Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Oh, another one,” he said. The room was empty of anyone else, and Harry wasn’t in the habit of talking to apparitions (as there were none at home, only very few at the Ministry, and he wasn’t at Hogwarts often enough to make much conversation with the ghosts there), so upon remembering he was alone he briefly felt foolish for speaking aloud. But there it was, the subject of his little soliloquy: a large parcel, wrapped in shiny silver tissue and tied shut with a length of unassuming twine, sat innocently propped up against the leg of his desk. It was vaguely rectangular, perhaps as tall as a teacup. But it was as wide as his wandlength and even longer than that, and it took up a large portion of the tabletop when he placed it on the desk. 

He’d come to his desk to grab a quill and make a quick list of things that still had to be done for the party tomorrow — including, but not limited to: putting up decorations, cleaning the toilets, dealing with the food arrangements, and figuring out where Neville could put the Screechsnap seedling he was nursing (and therefore took everywhere). But he’d stopped upon seeing the parcel. 

Harry glanced over his shoulder (even though Draco wasn’t even home, having gone out to browse what food they would want to have at the party) before turning to the package and tugging the neat bow out of the twine. 

The silver tissue was pleasantly crinkly under Harry’s fingers as he touched the gift. Being careful not to rip any of the tissue, he started to unwrap the parcel slowly, only to look up in surprise upon hearing a knock from the front door. 

Draco had insisted upon having a Muggle-inspired system for convenience, so they didn’t have to always go to the door to see who was visiting. But instead of a normal chime from a doorbell whenever someone came to the door, Harry and Draco would hear their coat tree call out the visitor’s name in a nasal, uppity, strangely coat-tree-sounding voice. It was quite helpful.

But this time, as Harry made his way to the entranceway, the coat tree snobbishly called something that Harry didn’t recognize. He’d heard the first part, no problem — Luna Lovegood was outside the door, probably eating a supposed-cure-all leaf she’d found in their front garden — but the second guest was a mystery. Had Luna brought a friend? And why was she showing up a day before the party, when she’d be back at their house tomorrow anyway for the event itself?

Harry hadn’t considered his appearance until the second he was turning the doorknob, and couldn’t find it in him to be embarrassed about the fact that he was shirtless and barefoot — it was Luna, for Merlin’s sake, who certainly had seen him in much worse conditions and not batted an eye. It was extremely cold, however, and Harry found himself being blasted by a puff of freezing air as soon as he opened the door. 

The first thing he saw was Luna’s elated face, as she was close to his eye level. She wasn’t eating a random leaf she’d found, but a Belgian waffle, which she held in her bare hand like a cookie. 

The waffle appeared to be cold, but Harry had no time to inquire about Luna’s well-being, the intention behind her visit, or the waffle, because she accosted him with an enthusiastic wave. “Harry!” she exclaimed delightedly, and seemed to be about to say something else when she was interrupted by another, unfamiliar individual, whose voice was very gruff in contrast to Luna’s own melodic inflection.  

“Bitch,” the voice said curtly, coming from somewhere near Luna’s feet, and Harry glanced down just in time to see a fluffy creature scramble over his front door sill and bolt into the entryway. 

Harry looked back at Luna tiredly, too surprised to chase after the creature and too distracted to care whether or not it did any damage.  “What—?” he said, inviting her inside with a gesture, and she glowed even more.

“Bartholomew,” Luna said, as if in explanation, absently taking a bite of her cold waffle. Upon closer inspection, Harry determined that the waffle was actually tinted green. “I saw him at the Magical Menagerie and we bonded immediately. ‘The Jarvey chooses the wizard,’ the lady told me, and who was I to say no? — not when he called me an ugly fruit bat as soon as I stepped inside.” She beamed in the direction the creature had run, though he was currently out of sight. 

“You got a Jarvey?” Harry asked, surprised. But as soon as he thought about it for another two seconds, it seemed quite like Luna to do such a thing. Jarveys were notoriously rude, chaotic, and hard to care for, but Luna would be exactly the person to adore one.

“Dirty, crusty old shack!” the Jarvey (Bartholomew, it seemed) howled, clawing his way up the back of the sofa. He inspected Harry and Draco’s home with obvious distaste from his new vantage point. 

“Isn’t he charming?” Luna asked happily, and it took Harry a moment to realize she was talking about the Jarvey, who, as far as Harry could tell, was quite the opposite. Luna passed her bag to the coat tree and curtsied to it; it procured a sprig of lavender and handed it to her. She thanked it, and it bowed, complimenting her on the bow tie she was wearing, which was a violent shade of chartreuse. She always took the time to be kind to the coat tree, and, as a result, she was the only one to whom it was ever particularly polite. 

She passed her waffle to Harry (who took it in surprise) and began to braid the lavender into her long, dirty-blonde hair as the two of them walked into the living area. Harry stared at the waffle in his hand. 

“Why is it…green?” And if that wasn’t enough, at that moment Harry noticed that Luna was wearing two different shoes: a rain boot on her left foot and a dockside on her right. Though her left sock wasn’t visible beneath the boot, the dockside featured a pilling olive-colored sock, and Harry suspected that the rain boot sported a mismatched one to round out the interesting pair. 

“Oh!” Luna said, as if in realization, and, having finished weaving the lavender into her hair, she took the waffle back from him. “It’s a Muggle thing that they put in all sorts of foods. It’s a bit like— well, have you ever had green tea?” 

Harry made a face. He preferred black tea, with the occasional rooibos or oolong variety. 

“Oh, well, it’s a bit like that. They call it ‘matcha.’ I was going to offer you some, but you would be happier if I didn’t.” 

It wasn’t a question, and Harry had no idea what to respond with, so he was relieved when Luna seemed to expect no more conversation. Apparently having enjoyed the first bite of her cold green waffle a few moments ago, she took another, and moseyed into the living room. 

“Bartholomew!” she called, evidently searching for the Jarvey, and he ran out from the kitchen, his claws skidding on the hardwood floor.

For the first time, Harry got a good look at him. He had very little experience with Jarveys, his only interaction before Bartholomew being with a Jarvey that Bill brought to the Burrow about five years ago to de-gnome the garden. 

Bartholomew was a handsome if not scruffy animal, with sophisticated brown eyes and a fluffy tail. He had the lighter facial markings that gave him a nice bespectacled appearance, which was typical of brown ferrets (and thus Jarveys), but he was looking up at Harry judgily in a way that the man didn’t appreciate. 

“Bottom,” Bartholomew said sneeringly to Harry, and he waddled over to Luna, inspecting a scuff on her shoe (the rain boot, not the dockside) with narrowed eyes.

Harry spluttered when he realized what the Jarvey had said. “Is he—?” 

“Yes,” Luna said, giving Harry a once-over and nodding matter-of-factly. Something interesting about Luna was that, despite the fact that Harry and Draco didn’t tell her anything, she managed somehow to accurately guess the fine lines of their dynamic. This felt both reassuring and invasive at times. “The collar is very noticeable when you’re shirtless,” she pointed out. “And you’re wearing sweatpants again.”

He scoffed. “So it’s obvious I’m a bottom?”

Luna nodded again and shrugged, oblivious to whether or not she was offending Harry, and she stuck out a leg for Bartholomew, who dug his sharp little claws into her jeans and climbed up to sit on her shoulder. He wasn’t small, and had to weigh about as much as a small crup, but appeared to exert little effort in scaling his human companion, and she seemed comfortable despite the weight on her shoulder. She held her matcha waffle up to Bartholomew, and his sharp little teeth impaled it as he snagged a large portion. When he was settled, Luna strolled into the kitchen, and Harry (left with no other option) followed her, a bit miffed that a Jarvey had not only guessed his sexual preferences but pointed them out in a rather insulting manner. 

Luna pulled a folded brochure out of her back pocket, smoothed out the crinkles with her wand, and passed it to Harry before sitting down at one of the kitchen island’s tall barstools. Harry took the pamphlet and opened it, leaning and resting his forearms on the counter. It turned out to be a Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes party catalogue. 

“They asked me to bring you that,” Luna said. “I was in Diagon Alley earlier — I had to get some ink at the bookshop — and right before I got Bartholomew, I wandered in to say hello to Ronald and George, and Ron was asking about the balloons for tomorrow. Come to think of it,” she added suddenly, “I never did buy any ink. Oh well.”

Harry studied the catalogue, the first page of which had a delightful, bright selection of balloons with all sorts of special features, like having little magicked creatures inside or changing words on the latex. The following pages contained exploding confetti, color-changing banners, candy that made you do embarrassing things in front of the rest of the party (they seemed rather similar to Harry’s recollection of the Skiving Snackboxes, except these didn’t make you sick), party favors that obnoxiously sang happy birthday at random intervals for a fortnight after they were given out, and many more. 

Bartholomew was trying to jump to the counter top, but kept losing his footing and climbing back to Luna’s shoulder to try again. It was rather distracting.

“But anyway,” Luna continued, giving the rest of her waffle to Bartholomew to pacify him, and he plunked himself down in her lap, eating it noisily; “Ron said something about being busy. They’re working on a huge order for some wedding right now, so he’s swamped. But he also told me there’s a note in there.” She nodded toward the catalogue in Harry’s hands.

Sure enough, on the next page of the catalogue was adhered a little scrap of parchment that held Ron’s messy handwriting. The note detailed what Luna had just mentioned:

Harry— Too busy to pop in today but I’ll come a half-hour early tomorrow with anything you like. Owl or Patronus to give me your order. Payment: you distract Hermione while I snag all your firewhiskey at the party. Best, Ron

“This is great,” Harry said, reading the note and scanning the pages of party favors and decorations, and thinking about what he’d ask Ron for. “I’ll send him a list later. Draco will like the drink markers. Thanks, Luna.”

“Any time,” Luna said happily, but she was petting Bartholomew and gazing around and it was clear she hadn’t heard a word he’d said.

It dawned on Harry that he should be a good host and offer Luna (and Bartholomew?) a beverage. 

“Er…can I get you a drink? Butterbeer? There’s other stuff, too. Draco found a brand of Muggle carbonated water that he loves, so we have a lot of that. It’s got real juice for the flavoring. But then he puts other stuff in it.” Harry was well aware that Luna didn’t drink alcohol, but he also knew about her affinity for fun mocktails, so he tried to offer up some more interesting options than just plain, infinitely-boring water. 

“Oh, no, we’re all good!” Luna exclaimed, clearly under the impression he was also offering something to Bartholomew, and she stood from the barstool, scooping the Jarvey up with her. “I’ve got some goat milk in my bag.”

That was a lovely example, Harry thought, of one of the many things Luna said to which he had not a single idea of what to say in response. “Great,” he said awkwardly, and straightened up too. 

“And we’ve actually got to be on our way,” Luna said, starting to walk back to the door, and Harry followed her. From the back, Harry could see a hole in Luna’s rain boot, and noticed that, in fact, she was wearing matching socks. “I have to go back to the Menagerie to get the rest of the things for Bartholomew. I told Ronald I’d come right here, but I saw Bartholomew in the window and couldn’t walk on by. Diagon Alley is very busy at three o’clock on a Friday, you know.”

“I’m sure nobody else would have gotten him before you,” Harry said kindly, having no idea if that’s what Luna was even talking about. But he believed what he said because of the nature of Jarveys, and how most people were not all that fond of being badmouthed every other minute.

“No matter!” Luna cried, almost triumphantly, taking her bag from the coat tree and thanking it. “He and I were meant to be together. But now we must go back to find him some toys and a bed and all of the necessary necessities.” She pecked Harry on the cheek swiftly, ruffled his already-messy hair with a cheery laugh, and bounced out the front door with Bartholomew in her arms. (“Four-eyed fiend!” the Jarvey shrieked, his mouth full of waffle, as Luna whisked him out the door.)

After the door closed behind her and Harry was alone once more, he absently ran a hand through his unruly hair, then walked back to his study and stared at the parcel for a moment. 

The tissue that he’d only partly unwrapped was silvery, reminding Harry of unicorn blood, and as he touched it again to finish opening the gift, Harry could see…fabric?

It was fabric, and as Harry lifted it from the silver tissue, it unfolded and Harry found himself clutching a beautiful dress. 

Made of satin, velvet, and lace, the dress was a gorgeous, dark shade that looked black at first glance but green upon catching the light. He held it up for a better look. It was already tailored: Harry didn’t have breasts, so dresses would often not fit at first; the bodices would be baggy, as he’d have nothing with which to fill them out, but this one featured a smooth front that seemed it would end up working perfectly with his chest. 

The fabrics felt good against his skin. The satin was cool and silky, the velvet smooth and soft, and the color was beautiful. The bodice half was velvet; the skirt was satin, began from a seam at the smallest part of his waist, and was gently pleated to fall elegantly while still allowing for some twirling capabilities. Harry estimated it would reach about halfway down his shins when he wore it. And the velvety top half of the dress was just as beautiful as the satiny bottom, he noticed as he began to examine it. Though it was sleeveless, the dress had a rounded and high-up neckline (Is it even called a crew neck on dresses? Harry wondered). A small, simple bow hung centered just below that hem. The straps were wide, fixed-length, and adorned subtly with lace in an identical color to the fabric. A few tiny diamonds were scattered across the lace. And the top part of the dress was rather form-fitting, too; it would hug his waist in a way that made Harry begin to question Draco’s motives. The more he looked at it, the more Harry realized that this was a dress that someone could wear to be paraded around in. 

He turned it to look at the posterior of the dress, where there was a kite-shaped cutout that would show the small of his back. The opposite vertices of the kite that faced left and right were cleverly placed right at the seam between the velvet and satin. Other than the cutout, the bow, and the lightly-placed diamonds and lace on the straps, the dress was simple but boasted heavy implications.

Draco had clearly been the one to envision the dress: the color, style, and fit were too Harry for the designer to be anyone else (especially since Draco knew Harry was partial to twirly skirts) — and it featured too many things that Draco liked to see on him for it to be a coincidence. 

Harry folded the dress slowly, his thoughts aflutter, and as he did so, a note fell from somewhere in it onto the floor. He set the neatened dress on the table and knelt to grab the note, standing up as he scrutinized it. It was written on a small rectangle of Draco’s favorite parchment, which he bought from one of the regulars at his shop. The individual produced custom stationery available via owl order. 

He unfolded the slip of parchment and read the single line of script, penned neatly with what Harry could assume was Draco’s favorite quill, in deep gold ink: It will bring out your eyes. 

And then, far too soon, before he had time to process, Harry heard the door open as Draco arrived home. In a moment of unidentified panic, Harry shoved the note as far into the pocket of his sweatpants as possible before realizing that this was Draco, around whom he needed fear nothing, and who, of course, was the man behind it all. 

He heard the coat tree telling Draco that Luna had come by while he was gone, and heard Draco saying how he wished he’d been home to greet and visit with her. The coat tree responded that she had only come by for a few moments to drop something off, and reminded Draco that she’d return tomorrow for the party.

Taking a deep breath, Harry picked up the dress shakily before making his way to greet Draco. 

Harry’s husband held the straps of a reusable grocery bag in one hand and he was shrugging off his jacket with the opposite shoulder when he caught sight of Harry. 

When Harry saw Draco’s eyes instantly fall to the dress in his arms, he blushed and glanced down at it too. 

He was awkward around presents — always had been, in a way — because of how bereft his upbringing had been with such things. Harry could remember how he felt getting gifts from the group that was now his family, the Weasleys, for the first time. But it never compared to how he felt upon receiving things from Draco. The more time and money that went into a present, the more he felt it. 

But what was it? Not guilt, certainly, and not displeasure of any sort. Was it embarrassment? Embarrassment to be doted on in such a way? Embarrassment that instead of Draco buying himself a new suit or robe or potion accessories — things that were useful — he was spoiling and indulging Harry, who certainly never needed any of the things Draco gave him. 

Or did he?

He’d known for almost his entire time with Draco that their dynamic — specifically, Harry’s ability to submit while also being in love — was important to him. And it wasn’t a stretch to say it was important to his mental health, either. 

Each gift was a reminder that Harry was taken care of, that Harry was loved, that Harry had someone there all the time to help him not need to worry about the difficulties life sometimes presented. 

Things like this green dress, his lovely tungsten collar, and more, were reminders that Draco wanted to fill Harry’s being with as much happiness as he could while still letting Draco be selfish. The selfishness, of course, took the form of him getting to enjoy seeing Harry in his dress, enjoy seeing Harry react toward the wonderful mischief of his collar, and being able to use the gifts in Draco’s own favor: to even further bend Harry to his will while still seeing Harry’s genuine happiness upon being gifted things.

Harry had gradually gotten better at receiving gifts, and now was proud to say that he acted “normal” at Christmas parties and the like, but it was different with Draco. He was always shy, bashful…and delighted; extremely pleased but never knowing how to express it.

Such was this case with this dress as well. As Harry looked down at it with his face reddening, in his peripheral vision he saw Draco finish taking off his jacket, use his wand to send the jacket and bag to sit on the couch, and begin to come toward him. 

Harry felt his shoulders hunch slightly out of apprehension, but they relaxed when Draco put his arms around Harry and kissed the top of his head. 

“Thank you,” Harry said quietly, happily. 

“I want you to wear it tomorrow,” Draco whispered, his nose in Harry’s hair. 

Harry knew his surprise was evident in the way he started, and he kept his face in Draco’s shirt, hiding away as if to protect himself from how he felt. “It’s not…too formal? Velvet seems…formal.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Draco said, continuing to leave small kisses all across the top of Harry’s head. “You’re the host, and the host always needs to look nice, even if it’s a cocktail party. You should always look just a bit more done-up than the guests.”

“I don’t want to be too dressy. Hermione and Ron never get dressed up for anything.”

“I’m not letting my co-host wear a sweatshirt and corduroys to his own party.”

“Hermione will have a simple blouse with slacks and Ron will probably still be in his work robes, which, as you have said, are magenta and don’t go with anything.”

“Which is why you have to be more dressed up than they are.”

“You’re the host,” Harry muttered into Draco’s chest, holding the dress tightly against himself as Draco’s arms continued to envelop him. “It was your idea.”

“Harry,” Draco said, affectionate exasperation lacing his voice, “we’re married. If one of us is hosting, the other is too.”

“I s’pose,” Harry said, still not leaving his refuge and only leaning into his husband more. The way Draco looked at him often made him further blush, and if Draco couldn’t see his face, Harry was safe. 

“And our friends are going to be there.”

“We have the same friends,” Harry said grumpily.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Draco said, and let go of Harry, nudged his chin up, and kissed him. 

Harry’s scowl disappeared almost immediately, and, though caught off guard by the kiss, he let Draco’s fingers weave through his hair and caress his shoulder blades. Draco’s hands felt warm on Harry’s bare back, and Harry remembered he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

Draco was the first to pull away (Harry shivered as Draco’s hand left his hair and joined the other one at the small of his back), and, whether or not Draco was privy to Harry’s reluctance to stop, he made no sign of acknowledging it. He smiled down at Harry, whose hands, squished between both of their torsos, still clutched the dress; Harry felt himself grow red again. 

