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Draco scanned his reflection, flattening a flyaway hair on the top of his perfectly manicured head. He adjusted his collar for the third time and checked his breath for the fourth.
The date hadn’t started, and he was already certain he would be dead by the end of it.
Dead or dumped, and really now, what was the difference?
He folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe, settling his face into a nonchalant expression. A tip of the head, a practiced arch of his brow. “Harry,” He greeted casually, but it sounded off. He cleared his throat, tried again. Much better.
First names were a new development, and he was determined to be very good at them.
He switched his weight to his other leg and turned slightly. Pansy always said he didn’t have a good side, and even if he did, Potter was too blind to see it, but she wasn’t to be trusted on matters like these. If he wanted to seduce Harry properly, he would have to utilize all his assets at peak performance. One only got so many chances, after all.
He sensed Harry before the knock came. A slight rise in the itch under his skin, a prickle along the back of his neck.
The git was early, but luckily for him, Draco was nothing if not adaptable. He’d been ready for over an hour.
He took the stairs three at a time, catching himself just inside the door and waiting for the rap of knuckles against wood. Normal, he repeated to himself, clenching and unclenching his fists before opening it.
Harry—devastatingly handsome Harry—smiled shyly at him from the first step.
“Hi,” He said, as if a tiny dimple wasn’t threatening to topple Draco’s entire ecosystem. He held out a single flower, purple with almond-shaped leaves. “For you.”
Draco was going to die. He might as well be run over by a herd of thestrals and dragged behind the Hogwarts Express for all the damage that smile could do. “You’re too kind.” His voice trembled as their fingers brushed.
Harry’s smile turned boyish, and he rocked back on his heels. He was wearing a red sweater Draco vaguely recognized as the one he wore when he wanted to impress. At least, he wore it to his friends’ weddings, and now he was wearing it here, for Draco.
Normal, be normal.
It was their third date, and according to Pansy, third dates were the make-or-break in any relationship. If tonight didn’t go well, all prospects were surely doomed. He hardly expected to get this far, so there truly was no room for error.
Harry quirked his head to the side. “Alright?”
Ah. Draco was staring at him. He nodded jerkily.
“Sorry if I interrupted you; the shop was slow, so I closed early.” He still hadn’t stopped smiling. “I’ve just been looking forward to tonight, I suppose.”
Damn him. That was smooth.
“I, too,” the words felt wrong as soon as he started talking, but there was no stopping it, “have been looking forward…to you.”
Disaster.
Harry, the dense fool that he was, grinned even brighter. “Are you ready?” He checked his watch. “I figure we can walk for a bit.”
Draco nodded mutely, shutting the door behind him.
“You look nice,” Harry said as they fell into step together. Both of their shops were in Diagon Alley, so there was no need to apparate. They walked down the cobbled sidewalk, shoulders brushing.
Draco’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you.”
Harry had chosen a lovely little restaurant. The tables were small but spaced out, with large open windows and a bar filled with local wixen Draco vaguely recognized from the street. The space buzzed with loud conversation, the clink of silverware against glass, and the muted chaos of the kitchen staff in the back. It wasn’t as fancy as Draco had chosen for their second date, but it was very…Harry. Draco loved it.
“Here we are,” Harry pulled out Draco’s chair. A whiff of sandalwood cologne as Harry pushed it in behind him, and Draco was already gone.
Every nerve in his body seemed aimed, pointed on a hair-trigger towards Harry: His smell, the deep timbre of his voice, the way the light shifted in his hair as he sat. Draco couldn’t focus on anything else.
The menu crinkled in his hands as he gripped it.
Merlin, the werewolf urges had been unbearable before, but this was an entirely new feeling. He wanted to lean across the table and lick a stripe up Harry’s neck, rub his face into the crisp sandalwood scent—and he was quickly becoming less and less confident in his ability to stop himself.
Harry smiled again, saying something about the menu options, but Draco couldn’t hear him. Harry’s teeth glinted against the light, the tip of his canine pressed just so against soft pink lips. Draco could already imagine them sinking into the meat of his shoulder, the sharp sting of being his. Claimed. Owned.
