Archive of Our Own

The first thing I notice is his back. It’s still broad, straining the thin fabric of the black shirt he’s wearing.

I remember what it looks like bare and exposed, covered in the long red marks I put there. I remember what his skin looks like when he arches his spine, and the muscles beneath his back shift, moving like liquid, beckoning me closer to him like a crooked finger just beyond a red curtain.

I remember the two creases just above his arse, how they dip low. I could spend a whole minute thinking about dragging my tongue down the length of his body, while he writhed in front of me, spread eagled and pliant, his skin still hot from the cat I used on his back as he dug his nails into the leather of his favourite chair in my workroom. The Harry chair is what I called it in my head.

I suck in a deep breath and look away, knocking back a hefty sip of my drink. Theo is beside me, talking to one of his clients, a young bloke with straw coloured hair and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen besides my mother’s. The kid is hanging off of every word Theo says, and I make a mental note to tell Theo to cut him loose. The last thing he needs is a client who’s besotted.

It’s bad for business.

My gaze, of course, slides across to Harry again. He’s standing in the middle of the basement pub, beside the thick wooden pillar that he keeps tapping with his fingers. His back is facing me and he’s talking to some bloke I’ve never seen on the scene before. He’s young. Chestnut hair. Good looking.

I set my glass down on the bar beside me, intending to get on my feet and cross the room.

How long is it before I actually go over and talk to him? Ten minutes? Thirty?

When I finally slip off the stool, he’s shaking hands with the chestnut bloke and I stop just behind him to touch him lightly on the shoulder. His shoulders tense and then he turns to me, his mouth twitching with a suppressed smile. He doesn’t say anything for a second, choosing instead to give me a once over that makes the back of my neck burn.

I don’t know what to call him. He hates when I call him Potter, at least, when he was my client, but I’m actually not sure what he prefers out here, in the real world.

Except we’re not exactly in the real world, are we? We’re in our world. Well, my world, at least. I don’t even know what he’s into anymore. It’s been almost two years since I’ve seen him on the scene.

‘You smell the same,’ he says after a beat.

My face heats. What the hell do I say to that?

He looks the same. Same glasses, same hair, same ‘I don’t know what I’m doing but I look damn good doing it’ look.

He smiles. ‘I was hoping you’d get off your arse and come see me.’

I lean against the wood pillar and fold my arms across my chest. ‘You could have come over to me.’

‘That’s true,’ Harry says, tilting his head to the side. ‘But you prefer to take the lead, as I remember it.’

Cheeky tit. Taking the lead is a fucking understatement for the kinds of scenarios we got into.

He picks at a hangnail and shifts his stance. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he says. ‘I wanted to see you.’

Well isn’t that a fucking surprise?

Harry disappeared on me without a single word. One missed appointment, then another, and that was it. He stopped coming to things like this. He never left me a note, nothing after almost six months of being my most frequent client.

‘I know,’ he says, reading the expression on my face. ‘I have a lot of explaining to do.’

I shake my head. ‘Nothing to explain. Clients disappear all the time.’

It’s true. They do. But it never bothered me before. Until the moment it did.

Harry’s eyes flick away and back. ‘I was thinking,’ he says. ‘Do you ever take re-applicants?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Clients who disappeared and then came back. Re-applicants.’

I study his face for any sign of a joke, but he looks more nervous than anything, so I can only assume he really doesn’t know.

‘Harry, I don’t take clients anymore,’ I say. ‘I’m not… in the business.’

Harry stares unblinkingly at me, apparently speechless. I push myself off the pillar and step closer to him, invading his space. ‘What about you?’ I ask. ‘How did you hear about this? It’s invitation only, for people who are still in the scene.’

Harry opens his mouth and closes it. He drains the rest of his scotch and leans one shoulder against the wooden pillar, leaving us standing mere inches apart.

‘I’m still around,’ he says quietly. ‘I never left the whole scene. Just—’

His eyes meet mine, and then he looks away.

I raise my eyebrows. ‘You were avoiding me?’

His cheeks flush. ‘Not exactly.’ He sighs and fumbles with his hair. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘Complicated.’

‘Would you like to come back to my place? It’s loud here, I can’t think.’

He’s lying, of course. The sound of the music is barely there. They keep it quiet enough so we can hear the groans and grunts of anyone playing in the backrooms.

‘And what will we do at your place?’ I ask, keeping my voice neutral.

‘Talk,’ Harry says. ‘Just talk.’

He catches my gaze and as fucking usual, I get caught up in him.

I know. I know that we’ll do a lot more than talking if I leave with him tonight, and I’m not entirely certain that’s a good thing. In fact I’m certain it’s a very bad thing.

Yet all I say is, ‘I’ll get my coat.’

Because you see, with Harry, I never could resist.

---

I’ve never been to his home before. It’s a lot bigger than I thought it would be. Everything is earth toned —green rugs and dark wooden floors, light brown walls and a Gryffindor themed blanket draped over his sofa. The living room opens up to his kitchen, separated by a limestone butcher’s block and two barstools.

It’s very suited to him, I think, but still I get the impression it’s been recently arranged — as if not too long ago, there were many other things filling his space. There’s a space above his fireplace that’s missing something. I can tell by the faded paint colour. A painting, or from the look of the recently patched up holes, a mounted TV screen. For some reason, I don’t see Harry as the type to own something as unnecessary as a television.

Harry takes off his jacket and when I do the same, he takes it from me without a word and hangs it over the back of one of the barstools. To distract myself from the absurdity of the situation, I cross the room and look at the view. He has two French doors, almost full glass. They look out to an impressive wild garden and acres of land behind his home, mostly hidden in the darkness.

He appears beside me and hands me a glass of whiskey. Firewhisky at that. I nod my thanks. ‘Where are we, exactly?’

‘Surrey.’

‘Interesting,’ I say, thinking of Rita Skeeter’s exposé from a few years back, and the Muggles Harry lived with as a child.

‘I keep a flat in London,’ Harry continues. ‘But I wanted to bring you here.’

When I glance at him, he’s looking at me with an inscrutable expression that unsettles me. I look away, back to his garden even though I can’t see much past the glow of the lights from inside. I desperately want to do something with my hands; they’re just hanging there stupidly, when what I really want to do is touch the impossible man beside me. It doesn’t matter how or where.

‘Where the fuck were you?’ I ask without looking at him.

He steps closer to me, and I hear the click of a lighter, then the sharp scent of a cigarette fills my nose. From the corner of my eye, I see him wave his arm in that non-deliberate, but entirely commanding gesture of his.

‘Conquering the world,’ he says.

I roll my eyes, ‘I meant on the day when you missed your appointment,’ I say. ‘I have a cancellation fee you know.’

I glance at him as he laughs softly. He hands me the fag and I take a drag, even though I’ve quit for the third time this year alone.

‘You had a cancellation fee,’ he says.

I shrug and close my eyes briefly, taking in the first rush of nicotine. ‘Semantics.’

‘Do you really care?’

‘I want to know why you stopped coming, yes. That’s important.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I have rules, Harry. You know that.’

Harry bites his lips and takes the fag from me carefully. His fingers are almost hot as they brush against mine, and he looks me in the eye as he puts the cigarette against his lips.

‘I didn’t know how to tell you,’ he says after exhaling a thin plume of smoke.

‘Tell me what?’

‘That I couldn’t see you anymore.’

I look away. So it was deliberate.

Of course I suspected it, but I spent a lot of time playing scenarios in my head that could have kept Harry away. An Auror emergency. An explosion. Anything but —

‘Was it something I did?’ I ask. The words tumble out quickly, because it’s a question I’ve had for a long time, but not one I’m certain I want the answer to.

‘No,’ Harry says quickly, ‘God, no. It was me. I wasn’t sure I could play by the rules anymore.’

I take the cigarette back from him and take another drag. ‘Which one of my rules did you find so problematic?’

Harry laughs shortly. ‘Oh God,’ he says. ‘Don’t get all business-like on me, please. We’re just talking.’

I glance at him briefly, and then I shrug, hoping to appear nonchalant. I want to know what the fuck he means but I’m not about to push, not when I have no idea what’s going on.

‘When did you quit Julien’s?’ he asks, reaching for the cigarette. I don’t give it to him.

‘I didn’t,’ I say, exhaling a plume of smoke in his face. Harry rolls his eyes and drops his hand, but the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. I turn my face to hide my own.

‘I was paid off,’ I say. ‘After that, I didn’t need the money anymore.’

Harry raises his brows. ‘Paid off?’

‘An old client. He was sentimental. Left me a lot of things in his will.’ Harry just stares at me unblinkingly and I shrug and continue. ‘He died fucking his Muggle mistress in his flat in Mayfair. He left me the flat, and almost everything he owned.’

I finally hand over the cigarette, and Harry frowns and sucks deeply before looking me in the eye again. ‘Were you… lovers?’ he asks quietly.

I laugh and give him a look. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Harry.’

‘Right,’ he says. ‘Your rules.’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘My rules.’

We stand in silence for a few minutes, passing the cigarette back and forth until Harry, as usual, changes the game completely.

‘I could use a few rules right now,’ he says in a light tone that doesn’t fool me in the slightest.

I look at him and he raises an expectant eyebrow.

I sigh softly and take a deep drag. ‘I’m not for hire anymore, Harry.’

‘I’m not paying.’

‘Do you even remember the rules?’

Harry smiles and steps forward, gently taking the cigarette from me and sucking in a drag for himself. I reach to take it back and he holds it just out of my reach. I feel the slow burn of his magic as he banishes the cigarette without a wand, and roll my eyes even though it makes me instantly hard.

Show off.

He grins at me as he slowly unbuttons his shirt and pushes it off his broad shoulders. His collarbones glint in the dim light and my breathing is shallow as his shirt soundlessly flutters to the floor. Harry pushes his trousers down and his cock springs out, half hard already. I force myself to look away from it as he tosses his jeans aside, but then I’m just staring at his arse instead.

He walks away from me, crossing the room. He kneels, his body facing me, his arse low to the ground, his thighs slightly open, palms upward, spine straight. The pose comes to him as naturally as it did all those months ago.

I close my eyes and take a breath. With my breath everything in me straightens. I stand taller, my breaths become deeper. I look down at Harry and he becomes something I can take.

Something that exists for my pleasure, and something I want to give pleasure to. His skin—

I cast a Lumos so that I can see him more clearly. There are a few small straight, barely there scars scattered along his chest, just beneath his collarbones. Anyone who doesn’t know his body like I do might have missed it, but I don’t.

Someone’s marked him.

I’m almost blinded by the flurry of anger that rises up in me. When he was mine, my client that is, he’d always wanted me to mark him. His tolerance for pain only surpassed his desire for it. He never wanted to stop, even when he couldn’t take any more. But I always stopped. Because I was in control.

When he was with me, his body was mine, and it was my job to protect him, to keep his skin unmarked, never to go too far, and never to scar him, even though I knew what he wanted.

I touch one of the scars on his chest and Harry stiffens just the slightest. It’s a knife scar. I’m struck still by the revelation. That he would trust someone else like that… it infuriates me for more reasons than I care to properly examine right now.

He must know that I would have not have marked him like this. That these scars — it offends me.

‘You found yourself a sadist while you were away?’ I ask.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word as I circle around him slowly. He does remember the rules.

‘You can speak.’

‘He wasn’t a sadist.’

‘Oh?’

‘He was a dom,’ Harry says. ‘Like you.’

I stare at the back of his head for a few, angry moments before walking away from him, toeing off my shoes and reaching into my pocket for my shrunken toy box.

