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Monday's were bad enough. The comfortable feeling of the weekend evaporated like the seething hot asphalt in the stifling summer heat. Thank god for air-conditioning.
Draco rolled around on his stool, getting up required too much energy, a fleeting fuel, especially low after the weekend he'd had. His only respite awaited him in the break room, a small aluminium square, hissing and huffing as coffee squealed out of the nozzle and into his mug.
It was 8am, way too early for anything, let alone concentrating on his work but when your name is on the front door you kinda have to show up, even when horribly hungover from the nights before.
He let the compact coffee robot do its thing, waiting patiently until every last drop of the dark brown infusion had dripped out of the spout.
His mind was still a bit hazy, eyes blinking out of sync, struggling under the weight of sleep and exhaustion.
Maybe going to the same night club two nights in a row hadn't been the smartest decision after all? Though the mingling feeling of total calm and tranquility made up for it. It had been a terribly draining weekend
But
On the bright side,
Fuck had it been exciting! Expensive… but immensely thrilling.
Draco was still detecting a little swagger in his step, the tension in his shoulders rolling off, his whole mind all so clear and yet so full.
Full of questions, unanswered and unattainable. Like who was he? What did he look like? Was he there every week or had it just been a once in a lifetime sort of thing?
He rolled back across the polished floor, smoothly but with minimum effort to prep the room for his first patient of the day – a little girl, like eleven or twelve, routine check-up on her braces and changing of the elastic rubber bands pulling her teeth in the desired direction. Nothing major, nothing that required his undivided focus or the kind of neuron connections his sleep deprived brain was fishing for in the cup of black coffee.
He could do this in his sleep, probably. Metaphorically at least.
The next patient came right after – an older gentleman, more fake teeth than real ones but apparently one of the latter was hurting so Draco got to work.
The morning crept by, slowly, only ever speeding up when Draco was pulled into the trance of his work. Repetitive routines, practiced movements, fluid teamwork. Maybe today he could go home early?
Sure this was his dental practice and he should keep working.
But this was his dental practice and he could do whatever he wanted.
He had people for that, paying them handsomely to do their work. And honestly, how could he expect the highest of them when he was sitting here, hungover, surviving on four hours of sleep and double the amount of coffee? What kind of example was that?
Perfect, he thought, found a loophole.
The next three patients came in – mother of three complaining about sharp pains she'd been having for weeks but never had the time to get checked out.
Another kid with braces.
And a new client.
An extremely good looking client. Broad shoulders, tiny waist, perfect grin, green eyes, an interesting scar on his forehead peaking through strands of brown hair.
Draco rolled his chair back into the hallway, stealing himself another glance while the front desk assistant put his information into their system. He was mesmerising to look at, pulling him in, skyrocketing his interest.
There was a plethora of people stepping through those milky glass doors every day. Different looking people with different problems but most of them weren't smiling like that. It looked so effortless, so warm and inviting, so fascinatingly spellbinding.
He slid back into the room, prepping it, wiping down the surfaces and putting things onto the tray he'd need for the appointment.
By now his brain was nearing normality again, boosted by caffeine and lunch. Why hadn't he thought about that earlier? Food; the simplest way to cure a hangover.
He quickly stood up, triggered by footsteps on the wood paneled floor. It got him unusually excited about…
About what?
What was he so excited about? He was just a new patient. The most mundane thing within these walls. Not as secular as registered patients roaming around but nothing out of the ordinary.
“Hello,” Draco extended an ungloved hand, shaking it firm and short to greet him, “I'm doctor Malfoy, how can I help you today?”.
Short, to the point, polite. Not giddy nor flustered. Or so he hoped it came across.
“Potter, pleasure!” He nodded, shrugging off his denim jacket, placing it on an empty chair along with the keys, wallet and phone from his pockets before sitting down on the reclinable seat. “Was hoping I'd get you.” He shared, craning his head to see what Draco was doing.
What Draco was doing was closing the door, a twinge of excitement rattling through him, “me? Why?”.
“This is your business, no?” Mr. Potter answered, an air of confidence and suave billowing in the woves of his voice, “saw your name on the door. Also said so when I googled it.”.
That made sense.
Of course it did! What the hell was he on about?!
That this exceedingly hot stranger sought him out personally?
For what?
“This is my business Mr. Potter,” Draco nodded calmly, taking a seat on his stool again to roll next to the chair so his patient wouldn't strain his neck, “so what can I help you with today? Any discomfort?”.