“It’s a little…ostentatious?” he mumbled, avoiding Draco’s eyes. 

Draco made a hm? noise, the emotion and tone of which Harry could not decipher, and it made him nervous. 

“Not ostentatious,” he continued. “Conspicuous. No, not— just….” Harry fidgeted, trailing off, and he felt Draco’s left hand move up to his shoulder blades. 

Draco laughed, and Harry knew that Draco could tell what he was going to say.

“You know.”  

But, of course, Draco had to play the villain. “Know what?”

Harry waited for as long as he thought it was safe — without Draco having to prompt him again — before he gave nervous voice to his thoughts. 

“It isn’t very…discreet,” he began nervously.

“And that’s a bad thing, you’re saying?”

“No,” Harry mumbled. “But…it feels like you want to show me off,” he said quietly. 

Draco laughed again; he kissed Harry on the temple and took a small fistful of the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck, pulling his head up so they could look at each other. 

“Do you think it’s unreasonable that I would want to?” he asked, and the question sounded genuine enough that it caught Harry off guard.

Harry had no idea. “But… do you?”

“I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t at least part of my intention,” Draco confessed, his silver eyes studying Harry’s face, and Harry, wide-eyed, couldn’t look away. 

Harry shivered, his shirtlessness once again coming to mind when he realized his nipples had hardened from the chills Draco’s hands sent all over his body. He only half-hoped Draco wouldn’t notice.

He also only half-hoped Draco hadn’t noticed the tiny, sharp little intake of breath Harry made upon hearing Draco’s answer. 

“But I know that you’ll like it, and you like to feel pretty, and I want to make you happy….”

Keeping his one hand in Harry’s hair, Draco’s other hand crept down Harry’s spine, fingers teasing his sweatpants’ waistband at the small of his back. Harry felt hot all over, but every touch from Draco gave him more chills. And when Draco’s hand slid beneath Harry’s boxers to roughly squeeze his ass, Harry let out a small noise before he could stop it. When Draco did it again, it hurt more than the first time, but Harry was ready, his back teeth biting down on the side of his tongue to attempt to curb any reactions. He tried evening out his breathing. 

“…but, partially,” Draco admitted, ”I do want to show you off.”

And then there was no way that Harry was going to be able to keep himself unaffected if that was what Draco was going to say. He shuddered, and swallowed hard, trying nonetheless to maintain some sense of control. 

But Draco knew his way around Harry’s body perhaps even better than Harry did, and kissed him. As soon as Draco’s tongue was in Harry’s mouth, Draco squeezed again, his fingernails digging into Harry’s skin, and Harry couldn’t stop himself from shuddering and making another noise.

“Wait, wait—!” he gasped, squirming away from Draco even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. “Let me put the dress down.”

Draco’s mouth twitched in amusement, but he withdrew his hand and let Harry move to the couch to drape the dress over the arm. 

As Harry turned around, he saw Draco coming toward him, and he let himself be pulled forward into Draco’s arms as they stopped in front of each other. Draco’s lips were on his in an instant, and, this time, Harry didn’t try to stop himself from moaning as Draco groped him shamelessly. Now that the dress wasn’t in between them, barring the way, Harry could feel that Draco was hard, and that knowledge turned him on more. 

Everything about Draco turned him on. It was like an inescapable curse, almost, to be constantly affected by this man to the point where it felt like Harry wasn’t in control of his own mind. Everything Draco did made his body feel so good that his brain didn’t know what to do.

Since he’d regained feeling from having his chest flattened, the center of Harry’s chest — the area that was no longer his cleavage — had been oddly sensitive. He loved when Draco laid his hand there on Harry’s chest, and felt that there was no cushioning between them, and he felt safe, secure, and always just a tiny bit excited. 

Harry could feel the buttons of Draco’s pristine collared shirt brushing against that part of his chest, and it delighted him. Draco found Harry’s waistband once again and pushed his hand beneath it, and when Harry gasped Draco just kissed him harder. 

Draco moved his other hand up to Harry’s throat; he hissed an incantation against Harry’s mouth and Harry felt the collar’s chain leash grow out into Draco’s hand, felt the pressure on his neck as the leash was tugged. 

And then Draco pulled his hand from Harry’s pants again and stopped kissing him, and Harry made a disappointed noise. 

But Draco’s smirk was steadily turning Harry on more, and the way Harry now found himself on a leash perhaps even more so, so Harry didn’t complain. Not that it would have gotten him anywhere, probably, since Draco had always been rigid and firm about Harry stepping out of line — and he’d always been fucking hot about it. 

And now Draco procured his wand, studied the leash in his hand, and Harry could have sworn he saw a wicked gleam in his husband’s silver eyes. 

Harry wasn’t nervous, not quite, but apparently he was close enough to it that he flinched when Draco took hold of his chin, and Draco laughed.  

Draco kissed him again, and it was gentler than Harry was expecting, but the chain on his leash was moving, writhing, doing something that Harry couldn’t see. But Draco was kissing him, so, Harry thought, whatever the leash was doing could certainly wait.  

But then the leash began tugging him down and away from his husband’s enamoring kiss — decidedly sooner than Harry would have preferred — and Harry had no choice but to fall roughly to his knees. He looked down, confused but certainly aroused by whatever had just happened, and saw that the leash handle had disappeared entirely. 

The chain, however, had attached itself to a ring that was evidently embedded into the floor, and there were barely two inches of slack on the chain for Harry when on his knees. 

He looked up at Draco, still unsure, and Draco produced wrist cuffs out of nowhere and waved his wand again; the cuffs found Harry’s wrists and strapped them behind his back. 

Harry was becoming wetter by the second, but he wasn’t going to say that. He knew that Draco noticed his uneven breathing, and he knew that Draco knew he was already worked up from the kissing, groping, and the like. So there was no need to embarrass himself further by mentioning what was going on between his legs. 

Draco knelt to one knee, grabbed Harry’s chin again; he was rougher this time, tilting Harry’s head to inspect him from all angles. 

“I’m liking this collar more every day,” Draco said. He let go of Harry’s chin and ran a finger along the chain, tugging casually and chuckling when Harry jerked forward. 

Draco shifted and studied Harry for a moment, before he slapped Harry across the face: the lingering sting sent shivers down Harry’s spine, and he groaned quietly. 

Draco leaned in and used the tip of his wand to nudge Harry’s chin so that he was looking at him. “Next time,” Draco said, in a low, dangerous voice that fucking did things to Harry, “you’re not going to question what I give you to wear. Tomorrow you’re going to put on that dress for my party, and you’re going to look gorgeous…and think yourself lucky that I’m letting you have anything on underneath it. Understand?”

Harry whimpered but didn’t look away; the wandtip dug into his jaw, and he loved it. Draco’s words — my party — were not lost on Harry, and it just reinforced the idea that he was a plaything for Draco to tote around — even prettier to show about now that he had a new dress to wear. A quarter of an hour ago it had been his party, too; Luna had given him the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes pamphlet for him to look at, but now Draco had turned the tables, and Harry was just another thing in Draco’s own catalogue of items to peruse and purchase at his leisure. 

Draco pressed the wand harder into Harry’s jaw. “Do you understand or not?” he said, and Harry felt the wandtip begin to grow hot against his skin.

“I understand,” Harry said shakily, and he shuddered quietly when Draco moved his wand and tucked it away dismissively. 

He stood, and unzipped his pants. 

Harry automatically sat up straighter when he saw what Draco was doing, but the chain prevented him from fully straightening his back; he’d have to be sitting on his ass with his legs crossed in order to have full slack on the chain. And even then, he wouldn’t have much wiggle room. 

Draco was wearing black underwear, which Harry inexplicably preferred over other colors for such garments on his husband, and Harry saw Draco’s eyes tracking him as he pulled his cock out of his pants. 

Harry couldn’t not look at it. He knew he was probably supposed to look at Draco’s face or eyes, but Harry felt that such was an unreasonable request when there was a dick in front of his face. 

What made this situation worse was that Harry couldn’t even move enough to try to put his mouth on said dick, because the chain of his collar kept his head a fixed radius from the floor. 

For a while now, Harry had harbored very mixed feelings about what to do in such a situation as this, with him waiting and Draco’s cock right in front of him. There were too many options, and each had its own punishment. He could just start sucking Draco off without waiting for his permission, but that often resulted in being forced to wait longer. Not always, though; sometimes Draco just took matters into his own hands and facefucked Harry; and even other times, Draco would pull Harry’s hair or slap him or do any number of painful things Harry loved.

It was fun to watch Draco’s eyes narrow dangerously when Harry sucked him off when he wasn’t supposed to, and half the thrill was knowing that he was in store for some roughing up. Draco would say “Harry…” in a dark, warning voice, and Harry would close his eyes and moan and continue until Draco made him stop. And he adored the way it felt in his mouth, hard and thick and wonderful to choke on. 

But being made to wait longer because of it? Awful. So was it even worth it? Harry could recall one of his recent punishments for some transgression — he’d said something in jest of Slytherin laziness, and still believed he shouldn’t have been punished for it…but Draco’s pride was not to be trifled with, and he could so easily sway Harry into apologies: one touch to Harry’s neck, one searing kiss, one tug of his hair, one word , even, was all it took to send Harry reeling into humiliated desperation. And in his humiliated desperation, he was quick to beg for just about anything, and the begging included profuse apologies for breaking any of Draco’s protocol. The punishment (which Harry had relished but also despised) for this particular defiance was simple and yet did so much, and after, Harry told himself he’d never tease Draco again. It was horrible: he had to lie with his head in Draco’s lap, Draco’s cock so close to his face that he could feel it, feel how warm it was, how soft the skin, but how hard it was too, and he had wanted it in his mouth more than anything. Draco had been doing something on his cell phone (Harry hadn’t been worthy of knowing what it was), and he’d alternated between gently petting Harry’s hair and taking a few moments to play with his ass. (Harry had been naked, as Draco always preferred it. Draco had been fully clothed, and, as much as he knew Harry loved him naked, he also knew about Harry’s affinity for feeling vulnerable when he was the only one without clothes.) Draco had eventually gone soft, his cock warmly resting by Harry’s face, and it drove Harry mad. He loved the unique smell when his head was in the intersection of Draco’s legs — it was masculine, clean, but almost taboo, and the smell literally made his mouth water. Harry had been unable to keep from whimpering regularly, to his embarrassment, and when Draco had decided it was time, he’d tied Harry up against the headboard, gagged him, and jerked off at the foot of the bed, forcing Harry to watch as he came on the sheets. That last part had been absolutely, one hundred percent torture for Harry, but as a reward for sticking it out so well, Draco had given him a lovely, long session of head with lots of snuggling after, so it was very close to worth it. 

Thus concluded the pros and cons of the first option of what to do with a dick in front of Harry’s face: ignore consequences and just go for it. 

The second option was equally as fun, just in a different way, and this one sometimes resulted in opposite punishments from the first. When faced with what to do with a cock in his face, Harry could keep his lips tightly shut. He often wasn’t a huge fan of this kind of recalcitrance, depending on the situation, but it had its time and place. Draco would tell Harry to suck him off, and then again more firmly, until he’d grab Harry’s hair and try to push into his mouth. But Harry would keep his jaw clenched, his mouth closed tightly, and deny access. This seldom happened, and usually was only when Harry was either a bit pissed at Draco or wanted to make him angry — an angry Draco, or at least a sexually angry Draco, was a hot Draco indeed. Harry loved the fiery look in Draco’s eyes when this happened, and he loved the nervous adrenaline from not knowing what would be in store for him. Most of the time, it ended with Draco fucking his mouth roughly, leaving Harry with a sore jaw and the insides of his lips torn up from his teeth — but it was usually worth it, as Harry could never get enough of gagging on Draco’s cock. The second most recent time Harry had kept his mouth shut, Draco had tied him up with his head just off the edge of the bed, and fucked his throat like that. Draco had loved the angle, loved getting to see Harry’s throat contort as he tried to take the cock that was being forced into his mouth; and Harry had loved it too, loved that he could absolutely not breathe when in that position with his mouth full. He’d felt Draco’s balls against his lips, convulsed as he choked, and only gotten to take a breath when Draco permitted. He’d moaned around Draco’s cock when Draco had leaned forward and begun to toy with Harry’s dick, all while Draco’s own was still forced down Harry’s throat. 

Harry also never stayed pissed at Draco (if annoyance was his reason for keeping his mouth closed in the first place) after any of this treatment, but he hated eating and talking for a few days after because of the raw skin of the insides of his cheeks and lips, which had gotten ripped up from using his lips to protect Draco from his teeth. It would be the easiest thing in the world to heal, of course, but Harry never healed any marks or light injuries he’d gotten from Draco. The only reasons he could think of for which he would heal something would be if he had to be in front of Molly Weasley or Hermione, both of whom would go batty about healing charms and the like if they saw some of the things Draco left him with. (The worst of the things had been a couple of first degree burns, more than anyone’s fair share of bruises and bite marks, plenty of soreness in various body parts, and some abrasions or swollen areas from scratches and whatnot; nothing too serious, not at all, but these were the longest-lasting consequences Harry experienced.) 

Thus concluded the pros and cons of the second option of what to do with a dick in front of Harry’s face: deny, deny, deny.

The third and fourth options were both similar and the least drastic of the choices. They also both involved obedience, which was definitely the best choice to make on some occasions — for example, if Harry needed to speak to someone important or talk to a large group at work the next day, he usually opted for options three and four, which would make Draco less likely to do something to Harry that would ultimately end up embarrassing him at work. 

Option three: sitting gently, waiting without moving, just for permission to be allowed to put his mouth on Draco’s cock. Just sitting, being as patient as he could (not very). The most he’d ever do outwardly to try to convince Draco to fuck his face would be to open his mouth and let his tongue rest out, just over and past his lower lip. 

Option four: very similar, but with begging. Harry adored begging, and when it was for something as simple as being allowed to suck his husband off, it could be gloriously humiliating, too. “This doesn’t even do anything physical for you,” Draco had said on one particular occasion of Harry moaning around the cock in his mouth, “and yet here you are. So much of a slut for my cock that you get this much out of just sucking me.” …which was horribly embarrassing and yet completely true. But having to beg for it was so fun, to get to see Draco’s eyes watching him as he decided whether or not to let Harry have what he wanted. 

And what Harry wanted, even now, as he sat with his neck chained to the floor and his wrists chained behind his back, was to have his mouth full of cock. 

He shuffled the options in his mind, and decided that, with the party tomorrow and him already possibly being on Draco’s dangerous side, begging for it would be the safest choice. 

“Please,” Harry said, his eyes still fixed on Draco’s wonderful, wonderful cock just inches from his face; “please, can I suck you off?”

“I haven’t decided,” Draco said, beginning to languidly stroke himself. “I’m quite tempted to just cum on your chest so you don’t even get to taste it and then just leave you there. You’d be an awfully cute decoration for the party.”

Harry shuddered. “Please,” he said again. “Please, I want you in my mouth so badly.”

“You argued with me, Harry.”

Harry couldn’t remember if he had, but it didn’t matter because he was sorry. “Please,” he begged, leaning forward until the chain held him back, “I’ll make you feel so good. Please use my mouth. I want you to cum in my mouth and make me swallow it all, please, let me suck you….”

Draco didn’t say anything, but he took a short step forward so that the tip of his erection was less than half a foot from Harry’s nose, and continued touching himself. 

“How badly do you want to suck me off?” 

“So much, please, I want you in my mouth, I want to feel you filling my throat, please…I want to make you feel good….”

“You want me to cum down your throat?”

Harry groaned. “Fuck, please, please, I love when your cock is all the way in my mouth and I can feel you cum right down my throat, please— I love it so much, I don’t even try to swallow, it’s just a reflex, fuck, like I’m just made to take your cum, please, however you want….” 

And then Draco reached out and ran his fingers gently through Harry’s hair, caressing him, and with his other hand still on his cock he began to jerk himself off more quickly, looking Harry right in the eyes. 

That was another dilemma, whether to gaze at Draco’s face or his…head. Harry loved looking Draco in the eyes from on his knees, but he was obsessed with Draco’s cock. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it, but he wasn’t exactly proud either, especially when Draco belittled him for it — but, when that was the case, Harry usually loved Draco’s cock even more. It just was so difficult to choose. Eye contact was hot, and Harry’s favorite was eye contact while he was gagging on Draco’s cock; but to be able to watch Draco jerk off, or, really, do anything else, was a treat, especially when Draco spoke to him: trivial praises that just went to fuel the neediness of a mindless Harry, who only worshipped Draco more after hearing them. 

But at Draco’s gentle touch, Harry tore his stare away from the cock in front of him and looked up at his husband, seeing the raw arousal hidden behind his eyes. 

“You look so fucking cute on your knees for me,” Draco said, and he made a fist in Harry’s hair, tugging until pain burned on that part of Harry’s scalp. 

In his peripheral vision, Harry could see Draco’s hand moving on his cock, and he moaned at all of the stimuli: feeling the sting of having his hair pulled, and seeing the intensity of Draco’s gaze, the motion of Draco jerking himself off. 

“Please,” Harry whimpered, and, overwhelmed, he closed his eyes. He licked his lips, and as he opened his mouth to speak again, he felt the head of Draco’s cock pushing past his lips to rest on his tongue. 

Surprised and so, so glad to be able to make Draco feel good — finally — Harry opened his eyes again and looked up at his husband as he felt the cock invade his mouth. 

He sat like that, unsure of whether or not he’d be punished upon moving, his lips not even closing around the shaft for fear of what it might mean if he was disobedient. His tongue rested on his lower lip, and he just looked up into Draco’s eyes, letting himself be used. 

And then Draco smirked at him and began to push farther into his mouth until Harry felt Draco’s cock press into his throat. He was able to keep from gagging, righting himself and letting himself groan around the cock in his mouth. Draco pulled most of the way out of Harry’s mouth and thrust shallowly a few times, ensuring his cock was sufficiently lubricated by Harry’s mouth before he used his hand (which still was tangled and tugging in Harry’s hair) to push Harry’s head toward him so that Harry had no choice but to take Draco down his throat. 

He gagged, the chain clinking quietly as Draco rocked into his mouth, and Harry shut his eyes reflexively. He let himself sit for a moment and just feel everything as it was, not trying to proactively move to make Draco feel good, and not trying to change anything. He swallowed unintentionally as Draco’s cock pushed into his throat again, and, hearing Draco’s appreciative noise, Harry swallowed around him once more. He couldn’t breathe at all — Draco’s cock was far enough down his throat that it blocked his airflow, but Harry wasn’t distressed. 

“I always love when I get to use your pretty mouth,” Draco said, letting out a long breath, and he dug his nails into Harry’s scalp, holding himself down Harry’s throat for one moment longer before letting him go. Harry gagged again as Draco’s cock slid out of his throat, and as Draco pulled his hair, tilting Harry’s head back, Harry opened his eyes. 

He gazed up at Draco, saw his flushed cheeks and controlled demeanor, and saw Draco’s cock right in front of his face once more, this time slick with Harry’s own saliva but still as hard as ever. 

