Chapter Text
Draco starts ‘hanging out’ at Harry’s flat.
Well, it is technically also Hermione’s flat – and Ron’s, when he isn’t visiting home to help George with the shop – and Draco is really “hanging out” while visiting Hermione. They work together now.
Still. Draco spends rather a lot of time inside the apartment where Harry spends most of his hours, which means that Harry finds himself to be in closer proximity to him than he’s probably ever been before.
It’s bloody infuriating. Not even because Draco is being rude to him; he isn’t. Which is a source of great distress to Harry, because Draco bloody Malfoy is being nice to him.
“Harry,” Hermione warns him. It hardly matters when, because it becomes a fairly regular occurrence after Draco starts coming by. “You’re being obsessive. He’s just a dude.”
“He’s Malfoy,” Harry argues. He whispers because, as so often happens, Draco is over and is somewhere in the flat. Hermione has cornered Harry in the kitchen, because apparently he was being short earlier, when Draco said hello to him.
“People can change,” she says. “He’s been a great help in protesting against–“
“The elitism of his parents’ and the Families’ ways, yes, I know,” Harry interrupts her. They’ve had this conversation before.
“Stop being an idiot then.”
Harry grimaces at her in reply, but she just smiles; She knows him too well. She squeezes his shoulder and kisses the side of his face, just as Draco enters the room. Harry tries to keep from scowling or, worse, smiling at him.
Draco leans languidly against the end of the kitchen counter to look at them. His chin is in his hand, his arm resting on his elbow. As always, when he’s around, Harry feels the energy of infuriation thrumming inside of his veins, making him want to do something; preferably something that will cause Draco mild distress.
“Are you ready?” Draco asks. It’s directed at Hermione. She nods, and removes herself from Harry’s side.
“Yep.”
“We’re watching The Grinch,” Draco says, this time to Harry himself.
“It’s July.”
Draco stands up and, weirdly, smiles. Harry crosses his arms in front of his chest. He is aware that he is acting like a petulant child; doesn’t mean he won’t continue to do it.
“Should I take that to mean that you don’t want to join?” Draco asks. Hermione is standing by him, reaching out for his arm, as if ready to steer him away.
“No,” Harry says. Then, watching the back of Hermione’s head and keeping her exasperation with him in mind, he adds: “Thank you.”
Draco shrugs. “Alright then.” He lets himself be guided away.
Harry stands to watch them until the door to Hermione’s room closes behind them. Then he exhales the breath he’s been holding. What is happening to his life?
__
If Harry is completely honest with himself, which he rarely is, then he’ll have to admit that one of the reasons he finds being around Draco this much as infuriating as he does is that Draco is, well– rather attractive.
He holds himself like he knows it, too. He saunters into rooms with a swagger on, and leans against counters and other furniture with languid movements, and every time Harry wants to do something between hitting him in the face and bruising his neck with kisses.
It isn’t news to him that he’s at least some form of queer, so that isn’t the problem. The problem is that he’s Mafloy. He’s Harry’s arch nemesis; he’s supposed to be, at least. He’s certainly not supposed to be able to rile Harry up this much just by sending him a look and a smirk.
Harry masturbates a lot. And then he hides his face under his blankets, and tries to forget everything.
__
About a week later he’s lying sprawled out on his bed, listening to music and spelling doodles in the air above him, when someone knocks on his door. It’s Draco who opens it, when Harry calls out an affirmative. Harry sits up.
“Oh,” he says. “Hey.”
Draco looks amused. His eyes watch the doodles still present above Harry’s head. Harry refuses to spell them away and succumb.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Draco says. Harry wonders if he even has a flat of his own. Maybe he just stays here and with Pansy?
“Good for you,” he says. He sees Draco’s tongue pressing to the back of his upper-mouth teeth. Maybe it’s an attempt not to smile.
“Just wanted to hear if you need the bathroom?”
“I don’t,” Harry says. Draco lingers after he says it, and it’s awkward. Harry doesn’t know why he’s this incapable of having a normal conversation with the man.
“Good,” Draco says then, and he leaves. Harry sighs and lies back down.
__
He goes to make himself a cup of tea in the kitchen. He can hear the shower running, so Draco must still be in there. He doesn’t know about Hermione, but he’s sure she’s here somewhere.
The water boiling turns loud, which is probably why he doesn’t hear or otherwise register when the shower stops running, or when the bathroom door opens, or when Draco’s footsteps get closer, until they stop, right by the entrance to the kitchen.
When Harry turns around, he nearly squeals in shock. He does jump. Draco looks like he’s trying hard not to chuckle.
“Sorry,” he says. Harry just tries not to blush, because Draco is naked except for the towel around his hips, and his skin is flushed pink from the shower. Attraction surges in Harry’s chest; he wants, which he really rather shouldn’t.