“Draco?”
Normal.
“ Sorry, what did you say?”
“Is there something in my teeth?” Harry covered his mouth with a napkin, looking worried.
Panic. “No—No, you’re perfect—” What? Draco would have shoved his entire fist into his mouth if he were physically capable, but the damage had already been done. Harry flushed and looked away.
Pansy was never going to let Draco live this down if he bungled Harry now. Years of pining for nothing, she would say with that exasperated, nasally voice she had.
Not telling her wouldn’t be an option. Draco told Pansy everything.
“Sorry, I’m just—” Even Harry’s ears were red now, like he might catch fire. It would be over soon, at least. Draco was too much, and Harry would take back the whole thing—realize his mistake.
I don’t think this is going to work out, Malfoy. (Revoking their first-name basis was not out of the question in Draco’s imagination.)
Harry looked back at him, grinning painfully wide. “I’m just happy and can’t take a compliment for the life of me, apparently.” The sound that came out of his mouth next could only be described as a giggle.
“Oh,” Draco’s heart caught on the sound. The world settled underneath his feet.
“I’m so used to pulling each other's pigtails,” Harry said. “This might take some getting used to.” There were a few wood shavings caught in Harry’s hair, just above his ear. Leftover from time in the shop, no doubt. Harry could be careless like that.
Draco cleared his throat, scraping together whatever confidence he had left. “We could…practice?”
A baffled, amused look, “Practice what?”
Draco’s hand reached up to brush the shavings away without fully considering the repercussions. “I’ve got quite the collection of compliments for you, if you need.”
Harry’s cheeks darkened a lovely red shade, and he smiled warmly, leaning into Draco’s hand as if Draco had meant to cup his jaw.
“Maybe next time,” Harry said. “We have to stagger them, or you’ll run out.”
“Never.”
Harry’s green eyes sparkled, and Draco’s fingers burned from the skin-to-skin contact; every point in his consciousness narrowed down to the feel of his cheek.
The waitress cleared her throat above them, and Draco regretfully pulled his hand back into his lap. His fingers shook with the lingering heat, the points where he’d felt Harry’s stubble press against him.
Harry ordered for them both, gathering Draco’s untouched menu from in front of him and handing it back. Draco couldn’t look away from him as he did it.
“So, how was the shop today? Brew anything exciting?” Harry leaned on his fist. The motion pushed his glasses slightly askew on his face. Adorable.
Draco twisted the edge of a paper napkin between his fingers. “You know how it is.”
“Full moon keeping you busy, then?”
Draco nodded, “Always is.” Draco’s shop sold predominantly wolfsbane variations, and he made the majority of his sales in the two weeks before each full moon. “What about you? Have the hoards of first years started panicking over wands yet?”
Harry grinned and broke into a story about an eleven-year-old who nearly blasted through the back wall of his shop trying out a Hawthorne two sizes too big. Draco smiled and nodded, wanting to be nowhere else.
They’d simultaneously opened their shops across the street from each other, without any prior knowledge of the other’s plans. It had been quite the shock when one day, they both stepped outside at the same time and had a very abrupt reunion. (Shouting. It had been mostly shouting.)
It took a full year for them to stop screaming at each other and another year to have a civil conversation. (It was brief and about the weather, but Draco took what he could get.) And then four years in, they had settled into something of a truce. They both did their best to avoid the other, but could count on a polite head nod in any rare interactions. They weren’t friends, but they weren’t hostile anymore. And then Draco got himself turned into a werewolf and complicated things.
It was surprisingly convenient when Draco was first bitten. Where he used to recruit werewolves at varying stages of the moon cycle, now he could test new brews on himself before adding them to the inventory. It simplified the process remarkably.
It also meant he shifted once a month, and like any good lycanthropist would advise: werewolves should not, under any circumstances, spend the full moon alone.
Which is exactly what Draco did, of course.
Or tried to, until his howling got so obnoxious that Harry-fucking-Potter blasted down his door to see what all the fuss was about, only to spend the night sitting in Draco’s dusty basement to keep an eye on him and make sure he was alright.
