Author's Note: A while back, I wrote a plaster-cast smutlet (which is still titled just that, I believe...*g*), which was originally inspired by a chat with Frances Potter. Later, I wrote a follow-up story (Payback) in that same little universe for Alex, and then still later, in yet another chat, Fran mentioned that she would be interested in knowing the backstory to those ficlets-specifically, how the boys got together. I let that idea float around in my ickle brain for a while, and when Fran's birthday approached, I decided that it would make an appropriately fluffy birthday ficlet. (Because heaven knows birthdays need fluff. Or, rather, I need birthdays to have an excuse to write fluff...or something...)

So to help celebrate Fran's birthday properly, I've written that story, and it is dedicated to her.

It was beta'd by the incomparable trio of Milena Lupin, Salix Babylon and taradiane, and they are all just beyond amazing. Lovely ladies, thank you from the depths of my heart for the superb beta, and the re-read. You're just great.

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Harry surveyed the Great Hall, a feeling of contentment welling up strongly inside. Hermione had been right. That wasn't new, of course; Harry grinned to himself as he recalled his long history with Hermione's sometimes annoying ability to be always correct. This time, though, he was glad. He'd been so uncertain about coming to this event...So unsure about whether or not it would help. His grin faded as the pensive air that had followed him for nearly the whole of the past year returned.

A year. The war had been over for a full year.

During that year, Harry had alternately felt profound relief that it was all over and a nearly overwhelming sense of grief at the cost it had exacted. He hadn't been at all sure that coming to an anniversary celebration of the war's end would be of any help; in fact, he'd been worried that it would just accentuate the pain of the losses they'd all suffered. Hermione insisted that it would be a healthy thing for him to do, though. "You'll see, Harry. People are moving on. They're not forgetting, not by a long shot, but they're learning to move beyond it and live again. And it's all the more necessary that you see them like that, Harry, because if people don't move beyond it, then everything we fought for--everything those people gave their lives for--well, this is what it was all about, Harry. We fought so we could live and be happy."

Harry looked around at the people filling the enormous room. She'd been right. They were milling about, laughing easily, talking and dancing and chatting; at the various tables that were scattered about and tucked into corners and small alcoves off of the main room, people were also having quiet, intense conversations, but the overall mood was one of hope and joy.

Drawing in a deep breath and slowly exhaling, Harry let go of the tension he'd been carrying for what seemed like forever. He should, he mused, go talk to Hermione. He hadn't seen much of her that evening yet, and she'd be glad to know he was finally seeing what she'd been telling him for ages. Catching sight of her across the packed room, Harry started out. He worked his way easily through the crowd, pausing to greet people, to exchange a few words with them, or even in some cases, hug them. He was nearly to his destination, and the path had suddenly cleared remarkably, when he heard Ron's voice over the crowd. "Harry! Hey, Harry!"

Harry turned his head automatically at the call, but he didn't stop, or even slow down; he was walking rapidly and with great purpose and so when he collided with something tall and warm and firmly in his path, he did so with enormous force. Grabbing automatically at the person to regain his balance, he was already forming his apology when strong arms caught him and held him.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Harry Potter. I figured I'd run into you here, Potter, I just didn't expect it to be quite so painful." Draco Malfoy's low, amused voice sounded in Harry's left ear, and Harry felt himself flush in reaction; it started at his neck and worked its way up right to the scar on his forehead. Suddenly it seemed much less important to talk to Hermione, and whatever Ron wanted could surely wait...

"Malfoy." Harry pulled himself together and tried to disentangle himself from the Slytherin's arms, but he was being quite firmly held in place. He'd seen Malfoy all evening, of course. The blond was hard to miss; he'd been constantly surrounded by a bevy of admirers, many of whom were making no secret of their obvious desire to get to know him quite a bit more intimately than they already did.

Harry's mind flashed back briefly to a number of stories he'd heard during the war. Malfoy, it seemed, had been on the receiving end of that type of offer for quite a while. And he hadn't been shy about accepting them, according to rumor. Not, Harry hastily admitted to himself, that Malfoy had ever been anything but upfront about his commitment to any of those people. There wasn't one, and there wasn't going to be one, ever, and he'd apparently been quite clear about that...not that his saying so had seemed to deter anyone from pursuing him, Harry recalled dryly.

It was the one thing that had always prevented Harry from initiating any kind of relationship with him, despite the fact that he'd long been interested. Harry'd had a number of relationships over the past few years, and while they'd been based on mutual respect and affection, he'd never quite felt the intensity with any of them that Malfoy always made him feel just by being in the same room. But something inside him had always balked at being just another one of Draco's flings.

Pushing away the thought that it was quite a nice thing to be pressed closely up against Draco Malfoy, Harry eased himself gently upright and stepped back. "It's nice to see you, too." He carefully made his voice the same as the other's: amused, slightly cool, but completely without rancor of any kind. Before either of them could say anything else, a tall, lushly built redhead appeared and wound herself, vine-like, around Draco.

"Draco, darling, don't you want to...get some air?" Her voice was breathy, and she curled one hand possessively around his arm, long painted nails standing out clearly against his black dress robes.

Harry thought that Malfoy's mouth tightened for a second, but then Draco smiled winningly at the redhead and he thought he must have been mistaken. She smiled sultrily back and snuggled closer. "Actually, love," Draco's voice was pleasant but matter of fact, "I'm a bit busy right now...perhaps some other time." Easing himself skillfully out of her grasp, he turned back to Harry and said, "Shall we find a table to continue our discussion, Potter?" Without waiting for Harry's answer, he turned and threaded his way easily through the crowd, leaving Harry to shrug apologetically at the irritated woman and follow along behind.

By the time he caught up, Draco had settled comfortably at a small, round table tucked away in one of the small alcoves off the main room. He was pouring from a bottle of white wine into two glasses and as Harry dropped into the other chair, Draco picked up one and offered it. "Pinot Grigio?"

