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Harry wasn’t going to take the dare. It went too far. He'd thought only to walk away when he'd stood. But then there was Malfoy, dropping to his knees at Harry’s feet. Waiting. It'd been enough for Harry's dick.
Indecision verged on panic. Then, as he stopped thinking and unzipped, elation. Uproar around the room. Malfoy staring up at him. Harry started stroking himself.
Their friends’ chants muffled to background noise. It was only the two of them, Malfoy blinking. Licking his lips. Parting them. Harry’s fevered tugging then.
Malfoy made an O of his mouth. Trusting. Filthy. Harry nearly choked, and came. On his cheeks, across his lips, down his chin, in his mouth.
Harry panted, sick with afterglow, and watched Malfoy’s throat as he swallowed.
He woke with a start, bolting up, shattering lassitude. Pants smeared, sticky... Merlin, not again.
A chill voice drawled from the other side of his bed-sheers. “Ever heard of a privacy charm, Potter?”
Harry fumbled a Scourgify, flushing down his chest. And, so close he almost felt it: Malfoy’s low, rich laugh.