He shook his head, glancing around the room, “just testing today, need a new dentist, my old one was… rude.”. His face twisted in an ugly way, like someone who was tasked to crown the stinkiest smell at a toddler daycare.
“Rude?” Draco repeated, an eyebrow arching a little higher.
“Unbearably so, that's why I'm here. Your practice got good ratings online, friendly staff and stuff like that.”.
Draco nodded, rolling around to get a pair of gloves and a face mask, “we strive for excellence.”.
“Perfect.” His smile beamed again, this time at him, broad and gravitational. The kind of smile that could brighten someone's day.
He needed to get his shit together, now! Attractive men were no rarity, at least where Draco liked to spend his free time. Or maybe he spent it there because of the attractive men.
Either way, this wasn't one of those places. He wasn't at a club, he wasn't on a date, he wasn't even sure that man was gay!
Though one might dare to assume…
“Just a routine check up for today or was there something else?” Draco asked, pushing one of the buttons to lower the chair, reclining it back to get a good look.
“Whatever you recommend, surprise me.” He offered, opening his mouth a little.
“That's not how we do things here,” Draco chuckled amusedly, “if there's something we need to do I will let you know beforehand.”.
Mr. Potter grinned, nodding slightly, “off to a good start there Doc.”.
He didn't let it get to him.
Couldn't let it get to him.
He's a client. He's a client. He's a client!
Strange…
“Open a bit wider,” he routinely inspected his teeth, taking his time and working his way around every tooth.
Yep, definitely unmistakably…
He retrieved the instruments out of his mouth, straightening the chair with the push of a button, “a bit of build up but nothing unusual, no cavities, no hygiene problems.” He concluded his inspection, “did you have braces as a child?”.
“No.”
The proximity sent a tingle through Draco's chest.
“Just got lucky I guess?” He shrugged, waiting for Draco to continue the appointment.
“Do you floss? Do you use mouthwash?” He asked. Clinically, professional, hopefully unbothered by what he had seen.
“I floss, don't like the taste of mouthwash.”.
“Do you use an electric toothbrush or a regular one?” Maybe he was just a lot too enthusiastic while brushing?
“Electric,” he chuckled, “I'm lazy.”.
Hm… Draco nodded. Pausing, hesitating, itching to ask.
“Had a fun weekend?”.
His skin felt on fire, every nerve ending laying bare to the touch.
“What?” Mr. Potter sat up a little more, confusedly scanning Draco's face.
He felt even hotter. His white blonde hair sticking to the back of his neck, surely dripping in sweat. It ran down his spine. Cold, harsh, unsettling.
“There's uhm,” he coughed trying to reset his voice to the lower register, not as unsteadily prepubescent as it had come out at first, “there's some bruising.. in the back of your mouth.”.
He could feel those green eyes piercing through his shirt.
“Usually when patients use an electric toothbrush, that doesn't happen.” He explained, sweating in his rubber gloves, his mouth far too dry to keep talking.
“Oh.”.
Oh?!
What did he mean, oh?!
“Is that... bad?” Mr. Potter continued, thrown a little off guard but remaining more unfazed by it than Draco.
“Not per se,” though definitely a very obvious indicator of sexual preference, “is that a uh, regular occurrence?”.
“Regular?”. He was shifting. Fucking shifting in his seat!
“Yes,” Draco nodded slightly, “do you notice it often after brushing?”.
“Oh.”
Oh?! Again?!
“No, not really.” Mr. Potter answered, not conclusively sure what that meant but he had an idea.
“Can you demonstrate how you brush?” He needed to know, not medically, not professionally. Personally. Out of pure dumb attraction.
“Sure?” He nodded, taking the toothbrush Draco handed him, slowly brushing his teeth with it.
It felt charged, somehow intimate to watch him gently shove the clear blue plastic brush over his teeth, his lips closing around it when the toothpaste started to bubble up.
Draco let a cup fill with water for him to rinse, nodding after a bit that felt like far longer than any other minute.
Mr. Potter rinsed out, spitting the silver misty water into the built-in basin, turning back to Draco with intrigue, “and?”.
“Is that how you brush at home?”.
Fuck!
It hit him,
Maybe home was with someone else! Maybe home was with a boyfriend! Or husband!
“Yeah, so is it bad?” He asked again, clearly missing the internal crisis he had started in him.