Harry hesitated only slightly before taking it. "Sure. Thanks." He sipped carefully, his eyes fastened on the elegant blond next to him. Draco seemed completely at ease, his eyes moving easily over the crowded room beyond, one hand resting casually on the base of his wine glass. Harry cleared his throat. "Um. Were we--were we having a discussion?"

Draco's eyes cut back and pinned Harry with an intense gaze. "We don't have to. I just thought that after nearly running me over, helping me escape Amber's grasping little clutches was the least you could do. She's been fastening on to me, leech-like, since I got here. And I wouldn't mind finding out what you've been up to lately. But I'm certainly not going to force you to stay here and talk with me; you don't have to do anything you don't want to." He looked away, the grey eyes trained again on the mass of people in the main part of the room. "What do you want to do?"

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again. Of all the possible conversations he had ever imagined having with Draco Malfoy--and he would die before he admitted just how many of those there were--none had ever involved Draco asking him what he wanted. In fact, in all the stories he'd heard about Draco, what anyone else wanted wasn't ever something that concerned the blond. Harry considered that point for a moment and finally said firmly, "I want to stay. I'd like to know what you've been doing, as well."

The grey eyes cut back to him and glowed softly. "Well, then, let's talk."

~ ~ ~ ~

The next two hours passed in a surreal haze for Harry. Draco, it appeared, really did want to hear about what Harry had been doing since the final defeat of Voldemort, and he was surprisingly forthcoming with what he had occupied himself with since that point in time. They stayed at the table, talking and laughing and occasionally arguing but without any real bite to it; the crowded room beyond the alcove faded away until, for Harry, the world seemed to consist solely of Draco and the intense interest he was paying to everything Harry said.

It had been a long time since Harry had so thoroughly enjoyed himself; Draco was intelligent, funny, and charming. He was also, Harry was acutely aware, extremely attractive.

But even if Harry had been willing to look beyond Draco's apparent inability to stay with someone longer than a week, he would never have believed that he stood a chance. In all the time they'd known each other, even after Draco left his family, and joined forces with Dumbledore, even when they were working together during the war, Draco had never once given Harry any reason to think that he was remotely interested in being anything but cordial colleagues. Acquaintances.

Until now.

Draco seemed very interested, and Harry was alternately enthralled and convinced it was all a smoke screen to discourage the still-obviously-very-hopeful, hovering presence of the sultry Amber. Twice she had appeared at their table, draping herself limpet-like over Draco and all but ignoring Harry. Draco had been polite but firm in refusing her invitations to "go get something to eat," and "dance with me please, Draco" but as she approached the table a third time, he swore softly under his breath.

Leaning close to Harry, he asked in a low voice, "Are you seeing anyone right now?" At Harry's confused look, he elaborated. "Dating anyone. Involved with anyone." His voice was urgent, and when Harry, comprehension at the question finally flooding his face, shook his head, Draco grinned. "Excellent." Just as Amber arrived at their table, her barely-contained bosom threatening to spill out of the low-cut robe, Draco threaded his fingers easily through Harry's and slid closer to the Gryffindor, their clasped hands on the table between them.

The redhead took in the scene with a glance, disbelief and petulance marring her even features. "Draco? I thought you were going to see me home." Irritation and expectation underscored the words.

Harry watched in total fascination as Draco's charming smile hardened just the slightest bit, and when the blond spoke, his voice was amiable, but distinctly cool. "I can't imagine how you came to think that, love, but disabuse yourself of the notion immediately." He lifted Harry's hand and pressed his lips to the back of it, his eyes still fixed coolly on the woman in front of them. "I've no intention of seeing you home. Or anywhere else, actually."

Disappointment and anger flashed across her face, and she flounced away. Draco shrugged dismissively and turned back to Harry. "There. Now, where were we?" Humor flashed briefly in his eyes.

Harry flushed. "Um. Talking. About...about..." He groped wildly in his memory for their most recent topic of conversation, but Draco was now pressed snugly against him, their shoulders and thighs were pushed cozily together, and the back of Harry's hand tingled from the remembered pressure of Draco's mouth. The blond was gazing deeply into Harry's eyes, and it was all making it very, very difficult for Harry to think of anything except how desperately he wished that this wasn't all just for show.

Draco's left hand was still holding Harry securely, and his right hand had moved trace a light pattern over Harry's wrist. "Harry?"

Harry's eyes flew from their joined hands to meet Draco's eyes, and his heart skipped a beat at the sound of Draco calling him by his given name. Maybe this wasn't just for show. Maybe...Harry forced himself to speak in a steady voice. "Yes?"

Very deliberately, Draco lifted their joined hands to his mouth and ran the tip of his tongue lightly over Harry's wrist. Harry closed his eyes and bit back a moan. "Would you like to go get some air?" Draco's words were casual, his question anything but.

Harry's heart stopped. He wasn't stupid; he knew exactly what Draco was asking. Elation and desire and a sweet, wild hope flooded through him, and his heart kicked back in, beating double time. Then the memory of Draco's pattern of relationships returned and he hesitated. If the truth were told, there were few things he wanted more than to be with the blond outside under a starlit sky. And then to be alone with him somewhere else, somewhere much more private, later on. But he wasn't sure he was cut out for the type of relationship Draco seemed to favor. The kind that lasted for only a few nights. Or, if rumors were to be believed, sometimes for just a few hours. But as he stared back into Draco's eyes, he felt himself being drawn into the grey depths; pulled by the intensity, the intimacy he saw there. Felt himself tempted beyond reason by the desire that was so seductive, so evident, in those eyes.

Without even being conscious of making the decision, he heard his own voice, husky with want, answer. "Yes. I would."

Something flared briefly in Draco's eyes; Harry wasn't sure if it was passion, or relief, or triumph. It could have been any of the three, and Harry admitted to himself that he honestly didn't much care which of them it was. Draco's fingers were still playing lightly over Harry's hand, and he was now looking at Harry the way he might at a particularly appealing morsel of food. Without another word, Draco stood, pulling Harry to his feet, and with one final squeeze of Harry's fingers, released his hand and began threading his way through the crowd with Harry at his side.