“Hm,” he says. He turns back around and resolutely doesn’t say anything as he pours water over his teabag. He watches the liquid turn brown. This time he does hear when Draco comes closer.
“Can I have one as well?” he asks. He’s really very close; Harry can feel the warmth of his skin, oh so near. He turns his head and watches a drop of water run from the tips of Draco’s wet hair and down his neck, before it is caught by his collarbone. Harry’s fingers tingle with the desire to touch. When he looks up, Draco is watching him intensely. His resolve breaks.
Harry kisses him.
He kisses him, and kisses him, and holds on to his cheeks with his hands, and licks into his mouth, and kisses him. His mouth is warm too, and he tastes like toothpaste. When Draco opens his mouth, Harry backs him up against the counter and pushes their bodies together.
A door opens somewhere in the flat; Harry registers the sound, registers that the only one it could be is Hermione, registers that she’s probably looking for either or both of them, and registers that he doesn’t want her to see this, all within a second. He pulls back.
And just in time, because just as he’s taken a step to the side and has grabbed his teacup, Hermione enters the room. “There you are,” she says.
Draco clears his throat awkwardly, but his voice is still hoarse when he says, “Here I am.”
“Tea?” Harry asks, to distract her, and pushes his cup into her hands. “Draco was just making some.”
He resolutely doesn’t look at said man, but says, “Anyway, I’m off,” and hurries to his room. It feels like he doesn’t breathe until he closes the door behind him and is alone once again. He hits his head against the doorframe twice; he wants to hide.
__
Two hours pass before he sees Draco again. This time Draco doesn’t knock, but simply walks in and closes Harry’s door softly behind him.
He leans against said door, and is breathing rather heavily when he meets Harry’s eye. Harry is lying on his bed. Draco’s expression is ever-changing; he’s questioning, then demanding of an answer. Harry smiles, and it must mean something to Draco, because his expression turns questioning again, but this time what is says is more like ‘Are you going to do it again?”
Harry does.
Apparently this wordless conversation is all they need, so he gets up from the bed; slowly enough to watch Draco’s expression for sign of a change of heart. He sees none. Rather, he sees Draco’s eyes falling to his lips, and Draco’s neck moving around his swallow.
Draco is in a tee and pants, Harry notes. The tee is loose over his body, but the outline of his defined, skinny chest is still visible beneath it. His hair is slightly curly, too; this is not a new discovery – He has been around a lot – but it’s still one that Harry hasn’t quite gotten over yet.
He realises that he’s staring. Draco must too, because when he watches Harry, his eyes widen slightly in the tell-tale of surprise. Harry bites his lip in an effort not to smirk. God, how he wants this.
He walks up to Draco, so their bodies are aligned, but stops there. Draco’s breath gets shakier; Harry wants to smile again. Instead he casts a muffling spell on the door against Draco’s back. Draco doesn’t comment, but raises his brow.
“This might be a bad idea,” Harry tells him. It’s more an attempt at ‘full disclosure’ than it is an attempt to discourage him from the idea. Draco shrugs.
“Perhaps not entirely,” he says. His voice is lower than normal and hoarse. Harry leans in, but kisses his jaw instead of his lips. Draco inhales a quick breath that is very nearly a gasp. Then he makes a movement that is almost a shimmer, or like the kind of move a cat makes when it is pleased. It makes Harry want to take him apart.
“Are you going to do anything about it?” Draco asks. He lifts his head to give Harry access, when Harry tries to kiss his neck. Draco likes this, Harry realises. A lot. Still, he says,
“Tell me I’m allowed.” He waits by Draco’s neck until he replies:
“You’re allowed.”
Harry kisses him. This time it starts rather less urgently, although the deepness of the hunger for it is still there within Harry. Harry is simply testing out the waters, catching Draco’s top lip between his own and sucking on it, before Draco parts his lips for him. When Harry cups his face and presses their bodies closer together, Draco hums in what, presumably, is content.
It’s casual and nice, but then Harry bites Draco’s bottom lip and Draco tugs at Harry’s hair where his hands are buried, and the mood changes instantly. Draco tugs Harry closer, so Harry retaliates by using his knee to push Draco’s legs apart and insert his thigh there, before he thrust it against Draco’s groin. Draco gasps and groans, so Harry does it again.
“Is more than making out okay too?” he asks. Draco kisses him deeply for a few moments, before he replies by jumping up Harry’s body, so Harry has to catch him, and snaking his legs around Harry’s hips.
“Hm,” he hums; It’s affirmative.
Harry carries him to the bed, where he puts him down on his back, and crawls over him to kiss him again. Draco pulls Harry’s shirt off and puts his hands to Harry’s back, so Harry pushes his shirt off as well. Later, their pants go as well.