I didn’t expect anything when I slid it into my pocket earlier tonight. It was only a habit. I thought maybe I might see someone I was interested in playing with, someone I knew from the scene. But there hadn’t been anyone since Harry. Even if Seymour hadn’t died and left me everything, I would have quit anyway.

When Harry left there was a… void in my headspace. I couldn’t centre myself anymore. I wasn’t the same with clients. Nothing felt like it did with Harry and I didn’t want it to.

Now he’s here, on his knees again, and my heart is hammering in my chest.

I Engorgio the box and circle Harry again, setting it down on his worktop and running the tips of my fingers over the wooden lid. When I open it, my palm hovers over each toy as I contemplate what it is I want with him.

My palm is shaking. It’s been a while since I’ve done this, and I’ve only ever done it on my terms. In my playroom. My rules.

With Harry, my hand shakes more often than not. I never let him see.

I look at his back, my gaze drifting slowly all over his lean body, studying every curve. He hasn’t moved once because I taught him well. When he first came to me, I drilled that pose into him until I thought he might never come back to my playroom. I frustrated the shit out of him, defiant as he was, always wanting to look me in the eye.

I didn’t think he could be a sub then. But that was before I saw him transform — before we moved past the Potters and the Malfoys — and when he does ascend into that space, it’s beautiful.

I never wanted to fuck a client before I saw Harry in subspace.

I look away from him and count to five before grabbing the plush feather plume with a slow smile.

‘Do you remember your safe word?’ I ask, pulling on my leather gloves and flexing my fingers.

‘Sea bass.’

‘Good.’

I look up at the low wooden beams traversing the ceiling. There are already two hooks twisted deep into the wood at two points about a metre apart. I take a deep breath to offset the stab of jealousy in my stomach knowing what he’s been using them for. With someone else.

I look at it for a long time pulling a pair leather cuffs from my box, connected by a thick leather band.

‘Stand up,’ I say. ‘Come here.’

He does so quickly and gracefully. The muscles in his legs flex beneath hairless, pale skin. It was one of my rules, the lack of hair. I wonder if it was one of his “Dom’s” rules as well.

I push the thought out of my head and focus on Harry as he stops in front of me.

‘Hands.’

Harry holds out his hands, and I’m caught for a second, staring at the implicit fragility of his bare wrists.

He still trusts me. I don’t know why I’m suddenly struck with the weight of the implication, but he still trusts me. Even though he has knife scars on his chest, he’ still giving himself up to me. He looks at me calmly and I lick my lips, thinking.

I’m not sure whether I believe that Harry trusts me because he knows I won’t hurt him, or if he trusts me because he hopes I will.

It’s a question I’ll have to find the answer to myself.

I spell the leather binding into place and it wraps around his left wrist, lifting his arm into place and slithering through hook on the wooden beam. The leather floats across through the right hook and then descends on his wrist where it wraps tightly and shortens, lifting Harry’s wrists above his head, his arms taught.

His chest is rising and falling heavily and his nipples are already hard. I move closer and breathe against the skin of his pale chest. Harry gasps soft, his stomach turning concave.

‘Still like that, do you?’

‘Yess.’

I smile and brush the feather against his skin, moving down his chest with the lightest of strokes. He shudders and the leather binding squeaks softly.

He’s so sensitive. Always was.

Playing with him is always a lesson in sensuality for us both. I could breathe against his balls and make him come. I could talk him to the brink of an orgasm.

Harry closes his eyes and I let the feather brush against his hip. He makes a small sound and widens his legs.

‘Don’t move,’ I say.

‘Yes, Sir.’

That almost undoes me.

I forgot what he sounds like saying those words.

I step closer to him and he looks up at me. His pupils are blown wide with lust and he doesn’t look away when I look him in the eye.

I can feel myself being pulled into him, into some other game that isn’t the one we’re playing right now. I’ve never let myself get this close to his body during a session. I’ve never touched him with my bare hands. I think touching him bare would be the thing that pushes me over the edge. But I’ve always wanted to. Always.

I’ve never felt the skin of his chest, or the firm muscles in his stomach. I’ve never let my palm slide across his arse cheeks to see if the skin is as smooth as it looks. Sometimes it was all I could think about. When he left, I started to wonder if he knew — if maybe I had let things go too far.

I abruptly step away from him, and he falters a bit. His eyes hastily leave my face. No eye contact. One of the rules. Broken tonight in less than fifteen minutes.

I circle around him and let the feather flutter down the length of his spine, over the base of his back. His arse flexes and I brush the feather there, too making him shudder and groan. It’s a gorgeous sound.

I want him to make it again, so I run the feather between his crack and he does, this time louder.

Desperate already.

Harry leans forward slightly, his back tense with anticipation, and I pull the feather away and give him a sharp smack on his arse with my palm.

‘I said don’t move.’

‘I’m sorry, Sir,’ he says breathlessly.

I circle around him, resting the feather over my shoulder. He eyes it longingly, and I raise an eyebrow.

‘Are you ready to listen like a good boy?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Because if you aren’t, I might as well leave.’

Harry’s chest heaves with a shuddering breath and he licks his lips. ‘Please don’t,’ he says. ‘I’ll listen.’

‘Good.’

I brush the feather on his inner thighs, reaching upwards to the cleft of his arse. Harry gasps again, his legs trembling with the strain of holding his body up. I know he wants to spread himself wider for me, so I tease him. I flutter the feather over his balls, on the underside of his hard cock. I tease a trail of precome out of his cock with the very tip of the feather. Harry’s breath is coming hard and fast now, his eyes are closed. He’s ascending.

‘I want your legs wider.’

Harry exhales noisily and spreads his thighs, leaning forward until the leather on his wrists is taught. When I circle around him again, his clenching arsehole is exposed to me. What I want to do is reach out and touch it, tease him loose with my fingers and fuck him tied up just like this.

I swallow thickly and tease the feather over his balls, tracing it over the wrinkled flesh, following the soft line leading to his arsehole. I stop just short and Harry makes a needy sound in his throat.

I trace the feather over his hole, watching it quiver greedily, and I’m struck with an absolute need to touch him.

I let the feather flutter to the floor and yank off my glove. My hand hovers over his spine, shaking. Just a few inches lower and I’ll be touching him bare, feeling his skin, the warmth of him.

I step back hastily almost tripping on my own feet. I shove my hand roughly back into my glove and pull my wand from my sleeve. I close my eyes briefly and catch my breath, and then I vanish the leather chord from his wrists. He staggers.

‘Kneel,’ I say. My voice comes out even and cold, but that’s better than sounding as unsteady and unsure as I feel right now.

He kneels and I circle around him as he blinks blearily. When I stop in front of him, he looks up at me, his chest heaving.

His eyes hold a lot of questions, but I can’t answer any of them now. Possibly ever.

‘Hold out your hands,’ I say.

He does so, and I cast a healing charm on his wrists, as I look about his body for any other marks or bruises. I find none and thickly swallow my relief.

‘Time’s up,’ I murmur.

Harry relaxes his pose, and moves as if to stand.

‘No, don’t,’ I say.

He stills and I step forward, cupping his cheek with my gloved palm.

He looks up at me, and blinks. My hand is still shaking, and I know he can feel it. His gaze softens and he leans into my palm.

‘Draco,’ he says quietly.

‘Are you all right?’

He nods. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Good,’ I say. I let my palm linger on his face for as long as I can, then I let it fall and Summon my things. My box floats slowly across the room, collecting all my things as it moves along. When it snaps shut, I shrink it and stuff it into my pocket.

‘I have to go.’

Harry looks at me for a long time, and finally he nods, standing up carefully and rubbing his wrists. The last thing I see before I Disapparate is the contemplative look on his face. As if he knows what I almost just let happen.

When I arrive in my flat a few seconds later I wonder how far he would have let me go.

---

Even though I expect the owl the following day, I’m still surprised when it comes.

His handwriting is exactly the same. It’s half falling off the page and almost completely illegible to most people, but I’ve read enough of his little notes — requests for special appointments, requests for longer sessions, emergency appointments — that it’s easy enough for me to make out that he wants to meet later.

For dinner. Like a date.

Harry Potter wants to take me out on a date.

It feels almost silly, really. I’ve seen the man spread eagled and naked, I’ve seen his cock leaking and his arsehole slick and clenching, but he wants to take me out on a date.

I fold the note over and stick it in my back pocket. It burns there for the next few hours as I pretend to tidy my flat. I go shopping for food that I’ll never cook. I pack away the shopping. I rearrange my laundry. After six, I firecall Theo, and ask him to come over.

I know he doesn’t have any clients today, because all of his clients were once mine. When he steps through my Floo and looks at my face, he heads straight for my liquor cabinet and pours us each a glass.

His dark blond hair curls over the neck of his collar. It’s getting long, and I have a feeling he’s letting it grow on purpose.

‘Mr Cavendish still has his long-hair fetish then?’ I say, taking a good sip of my Scotch.

Theo shrugs and caps the bottle loosely. ‘He pays extra for each session.’

I smile. ‘I know he does.’

Theo leans back against the arm of my sofa. ‘So this is about Potter,’ he says, crossing his ankles and looking smug.

‘Hmm,’ I say, trying to be enigmatic and failing, by the bland look on Theo’s face. ‘Yes, all right. How did you know?’

‘I heard he was back.’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ I say. ‘Word travels fast.’

‘About Potter? Yes.’ Theo drains the rest of his glass and taps his index finger. ‘So, what are you going to do?’

I sigh and sit on the chaise lounge, jigging my thigh in that nervous way that used to drive my mother insane. When she would still see me, that is, before I became a ‘whore’ and a ‘disgrace to the Malfoy name’.

‘He’s asked me to dinner,’ I say quietly.

‘And?’

‘And… I haven’t responded yet.’

Theo checks his watch. ‘Draco it’s six thirty.’

‘I know.’

‘When are you supposed to meet?’

‘If I decide to go, eight o’clock.’

Theo sighs. He’s the only one who knows the full story about Harry and me. About the reason I stopped.

‘Draco,’ he says, dragging out my name in a way that I really hate.

I get up off the chaise again and pace the room a bit before grabbing the bottle of Scotch and pouring myself another.

‘I shouldn’t go,’ I say before draining half my drink in one go. ‘I don’t know what I want. I do stupid things when I’m… conflicted.’

‘You know exactly what you want.’

I turn away from him and walk out to my balcony. On the 10^th floor of my building, I have the best view of London. I chose a mixed Muggle/magical building because it took me out of the Wizarding world, but not away from it entirely. A few Muggleborns live here. A few Muggles who know about us, and I suspect a few squibs. Right in the centre of London where everyone could find us.

Completely exposed. Exactly the way I feel right now. Theo comes up beside me and leans over the balcony, a full glass of scotch in his hand.

‘You drink more of my liquor than I do,’ I grumble.

‘Don’t try to change the subject.’

I glance at him, watching me with a pleased-as-punch expression and a raised eyebrow.

I fucked him once. It was a long time ago, when the war was just over and I had no friends left. I found him taking a pint at the Hog’s Head. We were both pissed and fucking depressed, so what the hell. We shagged all night into the morning, and somehow, even after the complication of once having my prick up his arse, we’ve remained close since.

I taught him everything I knew about the business, and when I left Julien’s agency for good, I gave him my client list and the keys to my workroom.

‘Potter’s the only person you’ve ever thought about that way,’ Theo says gently. ‘You know what you want. Just tell him you’ll meet up for dinner.’

‘And what about what he wants? He was my client.’

‘Draco, that was a long time ago.’

I shrug and dig through my pocket for a pack of fags, then I remember I stopped smoking.

Until Harry.