And then Draco stepped away from him, letting his hand fall from Harry’s hair, caressing his cheek as he did so. But he was stepping away, and Harry gave a choked whimper as he watched Draco’s hand drop to his cock again and start to touch himself. 

“No,” Harry said, desperately confused and desperately wanting Draco back in his mouth, “no, wait, please...please….”

“You look gorgeous,” Draco murmured, his eyes raking over Harry’s body as he jerked himself off, seeing everything.

Harry had nothing to hide, and if he did, he couldn’t hide it from Draco. He was dripping —  his boxers stuck to his inner thighs from the wetness — and his mouth was wet too, from Draco fucking it. His knees had begun to hurt from the hard flooring; his back had begun to ache from the chain that anchored his collar to the floor. 

Draco saw him, and loved him, and owned him, and Harry lived.

“Please,” he begged, his eyes on Draco, Draco’s hard cock, Draco’s silver eyes that saw right through him. “Please, I need your cock in my mouth, please—”

“You belong to me,” Draco said, his breathing getting faster, and Harry groaned and gasped and nodded, never tearing his eyes away as Draco took a half step toward him again. 

“Yes, please, please, I belong to you, I’m yours,” Harry pleaded. “Fuck, please, I want your cock so much….”

“My perfect toy to use,” Draco said, his jaw tense, and there he was, right there, but the chain was too short— 

Harry could tell that Draco was close by the way his hand moved, the way his shoulders twitched, the way he breathed, the way he stood, and he remembered what he had begged for earlier: to swallow.  

“You look so pretty,” Draco said roughly, and he knew what Harry wanted, he fucking knew what Harry felt, he knew it all, damn him— “Stick out your tongue.”

He knew what Draco was going to do, he knew it, he didn’t want to disobey, but he wanted it— 

“You better still cum down my throat,” Harry choked out, and as soon as he did, he regretted it; his voice had been too hard, it sounded like a command, no— 

“You belong to me,” Draco rasped again, and that was all it took for Harry’s will to collapse. 

“Yes,” he moaned, sorry for what he had said and wanting to fix it, but he was turned on beyond belief and knew nothing other than his desire for everything Draco had to offer.  

“Beg for my cum,” Draco growled; it was the closest Draco’s voice ever got to a groan, when he was close, and Harry relished it every time — it sent a shiver through his whole body. Harry knew what was going to happen; he knew what Draco was going to do, how Draco was going to use him, but now he craved it.

“Please, sir, I want it so bad, please cum on my face, fuck, I love when you use me—”

“Don’t forget that I told you to stick out your tongue.”

Harry moaned quietly and nodded; it was hard to beg and have his tongue out, but he alternated to the best of his abilities to try to fit in both. “I need it,” he begged, “please, I want you to cover me with all your cum, please cum on my face, sir….”

“Fuck,” Draco breathed, “I’m close. You look so good, baby, keep going for me.”

Draco looked perfect, Harry thought. He had never wanted anything so badly as he wanted Draco’s cum on his face at that moment.

“Please,” Harry said, pulling his tongue back in his mouth to talk. “I want it so bad, cum on me, cum on me, please, sir—”

Then Draco was there, towering above him, and just two inches of chain would let Harry put his mouth on Draco’s cock, but what Draco wanted was law. 

Draco let out a low groan, and Harry stuck out his tongue, wanting it….

He felt his wrists strain against the cuffs desperately as Draco started to cum, and Harry felt it, hot on his skin and in his open mouth. He moaned, and closed his eyes as he felt it land on his face; it was always warmer than Harry remembered, and, wow, on his face—

He made another noise, this one closer to a whimper, swallowing what was landing on his tongue and licking up what else he could reach. 

It was bitter, salty, acidic-tasting, and Harry had never been particularly fond of the taste, but it always turned him on far, far too much for him to care. 

He opened his eyes, heard Draco breathing hard, and saw, right in front of his face, the cock that he so desperately wanted in his mouth. He could see a drop of cum on the head and leaned in, whining when the chain prevented him from licking it off. 

He saw Draco eyes open and his hand fall from his cock and his lips turn up into a smile, and a pang of arousal pulsed through Harry’s stomach. Draco’s hand reached out and brushed Harry’s lips; Harry did the only thing he saw as an option and dutifully licked the cum off Draco’s fingers.

Draco tucked himself back into his boxers and zipped up his fly, and he knelt to one knee and kissed Harry quickly on the mouth before standing again. 

After such a turn of events, Harry would expect Draco to suck him off on the couch, make out with him for a while, or something of the like. But Draco simply walked in a slow circle around Harry, surveying him, before stopping in front of him again and pulling out his wand. 

“You look so cute with your face covered in my cum,” Draco said, and, without warning, he Vanished Harry’s sweatpants and boxers, leaving him fully naked. 

Harry jolted in surprise (the chain clinking quietly as he did so), opening his mouth to protest or to at least ask what was going on, but upon seeing the look on Draco’s face, he stopped. 

Harry badly wanted to be touched, to be allowed to cum, but Draco never let himself be pushed or ordered around. 

But…asking nicely might be worth a try. 

“Please,” Harry begged, “please, I’m so wet, please….”

He saw Draco’s eyes drop to between his legs. “I can see that,” he responded.

“Please let me touch myself, at least—!”

“You don’t get to until I say you can.”

“Please!”

“No,” Draco said simply.

Harry whimpered. “Please, I’m dripping so much, at least let me have something inside me—”

“No,” Draco said, and he studied Harry a moment more before taking the few steps to the couch and picking up his grocery bag. “You’re going to be good and sit here cutely while I get things ready for my party tomorrow.” He cast a Cushioning Charm on the floor under Harry’s knees and a Warming Charm as well, checked to see he was comfortable, and made his way to the kitchen.

And then Harry was helpless. He felt cum drip slowly down his face and he felt his own wetness sticking to his legs and even dripping to the floor. He tried his restraints, not for the first time, and not for the first time did he find that he was stuck. He pushed up from his knees, testing the strength of the chain on his collar — and found, just as he had expected, that he was stuck . 

He knew that was that. Draco’s magic wasn’t weak enough to allow Harry to budge any of his bindings, and though Harry was more than strong enough to get out with his own magic, it never occurred to him to do so. 

From his place on the floor in the living room area, Harry could hear Draco emptying the grocery bag in the kitchen. And just a moment later, Draco found the brochure. “How nice,” he heard Draco say cheerfully and just loudly enough to be heard, “Ronald Weasley left a note on this for me.” He heard Draco ruffling through the pamphlet.

Harry had been particularly fond of the balloons he had seen in the catalogue, and he wanted to say something, but was nervous that he’d get reprimanded for doing so. But he trusted Draco, and knew that everything Draco would decide on would be perfect. He wondered if Draco would see the drink markers that Harry had thought he’d like. 

He stayed silent, feeling the cum cooling against his skin, and he blushed even though there was nobody to see. He thought about everything that had just happened, and felt his front hole clench reflexively, and he groaned quietly as it sank in that he actually just had to sit there. 

It was always impossible to keep track of time when he had to sit like this. His mind wandered violently every time, skipping between fantasies faster than his old Firebolt could pull out of a Wronski Feint, and this time he was stuck thinking about being owned and used and displayed just as Draco wanted, just how Draco wanted. 

He caught himself shifting his hips, trying to rub his dick against something that wasn’t there, and finally Harry let himself sink into a state of rest and acceptance that this was how he was until Draco changed his mind. 

He heard Draco’s voice, incomprehensible due to the distance between them, and saw the blue, star-filled mist of a Patronus emanate from the kitchen as Draco sent along his order to Ron for whatever decorations and party favors had piqued his fancy. And then Draco emerged from the kitchen and, the dictionary definition of authority that he was, sleekly rolled up his sleeves and casually began to use his wand to rearrange the furniture, all while paying Harry no notice at all. A few minutes later, Ron’s own shimmering Jack Russell terrier returned the message, thanking Draco for his order request and hoping Harry was well. Harry heard Draco laugh a bit at that last part. 

Harry was fucking dripping, and he felt his legs ache and the cum start to dry on his face. He let out a shaky breath, and a whimper slipped out. Harry closed his eyes.

He wished he was gagged — it was too hard not to say anything, too hard not to beg for what he needed. No, what he wanted, Harry told himself firmly. He didn’t need anything other than to sit as he was told. Draco knew what Harry needed, Draco would take care of him. 

Harry whimpered again and bit his tongue to try to stop himself from being even louder. He felt little vibrations through the hard floor as Draco moved furniture around. All he could think about was feeling empty. 

But then he began thinking more about specifics. He was utterly helpless right now, desperate and aching and silently wanting more. And not just that, either — if Draco had simply told Harry to sit like this without having chained him, it wouldn’t have the same effect. The chain on his collar? That was one thing that turned Harry on, sure, but the fact that it was embedded in the floor, fixing him there, exacerbated Harry’s arousal tenfold. 

He couldn’t see their sitting room clock from where he knelt, and he couldn’t turn his head because of the chain. Draco would see if Harry did anything, and so he tried to be content with not knowing the time and how much had elapsed. 

He wanted a cock inside him. He wanted a mouth on his dick. He wanted to be filled and fucked and filthied and more. He wanted to suck Draco. He wanted something in his mouth. 

He knew it would help him, at the very least, to lose concentration on the present if his mouth was full. Such was one reason (of many) that he loved cockwarming Draco with his mouth, because it always made him float away from focus and be comfortable with everything. Harry wished he had a dildo gag — just like a ball gag, per se, except with a few inches inside his mouth to keep him quiet or otherwise occupied — to fill his mouth and, by extension, fill his thoughts so that he didn’t have to try so hard to stay calm and obedient. When there was something in his mouth (especially Draco’s cock, for that matter, but fingers or a toy would suffice), Harry’s first thought was to please, and that’s what he wanted to do. 

He wished he could focus hard enough to conjure one. But he was so lost in desire that even just getting out of his restraints would be one of the more difficult things his magic could accomplish, especially with his hands bound. But — and he almost felt guilty for even thinking it — maybe he could get Draco to gag him….

No. He couldn’t. It was hard enough to disobey even when he was feeling bratty. And now, wanting to act out was the last thing on his mind.

And so Harry sat, for how long he didn’t know, just aching, loving, wanting.

By the time Harry felt his wrists fall from the cuffs, he was most of the way asleep — a side effect of when he was far into subspace. His eyes would barely open. He felt Draco tug his leash up; he hadn’t even noticed the chain remove itself from the floor. His legs wouldn’t seem to work. 

He reached up blindly, trying to grab onto Draco. His mouth was dry. “I need help—” he managed, and Draco was there, gently holding Harry’s forearms to help him stand. 

“I’ve got you,” he heard Draco say, and he felt Draco pull him into an embrace, holding him tightly.

Harry relaxed into Draco’s hug, sighing. “I’m sleepy,” he whispered hoarsely, and Draco kissed his head. 

“We can get in bed,” Draco soothed; Harry briefly felt the tight, dark feeling of Apparition but was too tired to try to orient himself, and then he was in bed with Draco next to him. 

He’d been cleaned up without his noticing, and so Harry was free to relax into the bed without worrying about making a mess. He still wanted something in his mouth. 

“Can I suck you?” he mumbled, and he was so tired but wanted it. 

Draco murmured something that Harry instantly forgot, and Harry, his eyes still closed, heard Draco unzip his fly and felt himself being carefully moved lower. 

Harry felt Draco’s cock, warm against his face, and took it into his mouth. He wet it with his tongue, got a feel for the position he was in, and rested his head against Draco’s hip as he started to suck gently. He felt Draco begin to stroke his head slowly, and a fluffy blanket settled around Harry’s shoulders. 

He was so sleepy. He loved pleasing Draco. He loved having been chained up while Draco had used him and gone back to his chores. He loved getting to suck Draco off now, and relax against the mattress and Draco’s body. 

He barely noticed Draco continuing to pet his hair, gently scratching Harry’s head to lull him to sleep. Harry made a contented sound and snuggled further against Draco, absently moving his tongue under Draco’s cock, and he sighed through his nose when Draco whispered, “Such a good boy.” 

Harry felt cozy, his mouth pleasantly full, his body sidled up against his partner, and he felt…in love. He knew that subspace made him more clingy for cuddles and more lovey-dovey in general, but he just loved Draco so MUCH. 

“I love you,” he said. It sounded funny, as his mouth was full, but Draco just pulled Harry closer.

“I love you too,” Draco murmured, and he pushed Harry’s head down a bit, situating his cock further in Harry’s mouth. “You’re beautiful.”

Harry made a quiet, sleepily aroused noise, and he acclimated quickly to Draco’s cock, letting himself relax. He was exhausted. He felt Draco’s body moving slightly against him as Draco breathed, felt Draco’s fingers in his hair, felt Draco’s hardness in his mouth, felt the fluffy blanket covering him. So, with all of those wonderful things surrounding him, Harry faded off to sleep.

Harry awoke gently to Draco stroking his back, and he realized that he’d been moved at some point while asleep; he now was snuggled against a body pillow instead of Draco, which was a minor disappointment, but what was more disappointing still was the fact that he no longer had anything in his mouth. 

“Wake up, Harry,” Draco said, amusement prickling happily in his voice, and Harry shoved his head into the pillow with a groan. “I want you to come see the sitting room.”

“It looks great,” Harry said grumpily, muffled by his pillow, and he rolled over, tugging the blankets more tightly over himself. 

“It’s six in the evening, Harry, you need to get up so you’ll be able to sleep when it’s actually time to sleep.”

So he’d been asleep for more than three hours. 

“What’s for dinner?” he grumbled into the pillow, and Draco laughed and pulled the covers down, rudely exposing Harry to the chillier air in the room. 

“Leftovers,” Draco said, ignoring Harry’s cry of protest at being uncovered, “since we have guests tomorrow. I don’t want to make anything new when we’ll have extra food in the house anyway.” He Summoned Harry something to wear and leaned on the side of the bed as Harry began to clothe himself. 

He put on the hoodie first, it being the most imminently necessary object for warmth (sometimes a Warming Charm could be annoying, and they had a heating system anyway), and then, as the foundation for the other articles, he put on the—

“Boxers?” Harry grumped, having seen none in his lapful of clothes to be donned. “I need boxers to put bottoms on, Draco.”

“No, you don’t,” said Draco. “Hurry up and come see how it looks, I worked hard.”

“You said I could have underwear on!”

“I said that you could tomorrow,” Draco corrected, straightening up and beginning to make his way to the door. “And, if I recall correctly,” he continued sternly, “I also told you to not argue with what I give you to wear.” And he strode out of the room. 

Harry didn’t find himself nearly as displeased as he wanted to be as he watched Draco exit, and he looked down at the garments in his lap. He held the top one up, looking at it. 

It was a loose pair of pajama short shorts that left little to the imagination and would offer absolutely no barricade or retaining power if he were to get remotely aroused. Without underwear, if Draco so much as kissed Harry with tongue or squeezed his ass once, the shorts would barely impede any of Harry’s wetness from getting on his legs, on Draco, or on whatever surface upon which he happened to be sitting. 

What was worse was that he was already liking that Draco had reminded him of the orders he’d given Harry earlier, which set Harry up for utter failure when it came to, um…keeping it in his pants.

He shimmied into the shorts, found himself displeased by how cold his legs were, and he then remembered that there had been more clothes Draco gave him.

Looking back to the bed, he saw a pair of thigh socks where he’d put the pile of clothing, and he picked them up, blushing. 

His legs were cold, so he put the thigh-highs on, almost not wanting to look in the mirror. Harry knew Draco would find the outfit cute, and knew that there was a decent-enough chance that he’d get fucked in it, but it embarrassed him nonetheless to know that there was a reason Draco picked it other than to provide Harry with warmth. 

And, of course, beside the obvious reason of Draco liking how Harry looked in cute clothes, Harry knew Draco enjoyed embarrassing him. In this case, that would likely result from him making Harry wet with no undergarments to stop it from getting everywhere. 

Harry stood from the edge of the bed and made his way downstairs, seeing his appearance just briefly as he passed the mirror. The hoodie was dark green;  the socks had hunter green, mint green, and saffron yellow stripes; and the shorts (though tiny and hard to see under the large hoodie) were baby blue. Not the most coordinated he’d ever looked, but Draco clearly didn’t care or else he wouldn’t have given it to Harry to wear. And so Harry, slightly apprehensive but curious about why Draco wanted him to see the sitting room, tried to hold his head up high and act normal as he stepped off the last step onto the first floor. 

He walked into the sitting room, presuming that’s where he’d find Draco, and stopped in the doorway when he saw the setup. 

Everything looked amazing. There were shades of blue and gray everywhere, so many shining trinkets, garlands of snowflakes and ice; Draco had evidently decided on a winter theme, and he had absolutely outdone himself. It was wintertime, after all — the blast of frigid air from when he’d opened the door for Luna had shown Harry that much. 

There were shining tablecloths covering every coffee table; there were elaborate, silver candelabras that would flinch when hot wax dripped on them and scream if the flames stopped being contained to the candle wicks; there were giant tiered trays that, come tomorrow, would hold mini sandwiches and cakes and egg salads and every delightful food imaginable; there were magicked fairy lights scattered around the vaulted ceiling, and they’d bob and flutter around, creating a whimsical effect without the hassle of real pixies; there were gorgeous, tasseled throw pillows that dusted themselves off; there were little circular wooden end tables near every seat to ensure everyone had a place to put their drink and plate of hors d’oeuvres; there were loveseats, armchairs, and other means of seating that had been accumulated (some from elsewhere in the house, some Transfigured) in order to provide to each guest a place to rest their legs and engage in delightful chatter. Half of the seats Harry had never sat on because they were reserved for entertaining. 

“This is incredible,” Harry said as he looked around, and he meant it. He was sure there were dozens of things he hadn’t even noticed yet. 

“Neville’s Screechsnap will go here,” Draco said, sweeping an arm toward a shelf near the walkway to the kitchen. “So then it can smell the food, because Neville said that they are prone to whining less when there are pleasant stimuli nearby.”

“Do we have something for Bartholomew to do so he doesn’t just go around griping at people?”

“Who the hell is Bartholomew?”

“Oh, right. Er….”

And so Harry relayed the tale of that morning, which seemed like ages ago, until Draco’s nose was wrinkling in suppressed laughter (and Harry was grinning in spite of himself).

“A Jarvey guessed that? It was that obvious?”

“Apparently,” said Harry, a bit disgruntled and choosing to not point out that it might be even more obvious with the outfit he was currently wearing. 

“I wonder what he’d say about me. Would he think I look like a top?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” Harry said, failing to hide the sarcasm in his voice. “You could make it easier on him by carrying around a whip and wearing leather.”

“Speaking of what we’re wearing,” Draco said, and Harry suspected this was Draco’s attempt to direct the conversation to what he’d made Harry wear, “you look…comfortable.”

“You’re the fucking worst,” Harry said immediately, but he wandered over to sit on the couch that was closest to the kitchen corridor, one of the nearest to where Draco was standing. 

“You’re adorable.”

Harry harrumphed. “What I am is hungry.”