They were halfway across the Great Hall, headed toward the doors leading outside, when Ron caught up with them. "Hey, Harry! Where'd you disappear off to..." Ron's voice trailed off as he realized that Harry wasn't just standing next to Draco, but walking with him. "Malfoy." The word was clipped and cool; the fact that they'd been allies in the war hadn't gone very far towards achieving any sort of personal peace between them. He turned deliberately away, patently ignoring Draco. "Harry, Hermione wanted to know if you'd join us for a bit; they've just begun serving dessert."

Harry spared a brief thought to wondering exactly how Ron would have reacted had he come upon them holding hands in the alcove moments ago, or what he would say if he knew where they were currently headed and what they were planning on doing. Guilt shot through him; he'd not spent any time at all that evening with Ron and Hermione; he'd been headed their way when he'd run into Draco. Literally, as it had happened.

He felt a faint flush rise in his face as he remembered those long, lovely moments of being held against Draco; he was eager for the experience to be repeated with deliberate intent. "Um..." He was trying to think of a diplomatic way of saying he had other plans for dessert when to his enormous surprise, Draco spoke up.

"That sounds lovely, Weasley." The warm, intimate tone Draco had been using with Harry was completely gone; the cool, distant amusement was back--the voice Harry had always heard Draco use before tonight. Before those hours together at the table, when the coolness had warmed, and the distance had melted away. "We have time, right, Harry?"

With a start, Harry realized that Ron was now staring incredulously at him and that Draco had turned to him, obviously expecting him to answer, to confirm that they were together, and would both stay for dessert. He groped for words. "Yes. Um, yes, we have." A deep flush rose in Harry's cheeks as he heard himself so clearly simply agreeing with whatever Draco had said; his discomfort rose another notch at Ron's suspicious frown and Draco's raised brow and broad, amused grin.

Pulling himself together, Harry cleared his throat and spoke again, his voice firm and confident. "Yes, Ron, we'll join you for a bit. Then Draco and I are going to--" Harry wavered only for a split second before continuing, "-go look at the new memorial Dumbledore has had put by the rose garden. It's very warm in here, don't you think?" Ron's face changed so rapidly and so drastically it was comical; his frown disappeared and his jaw dropped open in absolute amazement. If Harry hadn't been so uncomfortable with trying to prevaricate he'd have thought it hysterically funny.

Draco was clearly under no such constraint; his smile widened wickedly and very casually he raised one hand to rest on Harry's shoulder. "Oh, very warm. Nearly hot, I'd say." The words were laden with innuendo. Ron was making little choking sounds and Harry shot an exasperated glance at Draco, but he was met with a bland, angelic look, the grey eyes wide and guileless. "Don't you think, Harry?"

Fortunately for Harry, at that exact moment Hermione appeared; she took in the scene in a single glance, Ron's apoplectic appearance, Draco's hand resting with casual possession on Harry's shoulder, and Harry's faint blush. Her eyebrows rose questioningly, but to Harry's everlasting relief all she said was, "I've got a table saved for us. I guess it's a good thing there are four chairs." Turning on her heel, she led the way to the far side of the room, to a table tucked away in a corner. It was set with table ware for three, but as they arrived, a fourth place setting magically appeared, as did coffee, tea, and a tray laden with pretty pastries and tarts.

The initial awkward silence was filled by Hermione pouring out for everyone, and offering the dessert tray. When everyone had been served, she fastened her steady gaze on Draco. Her voice was even. "It's nice to see you again, Malfoy. What are you doing these days? I haven't seen you since Mihaela's wedding. Are you and Peter still seeing each other?"

Harry's eyes flew to Draco's face; the smile didn't slip one iota, but the grey eyes hardened slightly. "It's nice to see you again, too, darling. I do miss having someone with such an interesting sense of humor as a boss." Hermione's mouth tightened slightly at the reference to her role as his supervisor during the war, and the inevitable clashes they'd had, and Draco's smile widened a bit at the evidence that his barb had hit home. His voice was still that cool, polished tone Harry remembered so well. "I'm still working for the Ministry, darling. And Peter and I were never really seeing each other. He needed an escort to his cousin's wedding, and I did a favor for a friend and took him. But if I happen to run into him, I'll be sure to tell him you were asking after him."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Thanks." She turned abruptly to face Harry and said, "Harry, could I speak with you for a few minutes, please?" Without waiting for an answer, she rose and stalked off, leaving Harry to shrug apologetically to Draco and Ron before following her. He wondered briefly if it had been wise to leave those two alone without a mediator, but shrugged mentally. They were both old enough handle themselves, and there were dozens of other people around to run interference if they got started...Harry's thoughts were derailed suddenly as Hermione grabbed his arm and yanked him sharply around a corner, out of sight of their table.

"Harry. What are you doing with Malfoy?" Harry's mouth opened and then closed; he knew exactly what he was doing with Draco, or rather, what he wanted to be but wasn't because he'd been shanghaied into having coffee and dessert, but he was fairly certain that Hermione's question had been rhetorical. Fortunately for him, she continued on without waiting for an answer. "I mean, I know he's gorgeous, and all, but he uses people. You know that. He's not spent more than three or four nights with anyone, not ever. And he's been angling to hook up with you all night."

Her words washed over Harry without much impact; he'd been expecting pretty much just this when he followed her, but the last sentence caught his attention and he frowned. "Hermione, Draco hasn't paid any attention to me at all tonight. I mean, he hadn't been. I'd been here for hours before we spoke, and that was only because I practically ran him over by mistake--"

Hermione cut him off. "That's just it, Harry. He was paying attention to you. I mean, he'd been following you all evening; I was watching him. He wasn't being obvious about it, or anything, but wherever you were, he was suddenly there, too. And you didn't run into him. I mean, it wasn't your fault. I saw the whole thing. You were heading right for me, and you were going to miss him by a good foot. When Ron called out to you and you turned, he stepped directly into your path. On purpose, Harry. He wanted you to run into him."

Harry stared at her, bemused. "Really?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, Harry. Really. What are you going to do about it?"