Theo reaches around me and pulls the letter from my back pocket.

‘Hey!’ I say, grabbing and missing it as he holds it out of my reach. ‘How did you know it was there?’

‘Because I know you,’ Theo says smacking my wrist with the thick parchment when I reach for it again. ‘Now go find a quill and tell him you’ll be there.’

With a huff, I grab the letter from him and unfold it, skimming Harry’s note again even though I know exactly what it says.

Theo puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘The only way you two can figure each other out is if you go.’

---

It’s a Muggle restaurant, which I prefer. No press to hound Harry, and no chance of running into old clients.

Harry, of course, looks fucking incredible. The maître’d gives me a brief look as if to say, ‘Where can I get one?’, but of course, Harry doesn’t notice.

I think that makes him even more dangerous. The fact that he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the effect he has on people. Just being around him makes me hard. It makes me want to possess him at all times, mark him so that the fucking maître’d stops looking at his arse while he shows us to our table.

I don’t blame him for not knowing how I feel. I’ve gotten too good at hiding myself over the years. No one knows all of my layers.

But Harry could.

Maybe that’s what scares me —scares us both.

He sits across from me, looking at me with a half-smile on his face.

‘What?’ I say, pulling the napkin from the table to place on my lap.

‘I’ve asked you how was your day,’ he says.

‘Oh, did you? It was fine. I got some… errands done. Mostly.’

I take a sip of my water to shut myself up, and Harry leans back in his chair a bit.

‘I got some things done, too,’ he says, lifting his own water glass and taking a sip. ‘Cleaned out a few extra things from my flat.’

I don’t get a chance to respond because the waiter comes with a bottle of wine already selected and rests two glasses on the table.

I raise an eyebrow.

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Harry says. ‘I ordered this beforehand. I think you’ll really enjoy it.’

I wonder if he’s trying to tell me something, trying to change our dynamic somehow. Maybe he’s trying to prove he’s not my client anymore, I don’t know. I’m not sure how I feel about it.

As the waiter pours our drinks, I catch his eye and don’t look away until the waiter leaves. I want him to know that I know exactly what he’s doing. He breaks eye contact first and takes up his wine glass, pretending to be entirely captivated by the rim before taking a long sip.

I still make him nervous. At least there’s that.

I pick up my glass and take a sip of my own. It’s exquisite.

‘Not bad,’ I tell him.

He smiles and takes another drink. He’s going too fast, I think. Unless he’s looking to get drunk.

I rest my glass carefully on the table. ‘Have you ordered dinner as well?’

His mouth twitches. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

‘I’m not sure,’ I say. ‘I’m just wondering if you’re trying to tell me something.’

‘Oh?’ he says, resting his wine glass down and raising an eyebrow. ‘And what could I possibly be trying to say?’

I take another careful sip and lick my lips. ‘Perhaps you’re trying to put me in my place?’

‘Which is where exactly?’

‘I think that’s up to you.’

Harry rests his elbows on the table. ‘That’s a dangerous thing to say, Draco.’

‘It’s always been up to you, Harry. You call the shots here.’

‘Hmm,’ he says. ‘I’ve seem to remember you saying something like that before.’

‘That’s how it works, Harry.’

Harry tilts his head, contemplating me. ‘You think I want to hire you again?’

‘Don’t you?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘What do you want, then?’

Harry sighs. ‘Let’s save the serious talk for after dinner, shall we?’ he says before taking a long sip of his wine.

I watch him for a moment and then acquiesce. ‘What brought you back?’ I ask.

‘I told you, I never really left.’

‘You were avoiding me is what I think you said.’

He nods. ‘And explaining why I did that would classify as ‘serious talk’.’

‘Shall I ask you about the weather then?’

‘Why did you really stop?’ he asks. ‘There’s more you’re not telling me.’

I give him a look. ‘I stopped for very serious reasons.’

He laughs and his eyes crinkle at the corners. Laugh lines.

Of course he would have those.

‘I walked into that one,’ he says.

I lean back as the waiter sets my plate in front of me. ‘You certainly did.’

---

He pays for dinner, even though I offer to split. He does so waving his hand at me as if to say, ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ and for some reason it makes me want to smack him.

Outside the restaurant, we walk beside each other with no aim in sight. I don’t know exactly where he lives, and he hasn’t asked me back to his place, so we shuffle along the street, both studiously avoiding each other’s gaze. I glance at him carefully, his hands are in his pockets and he’s looking contemplatively at his boots as he walk. His hair is windswept, even though there hasn’t even been any wind. I roll my eyes and look away, annoyed for reasons I can’t even name.

He stops abruptly and I almost walk into him.

‘Do you want to come to mine?’ he asks after we’ve both righted ourselves.

I don’t answer right away, because I’m thinking about what happened last night. I’m thinking that I’m not sure what he wants, if he wanted me Draco or the me he knew as his Dom or —

‘Draco?’

He steps very close to me and I force myself to look at him. He comes up to just beneath my chin, perfect spot really for me to simply lean in and catch his mouth — but I don’t.

‘Yeah,’ I say, stepping back and clearing my throat. ‘Sure.’

‘Okay.’

He takes my arm and I take a deep breath.

I don’t know what’s going to happen.

I hate not knowing. I hate not knowing the rules of this game. I hate that they’re not the rules I’ve written for myself.

He Apparates us into his foyer, and I follow him down the hall to the living room on the left. The hooks are still there in the ceiling, silver and gleaming. I follow him to the bar stools beside the butcher’s block where he rests his jacket and I do the same with mine.

He turns his back to me, grabs two glasses from his shelf and pours me a glass of Firewhisky without asking, setting the bottle on the worktop in front of me. When he sits beside me on the stool, I glance at him as he takes his shot quickly.

‘Are you looking for liquid courage?’

He laughs softly as he rests down his glass and smiles at me. ‘Maybe.’

I slide my glass over to him and he takes my shot as well before looking at me and asking, ‘Why did you stop?’

Of course, he keeps asking the one question that would unravel me completely. He’s always been like a fine needle always poking through my hidden crevices, and I have no idea how he’s found them.

‘I wanted to do something different,’ I say.

It’s not one of my better lies and he sees right through it.

‘Really?’ he says lightly. ‘And what are you doing now?’

Absolutely nothing.

Ignoring owls from my father, running errands, spending money, meeting with Theo for a pint.

Thinking about Harry.

‘This and that,’ I say.

Harry’s eyes drop to the worktop, and he taps it with his finger. ‘Hmm,’ he says, pouring himself another shot and drinking it fast. He leans one elbow against the worktop and the V of his collar opens wide. I can see his collarbone, the pale skin of his neck, the curve of his Adam’s apple. I want to slide my tongue against his skin.

I can barely breathe, I want to touch him so much.

He smiles knowingly at me and I look away.

‘What happened with your boyfriend?’ I ask, to deflect him.

He looks at me surprised, and I continue blithely on, ‘I can tell you recently broke it off with someone. There are empty spaces in your living room. Dust circles. Looks fairly recent.’

Harry’s mouth twitches. ‘Have you always been this observant?’

‘When it comes to you,’ I say, ‘I’m always observant.’

Fucking. Fucking hell.

He gives me an intense stare before dragging his eyes away, and he pushes his glass away from in front of him.

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ he says slowly. His eyes drop briefly to my lips and we both seem a bit mesmerised for a good moment or two.

Harry sighs and pulls away slightly. ‘We broke up,’ he says.

‘So it was serious.’

Harry shrugs. ‘We were living together.’

‘What happened?’

‘We had ‘a severely dysfunctional relationship’ according to Hermione.’

‘And according to you?’

‘It was… occasionally dysfunctional, yes.’

‘He gave you those scars.’ I don’t even try to phrase it as a question, and luckily he doesn’t pretend not to know what I’m talking about.

Harry meets my gaze and looks away. ‘He did.’

I glance at the open bottle of Firewhisky and slide off my chair to grab a clean glass. ‘I think I’ll have a drink after all.’

He watches me as I pour myself a glass, cap the bottle and place it back on the worktop, taking a moment to be sure the label faces outward.

He smiles at that, and I roll my eyes and take a swig of my drink. It’s a perfectly normal thing to do.

‘Why didn’t you pour me one?’

‘I think you’ve had enough for the night.’

‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘Too much alcohol does lead to poor decision making.’

I knock back the rest of my drink fast. I think I’m really going to need it with the way he’s looking at me right now.

I set my glass on the table and glance at him. ‘Like what?’ I ask, my voice unsteady.

He slides off his stool and walks towards me, leaning forward and digging into my back pocket, where he knows I keep my travel box shrunken and sealed.

‘Like not letting a boy play with his favourite toys,’ he says, his warm breath brushing against my cheek.

He rests my shrunken black box on his worktop and I don’t know whether to laugh or scold him for his sheer gall.

Wordlessly, I unshrink it, and the lid pops open without a sound.

It isn’t my full kit, it only has most of the basics. Crop, gloves, vials of lube, leather bands, vibrating cock rings, things I know he likes. I used to call it Harry’s box because he was the only client I’d take at short notice, and I always had it on me for when he’d send me an unexpected request — it happened often.

His hand hovers over the case for a moment. I don’t think he’s ever seen it close up before. The inside is lined with velvet, Slytherin green of course. Beneath the layer of toys is a false bottom with several oils for after care.

His eyes are wide as he contemplates my possessions, and inevitably, his hand lowers to touch it. My muscles tense and he stops, looking up at me for permission.

‘May I?’

I don’t let anyone else touch the things in my box. He starts moving his hand away, but I shake my head and push the box closer to him. ‘Go ahead.’

He glances up at me, and then his hand settles on my gloves, folded over each other neatly on top of everything else. He picks them up and turns them over in his hands.

They’re dragonhide, but from the softest part of the underbelly. They cost a good chunk of Galleons, but they’re smooth as butter, and Harry in particular, gets off on them. Especially when I slide one gloved finger along his crack.

Something I plan on doing within the next hour.

He reaches for my hands and wordlessly helps me slide my gloves on, one by one, our fingers intertwining occasionally as he fits the Dragonhide snugly against my skin.

There are holes at my knuckles and a slit at the wrists, but otherwise it’s skin tight and moulds to my hands like… well. Magic.

He lingers on my left hand a while longer, and when he looks up at me I’m trapped and I can’t move. I can barely think. The only sound in the room is our breathing. His fingers brush against my knuckles and I suck in a shallow breath. He steps closer to me, closing the space between us into a tight nothingness, and I desperately want to step forward, but I pull away.

I need the line. The gloves and this box, that’s the line, and I don’t want to mess with it. Not when I don’t know all the possible outcomes just yet.

He wants to say something, I can tell by the way his Adam’s apple bobs and the way he looks at me, so I deflect.

‘Strip for me,’ I tell him, my voice automatically dipping. My persona begins to shift; my back straightens. I fix the edges of my gloves, and his eyes follow the movement of my hands. He licks his lips and does as I ask, pulling his shirt over his head, and then slipping off his jeans and letting them puddle to the floor.

As each piece of his clothing is removed, I become more aware of my cock, hardening slowly but surely, becoming trapped behind denim and heat. I want to adjust myself, of course I do, but I would never do that. Professional courtesy and all.

He’s not a client, I tell myself.

Harry looks at me, completely careless and unaware of the way his naked body affects me.

‘I want to show you something,’ he says. He reaches for my hand and wraps it around his waist as he steps in close to me, and letting his chest rest against mine. My body tenses and I freeze.

‘Harry.’

‘Shh.’

He guides my hand between his arsecheeks and my gloved finger slides slickly down his crack, moist already with –lube? I let my hand wander on its own, and my finger slides down the length of his crack and he shudders. When my finger stops at his hole, I realise his arse is plugged.