“Of course you’re hungry, you had three licks’ worth of cum for lunch,” Draco said breezily, and Harry grumbled and Summoned a blanket from the basket in the corner. “What leftovers do you want?”

Despite being hungry for food, Harry still hadn’t cum (despite their activities scattered throughout the day), and that was currently at the front of his mind.

“I don’t remember what we have,” he said distractedly (as he was already thinking about how he could sneak away to jerk off for a little while, since he wasn’t sure Draco would permit him to if he asked) as Draco walked into the kitchen.

“There’s some of the cottage pie that Molly brought the other day,” Draco said, rummaging through their food. “Two pieces of pizza from when Seamus came over to watch the match — Merlin, everyone keeps bringing us food — there’s some of that great chicken marsala I made yesterday, and we have some fruit we have to finish. And the fuck ton of carrots we have for some reason.”

“Yeah, the carrots just kind of showed up,” Harry said, still not particularly paying attention (he was considering feigning a bout of constipation to give an excuse as to why he might be in the bathroom for twenty minutes). “I think the coat tree and refrigerator were wagering something.”

“Do you want a bit of everything?”

“I’ll probably take a piece of pizza and some cottage pie. And strawberries, if we have them?”

Harry wanted it to be later already, when they’d be in bed and in varying states of undress, which often led to some pre-bedtime sex. Right now, Draco was in a suppertime mood, which meant it was more than likely that Harry wouldn’t get anything more than…well, supper. 

He curled up in the blanket, silently hoping that Draco would bring him food on the couch so he wouldn’t have to get up. And then he could maybe…just cast a Warming Charm on the food to reheat it after he’d convinced Draco to fool around a bit?

“Harry?”

He realized Draco had said something and he hadn’t a clue what it was. “Sorry?” He turned his head, looking past the end of the couch and through the open kitchen walkway to where Draco was.

Draco turned toward him, an endearingly amused look on his face. “I asked if you want to try the pizza heated on the stove? So the bottom is crispy and not weird and squishy. Remember? Hermione recommended it.”

Harry, in fact, did not remember any prior conversation in which that had come up (and he suspected Draco knew this), but he trusted Hermione’s judgement and he trusted Draco to prepare him good food, so he said, “Sure.”

Draco tilted his head at him. “You’re distracted,” he said. “I’m assuming I can guess why?”

“Um. Most likely you can.”

“I think I can help,” Draco said, a gleam in his eye. “Do you want food first?” 

“...Not particularly?”

“Or you could wait ‘til tomorrow,” Draco added, “and I could fuck you in your new dress.”

Oh, shit. That was a tough one. That dress was so gorgeous, and Harry wanted that so badly, to be had in the dress that Draco designed for him— 

“But I want you to fuck me in this, too,” Harry mumbled, because he felt cute in these clothes (albeit embarrassed), and he felt overpowered by the way Draco had chosen them for him, and he felt (if he was going to be truthful with himself) a little slutty, even, from the short shorts and the thigh-highs he had on.

“Another time, perhaps,” said Draco smoothly. “Or, right now, depending on what you choose.” He smiled, an attractive, twisted smile, which told Harry that Draco was madly in love with him and found it fun to tease him to his wits’ end. 

Harry whined and turned the options over in his head. He wanted some kind of action right now, for he’d gone most of the day in sexual frustration — or, only a few hours, really, since Draco had gotten home around half past eleven and Harry had gone to sleep a little while before three — but it felt like so much longer that Harry had been denied any relief of his own. Draco had cum on Harry’s face and gotten some cockwarming out of their escapades, but Harry was yet to have an orgasm or even be allowed to touch himself at all. 

If he got fucked now, it would bring an end to his suffering, and he’d get filled up and get to cum and receive every end to his means that he’d wanted, with the added bonus of the feelings that his current outfit brought along. He’d be called cute and cozy and Draco’s good boy, and he’d be snuggled with Draco inside him. He’d be wrapped in blankets and get his dick rubbed while gently being fucked. Draco would probably make Harry cum without Harry having to hardly do anything. 

BUT, if he waited until tomorrow, he’d be wearing the new dress Draco gave him. He’d be called sexy and gorgeous and Draco’s pretty little slut, and he’d be fucked roughly and filled up without any niceties. He might be bent over some furniture, he might be leashed and thrown around. If he wanted to cum he’d probably have to touch himself while getting fucked, because Draco might leave him there, dripping cum, in his beautiful dress without finishing him off.

He wanted to cum now and be filled up now, but he’d been fucked in cute clothes before, but hardly in a dress that was as gorgeous as this one that he’d been given that day and that was planned out just for him by his lover, his partner. 

He knew Draco was waiting for an answer. He took a deep breath and exhaled hard, wishing he could have both. 

“I guess I’ll wait.”

Images of Dress (made by me) and Shoes

Chapter Text

An hour before the party, everything looked even more fantastical than it had the day before. The food had been put out on tables all around the sitting room, and there was…a lot of food. Besides Hogwarts, which didn’t count, Harry had only seen enormous amounts of food at Ministry functions and Weasley parties. It wasn’t nearly that much that Draco had for the party, but still significantly more than Harry was used to seeing in their home. 

So many delightful, savory dishes were scattered across their tables and tiered trays, half of which Harry would be hesitant to try because of their uniqueness: deviled eggs with paprika and chives and lemon pepper; tiny cucumber sandwiches; hickory-smoked chicken salad pastry puffs; olive and bacon bruschetta; mini crab quiches with garlic; a variety of chips with dipping options that included tzatziki, baba ganoush, some sort of chutney, and a few different salsas that Harry couldn’t recognize without reading the little cards beside them; crostini with smoked salmon and dill cream cheese; thick cucumber slices topped with tuna tartare and ginger-sesame oil; and more dishes that Harry hadn’t even gotten the chance to see yet. 

There might even have been more sweet things than savory things laid around, which Harry was pleased about. Just the cookies alone were overwhelming: orange cookies covered with icing and topped with raspberry purée; macarons in every color of the rainbow; earl grey shortbread cookies; oatmeal cookies with caramel, pretzel pieces, and pecans; double chocolate cookies that seemed to be sparkling; almond cookies with powdered sugar and something that Draco said was called Nutella; even a pile of what looked like cookie sandwiches, each with nutmeg cream frosting piled between two snickerdoodle cookies.

Then there were the other desserts: tiny Bundt cakes of various types, each dripping glaze; cheesecake bites with fresh fruit and cream; chocolate chess tarts; tiny lemon meringue pies; petit fours in glorious flavors that included chocolate, almond, vanilla, lemon, and berry; minuscule cups of graham cracker and marshmallow, with the cup made of chocolate so it was like a fancy s’more; assorted truffles and bonbons, in varieties like key lime, peanut butter, coconut, mint, turtle, orange, and more. There were madeleines smothered with jam; there were spears of marshmallows and candied fruit and dark chocolate and honeycomb; there were butterscotch toffee bars and peppermint bark and so, so many amazing things. There was, too, a plate of treacle tart, which Harry had loved since his days at school. It seemed Draco had ordered everything there was to offer. Harry knew that money was never anything they needed to worry about, but he couldn’t imagine the price tag on it all.

For the past fifteen minutes, Harry had been moseying around the sitting room, attempting to look at it all and trying to remember every item that he wanted to taste. He’d tried to sneak a macaron a few moments prior, but Draco had rounded the corridor into the living room at that exact second, caught him in the act, and now Harry had a Stinging Jinx burn to show for it. It would be worth it, though. He wanted to try for another cookie, but Draco was near the front door and thus had Harry within his line of vision.

The updated list of the invitees was by the door as well — the coat tree had been given a scroll of the names, along with a quill and a pair of reading glasses (its own request), and was making some last-minute notes and crossing off names at Draco’s instruction. 

Harry sidled over, abandoning his futile attempts to nab a macaron in favor of checking the final list to see who would be attending. 

“Theo’s partner can’t come — they’re out of town — so he’s bringing the baby. But that will be fun.”

Draco loved babies. Harry hated them. Harry watched as the coat tree scratched out Jamie’s name but scribbled Maximus next to Theodore.

“Blaise and Pansy will be coming together, and — no, you silly lump of wood, not together together. You’ve seen them enough times to know that.”

Harry, frankly, thought that they seemed together together enough for it to be perfectly reasonable for anyone to make such a mistake, as the two could almost read each other’s minds and they bickered constantly. They’d also been known to make out in front of everyone on several occasions, which further confused the matter. (Blaise was content with being a no-strings-attached sort of bachelor, and Pansy was in an open poly triad, so it worked out from time to time.) 

“And I’m nearly certain you’ve met her girlfriends, too,” Draco said.

The coat tree huffed and wrote something next to Zabini.  

“Ah, right, Neville and Hannah, with the plant, too.”

Check mark. 

“George and Angelina, yes.”

Check mark. 

“Hermione and Ron, but no children as originally planned.”

Check mark, a horizontal line through Hugo & Rose.

“Lee, yes, and isn’t he bringing something, Harry?”

“Yeah, um. His Kneazle, I think he said?”

Check mark, and a speedy doodle of a cat.

Draco counted to eight on his fingers, paused in thought, recounted to nine, and nodded.

“Felicity, yes, and she’s bringing a date — unsure of date’s name.”

Check mark, and an ampersand followed by a heart. 

“Ernie, yes, and Susan will be able to make it, too, since their Crup is fine.”

Check mark, Susan added beside Ernie. 

“Ginny, yes, still no children.”

Check mark. 

“Dean and Seamus, yes.”

Check mark. 

“Luna, yes. And, ah, Bartholomew.” Draco cast an amused sideways glance at Harry as the coat tree added a note accordingly. Harry rolled his eyes and began to walk away, as that had been everybody that Harry knew and he had no interest in hearing a few names to which he couldn’t even attach faces. He made his way to the half-bath just a few yards down the right hallway, checking the mirror to make sure he looked fine. In about ten minutes, the Weasley couples would arrive to help get everything further situated and provide the items Draco had requested, so Harry wouldn’t have time to spiff up immediately before other guests arrived. 

He was in the dress already, and not only was it comfortable but it fit perfectly. Sleeveless dresses, he thought, looked nice with the structure of his shoulders (and it didn’t hurt that he had some decent musculature on his person, either. Weightlifting had worked wonders for his gender euphoria). The skirt was flowy and smooth and felt good against his legs. And Draco’s little note had been right — the deep green did bring out Harry’s eyes, making them seem brighter and stand out more from the darkness of his hair. The diamonds caught the light as he pivoted slightly, and the tiny bow was the best possible addition to the front of the dress, complementing his collar perfectly. The dress didn’t have pockets, which normally would inconvenience him, but Harry found he liked it; there would be nothing for him to put in the pockets, as there would be nothing for him to be responsible for — it was Draco’s party. He wondered if that had been intentional when Draco designed the dress. 

All that thinking about his dress made Harry’s mind wander to his conversation with Draco from the previous night: Or you could wait ‘til tomorrow and I could fuck you in your new dress, Draco had said. Harry had put on his dress early and inquired about the fore-promised sex multiple times already today, providing several good reasons for it to be sooner rather than later; Draco had shut him down firmly on all three occasions. Each reason Harry gave was more helpful than the last (But I might be tired after the party and not want to do anything….What if you eat too much during the party and can’t move….Maybe some people will stay later, so we should do it now….), but, finally, after the third time Harry asked, Draco had calmly held out his wand and backed Harry up against a wall. I’m not going to fuck you before the party, Draco had said, pressing his wandtip against Harry’s sternum to tell him it was the final word of the matter. Draco’s eyes had sparkled as he tapped his wand against Harry’s collar, and Harry had gasped as he was pulled tightly against the wall. Draco had kissed Harry heavily just as the coat tree called out that their friend from Freya Finch-Fletchley’s Magically-Tasty Catering Service had arrived; with a smirk, Draco had cast a Disillusionment Charm over Harry, who shivered as he felt the cold trickling of the charm run down over his body. He’d watched in disbelief as his husband strode to the front door.

Harry had reached up a hand to the nape of his neck, where a chain no more than two inches long was stretched from the back of his collar to embed in the wall. Fuck him, Harry had thought. He’d watched Draco let Freya in and give her a hug; say he was sorry they’d be missing the Finch-Fletchleys at the event but that he was grateful he and Harry could rely on Freya for the food; show her where they wanted things and help her set them up. And when Freya had asked where Harry was, Draco had even laughed — the bastard — and said that Harry was getting ready himself, trying to use a spell to make his hair more manageable at least for the time being.

Harry had dearly wanted to speak to her, ask about Justin’s students, ask how her business was going, but he was stuck and Draco knew it. If he spoke, it would disclose his position; Freya, surprised, would use her own magic to unveil Harry, and she’d wonder why in Merlin’s beard Harry was chained to the wall, seemingly by his own husband?

After the food had been set up (she mainly specialized in fancy Muggle food, as Freya also catered to the non-magical community in the surrounding area) and Freya had gone, Draco had undone the Charm, fixed Harry with a serious look, and told him to not ask after sex again. He’d tapped Harry’s collar again and freed him, leaving Harry with no idea what to do and an undeniable wet spot in his boxers, hidden by his dress. Harry had remembered Draco’s threat about not letting him wear underwear during the party and resolved to behave better from that moment on. 

Thus began Harry’s browsing of the food choices, before Draco caught him trying to steal a cookie, before the guest list had been finalized, and now, as Harry was admiring his dress in the bathroom mirror.  

He cleaned his glasses with a tap to the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath as he studied his reflection. His hair was wild, but that was nothing new, and it couldn’t be fixed anyway.

 The dress really did bring out Harry’s eyes. 

He exited the bathroom and walked back to the entryway, his mind flickering again to what it would be like when Draco finally fucked him in the dress. He’d keep it on while lying down? Or standing; sitting? He’d have to hold it up around his waist as Draco pushed inside him, or maybe Draco would hold it as he grabbed Harry’s hips to pull them together. Maybe Draco would shove Harry against a wall and get to his knees, ducking his head under the dress to tease Harry’s dick with his tongue. Would it all be fast or slow? — would Draco languidly move in and out of Harry, letting him feel the friction of his cock sliding inside him? or would he fuck Harry hard, deep enough that it would hurt as Draco bumped his cervix over and over? Would Harry get to cum? — would Draco let him touch himself under the dress as he fucked him? or would he fill Harry up and then move on? Would they undress at all? — would Draco take off Harry’s underwear to fuck him? or just pull them to the side and slip inside him? 

Harry didn’t know what he’d prefer. He always wanted everything, every option. 

As he entered the living room, he realized that Draco had called his name twice from the kitchen. 

“Oh, uh — yeah?” 

“Should we put protective charms around the food? I don’t know if the animals will be able to get to it, so maybe to be on the safe side….”

Harry didn’t know either, and he wasn’t even given a chance to say anything before Draco made up his mind and began casting magical barriers around each table to prevent the Kneazle and Jarvey attendees from jumping up to feast. Luna, Harry thought, would probably let Bartholomew eat whatever she was eating anyway, but Harry supposed that was fine as long as no mess was made. 

“Do we need food or drinks for the animals, too?” Draco asked as he cast the last charm. 

Harry thought back to how Luna, for whatever reason, had been carrying goat milk with her when she visited him the day prior. “Um, probably not. They won’t be here long enough to get too hungry. And Luna will have something weird for her and Bartholomew anyway.”

Draco nodded and finished with what he was doing, and then walked to the kitchen, leaving Harry alone with the food. 

Maybe now would be a good time to nab something? He wasn’t starving, but those cookies looked so good—

Even more than he wanted cookies right now, Harry wanted sex, but he knew that if he asked Draco again or hinted or anything, it would be off the table completely. He wondered if he’d get tied up when it was finally time — hands behind his back, hands above his head, hands stretched out in front of him. 

“Make sure you get your shoes on,” Draco called from the kitchen, interrupting Harry’s fantasies once more. 

Harry nodded. He then realized, of course, that Draco couldn’t see him, and so he called back that, yes, he would put his shoes on in a moment or so. 

When Harry had discovered how much he liked wearing dresses, a while ago, Draco had bought him numerous pairs of shoes to go with all of Harry’s different dress types. Harry didn’t know anything about clothes, so he was more than fine with handing Draco the reins, but he’d been surprised when many of the pairs of shoes that Draco had gotten him were heeled. I can’t fucking walk in these, Harry had said back then, but Draco always got what he wanted, and so, sure enough, Harry had learned to walk in them. Some were more and less comfortable than others, but it wasn’t anything a few quick charms couldn’t fix. And Draco’s advice was valuable, as well: Heel to toe, he always told Harry. Make sure you walk heel to toe. 

The pair that Draco had selected to match Harry’s new dress were gold, which even Harry could tell went well with deep green (despite his general incompetence when it came to picking outfits). Draco had described this pair as “gold, lace-up gladiator pump boots,” which meant pretty much nothing to Harry. But he liked the shoes — they looked cool — and he liked when Draco gave him things to wear. The heels were tall, which meant that navigating the staircase would be a bit of a challenge, but at least the heel itself was wide and thus easier to walk on; Harry had trouble with any heels that had a tip much smaller than three-quarters of an inch, so this gold pair were a blessing compared to a couple of the other pairs Draco had given him. 

He traipsed up the stairs to his and Draco’s room, briefly looking out from the landing to see the incredible setup for their party. Or… Draco’s party, as it had been made clear to Harry over the past half-day. Draco in charge, Draco deciding, Draco leading, Draco doing. 

Harry loved it.

Once in his and Draco’s room, Harry made his way to the hall that contained their walk-in closets. Draco had one of his own, and Harry had one. And then there was another, slightly larger one, which was reserved for fancier clothes and the like. Draco had picked out nearly everything in that closet, since he was usually the one putting together what Harry would wear on nicer occasions. There was a shelf for Harry’s shoes and a shelf for Draco’s, but the shoes Harry that were to wear for this event had already been set out on the bench in the closet. He took them and sat down, sliding them on and lacing each one up, and tying them neatly in the way Draco had shown him. The heels sparkled and made his feet arch attractively, and Harry thought they looked rather good with the dark hair on his legs, too. 

He stood up, tested the heels to see how well he could walk in them, and started out of the room and back downstairs. 

The shoes weren’t too loud, which Harry was thankful for. They made a nice, quiet clop sound on the wooden stairs, almost like horseshoes — a lower pitch than the thinner-tipped heels he had. He had one such pair of stilettos that Draco loved, but they always made Harry a bit self-conscious because of how loud they were when he walked. So these were perfect — just loud enough to draw a tiny bit of attention, but more than quiet enough that Harry wouldn’t have to worry about distracting people with the noise. 

Just as Harry stepped from the last stair onto the floor of the entryway, Draco entered from the kitchen. He walked toward Harry with his hands held out and a brilliant smile on his face. 

“You look beautiful,” Draco said, and Harry beamed, letting Draco take his hands and twirl him. The skirt of Harry’s dress spun wonderfully. “I can’t wait for everyone to see.”