He needed to fucking chill! Calm the fuck down! “No, it's not bad. Just means it's not from over-brushing. Something to watch unless there's a reasonable explanation.”.
Mr. Potter nodded, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth as he hung his head to hide the grin, “like a fun weekend, Doc?”.
“Yes…”. Fucking hell, the Aircon was not strong enough to stop the heat spreading through his stomach like acid rain.
He felt it everywhere, in his legs, in his chest, ringing in his ears, even his fingertips felt like they were buzzing.
“Interesting what you describe as fun.” That grin was back. That perfect, beaming, basking in confidence, entrancing grin.
Oh god he was cooked. Literally. Boiling like soup.
“Doesn't necessarily mean my kind of fun…” he deflected, slowly peeling off the gloves, he was swimming in them. A very displeasing sensation.
“How does it differ?”.
Clearly Mr. Potter had understood his implications and was now confronting him with some of his own.
“It wouldn't be written across my throat.”. Lie.
If he wanted to, if the opportunity presented itself he would most definitely turn into a cock slut. On his knees, tears, spit and cum running down his face. His throat wrapped entirely around the erection preferably forced into his mouth, his face almost flush to the base of it.
“Rather like to receive than to give?” He grinned, unmistakably shifting in his seat again.
Contrary to Draco's stool this chair was almost like a platform, a stage, presenting him. All of him. Vulnerable, exposed. Inviting?
“I don't have questionable bruising in the back of my mouth, I don't need to explain myself.” Draco said firmly, putting a stop to it, reclaiming some control over what was happening.
“Questionable?” Mr. Potter laughed, shaking his messy curls back for a moment, exposing his throat to him. His eyes locked back on Draco's, “what is the question Mr. Malfoy?”.
“Cause.” He made himself clear, taken by surprise by the effects of that very simple move.
His green eyes flashed dangerously, determined, unwavering, smugly. The corner of his mouth quirked up with challenge, a deliberate move, calculated and impactful. “Cock.”.
Oh no…
Draco was stunned, his eyes quivering under the pressure, the intensity. He bit his lip, instinctively, hidden by the mask but not hiding the shade of red creeping under it, spreading to his ears.
He was blushing, hard. How could he not?
“Is that a regular occurrence?” He pressed out, faltering under that gaze.
“Depends,” the grin widened, “what do you consider regular? Like every other week or every other day?”.
Oh god, what he'd give to know…
“By definition, a timeframe that restarts within a set amount of time. Every other week is as regular as every other day.” He explained, fully drawn into his orbit.
“Really? Feel like one’s more often than the other?”.
“Regularity doesn't depend on quantity or proximity, it simply refers to a reoccurring timeframe. E.g. brushing your teeth every morning and night or checking up on blood pressure every two months with your doctor.” Could Mr. Potter see how much he was swimming in himself? How flustered he was, how flushed his cheeks were, the bolt of lightning pooling in his lap?
“Maybe we should check yours, looks a little off the charts.” Mr. Potter chuckled, turning in his chair, his legs dangling off the side so he could face him.
Yes, he was done. Caught like this whole thing had been a trap. A very thirsty trap.
“I'm not in the hot seat!” He yelped out, fighting to reset the professional boundaries.
“You do look quite hot in your seat though.” Mr. Potter grinned, giving him a one over before continuing, “well in any case, if you want to release some of that tension, I'd recommend Golden Trio, it's a–”
Draco nodded, averting his eyes and finally pulling off his mask, “yes, I know.”. He'd been there, in fact, he'd been there the nights before.
A trio was made up of three things, golden was the kind of assortment of things the nightclub marketed in. In essence, rooms in golden design, lot of things to try and three rules above all else:
- Consent.
- Anonymity.
- Strictly for men.
“I see.” Mr. Potter chuckled, letting his knees fall apart just enough for Draco to notice, “wouldn't want to disregard rule number two, though, would we?”.
“Already kind of are…” Draco sighed, feeling control slip away with every second he spent so close to him.
He nodded, “mhm, that's true.” Mr. Potter chuckled, “you do remind me of someone I met there this weekend.”.
“This can't mean anything positive…” he had already lost. Every sliver of professionalism, every front he put up, every piece of control. All gone. He was attracted to the guy, drawn in, wrapped around his finger, flushed and flustered when he looked up.
“He had this really slick mask, like satin or something, really exquisite looking,”
No.
“, also a blond or maybe white hair? Could've been a wig but he wasn't old or anything. I could tell by the rest of the outfit,”
Oh no.