My stomach does this thing. It feels as if I’ve just mounted a broom and my heart speeds up until its pounding seems impossibly loud and I know he can feel it. He’s even close enough to feel the way my breaths have quickened. I gently turn the plug in a slow circle, and he groans softly.

‘You’ve had this in you the whole time?’ I ask, my voice breathier than I would like.

I pull the plug out a bit and his head drops to my chest. I feel him nod, and I push the plug snugly back inside him. ‘You ordered my dinner with this inside your cunt?’

He whimpers and his palm drops to my forearm.

I turn the plug again and wordlessly set the charm to make it gently vibrate in his arse. He digs his nails into my arm and makes a small, desperate sound.

He’s never been this close before, never touched me as I was touching him. I drag one gloved finger along his arse crack back up to the base of his spine.

I step back and he staggers before bracing himself on the countertop.

‘I asked you a question, Harry.’

‘Yes, mph. Yes, I did.’

His cock is fully erect and leaking. I want to kneel in front of him and taste him, taste the steady thin stream of precome dripping onto the tiles. But I don’t.

I don’t know what he wants.

But I know just what to do with him.

I press my palm flat between his shoulder blades and he leans forward without resistance. His chest lies flat against the grey limestone worktop, his hands clasped behind his back.

‘Spread your legs,’ I say. ‘Put your hands above your head.’

He does it slowly, clenching his arsehole around the vibrating butt plug so hard that the muscles in his arse flex and the two dimples above his spine deepen and curve. Sweat beads on his back as it rises and falls with each breath. I step behind him and slide my splayed hand along his spine, wishing there was nothing between my palm and his skin.

What do you want?

I pull my wand from my sleeve and spell two leather cuffs around his wrists, pulling his hands together above his head.

I Summon the cat from my box and stow my wand in my sleeve again. His body is quivering and I step closer to him, my thigh so close to his arse it almost feels as though I’m touching him.

‘You remember your safeword?’

‘Yes.’

I smack him on his arse, not hard, but hard enough to echo through walls of his flat and make him grunt softly.

‘Yes who?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Good boy.’ I say.

I step back and let the hanging leather strips from the cat brush against his arse — a featherlight touch against his skin. With another silent spell, I turn up the intensity on his buttplug just a notch and his body jerks forward. Harry curls his fingers inwards, dragging his nails across the smooth worktop and makes a desperate whimpering noise at the back of his throat. I dangle the cat just above his arse, teasing him, letting the stands drag along his arse crack.

‘Draco…’

‘Hmm?’ I say slowly letting the leather strips dip between his legs.

‘Please.’

That single desperate word makes my cock twitch and I lift the cat high and bring it back down hard against his arse. The sound of it smacking against his skin is loud and satisfying, but not nearly as sexy as the shout it brings from his throat.

Harry’s arse clenches around his buttplug, and seeing that just makes something snap in me.

I let go.

I bring the cat down on his pale cheeks again and again, until they’re blooming red, and I can see the shape of the marks I left there.

My marks. Mine.

As his shouts begin to fade to needy whimpers, I stop. I take a few seconds to catch my breath, my gaze fixed on the beautiful sight of his bright red striped arse. I drop the cat and spread his arse cheeks wide, squeezing the supple flesh in my palms. His arse tightens with the strain of trying to keep the plug in.

He knows what will happen if he lets it slip.

‘Draco…’ Harry murmurs, ‘Please. Please.’

I lean over him, my chest to his back and wrap one gloved palm around his stiff prick. It’s so slick with precome that my grip slips, but then I start stroking him hard and fast. His foreskin slides slickly over the head of his cock and he spreads his legs wider for me. I could come from the sounds he’s making alone, and when I feel the vibration of the buttblug against my cock it’s a struggle not to.

We’ve never been this close.

Harry tries to pull his hands free from the leather straps around his wrist. He wants to touch me, but that’s not a rule I’m going to break. Not now.

I reach for his cuffs with my free hand, holding him down as I stroke him off. He drops his head onto the worktop, and says my name softly.

I close my eyes. ‘Come for me,’ I say in his ear.

After a long, rumbling moan he does, his come spilling over my glove, a streak of white rolling down the back of my palm over my bare knuckles. I keep stroking him until it’s over, and then I gently pull away, holding him steady with my arm still around his waist.

I softly say the spell to undo his wrists and the leather cuffs falls off onto the worktop. I gently remove the buttplug and after a dodgy cleaning charm I rest it on the worktop as well.

Harry is limp in my arms and still breathing heavily, so I lift him up and carry him around the butcher’s block and to the soft rug in the middle of the living room, using an extra cushioning charm for good measure. I rest him down gently, and he lies there with his eyes closed, not moving, I push his hair off his forehead and he murmurs something, but he’s still not quite with me yet.

I Summon one of the vials of healing oil, cast a cleansing charm on my gloves and gently turn Harry over on his stomach. The quicker I get the lavender, mixed with a touch of dittany, on his skin, the better it will be. Harry pillows his cheek on his bicep and his eyelids flutter open.

‘Hey,’ I say. ‘You okay?’

Harry licks his lips and nods very slightly. He tries to move further, but I rest one palm on his shoulder to soothe him. ‘Stay still. Just let me take care of you.’

I pour a dollop of oil into my palm and rest the vial aside before rubbing my palms together to warm it up a bit.

‘You were perfect,’ I say. ‘You were so perfect, Harry.’

I gently massage the oil with my gloved hands onto his bright red arse. There are a few places that have bruised slightly, and I make sure to pay special attention to those spots so that he won’t feel it tomorrow. It takes few seconds for the oil to begin to work. He isn’t completely healed, but his skin isn’t as bright red as before. When I spread a little extra on his back, he hums contentedly and I lean back on my haunches.

‘Turn over.’

He turns over slowly and rests his palm on his chest. I avoid looking at his face and spread the oil on the bruises on his hips, and then I take his wrists and rub some oil along the bruises there, too. When I finally look up, he’s looking at me with a solemn expression.

‘Time’s up,’ he says softly.

I look away from him and reach for the oil bottle, capping it tightly and sending it back over into my box.

Time is never up. Not for me. After a session with Harry, I would leave the room and hide in my office, stroking my cock furiously until I came, biting my wrist to keep from making a sound.

Even after he left, our time was never up.

‘What do you want, Harry?’ My voice is almost desperate.

He takes my hand and gently turns it over so that my palm faces upwards, then he pushes the edge of my glove back until half my palm is exposed. Harry stares at my skin, mesmerised, until he pushes my glove all the way off of my fingers and drops it silently to the floor.

His fingers linger in my palm for a moment before he reaches for my other hand. Shaking slightly, I offer it to him, and he does the same thing, removing my glove with slow care and precision, peeling away at my layers as if it were the simplest thing in the world. He takes my hand and places it flat on his oilslicked chest.

Harry covers the back of my palm with his hand, guiding it downwards, over the flat hairs on his chest to the firm muscles in his abdomen, to his oil-slick hips. Lower —

I stop him, pulling my hand away. ‘Harry… ’

His looks up at me, his gaze hazy with arousal. ‘You want to,’ he says. ‘I know you do.’

Oh fuck, I do.

I’m finally touching his bare skin after so long and it feels just the way I thought it would. Warm and strong and smooth. I can even feel the low hum of his magic swirling around inside him.

He turns on his side and I let my hand wander down to the curve of his hip, over the swell of his arse and down his thigh to his kneecap. I stop there and when I lift my hand again, it’s shaking.

Harry props himself up on one elbow and reaches for the buttons of my shirt. I don’t move as he undresses me. He unbuttons each button slowly and pushes my shirt off my shoulders.

He sits up fully and helps me with my shirt cuffs, and after I pull it off completely we just sit there facing each other, our legs stretched in opposite directions, barely breathing.

Harry’s gaze slides across my chest and shoulders and he bites his lower lip as he lifts one unsteady hand to touch me. His fingers skim the length of my collarbones, and then he rests his flat palm against my chest, sliding his hand down to my navel. He is riveted. In all my haste touch him, I forgot.

He’s never touched me either.

‘Take off your trousers,’ he says, his voice deep and a sudden noise in the silent room.

When I don’t move, he looks up at me. ‘Please, Draco.’ He leans forwards and brushes back a lock of my hair. ‘Please.’

I toe off my boots and kick them aside, and then I carefully push my trousers and pants down to my thighs, freeing my still hard cock, flushed red and leaking. His gaze drops to my cock, where it lingers for a moment before following the movement of my trousers and pants down my thighs, over my knees and then after a brief struggle off my feet.

I throw them up on the sofa, and then he shifts close to me, gently touching my knee caps, then stroking my thighs with his palms. I lean forward, bracing one palm on the floor next to his hip, and he lifts his palm to my chest, letting his palm ghost along my sides. My body shivers, and when his fingers brush over my nipple, I close my eyes.

I feel him move closer to me, and I open my eyes again as his fingers skim over the shell of my ear, pushing my hair back, and then he threads his finger through the hairs at the nape of my neck.

My body is shaking, trembling like a leaf, and he traces small circles with his fingers on my scalp.

‘Draco, look at me please.’

I do, and his eyes are so green and so close. He is so close to me.

He leans in even closer, his eyelids flutter, and then it happens. His lips touch mine, gently, and for the briefest of moments. He begins to pull away, but I curl my fingers behind his neck and deepen the kiss on instinct, leaning forward and taking control, swiping my tongue over his, accepting his breathy moan as my own and lowering my palm to cup his slightly stubbled cheek.

He tastes like whisky and something sweet. He grips my forearm as I lean forward, pushing him back to lay flat on his back. I crawl over him, not once breaking the kiss and we move together as if we’ve been doing this for a lifetime.

Harry’s thighs fall apart to make room for my hips and I brace my hands on either side of his head.

His body is so pliant beneath mine. I feel as though he’s spread open, like a banquet prepared especially for me. I want to taste everything. Everything.

I pull away from him, panting softly, looking into his eyes, because I need to know one thing. ‘What do you want, Harry?’

Harry lifts his hips slightly and spreads his thighs wider. ‘Fuck me, Draco.’

Heat pools in my groin and my cock twitches against his thigh, and I bite my lower lip to keep from groaning out loud.

Harry pushes himself up on his elbows and presses his forehead against mine briefly before sucking my earlobe between his teeth.

‘Please… ’ he murmurs. ‘I need it.’

My arms are trembling. I shouldn’t do this. There isn’t a line. There’s

– my box.

I glance at it still sitting there on his worktop, thrown open, the contents exposed. Harry gently turns my face back to his with his fingers.

‘No,’ he says. ‘That’s not what I want.’

He reaches between my legs and grasps my cock loosely in his fist and swipes at the head with the pad of his thumb. The sound that tumbles out of me is breathy and embarrassing, but it only seems to turn him on.

‘This is what I want, Draco.’ He says, stroking me. ‘You. Not just your box of tricks.’

I shudder as he strokes my cock and when his thumb presses briefly against my slit, I can’t help the groan that escapes my lips.

‘Draco.’ Harry’s lips are against my neck, he licks a hot stipe across my pulse and my body is shaking uncontrollably now. All I want to do is let go. Let it all go and fuck him, pound into him so that he can still feel my cock in his arse for weeks. I want to mark his flesh with my nails, I want him to be mine. Unequivocally mine. He sucks on my earlobe, and my gaze drops the scars on his chest.

I can’t lose control with him. I can’t.

I pull away abruptly and sit up, making sure I’m a few inches away from him before trying to speak.