And then he’d shown up again the next month, and the next. And finally, after a full year of morning-afters and Draco being hopelessly obvious about his schoolboy crush, Harry had asked him out. On a date. (A real one!)
Draco hadn’t even realized Harry was gay up until that point, and now they were eating chips together at a lovely little restaurant, and Draco couldn’t stop staring at his damn lips long enough to say something more interesting than, “Well, you know how children can be.”
When Draco inevitably fucked this up, he was going to move to the mountainside and raise sheep. Goats, maybe. Luck was so clearly against him, it would be for his own good.
The waitress was back. “Would you and your…” she trailed off, glancing between them.
“Boyfriend,” Harry provided easily.
She smiled, “Would you and your boyfriend like to see the dessert menu?”
Harry nodded and took it, casually flipping it open, unaware of the rising panic on Draco’s side of the table.
“I’m thinking ice cream. Oh, but they have this little molten cake thing you might like.”
“I didn’t realize,” Draco started, his mind gone white.
“Hm?”
“That we’re dating.”
Harry raised an amused eyebrow, “You didn’t know this was a date?”
“No, I knew this was a date,” he motioned to the table between them, “but I didn’t—How long have we been boyfriends?”
“Just a few minutes, I’d wager. If you’d like to be, that is. I suppose I should have asked.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck.
Draco nodded numbly despite the loud ringing in his ears. “ I’d like to be. Would you?”
Harry gave him the warmest, most patient smile Draco had ever seen. “Very much so.”
Pansy was never going to believe him.
Harry was holding Draco’s hand. Harry was holding Draco’s hand.
There was also a fair amount of shoulder brushing as they bumped into each other on the walk back, but mostly Draco was focused on the warm, callused grip of Harry’s fingers slotted through his own.
Draco couldn’t keep the stupid smile off his face. He could almost sense Harry smiling too, but he was too scared to give himself away by looking over.
And just like that, they were home, and Harry was walking Draco to his door because this was a date and they were somehow boyfriends . Harry paused on Draco’s stoop, tugging him to a stop. The porch light buzzed, several moths circling the glass.
Harry cleared his throat. “Well, I had a great time.”
“As did I.”
Harry smiled and fidgeted with his pockets, like he wasn’t quite ready to leave yet.
Draco swallowed. This was the part of the date when people kissed—with lips. Draco couldn’t not kiss Harry, or he’d be a failure of a boyfriend, and worse, Pansy would tease him. He set his jaw. “Since we’re dating, a kiss would be appropriate, wouldn’t it?”
Sunshine. That smile was sunshine. Harry nodded, and slowly, cautiously, they came together. Harry’s lips were warm against his, slotting together like kissing was just another part of their banter, another extension of their history.
And, oh, how Draco wanted him.
Even as Harry pulled away, pressing another kiss to his cheek, Draco wanted him.
Desperately.
“Sorry, I’ll just be a few minutes, if that’s alright?” Harry waved him inside and took the stairs two at a time to disappear into his bedroom.
“There’s no rush,” Draco called after him. He shut the door gingerly, meandering into the cozy entryway. There were pictures everywhere—some Muggle, some magical, all of his friends and family from various celebrations over the years. Draco’s eyes drifted, pausing as he found Harry in each one. He hadn’t changed much since school, but there were slight differences here and there. He’d grown into himself, his messy hair, the square jaw, it all seemed intentional now, where it had been awkward before.
Draco let his eyes linger on a particularly charming photo of Harry in his workshop, mussed and dusty in that particular way that had driven Draco mad for the past five years.
He thought he would be immune to it by now, but he was a weak man.
He inhaled deeply, muscles relaxing. It had been barely two days since their last date—the kiss— and Draco had spent the entire time since then hyperfocused on Harry’s location across the street. Apparently, the walls of his flat weren’t thick enough to block werewolf senses.
It was a relief now, to be so close, to be surrounded by him. The urge to unzip his skin and crawl out of it was quieter here. Almost ignorable. Almost .
He turned the handle on the little closet to his left. It reeked of him—sweat and shampoo and Harry.
It was a coat closet. No wonder.