Harry considered her carefully. "I don't know. Should I do something about it?"

"Harry, have you taken complete leave of your senses? He wants to sleep with you. And this is Malfoy, Harry...that's all he's going to want." She frowned uncertainly, a thought clearly occurring to her. "Unless you just want a fling, too."

"Hermione, I appreciate your concern. I really do." Harry's voice was firm. "But I know what I'm doing."

She stared at him, resigned. "You're going to, aren't you?"

"Well, you were the one who was just saying how gorgeous he is," Harry pointed out reasonably. He was trying hard to mask the need to be defensive; he well knew that Draco wasn't likely to want him much beyond that night but didn't really need Hermione to remind him of that fact. His heart was already aching from losing Draco and he hadn't even had him yet.

There was genuine concern in Hermione's eyes. "Harry, you've been attracted to him for a long time. What if you sleep with him and then find out that you're really ...attached to him? He could really hurt you."

That thought had already occurred to Harry, but he was pushing it to the back of his mind. "Hermione. I'm a big boy now. I know how to play the game. And I know all the rules."

She looked at him for a long moment, and then sighed. "All right. Let's go back. They've probably run out of polite small talk by now."

Harry snorted as they headed back to the table. "They ran out of that thirty seconds after we left. Maybe fifteen."

~ ~ ~ ~

Harry leaned back against the stone wall and tipped his face skyward. The night air was cool and soft, and it felt wonderful on his flushed face. It really was warm inside the Great Hall, and the last half hour had done nothing to ease his nerves. The conversation over dessert had been full of unexpected landmines, which both Ron and Draco had taken great glee in stomping on as frequently as possible, the former with glowering temper and the latter with amused deliberateness. Harry had felt caught in the middle; Ron had made no secret of the fact that he wasn't at all happy to see Draco at their table, and Draco had taken great pains to make it clear that he was tolerating the redhead only because Draco was with Harry and Harry wanted to sit with his friends. The whole interaction had been cloaked in mocking civility and thinly veiled annoyance, and by the time they'd been able to excuse themselves Harry had been ready to strangle both of them.

Eyes closed and head thrown back, Harry was trying very hard to put the whole scene from his mind, when he suddenly felt a light caress on his neck. Draco was now right in front of him. Harry could feel the heat from the other man's body, and just as he was once again reliving the memory of that body being pressed up against his, it happened again.

Harry felt himself encircled by strong arms, one at his waist and the other around his shoulders, and he was pulled firmly against the long, lovely length of Draco's body. He moved fluidly into Draco's arms, his body willingly molding itself to the blond's, his hands rising to rest on the broad shoulders, and his eyes still closed. He was lightheaded, now, floating on the sensation of being held by the one he'd dreamed of for what seemed like forever, and he held his breath, waiting for the inevitable kiss.

"Harry." The whisper ghosted over his skin, Draco's lips barely grazing his cheek, "Harry, open your eyes."

Harry complied, the lashes lifting slowly, revealing slumberous, already cloudy eyes, and Draco drew his breath in sharply at the sight. "Harry, I'm going to kiss you." Harry nodded slightly, and keeping his eyes locked on Harry's, Draco leaned forward, closing the slight distance between them, their lips meeting with sweet, light brush. Harry felt his eyes fall shut again, and he leaned eagerly into the kiss, which escalated quickly to one of intense passion.

Draco tilted his head slightly to one side, deepening the kiss, his hands moving to run the length of Harry's back, settling at his hips and holding them firmly against Draco's own. Harry felt a delicious thrill run through his body at the contact; Draco's kisses were passionate but controlled and Harry wanted nothing more than to break through that reserve. Winding his arms around the blond's neck, Harry gave himself up totally to the kiss, allowing Draco to tease and caress until he could feel himself trembling with need.

When Draco finally broke away, Harry was so aroused he wouldn't have cared if Draco had pulled him to the cool grass and taken him right there. "Harry..." Draco's voice was much less steady, now, and rough with passion, and Harry gloried in the knowledge that he could have that kind of impact on Draco.

"Yes, Draco?" His own voice was husky, and he saw raw desire flare strongly in the grey eyes before it was reined sharply in.

"You know, Harry, you keep saying 'yes' to me." Draco had regained a measure of his control and some of the amusement was back in his tone, but his eyes were still intense. "I may take advantage of that fact if you're not more careful." Before Harry could respond, he took Harry's mouth in another kiss, hot and sweet, that made Harry's knees buckle.

Draco took his time, exploring Harry's mouth thoroughly, deeply, and finally moving on to trail kisses along his neck. He seemed unable to completely abandon Harry's swollen lips, returning often to pay additional homage to them. Harry's head was whirling, and he let himself be pulled down into the vortex of passion and desire that Draco was creating. When Draco lifted his head and pushed Harry gently away, he struggled to surface from the sensations he was swimming in, confusion pushing its way to the surface. Why was Draco pushing him away? Had he changed his mind?

"Harry." Draco moved his hands once again to Harry's hips and pulled them firmly against his, their erections meeting with a sweet pressure that made Harry ache inside. His voice was steady, now, low and seductive. "Harry, you must know that I want you. Quite badly."

Harry, who seconds before had been wondering about just that, nodded, reassured.

Draco drew in a deep breath, his own eyes closing briefly before opening them to pin Harry with their steely gaze. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, intimate. Persuasive. "And are you going to let me have you, Harry?" He kept his eyes on Harry's, but his hips rocked very gently and Harry moaned, his eyes falling shut against the renewed onslaught of sensation.

"Yes." The word was barely audible, but it was all Draco needed.

"Come home with me." It wasn't a request so much as a demand.

Harry's mind kept trying to remind him of the folly in becoming involved with Draco, of the fact that he would likely become the latest in Draco's string of relationships, but something inside was telling him that this was right, this was what he'd been waiting for, and what he needed, no matter how long it lasted, and he heard himself say the only word he seemed capable of where Draco was concerned. "Yes."