‘I can’t, Harry,’ I say, panting slightly. ‘I can’t.’

Harry looks away from me briefly and bites his lip. I can see him working himself up to say something, but then he just sighs and sits up.

‘I should go,’ I say, reaching out for my shirt.

‘I suppose it would be pointless asking you to stay.’

‘Yes it would.’

Harry sighs. ‘So what do we do now? Need me to settle up the bill? A little extra for the after-after care?’

I glance at him before buttoning up my shirt. ‘Don’t be an arsehole.’

Harry leans his head back against the sofa. ‘I’m being an arsehole? That’s fucking rich, Draco.’

‘This isn’t about… that.’

‘What is it, then?’

I grab my pants and trousers and start unsteadily putting them on, jerking my legs through the holes while trying to avoid his gaze. ‘This is about you, and what you’ve been trying to do all night.’

‘And what’s that, Draco? Give you a good time? Get to know you, even though you never give me an honest answer. Not once. Even though you try to keep that fucking box between us.’

‘It’s a line, Harry, a line you’re trying to cross and I want to know why.’

‘Why do you have to know everything? Why can’t you just let things happen?’

‘Is that what happened with your boyfriend?’

Harry raises an eyebrow. ‘You have a lot of questions about him, don’t you?’

‘Yes I do.’

‘Why?’

I button my trousers, and sit on the sofa opposite Harry to lace my boots.

‘Because he put those scars on your skin and you kept them,’ I say. ‘Because you keep trying to push me to the edge, and I don’t want to go there with you. Not if I’m right about what you want from me.’

‘What is it do you think I want, Draco?’

I take a deep breath and push a lock of hair behind my ear. ‘I want to know if he was hurting you, and if that’s what you want from me, too.’

Harry’s gaze flicks away and back, but the hesitation is enough to answer my question. ‘Isn’t that what you want?’ he asks.

‘Is that what you think?’

‘That’s what this whole thing is about isn’t it? The box, you. What you do?’

I blink and stare at him for a very long time. There are a million things I want to say to him right now, Fuck you, being my first choice.

Instead I just sit there, gaping like a fish.

‘Draco… ’

I Summon my box and stow my wand in my sleeve. ‘I have to go.’

‘Draco wait—’

But I’m already gone.

---

I stare into my drink, tapping the sides of the glass with my fingernails before knocking back half of it in one swig.

When I set the thick glass down again with a thunk, Theo leans across the bar and pushes it away. ‘You’ve had enough,’ he says. When I glare at him, Theo leans back in his stool and sighs. ‘He’s fucked up, Draco. He doesn’t even understand what the dynamic is supposed to be like.’

‘But he should, Theo,’ I say, leaning back in my barstool and rubbing my face with my palms.

We’re in a Muggle bar in West London tonight because I didn’t want to be anywhere near the Wizarding world for a bit. I haven’t seen Harry in two days, and he hasn’t tried to contact me. I don’t know if I’m more disappointed or worried about that.

‘That’s my point,’ I say. ‘I was supposed to teach him that.’

‘Draco, you and I both know how much a bad relationship can fuck someone up. Especially a sub like Potter. He’s famous. That makes him a target. You knew he had a pain kink. If a sadist caught wind of that —and you know they could— they’d latch onto Potter and fuck with his head.’

I dig in my pockets for a fag that isn’t there. It’s the third time I’ve done it in the last five minutes. I slam my hands on the bar top and the sting in my palms make me feel slightly better. ‘I want to know his name.’

‘Fuck that,’ Theo says, leaning back into his own stool and turning to me with his arms crossed. ‘The last thing you need is to end up in Azkaban.’ He raises his eyebrows and I look away, grabbing my glass to down the rest of my drink and wave over the bartender for another.

‘They broke up,’ Theo continues. ‘At least that’s something. On some level what you taught him stayed.’

‘Only if he did it by choice.’

‘You’ll only know if you talk to him.’

I glance at Theo; his eyes are wide and earnest and I sigh. ‘Maybe it’s not worth it,’ I say. ‘If he thinks that all I want to do is hurt him—’

‘You’re afraid it’s the Malfoy thing he’s after.’

‘We’ve hated each other for years. Maybe he just wants more rivalry. Someone to kick him in the balls. If that’s the case, he should find any Knockturn alley whore to shove him around.’

‘And what about you?’

‘I finally forget about him.’

Theo gives me a look. ‘Right,’ he says. ‘Maybe you’ve forgotten, but I shared a dorm with you for a long time, Draco.’

‘Most of the time you were a prick who didn’t say anything at all.’

‘Doesn’t mean I didn’t see the way you looked at Potter when he wasn’t watching. Do you remember when he came to you the first time? You couldn’t Apparate for three days, your brain was so preoccupied.’

The bartender drops a glass of ale in front of me, and I take a sip. ‘I know what he wants now,’ I say. I glance at Theo, and then take another swig of ale. ‘I can’t give it to him.’

Theo rests his hand on my arm. ‘Then give him a chance to want something more.’

I sigh and drink the rest of my drink. ‘I’ve got to get home,’ I say. ‘I’ll Floo you in the morning.’

Theo’s brow wrinkles and I roll my eyes. ‘I’m sober enough to get home, and no, I’m not going to try to find out who Harry was dating so I can kill him. Even though I want to. Very much.’

‘Somehow, I’m not at all reassured by that, Draco.’

I pat Theo on the back and take the rear exit so I can Disapparate in the alleyway behind the pub.

I head straight for my kitchen to grab a glass and pour myself some water to try to stave off the inevitable hangover in the morning. I’m out of pain potion, and really don’t want to go to Diagon Alley anytime soon.

I set the glass down, cross the room and head out to the balcony, leaving the sliding glass door open behind me. I’m aching for a cigarette and just about to give in and go get some when I feel his magic prickling against my skin.

Warmth and strength. That’s Harry.

I could feel him anywhere.

I turn around slowly and he’s there, dressed simply in a grey t-shirt, jacket and jeans, but still, my breath catches.

He eyes me carefully, his green eyes bright behind his glasses. ‘Your wards are terrible.’

‘No one’s ever broken in before.’

He smiles. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

‘I mind a little.’

Harry’s gaze wavers and he sticks his hands into his pockets and shuffles.

‘You’re nervous,’ I say.

He nods. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Maybe you’re still narked about what I said.’

‘Do you think I have reason to be?’

Harry looks away, across the balcony and into the night. The light from my lantern glows just above his head, shining through his hair and turning the ends a light brown.

‘Yeah. Maybe,’ he says. He sighs and finally looks at me. ‘I know that’s not what the whole thing is about. I remember what you used to say. About trust and pleasure, everything, but I was angry with you.’

He looks at me, as if expecting me to say something to this. Maybe to apologise or some such thing. When I remain quiet, he rolls his eyes, apparently exasperated.

‘You were doing that thing,’ he says. ‘That thing you did after every session. It was like you left the room, only you were still there.’

‘Harry —’ I stop myself and run my hands through my hair. I don’t even know where to start.

‘Come on,’ I say. ‘Let’s go inside.’

I walk past him, and he follows, albeit a few seconds later. When he walks into my flat, he looks around cautiously.

He’s never been here before. My playroom was in Julien’s place in Wizarding London, in a club with about five other working Doms and a high profile clientele.

Harry walks around my chaise lounge, letting his fingers ghost along the back. ‘It’s very modern,’ he murmurs. ‘I didn’t expect that.’

‘You expected something like the Manor?’

Harry glances at me briefly, then his eyes flick away to my bare mantelpiece. ‘No photographs.’

I follow his gaze. ‘No,’ I say shortly.

‘Too much exposure?’

‘What?’

‘Are you afraid someone will see you?’

I give him a look. ‘No.’

‘Hmm.’

I shake my head. ‘Look, Harry. This is different for me all right? I’ve only ever —’ I wave my hand about looking for the right words. ‘You were my client. Do you think it’s easy for me to just… erase the line?’

‘Oh the line,’ Harry murmurs. ‘The fucking line.’

‘Yes! Unless you know what you want, it’s not safe for us to play this game without it.’

‘You think I don’t know what I want? I know what I want, Draco. What I don’t want is a fucking line.’

‘Did you have a line with him?’

Harry folds his arms across his chest and scowls at me. ‘This again,’ he says. ‘No, I didn’t.’

‘And how did that work out for you?’

‘Fuck you, Draco,’ he says quietly.

I sigh. ‘You see why I’m apprehensive?’

‘Draco, I know I went too far with him. All right? He did some… unforgivable things. But that doesn’t change the fact that I liked it. Some of it, anyway. It was what I wanted.’

Harry touches the edge of the mantelpiece with his fingers. ‘Do you know there are couples who play with each other and they’re doing perfectly fine without a fucking line?’

‘That’s completely different,’ I say. ‘Harry, you were my client.’

‘Why does it matter?’

‘It matters because… ’ Harry’s looking at me expectantly, his face flushed beneath his stubble, his green eyes blazing with —what? I don’t know.

I lose my train of thought and rub my face with my hands. ‘I don’t think you have the right… outlook for this.’

Harry doesn’t say anything, but I can see him building himself up to a long speech.

‘You have scars,’ I say to stave him off.

‘You don’t even know what happened.’

I sigh. ‘It think I have a pretty good idea what happened,’ I say. ‘You were supposed to be able to trust him. He was supposed to know that you’d had enough. Didn’t you have a safeword?’

Harry turns away from me and crosses the room into my kitchen, opening the door to my fridge and grabbing a beer from the top shelf. He uncaps it with his fingers and tosses the cover into the sink. ‘I didn’t use it,’ he says, stubbornly lifting his chin. ‘I was pushing my limits.’

I grind my teeth for a few seconds trying to decide which one to deal with first, his admission, or the fact that he’s taken a fucking beer from my fridge without permission.

I join him in the kitchen, and count to five before I speak again.

‘Put it down.’

Harry gives me a defiant look and takes a very long swig before dropping the half empty bottle in my sink. I watch the frothy mess swirl down the drain before looking at him again.

‘Don’t do that again,’ I say, my voice clipped. ‘If you want something, you ask.’

Harry laughs a short, bitter laugh. ‘The irony, Draco,’ he says in a deceptively light voice. ‘That’s fucking ironic given what we’re talking about right now.’

I look away from him and lean against the sink. ‘He should have seen he was pushing you too far.’

‘Maybe I let him because you never would. You never pushed me. You never went beyond what you thought I could handle. You never even push yourself.’

I push off the sink with the back of my heel and step closer to him. ‘I can’t push with you, Harry! I needed—’

‘What, Draco? What the hell do you need so badly?’

‘I needed to be in control! Because you… you make things — difficult.’

‘I make things difficult?

‘Don’t you get it? I stopped because of you. Because you do this to me.’

I lift my palm in front of my face for him to see. It’s shaking.

My hands are actually shaking, as if I’m sixteen again and I can’t get the fucking spell to work, and I’m fighting a battle I can only lose. Just like this one.

‘There was no one else besides you,’ I say. ‘I look at you, Harry, and I want to own you. Do you even know what that means?’

Harry closes the space between us and stands so close to me I can see my reflection in his glasses.

‘What does it mean?’ he asks softly.

‘It means, I need the line. Without it, Harry, I might be just like him. I could really hurt you.’

‘You wouldn’t hurt me, Draco,’ Harry says. ‘Not like that.’

Harry holds my shaking hand in his, closing my palm into a fist and wrapping his hands around my knuckles.

His hands are so warm. They’re bigger than mine. Firmer.

‘As for your hands,’ he says. ‘That’s not me, Draco.’ He cups my cheek with his free hand and pushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear. ‘That’s us. That’s always been us. This is what we do to each other. You think I’m not scared?’