“, black button down, everything black, probably expensive too,”
Please, no.
“, think I ruined that though?” He chuckled, glancing up left to try and remember, “just all together very mannered, almost stoic,”
Oh god…
“, well just until–”.
“Yea, I get it!” He groaned in frustration, massaging the bridge of his nose, “fucking hell, please stop talking.”.
“Huh?” Mr. Potter's eyes darted back to him, confused by this change of tone. He was not connecting the dots, not yet.
But Draco didn't want to do it for him, didn't want to expose himself like that. He'd rather sink into the floor, crawl under the cabinets or simply jump out the window. See if flying was an alternative. Considering his odds he might actually be able to do it.
“Getting jealous?” Mr. Potter teased, trying to make sense of his reaction.
“Of what?” Draco deadpanned, “myself?”.
It took a second to register.
Then another to click.
One more to sink in.
And a last one to realise.
“Fuck, really?!” He laughed, looking away for a second only to return with a smirk, the corner of his bottom lip loosely trapped between his teeth, “well, well Doc. Feels like we solved the mystery of how those bruises got there, didn't we?”.
Draco glared at him, not amused by any of it.
There was this handsome guy, one who had rendered him unprofessional the second Draco had seen him at the front desk. One who had made a fool of him this entire time and one he had apparently met before.
Although met was not quite the right word for someone who had latched onto his cock through a glory hole. No talking, no eye contact, no more information than the broken up image through the rest of the holes in that wall and the sounds escaping them.
“Oh don't be like that,” he kept grinning, “I see this as an opportunity.”.
“For what?” That grin was the only thing he had seen before, really, he should've recognised it. But, to be fair, he had been tipsy at best, his vision a bit blurry, eyes fluttering in pleasure.
All he remembered was, nothing really.
Except for that smile, those lips wrapped around him, cheeks hollowing, spit and cum mingling as he kept on going, working him through his high.
“That was one heck of a blowjob I gave you,” he shifted again, to the edge of the chair, the slutty waist appearing even tinier when he leaned forward, “you could repay me,” his hands were digging into the inside of Draco's thighs, pushing them apart, “or I could do it again?”.
No! Absolutely not! Under no circumstances could he ever agree to that here! Not in his practice, not while he was working, not when he was his patient, not–
Mr. Potter had slid off the chair entirely, dropped to his knees, his hands chasing up Draco's thighs. Eyes hooded, something mischievous lingering in them like a plan waiting to unfurl.
And yes, there was a plan.
“We can't do this here Mr. Potter!” Draco hissed, eyes glued to that grin, distracted enough to notice it too late.
“Name's Harry.” He ignored his warning, instead pushing the palm of his hand against Draco's groyne.
“Fuck!” Draco inhaled sharply, this couldn't really be happening! “No!” He tried again, frantically searching for the strength to stop what was happening, “we can't do this here, Harry!”.
Harry looked up, eyes swimming with lust, “mh but I liked your cock and I like the way it sounds when you say my name Doc. Fuels me to keep going, shove you back down my throat,” he hummed, leaning back on his heels, “makes me so fucking hard.”.
Draco's gaze dropped immediately downward to the bulge, the tent rising, visible evidence of the growing cock beneath that fabric. Useless fabric, pointless fabric, fabric that would look so much better scattered across his bedroom floor. “Good god…” he contemplated it, ran through options in his mind but he wasn't coming to any rational conclusions, “my car's outside. Black, tinted windows, marked spot.”.
Harry's lips curled up into a smile again, “see you in five, don't make me wait,” He stood up, standing as close as possible without any physical contact, “and tell me your name, I'd like to know what I'm supposed to be yelling.”.
Draco couldn't move, standing there, motionless, almost at eye level with him but there wasn't enough air in his lungs to press out a single word.
It didn't seem to matter, Harry simply leaned in even more, slowly, calculated, seductive, “tell me later.”.
And then it happened, he felt it, brushing against his own. The tension between them was so electrifying he could feel the sparks on his skin.
“Or don't, as long as we're clear on where this is heading?” He grinned, pushing his erection forward, not enough to grind into him but enough to cause some friction, “I don't need a ride home, unless you plan on fucking me there?”.
Draco's breath came out low and shaky, his eyes focused on those lips, plush and red but not swollen, not kiss-bitten or covered in spit. He could change that.
Should he?
No.
Would he?