He pushed the door farther open, smiling at the hoard of hoodies and sweaters and the occasional leather jacket hung side by side along the walls. He ran his fingers gently over the fabric, inhaling.
It hadn’t been this bad before, when it was just Draco’s silly infatuation with Harry’s hair. It was like the idea of actually being able to have him unlocked some sort of monster in Draco. Insatiable. Obsessed.
He leaned closer and pressed his nose into the sleeve of a sweater. He drank in the scent, warm and familiar. The knit cotton was soft against his skin, and he breathed deeper.
He would never be able to get enough.
“Draco?”
Draco, to his credit, had thought he had much more time before Harry would be ready, or he would never have let himself indulge. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the squawk that ripped out of him, or his instinct to shove away the offending sweater, only for his feet to tangle and send him stumbling backward.
Harry’s arm shot out and caught him by the shoulders before he could do something truly embarrassing like crack his skull open and get blood all over Harry’s expensive linoleum.
Draco’s heartbeat was in his throat, face hot. “Sorry, I wasn’t—”
“You okay?” Harry righted him and brushed invisible dust off his arms.
“Yeah.”
“Were you…?” He looked at the coats and back to Draco, a slow smile spreading over his face.
“I’m not sure what you mean, but I should go.” If Draco played his cards right, he could be in Bermuda by the morning. Pansy had suggested forging a new identity back in eighth year; maybe it was time to take her up on the idea.
Harry caught his wrist as he tried to flee, gently turning him back around. “I didn’t get to do this before.” He leaned in, pressing a sweet kiss to Draco’s mouth, and oh, he tasted so much better than he smelled. Harry found Draco’s hair and tilted his head back to deepen the kiss. The taste of salt and mint erupted over his senses until there was nothing but Harry’s hands and where their tongues met.
Harry pulled away, smirking. “Do you like how I smell, Draco?”
Breathless and a bit desperate for Harry to kiss him again, Draco admitted, “I might.”
Another press of lips, softer this time. “Hmm.”
“It’s a—” Draco choked as Harry peppered kisses over his jaw to his neck. “Werewolf thing.”
“Sure it is,” Harry hummed.
Draco was melting, bones turning to mush in Harry’s arms. His ability to form proper sentences abandoned ship the moment Harry nipped at his earlobe, and Draco was fairly certain he would never see it again.
Harry pulled away with a grin, “We really should get going.”
The absence of his warmth was excruciating, and a pathetic little noise escaped from his mouth before he could stop it. He wasn’t entirely above begging these days, but Harry looked too smug about the situation to be acceptable. Draco cleared his throat, “Let’s go, then.”
It only got worse after that.
On their fifth date, dinner at the Weasleys’ (Good Lord, why?) Draco found himself leaning into Harry’s space, unconsciously brushing his calf along Harry’s leg under the table. It wasn’t until Harry had to pull away to hand Ron the potatoes that Draco realized he was doing it. He was practically on top of him.
He sat very straight for the rest of the meal.
The next day, around noon, the antsy feeling under his skin got bad enough for him to make the thirty-second trek to Harry’s store. The shop had been uncharacteristically slow, and Draco (three days before the full moon) needed something. He wasn’t sure what, but he was going to disintegrate if he didn’t get it
“Draco?” Harry poked his head out of the front door, his hair gloriously disheveled from a day of woodworking. Draco wanted to bury his hands in it. “Is everything alright?”
Draco nodded numbly, paralyzed by the fresh wave of Harry’s scent.
Harry gave him a strange look before closing the gap, and—oh, he smelled so good. Draco's knees went weak. “Is it the full moon?” Harry asked.
Probably.
But his transformations had never done this to him before—reordered his entire consciousness with Harry at the center, gravity pulling him inward. He was helpless to it.
Harry wrapped him in a hug, and Draco melted, burying himself in Harry’s neck and trying to keep his lungs steady. Harry’s fingers moved in long, easy circles over his spine—the warmth and realness of him strangely sedative.
“What’s wrong?”
Nothing. Nothing was wrong when Harry held him like this.
Harry started to pull away, but Draco’s arms tightened. “Just,” Draco took a deep, stabilizing breath. “Just give me a moment.”