I close my eyes. ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I don’t know what you want.’

Harry rests his forehead against mine. ‘Yes, you do,’ he says.

I open my eyes. ‘Harry, I need all the variables.’

‘You need to figure me out,’ Harry murmurs. The heat from his breath warms my lips. He gives me a small smile. ‘You can’t.’

He closes the space between us, and his lips are soft and wet against mine, gently coaxing me open.

I push him back against the fridge and his head slams against the stainless steel. When he rears back to protest, I catch his mouth again and he opens up without hesitation. My tongue slides across his, over his raised taste buds, touching the roof his mouth, everywhere. I grab his collar and ruck up his shirt, pushing my fingers beneath his jacket, scrambling to touch the skin of his back like I’ve always wanted. It’s warm and firm.

His fingers wrap around my bicep and I dig my nails into his back, raking them across his skin. He gasps and I pull away abruptly.

‘Did I hurt you?’

‘Draco, I’m fine,’ he says gently. ‘Can I take my clothes off?’

I look down at his chest, at his rucked up shirt, pleased he’s asked permission.

‘Yes.’

He doesn’t waste time, toeing off his boots while yanking off his jacket. I pull off my shirt and help him out of his. When we finally wrestle his shirt off and toss it across the room, I pull him forward by the loops of his jeans. He sends me reeling backward, until my back hits the countertop behind me. It hurts, but I don’t care. I wrap my fingers around Harry’s neck and pull him in for another kiss.

I could do this forever. Harry’s an amazing kisser, letting me have what I want without completely giving in to me.

I love the challenge. I pull away and trail my lips down the side of his neck. He tilts his head back and I lick across his collarbone. He tastes like Harry. It’s something so unique that I can’t even put a name to it, but it’s addictive and I want it all. I want to consume him.

I pull away for air, and Harry looks up at me, his eyes are glazed over slightly but he smiles. I kiss him and reach for his jeans, fumbling with the buckle until it’s open, and pushing it down off his hips. When he steps out of them, I grasp his cock firmly and stroke him into full hardness. He lets out a breathy gasp against my ear and rests his palms on the countertop on either side of me. I stroke him a few more times before letting him go and reaching around his waist to hold on to his arsecheeks with both my palms. His head drops to my shoulder as I palm his arse and spread him open, letting my index finger dip down his crack. When I touch his hole lightly, he shudders against me. I pull away and let my finger slide up his crack again, then I lift my index finger and brush it across his lips.

‘Suck it.’

He flicks his tongue out and licks my finger in the filthiest way I’ve ever seen. His eyes never leave mine as he sucks my finger into his mouth, right down to the base. I slip another finger in his mouth when he lifts up again. His full lips are mesmerising and he sucks both my fingers with wet squelching sounds that make my cock twitch. I’m so hard that I have to close my eyes briefly in order to think. I drag my wet fingers back to his arse and tease him open gently. He lifts his head and licks my skin from the space beneath my chin to my mouth, and then he kisses me wetly as I finger his arse, making him slick and loose, scissoring him open as he groans into my mouth.

When I’m sure he’s ready, I remove my fingers and gently pull away from him.

‘Take off my trousers.’

Harry unbuckles me carefully and pushes my trousers down to my thighs. He pulls my underwear down, carefully, not letting it catch over my cock like a good boy. I smile at him and he pushes both down to my ankles, and I step out of it.

I kick them aside and without asking, Harry’s mouth is on my cock, engulfing me completely, his nose pressing against my groin. I thread my fingers in his hair.

‘Fuck, yes.’

He lifts off and deep throats me again, I hold his head in place until he gags on it, and then I let him off for air. I keep at it until he’s gasping and coughing and my cock is slick with saliva. I pull him off of me and he looks up, his lips red, his face flushed.

He’s absolutely gorgeous like this.

‘Do you want to suck my cock some more, or do you want me to fuck you?’

Harry flicks out his tongue and licks the underside of my cock. ‘Whatever you want,’ he says, looking up at me, his eyes wide and eager to please.

‘Fucking hell,’ I say, mostly to myself.

I pull him up and spin him around, pressing him against the worktop beside the fridge and carelessly tossing aside a few empty coffee mugs into the sink. They clatter loudly as I press Harry downwards with one flat palm on his back. He lies flat on his stomach, his arse lifted and stretched open, just waiting there for me to take.

My breath stutters in my chest. I’ve had him just like this, in this same position so many times before. Wanting this moment — this moment so much. Now that it’s mine I’m faltering. Why?

I don’t have all the variables and this changes everything. I could be fucking it all up this very moment and I —

Harry reaches behind and grabs my wrist. ‘Draco, please,’ he says, his voice muffled.

I lean forward and nip him softly on the shoulder. Harry murmurs another plea and I close my eyes briefly and kiss his back. ‘You’ll get it,’ I say against his skin. I lick the space between his shoulder blades and he groans, arching his back.

I straighten up and finger his arse briefly again before and spreading my precome and his saliva messily along his crack, then position my cock.

I push forward slowly and Harry fucking whimpers —he whimpers and I lose it all, everything — my control, my breathing, the sounds I’m making, everything goes all to hell. I push past the brief, almost unbearable tightness and then there is only Harry and the tight heat of his body. I slip deep inside him until my hips rest against his arse. Harry is mewling beneath me as I pull out of him slowly. I snap my hips forward and at the same time, Harry arches his back. My cock slides even deeper into him this time, and I grip his hips so tight, my nails are surely digging painfully into his flesh.

He doesn’t complain. He wants it. And maybe that doesn’t mean he’s completely fucked up. Maybe it just means he’s perfect.

I close my eyes, fucking him with deep strokes, while his fingers scramble for purchase on the worktop, throwing over everything he touches. I barely notice as he tosses my brass potions scales onto the floor with a gong.

I angle my hips downwards, and his arse is clenching around my cock so tight, that it takes me a second to realise he’s coming, completely untouched. It’s almost too much to take in and I push my cock against the same spot inside him a few more times. As he shudders beneath me, my balls draw in close, and I’m coming too.

Everything rises inside me and the world falls away. It’s just me and Harry, and waves of pleasure that I can’t even comprehend. I lose all sense of time as I spill inside him, filling him up. My come seeps out of his hole, making him even more slick for me as I ride out the last bits of my orgasm.

Harry reaches for my hand again, and I hold his wrist in my palm as I come down off the best high I’ve ever had. I lean forward until my forehead rests against his sweat-slicked back, and we pant against each other for a few seconds before I lift up and pull out of him, making him groan softly. When I pull away, and the world begins to come back to me piece by piece, I try to cast aside the wreck that is my kitchen, and instead I zero in on Harry, and the bruises on his hips, the nail marks on his back and the bite mark on his neck.

I pull him up and he leans against the fridge with his eyes closed. There are bruises on the front of his hips and a few on his chest that I don’t even understand.

‘I’m fine,’ he says, with his eyes still closed.

I step forward and brush my palm across his chest. ‘Are you staying?’

He pops open one eye. ‘Do you want me to?’

I nod. ‘Yes.’

I drop one palm against his hip and he winces. ‘We can sleep in a bit, but you have to let me heal those first.’

Harry pushes off the fridge and stretches his spine with a groan. ‘I told you, I’m all right.’

I wrap my fingers around his wrist. ‘Harry,’ I say. ‘If we’re going to do this, you have to let me heal you afterwards, okay? No scars, and no unnecessary discomfort. You have to agree to that if this is going to work.’

Harry nods and then he lifts my hands and kisses my fingertips in the most bizarre romantic gesture I’ve ever seen.

‘Okay,’ he says with a small smile. ‘It’s a deal.’

---

A deep rattling sound is what wakes me up. I sit bolt upright, looking for the source, and it’s a good few moments before I realises it’s the rattling of the glass and water jug I keep on my side table. In fact almost everything on the surface on my chest of drawers is rattling. My wand rolls off of my side table, along with Harry’s glasses and my watch. It sit up for a few moments in dazed confusion, and then I look over at Harry.

He’s gripping my bed sheets, his mouth slightly open in a silent scream. Sweat beads on his forehead, his hair is damp and plastered against his skin, covering the scar. He’s caught in the grip of a nightmare, and his magic doesn’t like it one bit.

I gently touch his shoulder and the glass on the side table shatters. I grip him more firmly and give him a gentle shake.

‘Harry, come on, it’s me.’ I press my lips against his shoulder, and the ominous rattling sound begins to decrease. ‘That’s it, come on wake up.’

I stroke his bicep with my palm and his grip on the sheets loosens. After a few seconds, he settles onto his back and his eyelids flutter open. He squints at me in the darkness.

‘Draco?’

‘Hey.’

Harry closes his eyes again and takes a deep sucking breath, sitting up and leaning forward, hugging his knees to his chest and letting his forehead rest on his kneecaps.

I slowly stroke his back. ‘You’re fine, Harry. Just breathe.’

He nods, and the deep breath he takes is almost a sob; it hitches and rattles in his chest.

I Summon a glass from the kitchen and when it arrives intact, I cast an Aguamenti, and fill it up for him to drink.

When he settles and lifts his head, I offer him the glass and he takes it gratefully, taking long sip before stopping abruptly and looking at me with wide eyes.

‘Did you put something in this?’ he asks.

‘No,’ I say slowly. ‘It’s just water, Harry.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m positive. It’s conjured water, but that’s all Harry.’

Harry gives me a long look and then he nods and looks away. His breathing is uneven.

I sigh. ‘Harry, look at me.’

When he does, his gaze is still panicked and unsteady.

‘I would never make you take anything without your permission,’ I say. ‘Ever.’

Harry releases a sharp breath and nods. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I know that. I’m sorry. I just—’

‘You don’t have to explain.’

‘My ex would —’ Harry’s gaze flicks to me as he turns the glass around in his hands. ‘He would sometimes… test things on me.’

‘Things?’

‘Products. He was a Potioneer, actually. Reminded me of you at first. Except he also runs a backdoor type thing in Knockturn alley. Aphrodisiacs, stuff like that.’

‘He didn’t ask you first?’

‘He asked. Always when my guard was down, or I was still in subspace,’ Harry says, looking at me warily. ‘I liked it most times,’ he adds quickly. ‘I wasn’t just letting him take advantage of me.’

I unclench my jaw from the tight hold it’s locked into and lick my lips. ‘You don’t let someone take advantage of you, Harry,’ I say tersely. ‘They do it anyway.’

Harry dips his finger in the glass and mixes the water around slowly. ‘There was one time he didn’t ask first,’ he says. ‘And that was it. I made him leave the following morning.’

I gently take the glass from his hand and set it on the side table. ‘What happened, Harry?’

Harry smiles a small smile and looks away. ‘It made me insatiable,’ he says. ‘I was like a machine. He fucked me all night. I couldn’t get enough of him. I don’t remember when we stopped.’

Harry pulls his knees into his chest again and rests his chin on top. ‘He said it was a surprise,’ he says with a moist little laugh. ‘That’s why he didn’t ask first. He thought I would love it.’

‘You didn’t.’

Harry glances at me. ‘It was agony. After the fourth orgasm, everything hurt. But I needed it. I couldn’t stop.’

I reach out to touch him, but at the last moment, I let my hand fall back into my lap. He looks down at it, and then he reaches out and takes it for himself.

‘I wasn’t in control,’ he says, slowly linking our fingers together. He looks up at me. ‘You’re not the only one with a complex about that, it seems.’

I squeeze his hand. ‘Never mind control,’ I say, trying to keep my contempt for Harry’s ex out of the equation. ‘He didn’t get your consent. He abused your trust, Harry.’