~ ~ ~ ~

The door shut behind them with a soft click, the locking spell engaging automatically. Harry jumped at the sound; for all that he had been so wantonly responsive in the garden at Hogwarts with Draco, now that they were here, in the guaranteed privacy of Draco's flat, he was unaccountably nervous.

Draco moved easily through the flat, waving his wand to light candles and then dropping it on the table, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over a chair. He came to a stop in front of Harry, a predatory gleam lighting his grey eyes. "You're much too far away. Come here, Harry..." He reached out and gently pulled Harry into his arms. Holding Harry loosely, he leaned forward and kissed Harry's face softly, the corner of his mouth, his chin, and then he carefully pulled off Harry's glasses and kissed both eyelids.

He seemed to sense Harry's nervousness and was taking pains to be reassuring; the caresses were gentle, without the demand that had accompanied them back at Hogwarts, and Harry relaxed into Draco's embrace instinctively, his arms going around Draco's neck and his initial hesitant response becoming stronger, more passionate. He was dimly aware of the fact that Draco was steering him skillfully across the living room, and into the bedroom, but desire was rising rapidly again, and when the back of his legs met the edge of Draco's bed, he didn't hesitate at all to let Draco ease him back onto the broad, firm mattress.

Harry felt like he was floating, borne along on a cloud of sensation, the bed beneath him, the glorious, sensual weight of Draco on top of him, the blond's clever fingers opening Harry's shirt, his talented mouth working its way over the exposed skin. Draco's movements were steady, the seduction careful and slow, and while one small part of Harry's mind was warning him that Draco's caresses seemed practiced for a very good reason, the greater part of his consciousness was also fully aware that he didn't stand a chance of resisting.

Nor, he admitted to himself with what was left of his rapidly diminishing ability to think, did he want to resist. He had wanted to be here, right here, since they had been at school, and even if it lasted no longer than this one night, at least he would have had that. Resolutely pushing away any thought of the future, Harry gave himself up completely to the present, to Draco and to what was happening between them.

Draco's mouth closed over his nipple and Harry arched into the caress, craving it, his hands coming to cradle Draco's head, encouraging the sweet contact to continue. Draco slid both hands under Harry's back, holding him, and traced his tongue lightly across Harry's chest to the other nipple, teasing it into a tight bud and then rolling it gently between his teeth and tongue. Harry moaned then, the sound low and appreciative, and he felt Draco's grip on him tighten in response.

The trail of kisses moved back to the center of his chest and Draco turned his face to one side, his cheek resting on Harry's chest, the fingers of one hand moving to trace reverently over Harry, seeking out and finding the curve of his neck, the muscles in his shoulder, and the pattern of his ribs. They paused over his heart, as though feeling the rapid tattoo beneath the skin, and then Harry heard the sound of his own name being whispered, "Harry...oh, Harry." He could feel the puff of breath expelled in the utterance, and just as he was recognizing with wonder that the need in Draco's voice sounded nearly as great as his own, Draco sat up and pulled away, rising up to stand next to the bed.

Harry's eyes flashed open, coming to rest on the tall blond who was staring back at him, the grey eyes nearly black with desire. The roamed hungrily over Harry's sprawled form, taking in the tousled hair and the heaving chest and finally coming to rest on the telltale bulge under Harry's grey dress slacks. Carelessly stripping off his own clothes, Draco reached over to pull Harry up to stand next to him. Quickly, efficiently, without speaking, he rid Harry of his clothes as well, and nudged him back onto the bed. Harry lay back willingly, eager to feel Draco against him with no barriers between them.

The sweet shock of skin-on-skin was electric; Draco lay directly on top of him, his legs bracketed by Harry's, their abdomens and chests nicely aligned, their erections pressed tightly together, and Harry felt a moan of pure, sensual pleasure rise up from within. Draco's mouth closed over his, capturing the sound, turning it into a tremor trapped in Harry's throat, and the vibrations from it echoed back into Draco's mouth.

Draco's hands slid to Harry's wrists, trapping them against the mattress on either side of Harry's head, and holding them firmly in place, he broke the kiss and pulled back to look into Harry's eyes. He was breathing unevenly, and when he finally spoke, his voice was rough--the way it had been back at Hogwarts that evening. "Harry, I need you. And it's going to have to be soon."

Harry shivered, his legs moving further apart reflexively, and he heard Draco's breath release in a hiss. "Wait." Draco's voice was not steady at all any more, and he released one of Harry's wrists to reach over to the bedside table and open a drawer there. A small tube clutched in his free hand, Draco shifted, his knees coming to rest on either side of Harry's hips as he sat up, staring down into Harry's eyes. Holding the green gaze, he brought his other hand, the one still gripping Harry's, to his mouth and sought out the fluttering pulse in Harry's wrist. He teased the spot for a moment with his tongue and then placed his lips over it and sucked gently.

Harry's eyes widened and then shut; it was too much--the sensations washed over him and he moaned again. Draco placed Harry's palm flat against his own chest, over his heartbeat, and Harry's eyes flew open as he registered the rapid rate. "That's what you do to me, Harry." Draco's voice was level, and he was squeezing a generous amount of gel onto his own fingers, capping the tube and tossing it aside. He coated the fingers of his other hand and reached down between them, seeking out Harry's entrance and massaging it gently with his slick fingers.

Harry cried out, arching into the touch, his breath now coming in gasps, his hand leaving Draco's chest to grab at the blond's shoulders. "Oh, god, Draco...oh, please."

Fingers deep inside Harry, Draco used his other hand to coat his own erection generously, his eyes falling shut, his body already rocking gently in an anticipated rhythm. "Yes, Harry. Now." The word was fierce, and Harry moved to turn over, but Draco stopped him. "No. Like this. I want to see you. And I want you to see me..." Pushing Harry's knees gently to his chest, Draco pressed himself against Harry's entrance, his eyes still holding Harry's. "Watch me, Harry. Watch me while I take you..." He pushed slowly, steadily, into the tight heat, grey eyes meeting green, and when he was fully sheathed in the welcoming body beneath him, a long, low moan was ripped from Draco. His face twisted in pleasure, the grey eyes fluttering closed for a long moment before opening again to meet Harry's.