Harry hummed and resumed his petting. They stayed like that for a long time.
It took a full day for Draco to recover from the absolute embarrassment of his midday assault in front of Harry’s shop. But by the next evening, the buzzing was back, and this time, it was stronger. A hive of bees where his liver should be.
So, Draco attached himself to his workbench. He brewed four cauldrons of Pepper-Up until he’d replaced the memory of Harry’s musk with the smell of boiled mandrake root and newt's eye. He kept busy and forced his mind to drop the hyperawareness of Harry’s location like an over-eager dog with a bone. He couldn’t bother him again. Normal people didn’t show up out of nowhere every day and cling to their partner like that. Even if Harry put up with it yesterday, two days in a row would be too much.
Draco would be too much.
He stared at the roiling potion, bright and iridescently green, and wished it made him think of anything but Harry’s eyes.
He should talk to Pansy, but he already knew what she would say: Don’t fuck up a good thing by being clingy, Draco. He couldn’t tell her that clingy would be a welcome relief to whatever was currently happening to him.
Obsessive? Addicted? Neurotically besotted?
Whatever it was, it certainly meant terrible things for the longevity of Draco’s happiness.
Harry’s note came just after seven.
Come to mine?
He’d doodled two figures with their faces mashed together and a crude winky face underneath it. Draco grimaced, but he tucked the note into a drawer for safekeeping. He might not have Harry for long, but he’d be damned if he didn’t enjoy it while it lasted.
He showered quickly, dressed in his most normal outfit, and forced himself to wait another five minutes to hide his crippling neediness before shooting out the door.
Harry was across the street, already leaning against his open doorway, when Draco stepped out. He gave a little wave and a dimpled grin, and the gluttonous monster in Draco’s stomach did a flip.
“Quite presumptuous, aren’t you?” Draco drawled as he stepped up to him.
Harry shrugged, “Call me an optimist.”
The door had only just shut when Harry was on him, pulling Draco into a deep kiss and pushing him hard against the wall. His tongue swept into Draco’s mouth, the salty taste of Harry, Harry, Harry, wrenching a moan out of him. He arched his back and scrambled for a better grip on Harry’s shirt, bunching the fabric in his fists. Plaster pressed painfully against his shoulder blades, but he didn’t care. He needed more.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Harry whispered as they came up for air.
“Me too.” Draco was always thinking about him, but he didn’t say that.
Harry huffed out a pleased little sound and kissed him again, slower this time with all the intentionality in the world. He nipped at Draco’s bottom lip, tilted his head back, and kissed him like Draco was something to be savoured, explored.
Draco was more than happy to let him.
Harry mouthed over his jaw, sucking at Draco’s pulse point as every nerve in his body came to life. His cock was already hard, and he whimpered as Harry pressed a thigh between his legs. He felt loose, barely held up by Harry’s arm around his waist, pinned to the wall. The bees at the base of his spine grew louder, the want more insistent.
Merlin, Harry was everywhere. His smell, his tongue, his fingers gripping the back of his neck, the slight grind of his hips. Draco needed more . He needed everything.
Harry bit down lightly on his shoulder, and Draco went rigid, pleasure shooting over his entire body, orgasm ripped out of him by Harry’s teeth and the barely-there pressure against Draco’s cock. He made a choked sound as he came, grasping at Harry for dear life.
It only took a moment for the mortification to set in.
“Fucking Merlin’s tits—” Draco cursed at the same moment Harry said, “Fuck, did you just—”
Harry had pulled back, eyes blown wide, mouth slightly open. His hair was mussed, curls hung haphazardly in his face. Draco desperately wanted to kiss him again, to go back to a moment before.
Their physical relationship had moved relatively slowly up until now, and this was how Draco started it?
His face was in flames, pants damp and warm from his own spend. Somehow, the worst part was the greed, the insistent pull in his stomach for more, more, more. Draco was pathetic, and if Harry hadn’t realized it already, he certainly would now.
“I have to—” Draco was going to cry. Pressure pricked at the corner of his eyes, panic unearthing itself deep inside his chest. “I have to go.”
