow and I'll talk you through it. Okay?"

Potter nodded wordlessly and Draco couldn't help himself, he leaned forward and kissed him. Their tongues tangled, mouths wide, lips sliding over each other. Eventually Potter pushed him away and looked at him pleadingly. Draco felt off-kilter and dazed. Potter was an amazing kisser.

"Do you want to prepare me or shall I do it?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly.

Potter's eyes dilated and he shuddered visibly as he licked his top lip. "I'll do it," he said, voice breaking.

Draco scrambled for Potter's wand amongst his discarded clothing beside the bed. Once he had found it, he opened Potter's palm and pointed the wand at its centre. Concentrating to cast with the unfamiliar wand, he mumbled a lubrication charm and Potter's palm was filled with a slick substance. Draco tossed the wand down and got into position, kneeling with his arse in the air and his head resting on his crossed arms. He moved his legs slightly apart and arched his back, enjoying the sound of Potter's ragged breathing as he displayed what he knew was a very good view.

Potter shifted closer and Draco could feel his hand ghosting over his back and buttocks, almost touching but not quite.

"Oh, Merlin," Potter whispered in an awed voice.

With one hand he smoothed over one of Draco's cheeks, stroking over the skin in a circular motion, softly at first and then harder as he grasped and kneaded the soft flesh. Draco bit the skin of his arm to stop himself from moaning from such a simple touch. Potter pulled the round globe to the side, exposing the valley in between. Draco could feel him leaning closer, could feel his hot breath against his flushed skin. Potter's nose touched the soft hidden skin as he inhaled, and his tongue furtively licked over the clenching pucker. Draco bit his arm so hard the pain shot through him, yet couldn't stop the needy, sobbing moan that escaped from deep inside. He turned his head to the side and forced the words out.

"Open me up with your fingers using the lubricant. Start with one first."

After the space of a breath, he felt one curious, slick finger start teasing his hole. The blunt digit rubbed around the sensitive, wrinkled skin there for a moment before squeezing inside, first just the tip teasingly, then more forcefully until it was eventually all in, and Draco could feel the other man's knuckles rubbing against him. Draco was on edge, he wasn't used to his lovers going so slowly and carefully. Potter took his time, exploring every single ridge and bump inside Draco before he added another finger.

"That's right," Draco breathed. "Stretch me as much as you can. Add another finger."

Potter's fingers twisted and turned. They scissored and bent. Draco could feel Potter's laboured breathing and could feel his exhalations as they washed over his exposed hole. He imagined Potter bent over, just inches from him, peering, near-sighted, at his own fingers as they disappeared into Draco's body, and he shivered in arousal, feeling more desirable than he had in a long time.

Potter had three fingers in him now and had moved to kneel over Draco. He brushed the damp hair off the back of Draco's sweaty nape with the back of his hand and laid a gentle kiss there before lapping at the skin. He moved his arm to circle Draco's chest and pull him up until his back was flush with Potter's heaving chest. Potter was roughly pumping his fingers in and out of Draco, causing Draco to shudder and yelp softly every time he brushed over the edge of his prostate. Potter worried the lobe of Draco's ear between his teeth for a while before letting go and whispering in his ear.

"Are you ready yet? I... I don't know how much longer I can wait. I really need..." He sounded desperate and in agony.

Draco bucked his hips, pushing the fingers even deeper inside him until he felt the definite spark of them touching his prostate. He swallowed thickly.

"Yes. I'm ready," he forced out. "Slick your cock with the rest of the lubricant and push in, slowly."

Potter turned Draco's head with a slippery hand, getting lubricant in the fine blond hair, and captured his mouth in another one of his breath-stealing kisses. At the same time he pulled out his fingers, leaving Draco momentarily empty and cold. And then, the blunt head of his cock was pushing against Draco's stretched hole, and Draco was whining and arching his back impossibly to push back and take more in, and Potter was grunting as if in pain, clutching Draco to him and shivering. It seemed to take forever as Potter stopped and started, pushed and pulled, grunted and gasped. Draco's knuckles were white as he clutched the mangled coverlet and his arms shook under him as he held himself up.

He held his legs open in an awkward angle, trying to open himself up as much to the intrusion, and his spine hurt from the painful angle he was twisting himself into trying to push back onto the thick cock pushing in. His back was wet and sticky where it was glued to Potter's chest and his ear burned from Potter's scalding breath as it blew against it. Potter's grunts of effort reverberated through his whole body, and drops of sweat rolled of Potter's forehead to land on the coverlet in front of Draco. Yet there was no place Draco would rather be and no one he would rather be with. And when, eventually, Potter was fully seated, and he could hear and feel his shuddering deep breaths of effort and exultation, Draco felt so light he could fly.

Once Potter had got his breath back, in a move Draco didn't anticipate, he knelt back and pulled the slighter man into a sitting position until he was forced to lean forward slightly to grasp the headboard to keep his balance as he sat straddled over Potter. Potter moulded his front against Draco's back once again and licked the side of his throat and along his jaw-line. One of his hands went around Draco's middle, holding him in place like a band of iron, and the other started fondling and twisting a nipple.

"Move with me," he commanded in a voice that reverberated with hisses and growls, and pulled slowly out part way to slam back into Draco.

Draco yelped, caught off guard. Next time however, he was prepared and gripped the headboard, in a grip so hard he thought it might dent the wood, using it as leverage to grind himself downwards as Potter pushed up. Draco thought Potter was very good for practically a virgin. He let his head fall back to rest against Potter's shoulder and the dark haired man took advantage to suck at his Adam's apple. Potter thrust up into Draco at a steady, forceful rhythm and Draco ground down, twisting and turning to find the perfect angle. He needed, he needed... that. Potter's cock hit his prostate, and Draco let out a victorious cry as stars sparkled behind his closed eyelids. The other man seemed to understand as he began moving at a punishing pace, hitting Draco unerringly at every other thrust in exactly that spot. Draco felt almost as if he was ready to dissolve into a million different particles and leave his body completely as his yipping cries filled the whole room, drowning out his companion's lower-pitched groans. He barely noticed it as the hand round his middle moved to comb through his pubic hair first and then grasp his cock in a firm sweaty grip. Potter's thrusts had become erratic and violent as he began to swiftly pull on Draco's weeping cock.

Draco was so immersed in the feelings coursing through him, and the relentless tide of ecstasy he could feel growing in him all the way to the tips of his hair, that when his lover came violently and relentlessly inside him, biting down painfully on his throat and filling him to overflowing with thick, viscous fluid, he was taken by surprise. He pushed down onto Potter, feeling on a knife's edge and wanting badly to fall over the other side.

Potter had barely recovered when he began to jerk Draco off with a punishing and determined tempo. He continued to thrust into Draco with his slowly softening and spent cock and blindly searched for Draco's mouth with his own. Draco turned his head to help and when Harry's hot, demanding tongue was plunged once more into his mouth, he sagged against him and came in sharp jerks as he felt like he was ripped apart at the seams and flung out of his body.

Once he had come, Potter, Harry, finally, gave way under him and collapsed into an ungainly and exhausted heap, dragging Draco down with him. Draco wriggled around till he was more comfortably arranged and tucked his head safely against the other's shoulder, his nose mashing against the hard sweaty skin.

Harry's arm came to wrap around him in a warm, comfortable embrace, and Draco slowly began to return to his body, feeling tired, sated and yet incredibly elated. His limbs felt heavy and unwieldy, and his head fuzzy and confused, so when weariness overcame him, he didn't fight it and gently nodded off, feeling safe and content.