Harry felt himself blush a bit, and Draco pulled him closer until their torsos were touching. Harry still wasn’t quite as tall as Draco with the heels, but they helped, and now his eyes were almost level with the tip of Draco’s nose. “You do seem to want to show me off,” Harry said. His voice was teasing, but he knew that he’d be lying if he said he disliked the idea. 

“Of course,” Draco rumbled, and he gave Harry a kiss.

“You look amazing, too,” Harry said shyly, and he’d be damned if it wasn’t true. Draco wore a gorgeous gray suit that went wonderfully with his tie, which was an identical color to Harry’s dress. He had on the particular watch that matched Harry’s collar, as usual; and his pocket square was patterned with a lovely sky blue paisley and green trim and poked out of his breast pocket sharply. 

“I always look like this,” Draco said, shaking his head with a smile. And it wasn’t really a lie, as Draco’s definition of casual was usually most of the way to making the cut for others’ definitions of semi-formal.

“ And you always look amazing,” Harry insisted, and he nodded in triumph when Draco gave a resigned smile and shrug.

“You’ve got to be used to it at this point.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not insanely attracted to you all the time,” Harry responded. “Like I said, you always look amazing.”

Draco grinned, kissing Harry and sliding a hand down his back. “Your ass looks amazing when you wear heels,” he murmured slyly in Harry’s ear.

“Courtesy of you,” Harry said coyly. “You picked the clothes.”

“You wore the clothes,” Draco responded, a clever smile on his face, and he squeezed Harry’s ass hard enough that it hurt. 

“Don’t turn me on right when people are about to get here,” Harry protested, but Draco just laughed and grabbed Harry’s shoulders; he turned Harry around suddenly and pushed his upper back hard, forcing Harry to bend over. “Hey—!”

Draco just hummed and knelt down behind him, pushing Harry’s dress up to the small of his back and yanking down his boxer briefs. 

Harry gave a cry of objection but remained in place, letting Draco inspect him.

“You’re wet,” Draco observed, and by the tone of his voice Harry could tell he was pleased.

“I always get wet when you kiss me like that,” Harry grumbled, but he didn’t say anything more. This position was awkward due to the height of his shoes, but he tried to hold still. He bit his tongue. He was not looking forward to being on edge throughout the entire party. 

Well…maybe he was. 

He felt Draco’s hands on his ass, and he felt his holes get more exposed as Draco spread him open for a better look. It was hard to stand like this in these shoes; he grabbed his shins to prevent himself from falling over.

“Your ass looks even better with those shoes when you don’t have anything else on,” Draco commented, and he leaned forward and bit down hard on the soft skin of Harry’s ass. 

A deep, stinging pain shot through Harry, and he twitched, letting a noise slip in spite of himself. He gritted his teeth and resolved to not make another sound. 

“What?” Draco asked sweetly. 

“Nothing.”

“Hm. Didn’t sound like nothing.”

“That hurt,” Harry mumbled. 

“Is that it?” Draco said smoothly, his palm rubbing over Harry’s ass. “Then why’d I hear you groan like a needy slut?”

Harry shuddered and let his head fall forward, and he pressed his ass back against Draco’s hand, hoping to get Draco to touch his dick too. “I like when you hurt me,” he whispered, closing his eyes as if to hide from the truth, and he felt his face burn. 

“Do you?” Draco said, false surprise lacing his voice. He bit Harry again, this time in the same spot mirrored on the other cheek. “Good.”

Harry, despite all his efforts, whimpered slightly when he felt Draco’s teeth on him again. He wanted Draco’s mouth to do more — suck him, tease him, rim him, everything. He wanted it to hurt.

But Draco just admired the view he had for a moment longer before pulling Harry’s underwear back up and letting the hem of his dress fall back down. Draco stood up, pulling Harry upright as he did so, and turned Harry around to face him again. 

Harry knew his face was red, and he avoided Draco’s eyes. 

“You’re cute,” Draco said. “I like embarrassing you.”

“Shut up,” Harry muttered, ducking his head and hiding his face in Draco’s neck so he didn’t have to look at him. 

“You get all whiny and blushy,” Draco crooned in his ear, “and every time, I want to force you to your knees and make you beg to be used.”

Harry shuddered. “Please,” he begged, trying to ignore the fact that he was reacting in exactly the way that Draco wanted, “can I go jerk off? I’ll be fast, please, otherwise I won’t be able to focus when people are here, and I don’t want—”

“Then you’d better start thinking hard about something else, baby,” Draco interrupted, running his hand down Harry’s back. 

“Please….”

“No. That’s my final word.”

And Harry knew it was. He made an almost-inaudible whimper. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly, and leaned further into Draco as if to escape the reality of the rest of the world. 

“Now, they’ll be here any minute, so be a good boy and sit nicely until the tree says they’re here,” Draco said, and he tilted Harry’s head up and kissed him gently before nodding to the nearest seat.

“Yes, sir,” Harry mumbled again, and Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s temple before sending him over to the nearby loveseat, which had been moved into the living area to provide extra seating for the party. 

The nearby loveseat, which was draped with a gorgeous, soft throw blanket in hues of aqua, icy blue, and royal purple; which featured a nice contemporary upholstery, which Draco had picked out when they were vacationing in Bordeaux; which sat next to a lovely marble-topped end table that Andromeda had given the two of them as a wedding gift. 

The loveseat — which Harry now sat on — which he realized was the exact one upon which Draco had fucked his brains out no more than seventy-two hours prior, after their dinner with Pansy the other night. 

He whirled his head around to confront his husband, as the choice of seating was certainly intentional, but Draco was already doing something else, his back to Harry. And so Harry turned slowly around, resigning himself to sit and wait, as he’d been ordered to, until the guests arrived. He cast a cleaning charm on the bottoms of his heels before pulling his legs up into the couch, tucking his feet beside him, and leaning gently against the armrest. Harry sat quietly, listening to and watching Draco bustle around in his peripheral vision. He took a deep breath. 

He felt his dick rubbing slightly against his underwear every time he moved, felt his cunt clench around nothing. He wanted to slip a hand up under his dress and touch himself, rubbing or fingering or grinding or whatever he needed to do in order to get off. 

What made it worse (better) was that Harry was surrounded by glorious heaps of splendid, mouthwatering food that he wasn’t allowed to touch. His clothes had been picked for him, and he’d had not a single say in what Draco’s party was going to look like. He was Draco’s pretty little ornament, his plaything, his trinket; he sat like a well-trained dog, desperate to please and serve as he awaited direction. 

As usual when put in a situation like this, his thoughts began to drift about — flying up to the vaulted ceiling and zipping around the fairy lights that floated there and cast a lovely, festively charming glow over the room. 

He imagined if there was something he could do to change Draco’s mind. It’d be hard, sure — Draco was a steadfast man who seldom broke stride under anyone , and the only one he allowed to sway him at all was Harry….just not like this. But Harry could try. 

Maybe he could convince Draco to let him have something inside him, at the very least. Just so he could feel gently filled while he sat, socialized….

He could do it anyway, without asking, but then Harry would get in far more trouble than if he asked in the first place. 

And then Harry remembered one of Draco’s recent brewing projects he’d undertaken for a client. Oh, Merlin help me, Harry thought, closing his eyes, as he remembered the substance Draco had described to him. 

A potion to induce in the drinker a powerful sense of arousal, and reduce them to their strongest sexual desires without lending so much as a clue to those around them about the drinker’s state. The drinker could be more desperate to get laid than they’d been in their entire life, and nobody nearby would be the wiser if they didn’t know to look for the symptoms. 

Fuck.

It wasn’t finished, but Harry knew it was safe. Draco had been commissioned to craft such a potion, and he’d given it to the customer only a week ago. Since then, Draco had recreated it and continued to tinker, with the idea that he could further specialize the effects to meet what he would want to see in Harry. 

Harry knew it was safe. Merlin help me, he thought again. He could offer to fetch his husband a drink, like the doting, submissive partner he was, and, in doing so, Harry could slip the potion into Draco’s cocktail. Then all he’d have to do is wait. 

Oh, but the trouble Harry would be in. He wasn’t worried about the consent factor — they’d been together far more than long enough to have exhausted such worries (if one of them said no and meant it, that was that, and Harry couldn’t think of a single thing that wasn’t covered by their pre-negotiations), but especially at an event like this, there’s no way Draco would take it lightly if Harry committed such an offense. 

Merlin, he knew it was safe. It was originally designed to be able to slip into the client’s partner’s drinks to make their sex life a bit more spontaneous and exciting, and so putting the potion in a drink didn’t nullify the effects at all. It was odorless and would be undetectable to the eye once it was mixed into a cocktail. 

Harry knew that he was not to be trusted to make decisions when he felt like this, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up. Maybe the sex would be better because of all of the circumstances, rather than if Harry did as he was told and waited until afterward. 

And as soon as Harry decided that he’d give it a shot (Merlin help me), consequences be damned (Merlin help me), the coat tree announced the arrival of Ron and Hermione and George and Angelina. 

Merlin help—

“Coming!” Draco called as he strode from the kitchen into the front hall, and he cast Harry a tiny smirk that Harry took to mean, “get up like I told you to and come greet our guests.”

Harry sat up, straightened his back, took a deep breath, and stood. His heels sunk into the carpet at first, but each step made that satisfying clop noise as soon as he hit the hardwood floor. He shyly walked over to the door, and he put on his happy-good-host face (as opposed to the meekly-turned-on face he undoubtedly wore a moment earlier) just as Draco opened the door. 

Hermione was the first person to step inside, a brilliant grin on her face, and as soon as she saw Harry and Draco she gave a delighted gasp. “You look amazing!” she said, giving them each a hug and a kiss on the cheek before stepping back to get a good look at them both. “My goodness!” she added indignantly. “If I had known you both would look like this, I would have at least made my hair up or put any thought into this….” She gave a gesture to her own outfit as if to acknowledge its pitifulness in comparison to Harry’s and Draco’s.

“You look beautiful,” Harry said honestly. She wore a simple lilac blazer with white slacks, adorned with a few gold jewelry pieces, and her hair was tied back — all in all, it gave her a very on-top-of-things look, which Harry found impressive. 

“Doesn’t she?!” came Ron’s voice as he walked in behind Hermione, beaming, and slung an arm around her shoulders. “I still can’t believe it’s been this long and she still puts up with me — I mean, look at her, and then look at this mess here!” (Ron did perhaps have a little bit of a point, as he wore a mint-green collared T-shirt, blue tropical-leaf-print shorts, and boat shoes, which looked…interesting together. But it was apparent that Ron was aware of his own [often-abysmal] wardrobe choices, so Harry found no reason to goad him for it. Hermione, being Minister, was most often too busy to lend Ron any aid even though her fashion choices were always top-tier.)

“Oh, stop it, Ron,” Hermione said exasperatedly, but she gave him a fond look as she tugged him out of the doorway and over to the kitchen to put their bags down. 

George and Angelina came through the door at the same time, each carrying a bag as well, and Harry exchanged hugs with them both as Angelina also raved about how wonderful Harry and Draco looked. George looked as spiffy as Harry had seen him in a while, with some handsome olive dress robes that looked nice with his fiery hair; Angelina wore a cream and orange cocktail dress that Harry loved — he made a mental note to ask her later where she had gotten it.

He and Draco followed everyone to the kitchen, where they unloaded the bags that, apparently, were full of whatever Draco had decided he wanted for the party. This was Harry’s first time seeing it all, and he smiled to himself when he noticed that Draco had gotten the drink markers that Harry had wanted to show him: they’d all be unique, each mimicking the Patronus of the drinker so there’d be a tiny animal dancing mistily in the bottom of each person’s glass. (“If two people have the same Patronus,” George said, “well, we can’t really help you there.” But this was a small-enough reception that they wouldn’t need to be concerned with such matters as mixing up glasses due to identical Patronuses.)

Draco had also gotten, Harry noticed quickly, the balloons that Harry himself had been eyeing — there had been a score of varieties, but his favorites had been the color changing ones. Any shape, any size, and the buyer chooses between three and ten colors that the balloon cycles between. “Not your everyday color-changing tricks,” George instructed proudly as he pulled the first one out and inflated it with his wandtip. It tied itself shut with a neat little knot. “The charm is similar in execution, but these can fade in and out of colors instead of just flicking between them, which is different magic.” This particular balloon (Harry wasn’t sure if they were all the same or not) was normal-balloon-shaped and was cycling pleasantly, right before his eyes, into an ombré of teal, ice blue, and purple, and back again. 

“They last for up to four weeks, too,” Ron grinned as he set his own bag down on the counter. “Around the twenty-third day they start to also change to match some of their surroundings, but it still looks nice.” 

Harry was about to make a comment when suddenly, a faint swirl of silvery-blue mist swept into the room and before them appeared a shining fox. 

“Oi, it’s Finnigan,” George said in surprise, and, indeed, Harry recognized it as Seamus’s Patronus. It looked around at the guests and cocked its head. 

“A message for Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy,” it said. “Proceed in present company?” 

“Go ahead.”

“Hey, Harry, Draco,” Seamus’s voice came, speaking very quickly and sounding out of breath, “I don’t have much time and I wanna ask something before I come today, but I can’t tell Dean, so I gotta be quick. I plan to propose to him in the next few days and would love if it could be at your place today? So sorry for the short notice, but I’ve been busy as all get-out. If it’s a no, that’s all good — I don’t wanna steal your spotlight, since I know Draco would bash me over the head with a Muggle clothes-iron if I did. Anyway, thank you both and I’ll see you soon! Please respond with a Patronus if you can.”

The fox dissipated, and nearly everyone spoke at once: 

“Oh, how wonderful!” Hermione said; just as Ron said, “What?”; just as Angelina said “Yay!”; just as George said, “Well, I’ll be!”; just as Harry said, “It’s about time.”

Harry then realized that the guests were looking at him, as if he were the one that would decide to grant Seamus the opportunity to propose at the party. As if! 

“Oh,” he said in surprise, nodding shyly toward Draco, who was standing there with a queer little smile on his face. “I mean, it’s up to Draco. It’s…it’s his party, really.” And he hoped his fluster wasn’t visible. 

And so the visitors looked to Draco, just as Harry always did. 

“Absolutely,” Draco said, and Harry could tell that his husband was more pleased than he would ever let on to anybody. Angelina whooped as Draco went off to send his own Patronus to Seamus.

“Finally!” she said. “I caught them necking in an alcove behind the Quidditch locker rooms when I was team Captain at Hogwarts, and I’ve never seen either of them look that embarrassed since. It’s been a long time coming, I’d say.”

“I’d rather not think about what they might have been doing behind the curtains of those four-posters in our dorm,” Ron said with a shudder, and Hermione snorted. 

“Nothing worse than what folks were doing anywhere else,” she said pointedly, her look of amusement evident, and Harry knew she was talking about the short period that Ron had gone out with Lavender in their sixth year. 

Ron put his head in his hands. “Merlin, Hermione, don’t do this to me.”

And Hermione cackled as Ron sighed and continued to show Harry the contents of the grocery bags.

Draco came back into the room, and together they all sifted through the bags and began to disperse about the house, setting things up at Draco’s direction. Drink markers went in the kitchen where beverages would be fixed (Blaise Zabini had found a home in the mixology world after his interior design phase wore off, so he had volunteered to man the drinks for the event. So far, this was the biggest hindrance to Harry’s master plan), and balloons bobbed at convenient heights around the place….

Harry watched, and did as he was instructed; he adjusted pillows and straightened the doormat and used a nice quick Tergeo to get any dust off of the sconces outside their front door. He lined up the glasses in the kitchen, each neatly placed upside-down on a fancy napkin on the counter. He got out everything that Blaise would need: the muddler, the decanters, the ice, the spoons, the fruit, the syrups, the juices, the sugar, the sodas…and propped open the door to the wine cellar. Harry had never had too much of a preference for alcoholic beverages, so he just drank whatever Draco was drinking (if he liked it). But Draco, of course, had grown up with a taste for refinement, and so their house featured a room where all of the various fancy bottles were stored. The most expensive was a bottle of champagne that Draco had bought for about 1,200 Galleons, and, if he was being honest, Harry had not a single clue why Draco had bought it or what he was saving it for. The wealthy did things like that, he supposed, and then he remembered that he, too, was a member of the wealthy, and that felt odd to him.

Nonetheless, he continued back to the living room to await further instruction. His heels made a satisfying sound with each step. 

Everything was finished, it seemed, and there was barely any time left before the first guests would be arriving. Angelina and Hermione were talking to Draco in the living room, marveling over the decor and the design and the food, which Ron was eyeing intently. George had evidently gone to the restroom. And looking at it all — at the food, the setup of the rooms, the balloons, the glasses lined up for people to choose their beverages, at Draco — Harry felt like a guest himself. He felt a quiet bloom of pride in his chest that his husband had done all of this, and, with that pride fueling his steps, he made his way over to Draco, Angelina, and Hermione. 

As Harry sidled up next to Draco, he felt Draco’s arm wrap around him and Draco’s hand rest on his hip. Angelina was babbling excitedly about wanting to try the tuna tartare and Hermione’s attention was on her, so Harry leaned into his husband more than he might otherwise. And then Draco turned to Harry, holding him close to his side. 

“I almost forgot,” Draco said. He raised his wand. “Can’t mix metals in a scenario such as this.” And he touched his wand to Harry’s collar before kissing him on the side of the head. 

Harry didn’t feel any difference in the collar, but when he shifted to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror that hung on the wall, he saw that the metal was now colored gold to match his shoes. 

“Oh,” he said, faintly surprised but impressed all the same. He smiled his small, embarrassed smile. 

“It’s still tungsten,” Draco said. “But the engravings and stones look good with any color metal, so it’s nice to be able to change it to suit the occasion.” And he tapped his wand to his own watch, which always matched Harry’s collar, to change the color of that as well. He quirked a gentle smile, pulling Harry against his side. 

“It’s perfect,” Harry said, and he was about to say something more when the first knock came from the front door. 

“Miss Parkinson and Mr. Zabini,” the coat tree said greasily, and Draco slid his arm from around Harry’s waist and strode to the front door. He opened the door with a smile and Pansy immediately swept into the Malfoy-Potter residence, followed (less gracefully) by Blaise. 

“Merlin’s thong!” Pansy shrilled, completely ignoring Draco’s attention as he gave her a hug. “Oh, the decor, Draco, it’s perfect!”

“Thank you, Pansy,” Draco said amusedly, stepping aside to make room for her and Blaise to walk all the way in. Harry met Angelina’s eyes — she mouthed Merlin’s thong? at him, and he had to hold back a smile. It was harder for him to hold it back, though, because Draco’s nose was still wrinkled from Pansy’s response and Harry wanted nothing more than to smile along with him. 

Pansy’s stilettos were a blur against the flooring as she grabbed Blaise’s arm and lugged him into the kitchen to put down the bottles they’d brought, and Draco grinned at Harry as he closed the front door. 

“What a delight she is!” he said jovially (with only the tiniest bit of sarcasm), walking over to Harry, Angelina, and Hermione again. 

“Charming,” Hermione said, a grin on her face — which she quickly hid when Pansy rushed back into the living room. 