Harry tried desperately to stay focused on Draco, but every nerve ending in his body was screaming; he was full and aching for release, and when Draco began to move, he knew immediately that he wasn't going to last long. He was aware on some level that Draco was calling his name, that Draco was reaching for him, the slick palm closing firmly over him, and that Draco was coming inside him, and then he was falling, falling, his mind shattering and his body exploding with completion.

~ ~ ~ ~

Harry shifted slightly, easing himself away from Draco's sleeping form so that he could look at the blond's face. He'd been awake for a while, but Draco seemed soundly asleep, and Harry was taking advantage of the opportunity to look his fill.

He'd been replaying the events of the evening in his mind, lingering over them, cementing them firmly into his memory. He was trying to decide whether he should chance staying until Draco woke, or whether he should leave before then. Harry's brow creased in a slight frown. Draco had seemed happy enough to have Harry curl up in bed next to him after they'd cleaned up; he'd even pulled Harry into his arms and slung one arm possessively around him. Harry warmed at the memory; it had felt wonderful, natural, and he'd indulged in the fantasy of pretending that Draco's bed was his rightful place to spend the night. It had been a sweet fantasy, and Harry remembered it with a wistful sigh. He'd better leave now, though, he thought reluctantly; if Draco woke and was irritated that he was still there--or worse, was cool and dismissive--Harry didn't think he could bear it.

He sat up quietly and slung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for the pile of clothing on the floor. He'd just located his trousers when Draco's voice sounded, the polish and careful distance once again firmly in place. "Leaving? And not even going to say 'goodbye'? Somehow I thought you'd have better manners, Harry." Harry whirled to face Draco; he hadn't moved, but his eyes were wide open and watchful. Unreadable.

Harry felt a slow flush creep up his face. "Sorry. I didn't know what you--I mean, I just thought that maybe I should go..." His voice trailed off.

Draco continued to watch him, his face closed, his eyes guarded. When he finally spoke, the words were careful, even. "If you want to, Harry."

Harry paused, uncertain. He didn't want to. Not at all. He'd just assumed that Draco would want him to leave. But now Draco seemed to be giving him a choice. Like earlier, he remembered suddenly, when Draco had told him he didn't have to stay at the table with him and talk. And Hermione had seemed to think that Draco had been trying to get Harry's attention. Finally he said softly, "I don't."

He was rewarded with the same soft glow in those grey eyes that he'd seen before, and the voice that responded was the one Harry liked, the warm, intimate one. "Then come back to bed."

~ ~ ~ ~

When Harry woke again, hours later, it was to the insistent persuasion of Draco's mouth and hands moving over him. He rolled over to face Draco, his body automatically responding, the combination of sleepiness and slow, lazy arousal infinitely pleasurable. He stretched luxuriously, arms high overhead, and Draco took advantage of the exposed expanse of golden skin to run his hands over it, stopping to pluck at the dark nipples. Harry groaned, the sharp spikes of pleasure running through him.

"Sleep well?" Draco's murmur was muffled, his lips moving steadily down Harry's taut stomach, his fingers pushing the covers out of the way.

"Y-yes..." Harry's affirmation was breathless; the sleepiness was being chased away by his sharply increasing arousal, and when Draco looked up from his task of mapping the area just below Harry's navel with his tongue to favor him with a devastating smile he felt his heart skip a beat.

"Excellent. Then you're all rested. That's good to know." He lowered his head again, taking Harry's rapidly hardening cock into his mouth and sucking rhythmically on it. He pulled off, the fingers of one hand moving to dance lightly over the length. "All awake, now?" The grey eyes glinted wickedly.

"Oh, yes." Harry managed.

"Good. Let's shower, shall we?" And pulling Harry from the bed he led him by the hand to the adjoining bath.

The water was hot and steamy, and felt wonderful cascading down Harry's body; even better was the feeling of Draco's hands, slick with shower gel, moving over him, massaging and teasing until Harry was nearly mad with need. He was doing his best to put Draco into a similar state, but Draco had stepped into the shower to stand behind Harry, and had been holding him firmly in place there. His clever fingers and seeking mouth had been busy, rendering Harry nearly helpless. Harry was leaning back against the blond, his head falling back to rest on the broad shoulder behind him. Draco held him easily, one hand anchored firmly around Harry's midsection, the other wandering almost lazily between Harry's by now hyper-sensitized nipples and his throbbing erection. It wasn't until he spoke that Harry realized through the haze of need surrounding him that Draco was also very close to the edge.

"Harry?" Draco's voice was husky, the strain of holding back evident. "Harry, lean forward and put your hands on the wall."

Harry obeyed in a daze, shifting his weight forward with Draco's gentle guidance, bending slightly at the waist and putting his hands out brace himself. He felt Draco's gel-slick seeking fingers slide down his back, down his cleft, and then to his opening. He pushed back hard on the probing fingers, and he heard Draco moan softly.

The fingers disappeared, but were replaced immediately by Draco's hard cock, and he felt hands grip his hips firmly as the delicious length pushed slowly, slowly into him. When Draco was fully seated inside Harry, he stayed there, not moving, for so long that Harry was nearly ready to scream with frustration.

At long last Draco began to move, and Harry nearly wept with the sweetness of it; the pace was agonizingly slow, almost hypnotically so; Harry's entire world was focused on the hot, hard length moving in and out with such excruciating care. Draco was leaning over Harry's back, planting kisses along his shoulders, and biting, at first gently, then less so, and one hand slid around to toy with a nipple.

When the second hand mirrored the action, what was left of Harry's mind quietly fell apart.

The kisses and the bites along his back and the gentle pinches and tugs on his nipples were all underscored by the slow, honeyed rhythm of Draco moving in and out of him, and the shimmering wave of pressure in Harry rose to just below the breaking point. His breath, which had been coming in strangled gasps, stopped, and he felt himself hovering, hanging on the brink of shattering release for so long he thought he might die from it.