Draco is sensitive. Harry kisses down his neck and over his chest, and Draco’s hands fist so hard in his hair that Harry worries if he should cast a spell to make it stay on his head. When Harry kisses Draco’s stomach he groans loudly as his whole body twitches, so Harry does it again and continues until Draco pulls him back up to his mouth.
“Lube?” he asks. He keeps kissing the side of Harry’s face, when Harry leans over him to grab it from the bedside table.
“I thought you hated me,” he says, when Harry’s attention is back on him. Harry opens the bottle and pours some of the liquid out on his fingers before he answers.
“Not hate. I just find your constant presence a bit annoying.” He nudges Draco’s legs apart a bit; Draco bends them at the knee like it’s second nature. Maybe it is; maybe he does this a lot.
“And your solution is to shag me?” Draco says. Harry circles him with the first finger, and starts pushing inside. Draco’s mildly peeved expression crumbles and falls away; instead he looks a mix between pleasured and pained. He bites his lip.
“Alright?” Harry asks.
Draco nods. “Yeah.”
Harry leans up to kiss him as he wriggles the finger around, coaxing Draco more and more open with it.
“At least this way I get something out of you hanging around here,” he says.
“Orgasms?” Draco still has that distant, superior tone to it, so Harry adds the second finger and watches him gasp with satisfaction.
“Yeah,” he says. He bends his fingers at the knuckles, hitting Draco’s prostate; Draco’s expression get soft with the pleasure. “Orgasms.” And getting to see you like this, all desperate and taken apart.
As he adds the third finger, Harry stays by Draco’s face, but doesn’t kiss him, so instead Draco alternates between kissing Harry’s neck and exhaling breathy moans against it, until Harry is sure it’ll be bruised tomorrow.
When he leans up to grab the condom, Draco’s breath is so low and sated, Harry is momentarily worried he might be about to fall asleep. His expression, when Harry comes back to him, is unfocused.
“You alright?” Harry asks, to draw him back into the real world. Draco focuses on him and nods. As if in proof, he grabs the condom from Harry and rolls it onto him, before coating him in lube.
They try with Harry on top, but Harry has never been able to read Draco’s expression very well, and now is no different, so he can’t distinguish between when Draco’s frown is in pleasure or in pain. They switch places. This turns out to be a good idea, because the way Draco looks when he sinks himself down on Harry, and gets the purest look of pleasure on his face, could be enough to make Harry black out. He moans instead, and is very happy for the muffle-spell he cast before.
He puts his hand up to Draco’s chest beneath his nipple, to support him. “Alright?”
“Yeah,” Draco says. He starts moving. “Just stop asking.”
Draco in pleasure is a Draco whose chest flushes pink and whose movements become languid and sultry. He becomes pliant and content too; when he isn’t moaning, he smiles softly and pushes himself into Harry’s hands, so they are never empty. He’s loud, too. Harry gets increasingly happier that muffle-spells are even a thing.
Afterwards Draco stays and kisses him for five minutes, but then he extracts himself from Harry’s body. He starts gathering his things, but he does it without hurry, so Harry is confident that he’s not in the middle of regretting what just happened.
“You know, you’re rather good at that,” Harry tells him. Mostly he does it to test out the mood, so when Draco reacts by kissing Harry’s temple, Harry is pleased.
“I know,” Draco says.
Harry throws a pillow at his head; Draco chuckles. Before he leaves, he stands in the open door, on the threshold between this new territory, and the one they’ve shared up until now, and smiles with content.
“Goodnight,” he says then. Harry throws another pillow after him and the door, for him to close it, but he’s beaming, too.
__
Harry wakes the next morning after both Hermione and Draco have gone to work, but he still wears a turtleneck to cover up his love-bites. He tries not to think too much.
The next time Draco comes over and plans to stays the night, they meet in the kitchen again; this time Harry is making three cups of tea and getting a piece of leftover pizza for himself. When Draco enters, he steals the pizza from the plate and takes a bite. Harry slaps him over the head.
“You can’t do that just because we’re shagging,” he says.
Draco chews the bite and leans against the counter nonchalantly. “Just because we shagged,” he corrects Harry.
Harry smiles and still finds him attractive. He puts his hand to Draco’s stomach and uses it to push him flush up against the counter. Draco smirks. He’s still smirking when Harry dives in to press his lips to the place on Draco’s neck where he is most sensitive, until he hears Draco gasping for breath.
“Just because we’re shagging,” he repeats himself as he pulls back.
Draco snort and hits him over the head, but that night, when Hermione is asleep, he comes back into Harry’s room and pushes himself into Harry’s hands again.