“My goodness!” Pansy cried, her excitement making it seem as though she was seeing the party setup for the first time (despite having seen it just moments ago). “The food! The color palette! Draco, honey …. By Merlin, Blaise damn well could’ve used some pointers when he was working for that Muggle decorator company….”

“I could’ve used what now?” Blaise hollered from the kitchen, where the clinking of glass and silverware was apparently hindering his ability to hear what Pansy was saying. 

“Come in here if you wanna find out!” she yelled back rudely, before tucking her hair behind her ear and plunking herself down onto a sofa in the center of the room. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” Angelina said, quickly making her way over to sit next to Pansy. “I never let myself be the first to sit down at parties, but my legs are sore as hell from that match on Thursday.” 

“Well, feel free to make yourself comfortable,” Draco said. “And that goes for everyone — this is no Ministry gala.”

And so the rest of the guests in the room (Ron, Hermione, and George, who had just returned from the restroom) each found a place to sit as well, and resumed their respective conversations or struck up new ones. Harry found himself in an armchair next to Angelina’s end of the sofa, and he decided that this would be the perfect time to cross his legs at the knee, pretend he was listening politely, and formulate the gaps in his master plan.

He’d been momentarily distracted upon each of their guests’ arrivals, but now the wetness in his boxers was more noticeable to him, and the thoughts in his head even wilder. 

Draco’s potions room was on the main floor of their home, which would make it a bit easier to sneak away to grab some of the potion. It was farther down the hall from the front bathroom (the same one where Harry had gone earlier to check his appearance), and so using that particular toilet would be his excuse as to why he’d been down that corridor. He would have a tiny vial of the potion with him, and spike a drink that he’d fetch for Draco when nobody was looking. It will work, Harry thought, no longer feeling the need to plead with Merlin to guide him. 

He wondered how things might play out once Draco actually drank the potion. Draco had designed the potion to be nearly undetectable once someone had drunk it — the drinker could only be given away by a bit of repetitive fidgeting, like the tapping of one’s foot or the adjusting of one’s jewelry…. 

Harry’s musing was interrupted by another knock on the front door, and he turned toward the entranceway just as the coat tree declared — for the second time in two days — the arrival of Luna Lovegood and Bartholomew. 

Draco opened the door for them, and Luna entered wearing a lovely blue dress, which she had paired with some funkily-patterned flats that, Harry was surprised to say, actually went quite well with the rest of the outfit. From one hand hung her wand and a silvery wristlet; her other arm held Bartholomew, whose lower body dangled floppily as Luna walked, and whose scrabbly little paws grabbed on to her forearm as she carried him. He appeared to be wearing a small sparkly bow tie, which matched the ribbon color of the little top hat that sat between his ears. He looked as spiffy as a Jarvey could probably look, even with all things considered (such as the fact that said Jarvey had insulted both Harry’s house and Harry himself multiple times in the short time they had become acquainted).

“Luna!” cried Angelina, looking delighted to see her friend, and then everyone abruptly stopped their conversations as they saw the animal Luna was carrying.

“Is that a Jarvey?!”  

“He’s so cute!”

“Blimey!”

“Fucking rats’ nest,” Bartholomew muttered, and he wriggled out of Luna’s arms and fell to the floor with a fuzzy plop. 

Luna beamed. “He’s such a pleasure, isn’t he?” she said, as Bartholomew scooted across the floor and under the couch (from under which he poked his head out and glared around at everyone). “His previous owner taught him all sorts of lovely colorful words and so nobody else wanted him.”

“That’s sad,” Hermione said sympathetically, leaning forward in her seat and holding out her hand to Bartholomew in the way that one might beckon a housecat. 

Bartholomew blinked at her. “Rag-wearing hag,” he spewed, scrambling back under the couch. His dark eyes scintillated from behind Pansy’s shocking-pink heels. 

Ron was up from his chair in a split second, getting on his hands and knees to locate Bartholomew beneath the couch (presumably to swat at him to defend his wife’s honor). But by the time he’d swung his arm under the couch in an attempt to grab Bartholomew, Hermione was already out of breath from laughter. 

“Let him be, Ron,” she managed through her mirth, clutching her side. “Luna, he’s a delight!”

And then the questions came pouring in as each of the present guests wanted to know the details of Luna’s new companion. 

“When’d you get him?” 

“What’s his name?”

“What does he—”

“How will—”

“Does he—”

“Only yesterday!” Luna bubbled, bending down to pick up Bartholomew, who had retreated from under the couch over to Luna’s shoes. “His name is Bartholomew, which fits him perfectly, the distinguished little gentleman that he is!”

“He is rather cute,” Pansy said, almost begrudgingly, as she twisted in her seat to see Bartholomew in Luna’s arms. 

“I’m thinking his favorite color is definitely yellow,” Luna said, “because every time he sees my tapestry with the Erumpent in the sunflowers, he—”

But Harry never got to find out what Bartholomew does whenever he sees the tapestry with Erumpent in the sunflowers because there was yet another knock at the door. 

“Sir Neville and Lady Hannah,” the coat tree boasted (these being the names that the couple, who had rather cute senses of humor, had previously asked the coat tree to call them each time they visited the Malfoy-Potter house). 

As Draco opened the door for the new arrivals, Harry first saw Neville’s arms wrapped around a five-gallon-bucket-sized potted plant, which was as evidently the Screechsnap that Neville had reported he’d be bringing. Clearly, Harry thought, he didn’t remember much from fifth year Herbology, as he was surprised to see that the Screechsnap was a vibrant purple all over (except for the leaves, which were an acid-green color) and was quivering slightly. 

Neville himself was wearing warm stone-gray dress robes; Hannah, a long-sleeve mauve dress with a sage-green broach and waist belt. 

Harry got up, deciding he should probably act the part that Draco had clearly — though he’d never said so in words — carved out for Harry to play: the helpful house-husband. Always at Draco’s side, a bit more than half a head shorter, a bit less than half a step behind. 

Harry went to the doorway, greeting Hannah and Neville warmly — genuinely — and leading Neville to the shelf set aside for the Screechsnap (the plant yipped slightly when Neville set it down). 

“How’s it going, Harry?” Neville asked as they walked away. He took a place standing behind the sofa that Hannah had just taken a spot on, which previously had been empty, and Harry paused next to him. “Ministry treating you all right?”

“I suppose there isn’t too much at the Ministry to treat me poorly,” Harry said honestly, “at least for the time being. Everyone is still trying to get me to take the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement position, even Hermione, but there’s so much other shit that comes with that job that I don’t know if I want to deal with. I like being an Auror, and it’s what works for me. And the people aren’t bad, so I don’t even really want to get away from anyone in particular. Except — shit, Neville, I envy you don’t have McLaggen anywhere around. He’s not even in my Department, but…ugh.”

“That bad?” Neville asked. “Granted, I haven’t seen him since school, but I’d have assumed that he would’ve…matured? since then?” He made a face. 

“He was Assistant to the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation for ages, and I can’t imagine he was passive enough to be an Assistant of any kind, but anyway…. His family obviously has a background in the Ministry, so there was probably some good old-fashioned nepotism somewhere in the mix. I’m sure that’s why he ended up becoming the actual Head of the Department, and that was probably, I dunno, two months ago? Merlin, I was sick of him after three days,” Harry said, which was completely true, and even then being a bit generous. “I have to work with him for extradition cases, and a few other things as well. Thinks he knows the cure to lycanthropy, the way he behaves around me and anyone who outranks him. He sucks up to Hermione something awful — what I wouldn’t give to extradite him, the bastard.”

“I can’t imagine,” Neville said sympathetically. “Hopefully he gets more tolerable.”

“Eh, I doubt it,” Harry said. “But enough about me! How’s the teaching going?” 

“It’s damn tiring,” Neville admitted, a half smile on his face, “but, to be honest, I wouldn’t change a thing. There’s this project that a connection at MACUSA put me up for, too — they want a Whomping Willow as an added precaution for their wizards’ prison over there, but there’s no documented history of successful transportation of a Whomping Willow beyond more than about a hundred miles, and the only two fully-grown ones in the world are at Hogwarts and in Borneo. We’re obviously about six thousand miles closer than Borneo, so MACUSA reached out to me first. I got one seventh-year who wants to go into Herbology, so she’s doing a study with me to experiment on some of the saplings and see what we can find about the best way to transport them.”

“That’s pretty amazing,” said Harry, to whom it had never occurred to wonder about such elusive matters as the international transport of dangerous and fastidious plants. 

He noticed that Hermione had sidled up next to him. “Pardon my eavesdropping,” she said, and Harry shifted his feet a bit to give her room to stand closer to Neville, “but I have got to know what you’ve found out so far! I know that Whomping Willows’ growth conditions invariably affect their ability to acclimate to—”

There was another knock on the front door, and Harry, who was silently glad for an excuse to not listen to Hermione and Neville’s excited Herbology jargon, excused himself politely from their conversation and returned to the front door just as Draco was opening it. Due to the growing noise in the room from the various conversations that guests were having, Harry hadn’t heard the coat tree announce who was here, so it was a pleasant surprise to see Dean and Seamus come through the door. Dean grinned at Harry and made off for the kitchen to drop off whatever bottles they had also brought.

“Hey, Harry, Draco, how goes it?” Seamus said, giving them each a clap on the back and a wink. “Thanks again, mates,” he added in an undertone. “I know it was sudden, but — bloody hell, I’m nervous. Where’s Zabini? I need at least one drink before I can calm down.” So he took off for the kitchen as well. 

And after that, it was a blur. 

A work partner and friend of Draco’s arrived next: a shockingly tall and slim individual named Scott Elmer, whom Draco explained to be the man behind the imports of many of the harder-to-find potion ingredients. Scott, Draco said, worked for a small organization that coordinated sales of potion ingredients, in particular the ones that were rare, dangerous to obtain and store, and only found outside of Europe.

Felicity and her date Blake arrived at the same time as Theo and baby Maximus, who even Harry had to admit was pretty adorable. They were followed up by another person that Harry had never met before, Richard Riddle, who grinned and apologized for his surname as he shook Harry’s hand. He introduced himself as the one that Draco and Felicity call if something goes wrong, which Harry had no idea what it meant but found funny regardless. 

Then Ernie, with Susan, who had originally been unable to attend — their Crup had been sickly for a while and in need of constant supervision. Then Ginny, with a gorgeous French braid and a green strapless jumpsuit; then another new face, whom Draco introduced as Isla Muridian, the florist who owned the shop next to Draco and Felicity’s setup in Diagon Alley. The last face to show out of all of them was Lee Jordan, in a blush-colored Muggle suit, who stepped inside with a Kneazle balancing on his shoulder. 

It really was a whirlwind, and Harry was everywhere — in the kitchen, in the sitting area, standing with someone — and so distracted that he nearly forgot about the wet patch in his underwear. Nearly every guest complimented him on his dress at some point (which made him blush and beam no matter how many others had said it previously), and he had something positive to say to each of them as well. But he remembered his plan, and managed to sneak off to Draco’s lab to nab a little vial of the potion. He used a Sticking Charm to adhere it to the inside of his dress about three inches above the skirt hem, so it would be hidden but still easily accessible, and returned to the living area. 

It had been about ten minutes since Lee had arrived, meaning every attendee was present, when Lee plopped down next to Harry on the couch. Without any warning, he dumped his Kneazle into Harry’s lap.

“Lee—!”

“She wanted to meet you,” Lee said, and, indeed, the Kneazle was looking closely at Harry and swishing her tail thoughtfully. “This is Estella.” 

Harry was a little nervous, as he had long gotten the impression that most animals didn’t like him that much, but this one seemed a bit more agreeable…at the very least. She was quite pretty, with a blue tabby coat and gray eyes, and her ears moved constantly even as she sat otherwise still. 

“W-What do I, uh — do I pet her?”

“You’ll figure it out,” Lee said, already beginning to stand up. “Great to see you, by the way, Harry!” And he walked over to talk to George. 

Harry sat very still, trying to avoid disrupting the Kneazle — Estella, Harry told himself. Her name is Estella, and Lee wouldn’t just leave me with her if she didn’t like me. And sure enough, she leaned up to sniff Harry’s face before settling herself on his lap with her tail tucked over her paws. Her ears continued to swivel as she observed the room, and Harry tentatively scratched under her chin. This ended up being a good choice, as she leaned into his hand and began to purr quietly. 

This left Harry to pet the Kneazle in his lap and think once more about his plan. Draco wouldn’t have gotten any drinks yet, as he would want to make sure all his guests were satisfied before he himself indulged in any refreshments. So, when Harry got up, he could offer to make something that he knew Draco loved and wouldn’t be able to keep from sipping as he entertained. That time would come soon, Harry thought — maybe in the next little while after Draco had finally made himself comfortable. 

Speaking of comfort…. Estella had confined Harry to the couch, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy any of the amenities available to them all. He twisted his head, trying to see if someone near the refreshment tables would be available to get him a plate of the wonderful food he’d been eager to try. And sure enough!

“Ginny?”

She turned from the cookies toward Harry’s voice, and mimicked his tone with a grin. “Harry?” 

“There’s a cat in my lap, would you be willing to fix me a plate?” 

“Of course,” she said, and came over a moment later with a plate piled with all of the exact things Harry had already had his eyes on. 

“Oh!” she said. “This is Lee’s Kneazle, right?”

“Estella,” Harry supplied. 

“Not just a cat,” Ginny chastised as she handed Harry his plate, and she held out her hand for Estella to inspect. “Lee says that Kneazles and housecats have a six percent difference in their DNA.”

“Of course they do,” Harry agreed, only half listening as he began to eat, but he thanked Ginny for the food as she was walking away. 

Before leaving, she turned back toward him, thoughtfully said, “I didn’t know animals liked you,” and then walked over to Luna to pet Bartholomew. And that, Harry thought, just proved his point. 

But Estella remained in his lap for a quarter of an hour more, until Seamus dropped his drink (“Of course it was Finnigan,” Pansy muttered) and it shattered all over the floor, throwing the spirits and bits of glass everywhere — the Screechsnap was nearby and began wailing loudly, and Estella hissed quietly and leapt from Harry’s lap, expertly avoiding the broken glass as she snuck into the kitchen. 

Without the cat — er, Kneazle — hindering his progress, Harry stood, and found himself looking right at Draco just as he rushed into the room. 

“Everyone all right? Just a broken glass?”

Seamus was standing there looking apologetic. “Blimey, Draco, I’m sorry—”

“No harm done,” Draco said smilingly, and he swiftly mended the glass and Vanished the puddle of alcohol that had splashed onto the floor when the glass fell. “I’ll have Blaise make you another. What was it you had?” 

“I had a Ukrainian Ironbelly,” Seamus said, “with no ice, but I don’t mind getting it—”

“Nonsense,” Draco said. “You were talking with Hannah. I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks, you’re a damn good host, Malfoy.”

Harry saw Draco’s smile at that, and he was struck by how attractive he found that exact smile. It wasn’t cocky, not exactly, but it was the smile Draco gave when someone told him something he already knew. Whatever it was, that smile did something to Harry, coiling inside him deliciously in a way that made him want to get Draco alone more than ever — but this was a perfect opportunity to start putting his plan into action, so Harry shook off the distraction and quickly made his way over to Draco. 

“I can get it,” he said, smiling in a way he hoped came off as helpful and innocent, “since I’m headed to the kitchen myself. Draco, you should sit down, you’ve been running around this whole time.”

Draco shook his head with a smile but didn’t object, and he kissed Harry quickly. 

“What can I get you?” Harry asked him, hoping that this would even further decrease Draco’s suspicion that anything was up. 

“I’m actually feeling like a pumpkin juice spritzer,” Draco said after a moment, which surprised Harry; Draco seldom wanted fun, bubbly drinks, for he usually preferred something a little on the heavier side. But Harry brushed this off — Draco probably just wanted something refreshing after being on his feet for a while — and kissed him again before they separated. Draco walked over to sit with Isla and Neville, who were talking animatedly about flowers, and joined in their discussion.  

Step one, done. 

Harry started for the kitchen, nodding and smiling at everyone he passed, and he found Blaise stirring and shaking away, surrounded by bottles and jars and tools and aromas.

“Hey, Harry, what can I get you, mate?”

“Ah, not for me. A new Ukrainian Ironbelly for Seamus — oh, hold the ice — and a pumpkin juice spritzer for Draco.”

“Coming right up.” 

Harry always felt awkward just watching people do things for him, so he opted to strike up a conversation in the meantime. “You really enjoy this? I feel a little bad that you’re not with everyone else.”

“Shit, don’t worry about me. But yeah,” Blaise said, waving his wand to send the necessary ingredients flying about, “I really do enjoy it. It’s fun, it’s magical. And I’ve never been violently extroverted like Pansy, or even two-thirds extroverted like Draco — I’m like you, but you know that much. We don’t always prefer the crowds. Besides, you came at a lull, really — people have been constantly in and out, and some come to stay and chat anyway. Neville and I are good friends, I got to talking with Scott, and our good lady Minister always wants to ask what I’ve been up to.” His dark eyes gleamed as he smiled; he waved his wand again, and the two finished drinks landed on the counter in front of Harry. 

Just then, Dean came in with an order of his own, thus unknowingly serving as the perfect distraction — Blaise began to make Dean’s drink with his back turned, which allowed Harry to retrieve the vial from the inside of his dress and slip Draco’s potion into the spritzer without anyone noticing. Blaise was one of the few people who would ask about it if he saw Harry putting something in Draco’s glass, so Harry was glad that Dean had shown up when he did. He Vanished the tiny vial.

And now it was done, and there was no turning back, and Harry had no time to regret it or wonder if he’d made a grave mistake — he was already picking the two glasses up, walking, walking, walking to the living room, handing Seamus his highball glass…. 

And then Harry was giving Draco his drink, too, smiling slightly as he did so, trying to look normal; and Draco kissed Harry’s knuckles and smiled back, and thanked him, and Harry left Draco to his devices and the conversation he was a part of. 

Only now was Harry nervous. What would Draco do? Would he try to resist the potion? Harry knew the potion was only supposed to take about five minutes to take effect, so now he just had to wait. 

He sat most of the way across the room with Blake, Felicity’s date, and initiated a small conversation that would be easy to step away from in case Draco…needed him for anything. Harry was only able to see the back of Draco’s head, but that was all right, as this meant Harry wouldn’t be able to give himself away. 

From the way he was sitting, Harry was easily able to see the time on Blake’s watch, and he couldn’t keep himself from checking it constantly — one minute, three minutes, four minutes, five minutes, seven…eight…twelve….

 …On and on, until twenty minutes had gone by and Draco had still given no sign that his state was affected in even the slightest. Harry was getting restless, his dick was aching to be touched, and he’d seen Draco take a sip. Had something gone wrong? Why wasn’t it working? Was Draco just able to fight it off?

Harry tried to focus his attentions on Blake, who was, honestly, rather good looking himself. Felicity came over a moment later, sat herself down, and (though Harry could tell that she noticed something was up with him) had the decency not to comment on Harry’s frazzlement. 