He could feel Draco trembling, and with a low, feral growl, Draco changed the pace, his hands dropping to grip Harry's hips, the new rhythm, hard and fast, fueled by Draco's own undeniable need. Then Draco pushed into him one last time, and even as Harry felt the pulses of Draco's release, deep within his own body, his cock was grasped in Draco's fist and stroked in time with the bursts of Draco's completion. Just at those finally ebbed, Harry's own orgasm tore through him, the intensity of it nearly bringing him to his knees.

Spent, trembling, sated beyond any ability to speak coherently, Harry allowed himself to be pulled from the shower, toweled off, and led back to bed.

~ ~ ~ ~

Harry pulled his shirt on and buttoned it up. It was evening, now; the day had passed in a glorious tumble of sex, catnaps, more sex, two decadent meals and another shower. There had also been a lot of surprisingly easy conversation, interspersed with periods of comfortable silence. When Harry had finally told Draco that he had to leave because he had a previous arrangement to meet up with someone from work to go over some reports, Draco had given him a small smile and said he supposed he would let Harry keep the appointment. He hadn't said anything else, though, and disappointment welled up inside Harry as he dressed. He was just on the point of leaving when the blond said casually, "Have dinner with me tomorrow night."

Harry turned back, hope flaring inside and delight lighting his face. "I'd love to. Where do you want to meet?"

Draco considered him thoughtfully for a minute, and then smiled enigmatically. "Could you find your way back here, do you think? I imagine it'll save time in the long run if we start here."

Comprehension flooded through Harry, and he felt himself blush. "That sounds...just fine."

~ ~ ~ ~

The next weeks passed with Harry in a delirious haze. Work was busy, and kept him occupied during the day, but every night was spent with Draco, and though Harry was waiting with trepidation for indications that Draco was tiring of him, none appeared.

In fact, Draco was everything Harry could ask for in a lover: attentive, funny, thoughtful and absolutely insatiable. If he also maintained a hint of his cool reserve, well, that was only to be expected, Harry reasoned. It was part of who Draco was, and that was that. He contented himself with the things Draco offered him and tried to hide his strengthening attachment for fear of asking for too much.

After nearly a month, Hermione cornered Harry at work one day, demanding to know what was going on, but Harry just shrugged. He didn't want to talk about Draco to anyone; he wanted to hug their time together jealously to himself, to keep it private, entirely his, so when the inevitable end came he could grieve in peace.

The truth of the matter was that he was dangerously close to falling in love with Draco, and he knew without question that Hermione would see that immediately if he talked about Draco at all. So he put her off, reassuring her with vague platitudes that he knew didn't fool her for a minute, but which gave her no recourse to pursue the matter.

Shifting the bag of groceries to his left arm, Harry pulled out his wand and unlocked the door to Draco's flat. Draco had given him the spell a few days ago, in the casual, almost indifferent way Draco gave lots of things to Harry. Harry had been thrilled, the same way he was thrilled about everything to do with Draco, and even though he kept telling himself that Draco had probably given plenty of previous lovers the spell to unlock his flat--it was easy enough to change it, after all--he was secretly holding onto the hope that Draco might be interested in more than just a short term fling with him. After all, even though they'd only been together a month, he knew he'd already lasted longer than any of Draco's previous relationships.

Deep in thought with hopeful fantasies about the future, Harry walked into the kitchen only to stop short, his guard immediately up, a small frown creasing his brow. Standing at the far side of the room, leaning casually against the counter as though she had every right to be there, was Pansy Parkinson. Goyle, he corrected himself silently; she was Pansy Goyle, now. She and Greg Goyle had gotten married about six months ago, he remembered. She seemed unsurprised to see him; it was almost as though she had been waiting for him. Her arms were crossed, her face closed and watchful. When she spoke, her voice was polite, but cool.

"Hello, Potter. Sorry to startle you, but I've been wanting a word with you, and Draco's been remarkably resistant to bringing you around to see us." Her eyes flickered to the bag Harry was holding. "Dinner? And you've got the spell to unlock the flat? How cozy." Her arm swept out, indicating the cupboards and refrigerator. "By all means, continue on. I've no wish to interrupt your plans."

Harry walked slowly over to the counter next to the sink and placed the bag down with exaggerated care. "What did you want to talk about?"

Pansy lifted one hand to her mouth, tapping the index finger thoughtfully against her lips. "Well, it's not so much that I wanted to talk to you, per se, as it is that I wanted to see you. To see how you look. You know, when you talk about Draco."

Harry stared back, confused. "When I talk about Draco? I'm not--I've no intention of talking about Draco. Not to you." Realizing belatedly how rude that sounded, he hastily amended his words. "I mean, not to anyone."

Pansy's eyebrows rose in surprise, and her hands moved to her hips. "Really? Not anyone? You're not at all interested in bragging that The Boy Who Lived was the one to catch Draco Malfoy?" Her voice was light, but her eyes remained watchful.

Harry felt a flush start at the base of his neck and creep forward. Pansy had, with unerring accuracy, placed her finger on one the very reasons Harry didn't talk to anyone about Draco. He abhorred gossip about his personal life; it was part of the reason he had limited public appearances after the war, but that didn't stop people from gossiping about him. He'd learned over the past weeks that Draco hated being gossiped about, too. And between his family name and fortune, the publicity that still ran high about his role against Voldemort during the war, and his high-profile social life, Draco was constantly cause for wild speculation. Harry knew that if people knew they were together--that they'd been together for weeks, now--the inevitable resulting gossip would be a complete nightmare for them both.

And he was painfully aware of the fact that he hadn't 'caught' Draco at all. There had never been any talk between them of any kind of permanence, they just moved from day to day, staying firmly in the present.

Harry pulled items haphazardly from the bag, loading the counter with cheese, fresh fruit, and a bottle of the Pinot Grigio Draco favored. "No, I'm not interested in that. And I haven't 'caught' him. He's...he's free to do whatever he wants. To see whoever he wants." The words were stilted, uncomfortable, and Harry was caught off guard at how deeply it hurt to say them aloud.