He bolted for the door, but just as he pulled on the handle, Harry’s hand pressed it shut again from over his shoulder. “Wait, Draco—”
Draco shoved past him the other way, yanking the closest handle and flinging himself inside just as the first sob wrenched its way out of his throat. He cast a hasty locking charm and collapsed into the corner. It was over now. If he opened the door, Harry would dump him. He’d never felt so sure of anything in his life.
A quiet knock. “Draco?”
He pulled his knees up to his chest and shook. He felt cold and hollow, and traitorously, he wanted Harry. Like Harry might be the only thing capable of fixing him, of stitching the frayed edges back together. The room smelled so strongly of him, he couldn’t think of anything else.
Instinctively, he reached out and grabbed the first soft thing his fingers touched, then another. He pulled coats and jackets off the hangers and towards him, laying them over his legs, and around his shoulders. He was in the coat closet, he realized belatedly. And before long, he was buried neck-deep in Harry, and the embarrassment was burning across his chest.
He cried, ragged and desperate sounds sputtering out of his throat until he could hardly breathe. Every wrong thing he’d ever done played on loop, every mistake—the big ones and the small ones. How could it be possible that Harry ever wanted him?
Eventually, another knock. Quieter.
“Draco, please let me in.” Harry’s voice sounded soft, so painstakingly patient, it hurt.
“I can’t,” Draco said, his voice breaking. “I don’t want to lose you.”
A long silence. “Why would you lose me?”
I’m a freak, Draco thought, but all that came out were more wet sobs, and didn’t that just prove his point?
“I’m coming in, okay?” A moment passed before the lock charm fell away, dismantled like a poorly tied ribbon. Harry peeked in, face concerned, hair still lovingly disheveled.
His eyes widened slightly at what must look like a tornado of his clothing strewn over the floor, Draco at the center of a pile. But Draco couldn’t watch him realize what a freak he was dating, so he closed his eyes and buried his face in one of Harry's hoodies.
This would be the last time Harry spoke to him. No more notes or first names. No more full moons with Harry sitting awkwardly on his basement floor. It would be done, back to how they were when Harry hated him. Draco was so painfully certain of that.
“Are you okay?” Harry asked, sitting on the floor next to him. “Did I hurt you?”
Draco shook his head.
A long silence, and Harry’s hand tentatively found the back of Draco’s neck, stroking gently through the shorter wisps of hair. “Please talk to me.”
“I—” A choked sob. “Why would you ever want to be with someone like me? I can’t control myself around you—”
Harry’s fingers hesitated on his scalp and then kept petting. He waited.
The rest of Draco’s words fell out of his mouth in a rushed mess. “You’re gorgeous and perfect, and I’m—I’m pathetic. ” His head shot up, and he waved manically at the nest of hoodies he’d buried himself in. “Look what I did! All because it fucking smelled like you—”
His chest heaved, finally looking at Harry, who watched him with a tiny smile at the edge of his mouth.
Draco snapped, “It’s not fucking funny—” and dissolved into another bout of tears.
Harry pulled him into a hug, and all the fight wilted out of his body. Even as he hated himself for it, he was still helpless to that touch. “Shhhh,” Harry whispered. “I’m not laughing at you.”
They stayed like that for a while. Until Draco’s shoulders stopped shaking and the world settled enough for him to notice the uncomfortable pinch of hardwood against his legs. He fidgeted, and Harry let go, pressing a soft kiss to his temple as he moved away.
“Come on, let’s go have some tea.” Harry pulled him up, jackets shedding to the floor like abandoned pelts. “And get you into some fresh clothes.”
Twenty minutes later, Draco was showered and dressed head to toe in a spare set of Harry’s pajamas. The pants were loose and airy, just a bit too short to cover his ankles. Draco had never seen the t-shirt before, red and soft and big enough to make Draco feel swaddled in Harry’s scent. He could tell they weren’t clean—that Harry slept in them last night. Harry probably guessed that would calm him down. Anything to make the break-up easier, Draco supposed. He hated that it was working.
Embarrassment settled just behind his naval, and he walked into the kitchen with his cheeks hot and ears pink.
Harry smiled when he spotted him. “Hi there,” he said, placing a mug of steaming tea on the table.