Another ten minutes passed, this time with Felicity asking Harry about the goings-on in the DMLE and Harry, for once, actually being decently focused on answering her.

Harry was just explaining the interdepartmental memo system — relaying to Felicity and Blake what Arthur had told him years ago about owls not working out for delivering messages inside the Ministry — when he saw Draco rise and make his way over to where Harry was sitting. 

“Felicity, darling, I meant to give you this earlier,” Draco said, sliding a folded slip of paper out of his pocket and into her hand. At her inquiring glance, Draco said, “Oh, just a request with spellwork. The individual went through me.”

Harry paid little notice to this, as he was often confused by the processes of Draco and Felicity’s work anyway — the way they ran their business was very different from what Harry was accustomed to: the system at the Ministry of Magic, and the DMLE in particular. But he began to pay attention when Draco moved to stand right next to Harry’s chair and laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“Try this, Harry,” Draco said, and he handed his half-full beverage glass to Harry. 

Harry took it, unsure of his next move. “I— I don’t—” 

Fuck. What? He doesn’t what? Harry didn’t know what he was trying to say, and nor did he know what he was going to do. 

“I know you don’t usually love what carbonation does to the pumpkin juice, but Blaise makes it work, I promise,” Draco said, with his tone lighthearted and a smile on his face. “Give it a taste.” He squeezed Harry’s shoulder, still smiling. 

Merlin help me. 

Draco fucking knew, and Harry felt mild panic begin to rise in his body. He didn’t see a way out of this, not with the way Draco was scrutinizing him and not with the way Harry was surrounded by their friends. There wasn’t a good reason he could give Draco for him to not take a sip, not in front of everyone around, not when people knew that Harry would never refuse to taste something. Draco’s hand was heavy on Harry’s shoulder. 

He raised the glass to his lips and took a drink. 

“Good?” Draco asked, still smiling down at Harry. 

“Y-yeah,” Harry said, and forced himself to nod. His voice cracked, and he hoped it would pass for his surprise at enjoying a drink he didn’t normally care for. 

He wondered what it would feel like when the potion began to take effect. Only five minutes, he thought, the cruel dramatic irony of his situation setting in. 

Draco took the drink back from him. “I’ll let Blaise know he changed your mind,” he said, that grin still on his face, and he lifted his hand from Harry’s shoulder and walked away. As he left, he downed the last sip himself, and Harry saw his fingers twitch right as his lips closed. 

…Right as his lips closed. 

Oh, that bastard, Harry thought, half bitter and half impressed. That clever, clever bastard.

Harry’s Auror training seldom escaped him — he’d seen Draco drink, and he had known that Draco’s mouth had opened to take in the liquid. Harry needed to be able to recognize when someone really drank something, as it came in handy to recognize if a criminal actually had imbibed Veritaserum; often, they only pretended to drink, as Harry himself had done with Umbridge when he was fifteen. Veritaserum takes effect as soon as it touches the tongue, but that isn’t the case with all potions, as Harry had learned some time ago. Some potions need to be swallowed to work. 

Draco had indeed had his drink — and the potion — in his mouth, but as soon as Harry saw the twitch of Draco’s fingers, he knew how his husband had done it. 

Draco drank, and before he swallowed, he Vanished the drink in his mouth. 

Merlin help me, Harry thought, not for the first time that day, and he sank back in his chair. 

Felicity excused herself to refill her plate, and Blake followed, and Harry was left alone, the sounds of the people buzzing nearby still filling his ears. 

There he sat, and he damned his brazenness as he felt the potion start to take effect. 

An aching warmth consumed his body, starting in his esophagus and spreading from there. It quickly reached his dick and both of his holes, and Harry felt his cunt tighten as his pelvic floor muscles clenched. It roared inside him, this aching to be fucked , and Harry didn’t know how he would ever be able to satisfy it. 

But on the outside, he appeared to be sitting calmly. Just nice and still and normal, with a light, regular tapping of his foot being the only indicator that Harry’s cunt was now an aching, dripping hole that he was now desperate to have filled. 

What am I going to do? Harry thought. He was hot all over, and he could feel his pulse in his cunt, which only continued to drip his wetness into his boxers. The potion was fucking him up…. Normally when he felt this desperate he’d be panting and red-faced and whiny — but Harry could tell that, for some inexplicable reason that resulted from the potion, he only appeared to be having a moment of thought.

As Harry mulled this over and cursed his folly, his holes begging to get filled, he saw in his peripheral vision another shimmering of blue light that could only come from a Patronus. This didn’t seem odd to him until another several seconds had gone by, and Harry realized that most of the people who ever sent them a Patronus were in the house at that very second. He looked up.

There was a starlit great egret standing by the floor lamp, and it fluttered its wings and lifted its head as people stepped out of its way. 

Narcissa.

“Draco!” someone called, and, a moment later, Harry saw Draco walk from the kitchen into the sitting room, holding a different drink and speaking jovially to somebody. 

Draco stopped when he saw the Patronus. “Oh,” he said with a small smile, “I was actually expecting this sometime soon.”

Harry didn’t know what was going on, but he had gotten confused upon first seeing the great egret. Narcissa had been doing very well of late, so what was the reason for this Patronus? 

“Harry, would you meet me upstairs in a moment?”

Harry nodded, still confused, but he supposed that if Narcissa needed something, it shouldn’t wait. He stood up, hearing Draco beginning to reassure the guests. 

“I apologize for this interruption,” he said. “Nothing’s wrong — just my mother has been needing advice with a few important matters lately, so I’m afraid Harry and I have to excuse ourselves for a few minutes.”

As he made his way over to the stairs, Harry heard guests’ responses as though from a thousand miles away: “We’ll hold down the fort!” — “Oh, of course, Draco, take your time.” — “Tell Narcissa I said hello!” — “As long as we have all these cookies, we won’t even know you’re gone!”

And then Harry heard Draco’s laugh, which also sounded very far away. Though he was curious about Narcissa’s message, all Harry could think about as he climbed the staircase was the wet, sticky feeling in his boxers and the slipperiness of his wetness clinging to his inner thighs.

The Patronus followed him, delicately taking each step as if to not disturb the waters that its species waded in.

Draco began to climb the stairs just as Harry reached the top, and Harry, not sure what to do, just stood and waited. The Patronus stepped in front of Harry and looked back to see who was following, but Harry’s attention was elsewhere. He was fixed on each step Draco took — Draco radiated authority in everything he did, though Harry doubted that someone other than himself would notice. 

As Draco reached the top of the stairs, he laid a hand on the small of Harry’s back and they walked side by side to their bedroom. 

Draco closed and locked the door behind them, and Harry was about to speak to the Patronus when it, all of a sudden, faded away. It was as though the blue starlight had simply evaporated into thin air. 

And then Harry was being shoved against the wall, and Draco’s hands were everywhere — Harry’s hair, his wrists, his ass; and his lips were on Harry’s mouth, his jaw, his throat — and Harry’s understanding of the situation was lost in an instant. 

“Draco,” he moaned, dreadfully confused but turned on out of his mind, “what the hell are you doing—?”

“No,” Draco said in a voice much rougher than Harry had been expecting, nipping his way down Harry’s neck, “what the hell are you doing?”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I just—” But Draco bit down hard on his neck and Harry lost the rest of the words before they made it off his tongue. 

The potion was fully in effect now, for certain, and every inch of Harry’s body felt sensitive and electrified. 

“You just what?” Draco growled, and he took both of Harry’s wrists and pinned them against the wall on either side of Harry’s head, leaning back to look Harry in the eyes. Their noses were almost touching. “You want to slip me a potion of my own making to get me to take you up here and fuck you, is that right?”

It was the Half-Blood Prince all over again — Harry trying to use a master’s invention against him — but instead of Sectumsempra on Snape, it was a fucking lust potion on Draco bloody Malfoy. Harry’s husband. 

“No,” Harry said, and he would have felt scared and sorry if he wasn’t the most physically aroused he’d ever been. “No, I—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

And Harry moaned just at the sound of Draco’s voice, deep and commanding, saying those words. 

“I’m sorry, please, I wasn’t thinking that it w—”

“No,” Draco interrupted, tightening his grip on Harry’s wrists so much that it hurt, “you weren’t thinking. Or if you were, it certainly wasn’t with your brain, but with your slutty holes doing all the thinking instead. I can’t fucking believe you were reckless enough to try to drug me at my own party. Did you actually think it would work?”

Harry closed his eyes, humiliation coursing through him, and he shuddered as he felt more wetness drip from his cunt. 

“Did you?”

“I— I hoped? it would…?”

Draco let go off Harry’s wrists and slapped him across the face, and Harry moaned and almost fell over. And before Harry knew it, Draco had him by the throat up against the wall and standing as tall as he could to be able to breathe. 

“Please,” Harry begged, “I just— please, I wasn’t thinking, and you’ve had me desperate since yesterday — and this morning, with Freya, and — Merlin, Draco, please, I can’t—”

“So you expect me to help you out now, after what you just did?”

But the now reminded Harry about the Patronus, and confusion rushed through his brain again. 

“W-wait, Draco, your mother…?”

And Draco let out a cruel laugh. “You actually believed that was her?” he asked. “Remember that note I gave Felicity? You didn’t think that was odd?”

Of course he didn’t, Harry thought, but, now that Draco had pointed it out, it was a bit weird that Draco hadn’t just said aloud what he needed to say to Felicity. What he needed to say — asking Felicity to, if she would please, cast a blue starlit egret as a lovely little excuse for Draco to take Harry elsewhere without suspicion. Felicity’s charmwork was more than exemplary enough to cast her own Patronus, so of course she was capable of faking someone else’s. 

The realization must have shown on Harry’s face because Draco laughed again. 

“I’ve been ahead this whole time, Harry,” he said. “And you still think I’m going to let you cum, don’t you?”

Harry’s rational brain knew he didn’t deserve it after what he’d pulled, but his body believed differently. “Please,” he whispered, “I’m so wet….”

Draco ignored him. “You hardly deserve to get fucked,” he told Harry scathingly, “but you happen to look very cute when you’re so fucking desperate you can barely talk.” And he let go of Harry’s throat and knelt down in front of him.

“Wha—?”

“Stop talking,” Draco said, and Harry did. “Put your hands on your head and lean back against the wall.”

Harry did.

Draco ran his fingers up Harry’s thighs in a gentle, reassuring manner that didn’t match his voice at all, and then, keeping eye contact the whole time, he lifted the skirt of Harry’s dress up to Harry’s navel and pulled down his underwear. Not wanting to see how mortifyingly wet he was, Harry closed his eyes, but it hardly mattered because he could feel it. Damn that potion, and damn Harry himself for…thinking with his slutty holes. 

But Draco snapped his fingers at him, and so Harry opened his eyes and looked down. The sight that greeted him made him glad he did. 

It was wild to see Draco on his knees in any circumstance — he so rarely knelt, even in front of Harry, so it was even more impactful to see him kneel in that fucking hot suit he had on. Harry felt that, by being the one sitting, shouldn’t Draco have been the one submitting to his partner? 

But Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry as if to say don’t you dare move, and he took Harry’s dick into his mouth without another word. 

Harry’s whole body twitched from the sudden pleasure that hit him, and he exhaled hard, his breath shaking. 

“Please,” he whispered, begging for nothing in particular other than for Draco to keep going, please don’t stop, please—

And Draco responded by grabbing Harry’s ass with the hand that wasn’t holding his dress up; he pulled Harry against his mouth while continuing to suck him, and Harry cried out softly. 

The potion didn’t make the sensations feel any better than they normally did, but Harry’s normal desire was replaced with a fierce desperation — he wouldn’t know what to do with himself Draco stopped, and hoped with all his might that Draco wouldn’t. 

Harry didn’t know how he would be able to keep his hands on his head for much longer. He felt the need to cover his mouth (there were people downstairs!) but knew Draco wouldn’t allow it, for he never did. 

Thinking about that triggered a memory from a long time ago: Harry and Draco had been together for several months when Draco had taken Harry to a queer wizarding club that Draco had occasionally visited when he’d been single. It was a very fun (if not slightly overwhelming) place — quite sex-positive, lots of fun lights and furniture and things inside, and they often hosted drag nights and other entertaining events. To Harry’s amusement, the decor included lots of colorful, magicked dildos floating around in random places. 

Draco had said hello to a few of his old friends that he ran into, and he ordered drinks for Harry and himself before dragging Harry over to a shadowy booth in the corner; there, he’d wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders and they’d talked and kissed a bit and watched others dance. It was very much Harry’s first experience in such a place, and he had been shocked when Draco had tugged Harry into his lap and Harry felt Draco’s erection against his crotch. 

“Is this okay?” Draco had whispered against Harry’s lips. Harry had eagerly told Draco yes, despite his surprise, and Draco had begun kissing him heavily. 

If they hadn’t been in one of the darkest corners of the club, Harry may have been a bit more apprehensive; he realized, though, that Draco had probably chosen this booth for that very reason, and so he kissed back with relish. 

It hadn’t been long before Draco had grasped Harry’s hips and pulled him against his erection, and Harry had gasped and grinded against him enthusiastically. And from there, things had only heated up more — Draco had laid Harry down in their booth, partially hidden by the table with their drinks on it, and gone down on him. The thrill of their location added to the physical sensations made Harry a little louder than usual (to his embarrassment), and he’d brought a hand up to cover his mouth as Draco sucked him off. Draco had grinned with Harry’s dick in his mouth and pulled Harry’s hand away to prevent him from quieting himself. 

Harry had groaned bashfully and pushed his hips up against Draco’s mouth, and he’d bitten his lip to try to stay quiet — but eventually that got to be too difficult, and the music was loud enough, so Harry, despite some embarrassment, let himself make noise without much restraint. Later on, once Harry had cum and helped Draco as well, he’d leaned against Draco’s shoulder shyly with Draco’s arm around him. 

“I kind of can’t believe we just had sex in public,” he’d whispered with a bashful smile, and Draco had smirked and tightened his arm around Harry (who of course was silently thrilled at being shown off). A moment later, he’d quietly added in Draco’s ear, “I think I’m falling in love with you,” and was rewarded with a genuine smile. 

The contrast of that memory reminded Harry that now — in his and Draco’s bedroom with Draco on his knees and sucking Harry off — he needed to be quiet. 

It was nearly impossible. Harry dropped his head back and felt it thunk against the wall, and he wove his fingers through his hair to keep from moving his hands. 

Draco’s mouth felt so good, and he alternated between quickly flicking his tongue over Harry’s dick and slowly sucking him while moving his tongue against the head. Harry attempted to steady his breathing, but it had already been heavy from the potion and so he only succeeded in letting out another shaky breath as he tried to stay still. 

“Draco….” he whimpered, “the people….”

And Draco looked up at Harry, and Harry gasped again. Draco, whose silver eyes never failed to make Harry’s heart skip a beat, chuckled with Harry’s dick in his mouth when he heard what Harry had said. 

But, to Harry’s dismay, Draco just moved a bit lower and pushed his tongue inside him. This had always guaranteed lots of noise from Harry, so he wasn’t surprised that Draco had pulled this from his arsenal to use right when Harry needed to be the quietest he’d ever been. 

Sure enough, the feeling of Draco fucking him with his tongue turned Harry into a mess of barely-suppressed moans, and he tried in vain to steady his breathing again. He caught himself starting to move lower in an attempt to get his husband’s tongue farther inside him, but Draco just made a muffled, amused noise and moved his hand from Harry’s ass to his hip in order to hold him still. 

“Draco—” Harry said again, hoping his voice wasn’t shaking too much. “This…. Merlin, you’re so fucking hot….”

Draco squeezed Harry’s hip and pulled his mouth away, and Harry was left panting and torn between disappointment and relief as Draco dropped Harry’s dress back down. But the potion clearly wasn’t wearing off, because Harry still ached all over, especially deep in his cunt where he longed to feel a cock filling him up. Draco stood, and Harry, humiliated and desperate beyond reason, shut his eyes so as to avoid his gaze. 

“I…please, Draco, I need you—” he moaned, and he knew how pathetic he sounded but couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

“What you need,” Draco said, his voice dangerous and soft, “is to be taught that it is not your place to decide when or how I use you.” He pressed Harry against the wall with his body until Harry could feel Draco’s erection against his stomach, and an embarrassingly needy sound slipped past Harry’s lips before he could stop it. “Just because you can’t help being this fucking stupid and slutty doesn’t mean I can let you go without punishment.” 

All Harry could do was whimper and keep his eyes tightly shut. He felt Draco’s hand come up and rest on his sternum, and he let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

And then Draco kissed him hard, forcing his tongue into Harry’s mouth, and oh Merlin was it good. Harry could hardly breathe, but he kissed back like this kiss was what would bring him air, letting Draco’s tongue invade his mouth as if it were his only source of oxygen. He moaned and finally moved his hands from resting on his own head to grabbing the back of Draco’s to pull him closer. 

Draco kissed Harry like he wanted to tell Harry that he loved him — but also that he owned him. And Harry, loved and owned, kept kissing back, feeling Draco’s chin wet against his own, tasting that Draco’s mouth tasted like him.

But then the kiss ended, and Draco grabbed Harry’s hands and pinned them, with both of their fingers intertwined, against the wall by his head. Harry made a desperate noise. 

“I want to cum so badly,” he whispered, hoping that this was enough of a hint for Draco to let him cum but not enough of a question to get Harry further in trouble. “Please — I’m hot all over, and my cunt….” He trailed off, not feeling the need to draw more attention to the obscene amount of wetness he’d been producing over the past several minutes. 

He felt Draco lean in and felt hot breath on his ear as Draco whispered, “When I’m through with you, you’re going to regret every second you even considered slipping me that potion.” And with those words still fresh in Harry’s ear, Draco bit Harry’s neck just below his earlobe, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and dragged him over to their bed. There, Draco sat on the edge and pulled Harry over his lap so his ass was up in the air.

This was hardly a foreign position for Harry to be in, so he knew what was coming, but he didn’t expect it when Draco hissed an incantation: the metal collar around Harry’s neck grew cold and warm again, and Draco pulled Harry’s dress up over his back, pulled down his boxers, and spanked him. 

A violent wave of pleasure washed over Harry’s whole body, and he recognized this feature of the collar from when Draco occasionally used it to get Harry close to orgasm from kissing alone. But this time it was different — the trigger wasn’t kissing, but spanking, and so the intense pleasure that suddenly overwhelmed Harry’s body was mixed with the wonderful sparks of pain that emanated from the exact place of impact. 

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, and he bit his cheek when he realized how loud he’d been. Draco’s hand came down again, and Harry dropped his head and moaned once more, biting his cheek after hearing the volume of his voice. But it was impossible to be silent when every smack of Draco’s hand made Harry’s dick even harder and his cunt even wetter, and how much was from either the potion or the collar Harry couldn’t tell. “Draco—”

Again Harry felt the harsh sting of Draco’s hand on his backside, and he made a noise that sounded half hiss and half wail. It hurt, but only minimally did the pain peek through the pleasure that the collar had magicked for Harry. 