Harry hums softly and rubs his thumb over the back of my hand. I look down at our hands intertwined on his lap, mine slightly paler, with long, spidery fingers, and his large and strong.

‘I know,’ Harry says softly. He kisses my temple. ‘Help me get back to sleep.’

I gently squeeze his hand. ‘I can do that.’

---

We fall into a sort of routine.

Harry comes over and I fuck him and we don’t talk about any of the things we need to be talking about.

It works for about two weeks.

My toybox stays firmly in the back of my cupboard, and I know from the way he looks longingly across the room sometimes, that he wants me to bring it out. I’m just not sure about where things stand right now, and there’s still the niggling voice in the back of my head that throws me off every time I think about bringing it out.

I think of the way I lost my control that day when I fucked him for the first time in my kitchen, and I know if I take my box out now, I’d want to play it safe. Harry wouldn’t let me get away with that, so I don’t even bother.

But now, it’s the middle of the night and I can’t sleep. Scenarios keep rolling through my head, scenes I want to play now that I have Harry, I actually have him and he wants me. I roll over in bed and look across at Harry, dead to the world beside me. His back is turned, and he’s making soft snuffling noises. The hair at the nape of his neck sticks up in a wild fury. He needs a haircut.

What I need is a cigarette. I slip out of bed and pad naked to my bathroom, intending to raid my secret stash. I kneel in front of the sink, open the cupboard doors, and peer inside, pushing aside my empty brass cauldron and a few potion bottles. I find the small parchment box shoved between a few old glass vials of Pepper-Up and I yank it out triumphantly. When I slide it open, my mouth is practically salivating for nicotine, but the fucking thing is empty.

I stare at it in disbelief for a few seconds before I pick it up and throw it across the room. Fucking Theo. When I asked him to clean the house I was so sure he would miss this one.

‘Fucking fuck,’ I say, pushing my hair back behind my ears.

When I turn around, Harry’s in the doorway, naked as I am, with one eyebrow pointedly raised.

‘Problem?’

‘I need a fag.’

Harry smiles and holds up his hands. ‘Can’t help you there,’ he says. ‘Hermione cleaned me out just yesterday.’

I make a small sound of disgust and grumpily push past him to sit on the edge of my bed. He folds his arms across his chest and leans against the door frame.

‘You’re frustrated,’ he says.

I collapse onto my back and look up at the ceiling petulantly. ‘I’m not frustrated, I just need a fucking cigarette.’

There’s a brief silence, and then Harry is on top of me, straddling my thighs, his palms flat against my stomach.

I push myself up on my elbows and frown at him.

‘I think there’s something else you need,’ he says, stroking my chest with his palm.

My cock twitches in definite interest, but still — ‘Harry, I’m not sure you could take another round after this afternoon,’ I say, waggling my brows.

Harry shakes his head. ‘I’m not talking about sex,’ he says.

Ah.

I run my palms along his thighs. ‘You think I get cranky when I don’t play with my toys?’

Harry doesn’t even look guilty as he nods. ‘Definitely,’ he says. ‘No worries. I get cranky, too.’

‘Harry—’

He puts his finger against my lips. ‘I’m not saying we have to,’ he says. ‘I’m just saying we could. If you wanted. We could erase the line.’

I look up at him, and then I cup his arse in my palms. ‘I suppose we could,’ I say. ‘But tomorrow. For now—’ I slip one finger into his already loose hole. ‘Let’s just do this.’

My cock slips easily inside him and I close my eyes and let him ride me.

---

In the morning, I slip out of bed before he stirs and Apparate to the Wizarding district.

The Club I used to work in is doing even better now that it was when I first joined. That was only a few years after the war, and the owner Julien, the wizard who taught me everything he knew, is still with them now, even though, like me, he doesn’t see clients anymore.

I walk through the front doors, easily slipping past the wards and into the reception area. Inside, the walls are red velvet and the floors are a dark wood. Flashy, but still, it comforts me after being away for so long.

At the front entrance, a young wizard looks up at me without much interest, and then he does a double take when he sees who it is.

‘Mr Malfoy,’ he says. ‘We didn’t expect you.’ He looks flustered and I wonder exactly what he thinks he knows about me. He looks not much older than nineteen, so it’s unlikely he’s been in the scene for very long, but Julien always did like to make up stories.

‘I didn’t write first,’ I say. ‘Is Julien in? I just need to see him for a bit if he’s available.’

The boy nods. ‘Let me go ask him.’

He disappears down the narrow corridor and I look around a bit, shoving my hands into my pockets. On the front desk are the latest of Julien’s catalogues. He specialises in his own range of Magical toys. I have a few of his more clever inventions, my leather rope being one of them.

The boy comes back out wearing a broad smile and ushers me in. ‘He says to come right up, Mr Malfoy.’

I smile at him and he looks up at me wide-eyed as I walk past him. I roll my eyes and walk to Julien’s office in the back room. When I swing open the door, he’s there sitting behind his desk, looking the same as he did when he approached me with a job offer all those years ago.

His face is young and free of wrinkles, but I know now that it’s only a glamour. I have no idea how old Julien really is and I don’t really care, if this is the face he’s comfortable with — young with a cleft under his chin, blue eyes and straw blond hair — I’ll take it.

I smile and sit in the chair opposite him as he leans forward in his chair, looking as if I’ve just offered him my soul.

I deflect him immediately. ‘I’m not coming back,’ I say. ‘Don’t even try it.’

Julien smiles ruefully and sits back in his seat. ‘Can’t blame me for trying,’ he says. ‘Just wait till you’re running your own business and the best pro Dom you’ve got just abandons you.’

I roll my eyes. We’ve been having this same conversation for over a year. ‘I gave you three months’ notice, Julien.’

Julien waves his palm. ‘Bah.’

I smile, and look away. My gaze lands on the chrome plated knife he has on display in a glass box on his table and my smile fades.

When I look back at Julien, and he’s eyeing me carefully.

‘Something’s bothering you,’ he says.

I nod, and then I tell him everything. He doesn’t interrupt me, not even when I talk about Harry’s previous relationship. When I’m finished, Julien looks at me for a long time before getting up and walking around the desk, and sitting at the edge in front of me.

He opens his mouth and then closes it again, and then he picks up the knife in the glass box, vanishing the case and handing me the knife carefully. It’s heavy. I hold it in my hand and turn it over and he nods at me.

‘You’ve used ones like these before, haven’t you?’

I nod. ‘With a few clients, yeah.’

‘Did you ever have a client that wanted you to push harder? Scar him? Besides Harry?’

I nod. ‘Yes.’

‘And why didn’t you?’

I look up at him, appalled.

‘Because you didn’t want to,’ Julien supplies. ‘It’s something that bothers you deeply, and because of that, you think it’s wrong. What if I told you there’s nothing inherently wrong with marking someone like that. What would you say?’

I run my fingers over the hilt of the knife. ‘Theoretically,’ I say, ‘As long as it’s consensual...’ I trail off into silence, fingering the tip of the blade with my finger.

‘But it still scares you.’

I shrug. ‘I didn’t’ think of it like that,’ I say. ‘As fear.’

‘You have a mark of your own, Draco,’ Julien says gently. ‘A branding. You’ve never talked about that time in your life, but I’m certain it wasn’t consensual.’

It takes a while for me to find my voice again. ‘That’s different.’

Julien pushes off the desk and goes back to his seat. ‘It is,’ he says. ‘It’s about time you realise that.’

I look up at him, and he raises an eyebrow.

‘Harry’s masochism isn’t necessarily because of his experiences, Draco. Maybe it’s just part of him. Not a flaw.’

‘I don’t want to be the one who fucks him up even more.’

Julien sighs and rests his elbows on his desk. ‘Then don’t. Don’t let your emotions cloud your judgement, because you’re the one who needs to draw the line. When you do that, you’ll keep him safe.’

I nod slowly and rest the knife on the desk, but he waves me off. ‘Keep it,’ he says, reaching into his drawer and pulling out a leather case. When he hands it to me, I slip the knife inside and push it into my jacket pocket.

‘Thanks, Julien,’ I say, getting up to leave and heading towards the door.

Julien raises a hand. ‘Before you go,’ he says, ‘When was the last time you spoke to your mother?’

I stop with my hand on the door and turn to face him. ‘Julien, you already know that story. I stopped being her son when I started working for you.’

Julien shrugs. ‘She came round looking for you a few weeks ago,’ he says. ‘Maybe she’s changed her mind.’

I blink a few times, my grip tightening on the edge of the door. ‘If she wanted to see me, she could find a way.’

‘Maybe this was her way,’ Julien says. ‘Just— I know a thing or two about making mistakes. You should send her an owl.’

I sigh and turn away from him. ‘I’ll think about it,’ I say, and then I Disapparate.

---

When I get back home, he’s not there, but a few of his things are still in my room, so he can’t be too angry with me.

I know I should have left a note, but I was preoccupied.

I sit on the edge of the bed and pull out the knife from its leather case. The hilt is ornate and ancient looking, with snake and rope patterns etched into the silver surface. I open my palm and gently run the knife against my skin, testing it.

My skin splits instantly, a tiny bead of blood rushes to the surface. The cut isn’t deep, but it stings. I turn the knife over, examining the blade. It’s spelled never to grow dull, and there are sanitation charms embedded in the chrome plating. There are no safety mechanisms, but a skilled Dom wouldn’t need it.

It’s all about knowing how to play, and I do.

There’s something about knifeplay that sets itself apart from any other scenes I’ve done in the past. I feel more powerful wielding a knife than any other of my toys.

More dangerous.

I’ve never tried it with Harry. I’ve been afraid of the combination; the power, the lust, the danger, all combined might be too much for me to try to control.

But this is something that Harry wants. I know it is, even if he won’t come out and ask me for it.

And although I’ve been avoiding this truth for far too long, I know it’s something I want, too.

I heal my hand, and slip the knife into my pocket. I unbutton my shirt, yanking it out of my trousers, undoing the cuffs and pushing the sleeves up to my forearms. I glance at the scar of my dark mark for a moment, itching to cover it back up again, but I steel myself and walk down the hall to the spare room — my playroom — with my arms bare and exposed.

I haven’t shown my playroom to Harry before, but I’ve seen him hover around the doorway curiously once or twice.

I toe off my shoes and socks to leave them in the doorway, then press my palm against the door. It swings open when the wards recognise me and I wave my wand as I step inside. The lanterns come alight with a faint hiss, bathing the room in a soft orange glow.

The room is magically enlarged, easily three times the size of my bedroom. The walls are painted black, with glass lanterns mounted into the stone.The floor is made of light wood, but charmed to be soft and plush to the touch. There are hooks mounted into the ceiling with a leather cord already threaded through them. On the side of the room there’s a bare mattress on a plain wooden frame set low to the ground.

I like the room bare, there’s only a bondage bench and a leather sling out in the open, everything else is shrunken and packed away in a large chest I keep in the corner with my initials branded on the leather. A gift from Julien.

I cross the room and rest my palm on the box. It pops open soundlessly and I take out a few things. Harry’s favourite vibrating buttplug, a blindfold, and a healing oil for aftercare. I set them all down on the bondage table, and then pull the knife from my pocket and leave it there, too. The wards on my flat brush against my skin, letting me know Harry’s back, but I remain in here, knowing he’ll come find me.

I turn around, waiting until he comes to the doorway. When he does, he looks flustered and flushed. His hair sticking up even more than usual. His eyes are wide as he takes in the room, but he doesn’t make any move to step in.

I smile at him. ‘Hey.’