Pansy walked closer and squinted at him thoughtfully, reaching absently for a handful of grapes. "You really mean that, don't you, Potter? I mean, you'd let Draco walk away from you in a second if you thought he didn't want you anymore."

Harry shrugged noncommittally, and misery flashed briefly over his face, but he masked it quickly. It was another one of Harry's constant worries; no one had ever held Draco's attention for very long, and he didn't expect to be the one to change that. But he had every intention of staying as long as Draco did want him, and of making the most of that time for both of them.

Pansy was still staring at him, her brow creased in a frown, now, and the intensity of her gaze was starting to make Harry feel uncomfortable. She seemed to be debating something with herself, and finally she nodded a bit, as though making up her mind about something. "Listen, Potter, here's the thing. I've been worried as anything about Draco ever since you two started seeing each other--he's always brought the flavor of the week over to meet me and Greg, but he won't even talk about you, let alone bring you by. I've been thinking all kinds of horrible things, you know. But now that I've seen you-well, it's pretty clear that you're really mad for him." Her grin was rueful. "Should have known better, I suppose. Gryffindor through and through, you are."

Harry stared, his curiosity about just exactly why she was worried superceded by his surprise at how accurately she'd been able to read his feelings for Draco. "I never said I was mad for him. And why are you worried about Draco being with me? What did you think I was going to do to him, get him alone somewhere and use an Unforgivable on him?"

To Harry's astonishment, she grinned. It was surprisingly friendly and open. "You didn't have to say it. I can see it. And lots of people think it's quite the status symbol to be seen with Draco. They use him, you know? It's partly why he doesn't stay with anyone; he's not interested in being an accessory. Of course, no one really has ever held his interest for very long, either...Except you, of course."

Harry shrugged, his uncertainties returning full force. "Well, I wouldn't exactly call a month 'very long'."

Pansy laughed outright. "A month? Is that how long you think you've been holding Draco's attention, Potter?" She smiled again, clearly amused at some private joke.

"Well, just about." Harry was defensive. "I mean, I know it's not been quite that..."

"You think he's been interested in you for a month--" Pansy was giggling helplessly now, and Harry's confusion was being joined by a niggling sense of dread that she knew something he didn't.

He was just opening his mouth to ask her what she found so amusing when a cool voice cut across the room. "Why, Pansy, darling, I'd think Harry would have a reasonably good idea of how long he and I have been seeing each other, wouldn't you?

Harry turned, startled and distinctly uncomfortable with the knowledge that Draco had clearly been there for some time. Pansy, on the other hand, wasn't fazed in the slightest. "Hello, Draco, dear. I've just stopped by to say hi--to Harry."

Harry's jaw dropped at the new familiarity, and Draco's eyes narrowed. "Well, you've said your hellos, so take yourself off home now, there's a good girl." His tone was dismissive, verging on annoyed, but Pansy seemed completely unconcerned, her face still split in a huge grin.

"Yes, Draco, I'm leaving, now. And by the way, I understand. And it's okay, you know. I'm actually very happy about it."

Completely puzzled, Harry's eyes cut back from one to the other. Even though he had no idea what was going on, they were obviously making sense to each other; to his enormous relief, Draco's annoyed expression softened, and a small grin appeared. "Well, I'll just sleep so much better tonight knowing I've made you happy, Panse. Now run along, and be sure and give Greg my condolences once again."

With one last unrepentant grin, Pansy turned to Harry. "See me out, Harry?"

Draco's eyes narrowed again, but he didn't say anything as she led Harry out of the kitchen.

Pansy didn't speak until she was nearly out the door, and then she paused and looked at him, her hands on her hips. She hesitated for a minute, completely serious now, and finally said, "He's never given anyone the unlocking spell before. Never." And she was gone.

Harry stood there for a moment, his mind a whirl of confusion. Earlier he'd felt like Pansy knew something that boded ill for his relationship with Draco...now she was telling him that Draco trusted him in a way he'd not done with anyone before. Determined to find out what was really going on, Harry strode back to the kitchen.

"Draco...what was all that about?" Harry's voice was careful. He was incredibly nervous; he knew that whatever had just transpired between Draco and Pansy was directly connected to how he fit into Draco's life, and for a long moment he didn't know whether Draco was going to answer him or not.

Finally, Draco turned to him and gave an enigmatic smile. "Oh Pansy just likes to remind me that she and I have known each other for a long time."

Harry nibbled on his bottom lip, uncertainty clear on his face. There was more to it, he was certain, and he wanted to know the truth. Drawing a deep breath, he asked bluntly, "Draco, are you getting tired of me?"

Draco's eyes lifted immediately, surprise reflected in the grey depths. "Tired of you? Of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably but held his ground, his voice firm. "Well, Pansy. You know, you heard her...she seemed to think it was funny that I said you'd been interested in me for a month, so I thought maybe she knew something that I didn't. Like that you weren't interested in me anymore, and that you just hadn't told me, yet."

Draco looked thoughtfully at Harry for a minute, as though debating whether or not to answer, and finally he put down the wine he'd been holding. Reaching out, he pulled Harry into his arms and reached up to cup his lover's face with one hand. When he finally answered, his voice was deliberate. "Harry, what Pansy knows is that I've been interested in you for... somewhat longer than a month. And she can be a bit protective, so I'm sure she wanted to reassure herself that you weren't just marking time, and having your wicked way with me before tossing me carelessly to one side." One brow rose quizzically. "You're not planning on doing that, are you, Harry?"

Heart full, eyes shining, hope rising cautiously in him, Harry shook his head.

Draco leaned forward and caught Harry's bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled it gently. "I didn't think so." He kissed Harry full on the mouth, the caress insistent and increasingly passionate, and then pulled back and looked deeply into Harry's eyes. "And I'm not planning on doing that to you, either, Harry." Strong hands ran along his shoulders and pulled him firmly forward. "So, now that we've got that all straightened out, may I have you instead of dinner?"

~fin

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