The combination of the desperation from the potion and the enhanced pleasure from the collar rapidly reduced Harry into quite a mess as Draco continued. He reflexively cried out every time Draco’s hand landed, and his cunt was clenching repeatedly around nothing. He was able to feel Draco’s erection underneath him, and that turned him on even more.

After one particularly painful blow, Draco’s fingers slipped lower and felt the wetness that covered Harry’s dick, holes, and inner thighs. 

“You’re fucking pathetic,” Draco said quietly, and Harry moaned as he heard. “Your cunt is drenched and you’re almost crying from how badly you want me. This is what happens when you try to make me do what you want. You are not in control.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry sobbed, and when Draco’s wet fingertips pressed against his dick, Harry barely managed to push his face into the bedding to muffle a cry. He was worried about how loud he’d been when Draco rubbed his fingers over his dick, and Harry made another loud noise. “Draco, wait—”

But Draco just spanked him again, and Harry yelled and swore at himself for the sound. But it felt so good, and Draco was a fucking drug to him, and Harry had no idea how he was going to continue on. 

“Don’t you dare try to hide your noises,” Draco growled, and he squeezed Harry’s ass roughly. “Don’t you fucking dare.” He dug his nails into Harry’s skin until it stung.

“I’m being too loud, Draco, you know….”

Nothing seemed real, and yet everything did. Harry was scared, and it was so hard because he was already on his way to subspace, and to think about real-world consequences when Draco had him in a position like this was just too much. 

“I— yellow—” Harry managed, his breath shaking as he dropped his head. 

Draco didn’t stop, but his palm came to rest softly on Harry’s ass instead of smacking him again. He leaned down and softly kissed the top of Harry’s head. 

“You know how much I love hearing what a whore you are,” he whispered to Harry, his voice dominating yet gentle and impossibly erotic. 

As if to prove it, he pulled Harry’s head up by his hair and Harry glimpsed Draco holding his wand just as Draco murmured, “Prior incantato” — to his relief, Harry saw the shimmering evidence of the silent Muffliato that Draco had cast just as he had locked the bedroom door behind the two of them. 

Harry exhaled hard. “Green,” he whispered, without even having been prompted for consent, and Draco ran his fingers through Harry’s hair before letting his head go. 

Harry felt the tip of Draco’s finger trail from his dick up to his asshole, and he made a little noise of impatience. 

But Draco didn’t stop there — he spanked Harry again, hard, and breathed, “Let it out for me,” in Harry’s ear. 

Harry gasped and let himself moan when he felt the impact, instead of trying to muffle it. The smack was dreadfully painful, but still the cascade of pleasure returned from his collar. But disappointingly, he felt Draco touch the collar again and the intense pleasure faded immediately. 

“No,” Harry pleaded, “it feels so good, please….”

“Don’t worry,” Draco said. These words would be spoken kindly under any normal circumstances, but they now sounded much more cruel because of the way Draco harshly pulled Harry’s hair as he spoke them. “I won’t leave you completely hanging.” He shoved Harry to his feet, and Harry stumbled but righted himself just as Draco stood up. “Now, be a good boy and bend over the chiffonier.”

Harry shuddered and did as he was told, bending at the waist and resting his forearms on the surface. He felt Draco walk up behind him, lean over his back, and slide his hands over Harry’s ass, groping him shamelessly. 

“I must say,” Draco murmured pleasantly (and far too casually, if you asked Harry), “I was quite amused when they all turned to you earlier after Finnigan’s Patronus asked about that proposal.” He pushed the hem of Harry’s dress up to his lower back. “…Because he asked us, you saw, but everyone else just defaulted to you as the authority in the room.” He pulled down Harry’s underwear. “You!”

Harry did his best to harrumph but it came out sounding rather breathy when he heard the metallic clinking of Draco’s belt buckle and the sound of Draco pulling himself out of his pants. He tried to widen his legs inconspicuously. 

Draco just laughed when he noticed, and he continued, “I understand where they’re coming from, of course, when they look to Harry Potter.” He planted his hand between Harry’s shoulder blades to hold him against the dresser. “He’s Head Auror, only a few positions away from being Minister for Magic if he wanted…. The Chosen One, the Savior. The Master of Death, surely he’d be the master of his own household….”

With those words, Harry felt himself get thrown into a chaotic frenzy of arousal and contradiction. Draco, of course, was right: he was Head Auror, and could easily be the Head of the DMLE if he so desired, and then would be barely another step away from becoming Minister. That was what people wanted for him, most likely — that was where they wanted to see Harry in their society. 

And, yes, he was The Chosen One, the paragon of power and good, who defeated the nightmare that had been He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Harry had even, with each of the three Deathly Hallows in his possession, been Master of Death . 

But there it was! There was the contradiction: Harry Potter — Head Auror, the Chosen One, the Master of Death his-fucking-self — was bent over a piece of furniture like a common whore, his dress hiked up and his boxers pushed down to expose his dripping cunt.

He loved it. 

Harry shivered as he felt Draco’s cock slide through his wetness and against the outside of his cunt. “But I have to ask you now, Harry Potter,” Draco whispered, his lips brushing Harry’s ear, and he grabbed the back of Harry’s neck roughly, “are you even your own master?”

Harry let out a sob, and Draco took that moment to nudge his cock, lubricated with Harry’s own wetness, inside him. Harry splayed his fingers out on the wood of the dresser, holding on for dear life — as Draco’s cock pushed into him, he could still feel his pulse in his cunt and was relieved to finally not be empty, but was begging for Draco to hurry up, MOVE, damn it—

“…Because,” Draco said, and he began to move his hips at a speed about 200% slower than what Harry would have preferred, “you have made it rather clear that you enjoy seeing me as your…superior.”

At the word superior, Draco grinded inside Harry, the head of his cock rubbing his cervix, and Harry groaned from the discomfort but his cunt clenched around Draco all the same. 

“Fuck….”

Draco ignored him and kept moving, and he used his body to push Harry farther against the dresser. The wood dug into Harry’s rib cage painfully, and he tried to use his arms to push himself back a bit so that the edge didn’t hurt as badly, but Draco just shoved him back against the piece of furniture with each thrust. 

It’s not like it wasn’t worth it, Harry thought. And thankfully, Draco had begun to move faster. 

“At first I was angrier,” Draco said. He grabbed a fistful of Harry’s hair and tightened his fingers around it, sending a delightful zing down Harry’s spine as the pain prickled on his scalp. “But this is a perfect punishment.” 

“P-punishment? Not— the spanking? Fuck, Draco—”

Not for the first or even the fifth time, Harry thought of how very glad he was that the Muffliato was active. He heard Draco laugh at him. 

“That’s hardly a punishment,” Draco said impishly, “and you know it. Not when you almost came when I did it.”

Harry hated that Draco was right. He felt Draco slow his thrusts again, and tried to move his hips to get Draco’s cock deeper inside him. “But— the collar, that wasn’t me!”

“Don’t be stupid,” Draco said, and Harry felt the same pang of arousal that he would have if Draco had directly called him stupid. “You would have reacted the same way. And stop fucking moving,” he said, pulling Harry’s hair again when, again, Harry tried to push himself back onto Draco’s cock. 

“I’m sorry,” he moaned, “it just feels so good—”

“I know it does,” Draco murmured smugly. “You never want to stay empty for long after I’ve been inside you, it’s adorable.”

Harry could clearly hear the condescending amusement in Draco’s tone. He felt Draco’s chest against his back as Draco leaned into him and wrapped a possessive arm around his torso, and he felt Draco’s cock twitch inside him. 

“Even so,” Draco added, “I can’t believe you couldn’t help yourself even when you’re supposed to be entertaining. It really is a new level of slutty, even for you.”

Somehow, those two sentences lit a fire under Harry as he remembered that it had been made very clear to him that the function was Draco’s and not Harry’s .  

Oh, I’m supposed to be entertaining, am I?

And Harry knew Draco liked when he was bratty, so he decided to take a risk. Merlin help me.

“Even when I’m supposed to be entertaining?” he bit out, trying to keep his voice from betraying his state of arousal.

It was even harder not to give himself away when Draco’s next words came out as a dangerous growl that shook Harry to his core. “What did you say?”

“It’s your fucking party,” Harry rebutted, still trying hard to keep his groans to a minimum, but his was hard when Draco felt that good inside him. And this time when he grinded back against Draco, it was with mischief on his mind. The head of Draco’s cock rubbed wonderfully against Harry’s G-spot. “Right? Your party? That’s what you were telling me yesterday, that whole fucking time I was on my damn knees—” He hesitated when Draco’s fingers wrapped around his throat warningly, and tried to suppress a whimper  in an attempt to remain stoic. 

“I’d be more careful if I were you, baby,” Draco cautioned, tightening his hold on Harry as if to intimidate him more. 

But Harry found encouragement in the threat and purposefully contracted his pelvic floor muscles to tighten himself around Draco’s cock. He knew exactly what to say to pull a strong reaction from Draco, but he hoped that his punishment wouldn’t be too much worse for it. Just one more push…. He wanted Draco to force the submission out of him, and so he continued brashly: “If you were me?” he said, forcing a harsh laugh. “You couldn’t be me, you’re too perfect! Too perfect a man, an intellect, a fucking party host! But now you’re — ah — trying to flip this around from what you’ve been telling me this whole time, or—”

“—I’m warning you, Potter—”

“—is it only your party when it’s convenient for you?” 

There it was, the last straw, the icing on the cake, the foam on the butterbeer—

Draco dug his nails into Harry’s skin, and Harry hissed through his teeth when Draco roughly thrust into him, hitting his cervix. 

“Ah, shit—!”

“It is ‘my fucking party,’” Draco growled in Harry’s ear, and his cock bumped Harry’s cervix painfully again. 

It felt amazing. 

“Fuck, Draco—”

“And that is exactly why,” Draco continued, “I wanted you there hosting it with me, as my lovely little trophy husband.”

Harry gasped when he heard that, and, just as usual, there went the brattiness — out the window, down the drain, through the Floo, gone. The gasp quickly became a moan when Draco resumed thrusting at a slightly faster pace…but it was only slightly faster, and Harry wished Draco would just move and fuck Harry harder than he’d ever been fucked in his life. 

Draco laughed. “I knew you’d like that,” he said. “I always love seeing you react so much just from words. I like that I can feel you tighten around me whenever I tease you.”

Embarrassed further, Harry groaned and shut his eyes tightly. “Shut up,” he mumbled, but it didn’t sound remotely demanding with his voice shaking and his body pushing back against Draco’s. 

“It’s only because you know I’m right. You wouldn’t moan this fucking much if you didn’t know that every word that comes out of my mouth is true.”

“Shut up.” The embarrassment, Merlin — it was awful but it was a fucking drug , and Harry had been addicted to it for years. 

Draco just ignored his feeble attempts at a rebuttal. (Harry couldn’t say he blamed him, either, as shut up had been an ineffective comeback even in their Hogwarts days.)

“So, my little trophy husband,” Draco continued sweetly, letting go of Harry’s throat and running his hand down Harry’s side, “why don’t you be good and let me fill you up before we go back downstairs, hm?” 

And Harry would be damned if he was going to pass that up, no matter how embarrassing it was to know that Draco had seen his deepest desires and was exploiting them to his heart’s content.

He only realized he’d been silent when Draco repeated himself: “Hm?”

“Okay,” Harry said breathlessly, no longer thinking at all, and he heard Draco give a sound of satisfaction. His mind far away from any part of the real world, Harry let out a long noise of unrestricted pleasure as Draco grabbed his shoulders and began to fuck him hard with quick motions. “Oh, Merlin, yes—”

“You’re going to be good?” Draco asked, and Harry was silently rather pleased to hear the strain in his voice. His body shoved Harry against the edge of the chiffonier’s surface with every thrust. 

It hurt, of course it did, and Harry knew that there would be bruises on his ribs the following day. Each bit of pain sent a shiver through his body. Draco had asked if Harry was going to be good, and Harry thought that he would do just about anything if it meant that he’d get to feel like this for even a second more. 

“Ye-e-es, please, please—”

“Please what?”

That bastard. At least Harry could tell that Draco was gritting his teeth, seemingly to remain in control despite how amazing Harry’s cunt must have felt around him….

But Harry could hardly think, let alone speak properly when Draco was fucking him that hard, his cock moving in and out of Harry at a pace that Harry knew must have been difficult to maintain even with Harry pushing back willingly at every thrust. 

“I— I — I, fuck, I can’t—”

“Please what?”

Harry just let out a sob. He could no longer tell what was a result of the potion and what were just his normal reactions. 

“Harry.”

“Please, fuck, I want — ah — I want you to breed me, please—”

He also wanted to cum, badly, for he would be miserably distracted if he went back to the party with no relief of his own. But he knew, and so did Draco, that Harry would never in his life choose to cum instead of making Draco cum — and besides that, Harry rarely took the initiative to touch himself while Draco fucked him, because it simply didn’t occur to him. Draco’s cock just felt so good inside him that Harry usually didn’t even think about touching his dick unless Draco did it or ordered Harry to do it himself. 

So Harry just leaned there, against the dresser, and took what was given to him, and begged for more.  

Harry could tell that Draco was getting close by the fierce way he fucked Harry and the breathy way he growled his words. 

“You want to go downstairs with my cum still dripping out of you?”

All Harry could manage was a strained “Hngh, yes—” as he felt Draco’s urgent thrusts inside him. Urgent, yes, but oddly patient; it was as if Draco was out taking a leisurely stroll, and had no idea when he’d return but still tried to end with a nice time regardless. 

“Beg,” Harry heard Draco snarl through his own incessant whimpering, and he wasted no time, panting out his mindless desires — please, please, I need your cum —

— and then Harry felt Draco pull him close, and heard him let out a long, low “fuck” as he thrust a few more times into Harry’s cunt. And maybe it was just the position, but Harry swore he could feel it as Draco began to cum: pulses of wet warmth shooting into his cunt as Draco’s cock throbbed inside him. 

“Fuck, yes, please, fill me up, you feel so good….”

The weight of Draco’s body against Harry’s back made his front dig uncomfortably into the edge of the dresser again, but it mattered even less this time — because Draco pushed all the way inside Harry as he finished filling him, and there he stayed. 

Harry whimpered, and he let himself take a deep breath as Draco caught his own. He felt warm inside, warm from having Draco’s cum deep inside him, and still wonderfully full of cock. Draco kissed lazily down the side of Harry’s neck, and Harry felt Draco’s cock give another small twitch inside him. He gasped quietly. 

Draco made a pleased noise, and he leaned back a bit so Harry’s ribs no longer were pressed into the wood. His hand came up to scratch Harry’s head gently, and Harry leaned into it happily…. But then Draco pulled his hair harshly, causing Harry to give a strangled groan, and leaned in to hiss in Harry’s ear, “I can feel your cunt clenching around me.” Harry could hear the amusement in Draco’s voice.

Of course you can , Harry thought, but he chose not to say that in case it made his punishment worse; he didn’t think he was even remotely in a position of power right at that moment, so it would be better to say nothing at all. 

Instead, he opted for a quiet little indignant noise, which, he realized after making it, could easily have been interpreted as a desperate one. 

That’s not what I wanted to do. 

Draco just chuckled and released Harry’s hair, but what he also did was place his hand on Harry’s hip and hold Harry in place as he pulled out. He used his other hand to keep Harry’s dress from falling back down. 

Harry whined when he felt Draco’s cock slide out of him, but he started when he felt something blunt press up against his cunt and into him — he made to see what it was, but Draco put his hand on Harry’s back and calmly pinned him against the chiffonier. “Shh,” Harry heard Draco say, and so he fell still. That “shh” was almost patronizing, like Draco was pacifying a domesticated animal, but Harry obeyed without a second thought.

He felt the object quickly get wider, even to the point of pain; Harry was surprised at this, because he had just been fucked, so thus would be more easily able to take wider objects — nonetheless, he winced at the stretching feeling and let slip a small sound of discomfort. How much bigger is this thing?

“Almost there,” came Draco’s voice from behind him. “You’re doing well.”

That gave Harry the frame of mind he needed: that it was all going all right and that Draco was in control of it all, and so he tried to relax his muscles. He knew that he could take it and would take it, because Draco wanted him to. But that didn’t stop it from hurting. The object was as wide as it would get, now, surely—?

And then it gave, and Harry realized it was a plug because it quickly got smaller and his cunt tightened back around the thin part near the base. Right as his hole swallowed the widest part of the plug, the pain immediately faded and was replaced by an amazing feeling of fullness. 

“Oh….”

He felt Draco flick the base of the plug with his fingernail: the little vibration travelled up it and deep inside Harry, and he tightened around the plug and he moaned, really feeling the width of the toy as it shifted against his inner walls. 

“Fuck….”

Draco gave a satisfied, slightly amused noise and rubbed Harry’s back gently. He then pulled up Harry’s underwear, pulled the skirt of Harry’s dress back down, and turned Harry around to face him. 

Every motion made the huge plug rub against Harry’s G-spot, making it almost impossible to move without jolts of pleasure shooting through his body. He shuddered as he turned toward Draco, and suddenly realized that, before Draco had put the plug inside his cunt, he hadn’t felt Draco’s cum drip out of him as it normally did. 

Oh. Oh, Merlin.

Apparently Harry’s face betrayed his realization that Draco’s cum was now plugged inside him, because Draco’s sly smile was wider than ever.

“What is it?” he asked roguishly. 

Harry let out a hard breath. “Nothing,” he said, but it certainly didn’t feel like nothing when his cunt was stuffed full and hot, and when every time he moved it felt like his knees would buckle from the pleasure. 

Draco’s grin grew wider; he reached up and pulled Harry’s hair. “Sure seems like something. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Harry’s scalp burned from the pressure, and his eyes watered, so he swallowed what little was left of his pride and let himself whimper. “Full,” he whispered, horribly mortified but not wanting to change it for anything. “Very full. And warm, fuck, I can’t believe it’s still….” And he broke off with a shudder. 

Draco released his fistful of Harry’s hair and tugged Harry into a slow but extremely erotic kiss. His tongue ran ever-so-slightly over Harry’s bottom lip, and Harry gasped and opened his mouth, moaning when Draco’s tongue brushed his own. 

His body didn’t feel as desperate as it had been earlier, but he was still dying to touch his dick and be able to cum. Harry pressed his legs together and his thighs pushed against the base of the plug, shifting it inside him; he shuddered against Draco’s body and felt Draco’s lips smile against his mouth. 

“Are you ready to go back downstairs?”

No, Harry thought. He grumbled quietly and Draco kissed him on the forehead. “You’re evil.”

“I’ll go down first and say you’re wrapping up with my mother, so that will give you a minute.” Draco paused, looking Harry up and down, and then he smirked. “You’re going to need it.”

“I hate you.”

Draco smiled again, and kissed Harry again, and he reached down unceremoniously to grab Harry’s ass before stepping away. He walked to the floor-length mirror by the door, studied his reflection, and cast a quick charm to adjust his hair and tie — and then he looked over at Harry, grinned, winked, and exited the room, closing the door behind him.