He smiles, too, dazed and hesitant, but when he meets my gaze, he looks more happy than anything.

‘Well,’ he says. ‘I did intend to give you a solid talking to about this morning, but I have a feeling you’re about to make it up to me.’

I decide to ignore the ‘solid talking to’ bit and wave him inside. ‘Take off your shoes.’

He toes his shoes off by the door, balancing on one leg to remove his socks and then he steps inside.

When he reaches my side, his eyes immediately catch on the toys on the bondage table.

His gaze stops on the knifecase. ‘Is that —?’

I nod. ‘See for yourself.’

He takes the knife out of the case and turns it over in his palms.

‘Careful,’ I say. ‘It’s very sharp.’

He nods and traces his index finger over the ornate hilt. When he looks up at me, his eyes are bright. ‘Are we going to play with this?’

‘If you want to, yes.’

He nods quickly, without looking up. ‘Yes, I want to.’

‘All right,’ I say. ‘But there are rules.’

Harry smiles slowly and sets the knife down. ‘There are always rules.’

I frown. ‘These are extra rules.’

He sighs and nods. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Let’s hear.’

‘We’re going to take it slowly. I may end the session at any time if I feel like we’re going too far,’ I give him a pointed look, ‘Even if you don’t safeword.’

He nods. ‘What else?’

‘No scars.’ Harry opens his mouth to say something, but I hold up a hand. ‘I know that’s something you want, and I’ll mark you. I want to. But I don’t want to scar you. Nothing permanent. That’s a hard limit for me.’

He looks at me for a long time, then his gaze drops to my forearm and he nods. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘No scars.’

I tilt my head, studying him. ‘Harry, are you sure this is something you want?’

Harry’s gaze flicks away, looking around the room. ‘For a long time, I forgot what it was like — what it should be like. But with you…’ He looks at me. ‘Draco, I don’t ever want to do this with anyone else again. Just you. It’s always been you.’

He looks at me, his expression vulnerable and open, and unsure, but still brave and so very Harry that I can’t help but kiss him. I pull him forward by his shirt and softly brush my lips against his. When his tongue brushes against my lips I let him in, sighing softly and swiping my tongue over his.

When I pull away I take a second to catch my breath and he rests his forehead against mine.

I tighten my grip around the fabric of his shirt. ‘You’re mine now, Harry,’ I say. ‘Mine alone.’

Harry kisses the corner of my mouth. ‘That’s what I want.’

I pull away and he smiles shakily.

I take a few steps away from him. ‘Strip for me.’

He takes off his glasses, pulls his shirt over his head, and steps out of his jeans, resting everything on the bondage table. He stays very still as I observe him, his cheeks tinging pink when my gaze lingers on his half-hard cock.

The soft glow of the light against his skin compliments him. It makes him look powerful and vulnerable at the same time.

For a while, I just look at him. I spend almost a full minute just staring at him, at the broadness of his chest, the firmness of his abdomen. I’m incredibly lucky, I realise, after all the things I’ve done, to know him like this. To be a part of him in this way. I almost can’t believe he’s real.

‘Draco?’

Harry’s gentle voice nudges me out of my trance, and give him a small smile. I Summon the blindfold and walk around him, tying it around his eyes. He holds it in place as I tie it behind his head. I could simply block his sight with a spell, but Harry prefers the blindfold — something he can feel against his skin.

I lead him across to the hanging leather straps, and as I lift each of his hands, the leather wraps around his wrists. It tightens and lifts his hands above his head.

‘You remember your safe word?’

‘Yes.’

I Summon the plug and some lube, then circle around him so that his back is facing me.

‘For this session, you can speak,’ I say. ‘I want you to talk to me. Tell me what you’re feeling.’

Harry nods. ‘Okay.’

I coat the plug in some lube and spread some around his hole. ‘Spread your legs.’

When he does, I coat my finger with some more lube and Vanish the bottle. I slip one finger inside of him and he groans softly. The lube makes a squelching sound as I push my finger deep inside him then withdraw. I circle his hole gently and his back quivers, the muscles beneath his shoulders tense.

‘Good?’

‘Mph. Yes. Perfect.’

I fuck him slowly with just one finger until his moans turn to little whimpers, and then I remove my finger, replacing it with the plug, deep inside his arse.

‘Fuck.’

I set it to vibrate very gently and when I pull away from him, I smack his arse lightly.

‘Close your legs,’ I say. ‘Stand up straight.’

I circle around him and cross the room to grab the knife. I hold it in my palms to warm it up, watching him carefully as he gets used to the plug in his arse.

Harry’s body is tense with anticipation, and his cock is rock hard, steadily leaking precome onto his cock. I step in front of him and let my palm drag across his hot skin. His breath quickens.

I turn the knife over and touch his chest with the hilt, dragging it along the same path as my palm before. Harry bites his lower lip, his breath coming so fast that the sound of it echoes throughout the room.

‘All right?’

He nods. ‘Yes.’

‘I’m going to try something now,’ I say. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes.’

I flip the blade around, so that the sharp side faces away from his skin.

I rest the tip of the blade in the middle of his chest. He stops breathing.

‘Ready?’

This time he just nods.

I very slowly drag the knife along his skin down to his waist, leaving a raised bright red welt line in its wake.

When I pull the knife away, he starts breathing again. His fingers are wrapped around the leather cord in a death grip.

‘How was that?’ I ask, scratching at his nipple with a thumbnail.

He shudders. ‘Again.’

I do it again and again, until his chest is striped with red welt lines. When I’m finished with the final welt, his stance has loosened. He’s leaning forward as if he can’t find his balance, his mouth is slightly parted, his breaths are shallow.

He’s ascending.

It’s fucking gorgeous. I take a second to adjust my cock, trapped in my trousers, and then I shrink the knife into something smaller for more a precise angle.

‘This will be different,’ I say, stepping in close to him.

Harry nods shakily.

I turn the knife over on the sharp side, making a shallow slice across the welt line in the centre of his chest. Tiny beads of blood rush to the surface and Harry makes a low keening sound.

All I can think about right now is fucking him.

‘Good?’

‘Yes. Yes. Yes. Don’t stop. Please.’

I stay along the same welt line, making small cuts across — parallel, almost ladder-like bloodlines — on his skin, no more than a centimetre long. When I reach his waist, I pull away and step back, admiring him.

His skin is alive. Six welt lines raised and swollen red stripe his skin. Each of the lines bleeds a fine trail of blood down his chest.

I set the knife on the bondage table and take a deep breath. When I turn to him, I’m caught staring again. He’s so close. I can feel it. His body is quaking and he’s sweating, biting his lower lip and holding in his moans.

‘You should see yourself, Harry. You’re beautiful.’

‘Let me see.’

I walk over to him and carefully remove the blindfold. He looks down at his chest and his breath catches. ‘Fuck, Draco.’ He looks up at me, gaze hazy. ‘I want to taste.’

I wrap my fingers around his cock and stroke him before lifting my hand and painting his lips with his precome.

Harry flicks out his tongue and licks my index, before releasing a breathy moan.

‘I meant —’

I press my index finger against his come slicked lips, quieting him.

‘Hush,’ I say. ‘Patience.’

I duck my head and lick one of the nicks on his chest, tasting his blood and then I kiss him, mingling the iron-tinged taste of his blood with the sharp flavour of his come.

He groans into my mouth and kisses me deeply, our tongues tangling slowly in a filthy snog.

I stroke his cock, once, twice, and he stiffens in my hand and spurts warm come all over my wrist and forearm.

I keep kissing him and milking his cock until he is spent, until the leather bands and my chest are the only things keeping him off the ground.

I close my eyes and wrap my arms around his waist, holding him up and gently removing the plug. I banish it to the bondage table and release the spell on the leather cords around his wrists. He sags against me and I thread my fingers in his hair, kissing his temple.

‘Come on,’ I say, carrying him over to the bed and resting him gently down on the sheets.

When I look down, there’s blood on my shirt. I peel it off and toss it to the floor, resting my wand beside Harry’s head. I sit beside him, stroking his hair back off his forehead. His eyes are closed, but his lips quirk in a small smile.

I cast a cleansing charm on the cuts in his skin, but I don’t heal them completely. They’re too shallow to scar and I know he’ll want to keep the marks for a few days.

I Summon the soothing oil from my chest, pour a dollop into my hand and smooth it onto his skin. It will eliminate most pain, but it’ll still twinge a bit, and I know he’ll like that.

I set the bottle aside, still stroking his skin. He opens his eyes, blinking slowly, and then he takes my palm in his.

I thread our fingers together. ‘Welcome back.’

He smiles. ‘Thank you,’ he says. His voice is hoarse, his gaze still bleary.

I smile back and kiss his forehead. ‘You’re welcome.’

He lifts his hand and wraps his fingers around my neck. ‘Time for the after-aftercare,’ he murmurs.

He reaches between us and unbuckles my trousers pulling out my cock and stroking it firmly.

‘Mhph,’ I say. ‘Slow, Harry. I’ll come.’

He eases up. ‘Can’t have that,’ he says. ‘I want you to fuck me.’

‘Yes,’ I say, leaning forward and kissing him. ‘Turn around.’

He turns on his side, his back facing me, and I push my trousers off.

I drag my fingers down his slick spine and between his arse cheeks.

He spreads his arse cheeks for me, and I find his hole with my middle finger, already loose and slick. He clenches around me and I bite my lip and reach for my cock.

As I position myself, he reaches back and grips my waist pushing me forward as I slip inside him. His arse clenches around my cock, almost impossibly tight and I groan.

I sink deeply into him, until my hips rest against his arse. He digs his fingers into my hips once and then he lets go, pulling one knee into his chest. I slip even deeper inside him and I close my eyes, dropping my forehead against his shoulder. He feels amazing, and after what we just did, I’m not going to last long.

I roll my hips back and push deeply inside him again. He makes a low grunt and I pull out slow. He releases his leg and reaches around, grabbing my arse, guiding me back inside him.

‘Harry.’ My lips brush the nape of his neck and he shudders.

‘God,’ he murmurs, letting his head drop against the sheets.

I pull out slowly and hold his arse cheeks open with my hands so I can watch my cock slide out of him.

‘Fuck, Draco.’

I snap my hips and plunge into him. His body jerks forward and he whimpers.

Harry closes his eyes, biting his lower lip, his nostrils flaring with each breath. He reaches for my hand, wrapping it around his chest.

I roll my hips slowly, watching his face as he reacts to each thrust. His arse clenches and unclenches around me, teasing the length of my cock, and the need to come inside him gets more and more urgent.

My balls start to draw up, and through the rush of blood in my ears I can hear Harry moaning breathily. I lean forward to lick the dip between his shoulder blades, smiling when he whimpers and goosebumps flare up along his skin.

‘Draco.’

I speed up just a bit, and he starts moving with me. When I close my eyes, my lips brush against his neck, I bite down on the space between his neck and shoulders just as my orgasm reaches its crest.

I come inside him for what seems like ages, still biting his shoulder to muffle my moans. When it’s over I rest my head on his shoulder, licking the teeth marks I left there to soothe them, breathing heavily.

After what seems like an hour, I pull out of him carefully and he turns to face me kissing me deeply before threading his fingers into my hair.

His warm breath warms the tip of my nose. ‘Draco,’ he says, his breath unsteady.

I kiss his temple, feeling as if I haven’t quite come back down to earth just yet. ‘What?’

He shifts closer to me and I wrap my arm around him.

‘I think we’ve broken the line,’ he says.

I smile and kiss him again. ‘I have a feeling we’ll be doing that a lot.’

Harry hums contentedly, and I hold him close until his breaths lengthen and he’s asleep.