Draco sat reluctantly, unable to look him in the eyes.
Harry took the chair opposite him and waited, seemingly for Draco to say something—explain maybe—but Draco had no words, and if Harry was going to break up with him, he certainly wasn’t going to expedite the process. They sat in silence for what felt like decades.
Finally, Harry let out a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Draco, you know I’m mad for you, right?”
Draco made a face.
“And I love knowing you like me, too.” Harry chuckled, “That’s kind of the whole point, isn’t it?”
Draco scoffed.
Harry’s expression lost a bit of its confidence. “You…do like me, don’t you?”
“Obviously,” Draco muttered, because if Harry kept frowning like that, it would give him wrinkles.
Another smile, and Harry’s eyes flickered over him, waiting.
Draco groaned, “You don’t get it. I’m a fucking werewolf, and I want you.”
“You’re going to have to explain why that’s a problem.”
Draco gave him an exasperated look. Harry wasn’t stupid, and Draco was already so deeply humiliated by the whole situation that making him say it out loud seemed like a practice in sadism.
“Here,” Harry said placatingly, “Tell me what you want, and I’ll stop you when it’s something I don’t want.” He held out his hands, an offering. “Boundaries, and all that nonsense.”
Draco rolled his eyes, and seeing that Harry was more than serious, huffed out a defeated breath. He thought for a moment before muttering, “I want to wear your clothes.”
Harry’s smile was fond. “I was just about to say how nice you look in Gryffindor red.”
A long stare between them, and Draco continued. “I want to be able to see you.”
Confused silence.
“I—” Draco looked down, hoping for a good way to explain this to be written on the tile. Nothing. “I can smell you, during the day, and I— It hurts, knowing I have to wait to see you. I want to come over whenever I want and just…look at you. Touch you, maybe.”
Harry’s shoulders relaxed, and the fond expression was growing into something excruciating. What wasn’t he getting about this?
“I want to be around you all the time, Harry.”
Harry’s head bobbed thoughtfully. “And I rather fancy that idea, so no issue.”
Frustrated now, Draco stood, clenching his fists at his side. “I want you to leave marks on my neck so everyone can tell I’m yours.”
Draco heard the exact moment Harry stopped breathing.
“I want you to bite me.”
His eyes were wide, and Draco knew he’d found it—the thing to push him away. The aspect of himself that would convince anyone to run.
He towered above Harry, staring directly into the green of his eyes. “I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk. I want to be dripping with your cum until all I can smell is you, even when I’m alone in my own bed. I want you to breed me, and fuck me until I’m crying with how much I want you, and then I want you to keep going.
“I want you to use me, and I want you to be gentle and close, and I want to wake up with you. You don’t understand, I want everything, Harry.” Draco’s voice was a bit desperate by the time he finished, cheeks impossibly hot, but at least now, Harry knew how deeply the insanity ran, and it would be over soon.
Except Harry didn’t say anything. He just watched Draco stand over him, pupils blown wide. The scent of arousal stained the air, and Draco swallowed thickly as Harry finally spoke, “I haven’t stopped you, have I?” His voice was breathy, and his eyes flicked down to Draco’s lips.
“This isn’t a temporary thing. I don’t think it’s possible for me to have a normal, relaxed relationship. I’m obsessive and clingy and hypersensitive—Merlin knows it doesn’t take much for you to make me cum—but that’s what you get if we keep going: All or nothing.”
Harry’s face softened, breaking back into his perfect, dimpled smile as he reached for Draco. “When have we ever been normal about each other?” He slipped his fingers under the hem of his shirt, feeling over the skin at his waist, up to his ribs. The touch was slow and gentle, but it felt like fire on Draco’s overwhelmed mind.
“I want you so much —” Draco said desperately, “And I know we’ve only started dating, and it’s all mad, but I can’t stop—”
Harry pulled Draco into a kiss. Brutal and crushing and everything Draco had ever wanted. “God, Draco, yes. I want you, too—” Harry pulled him onto his lap, hands exploring under the oversized t-shirt as Draco straddled him. “Let me have you. I’ll take such good care of you, I promise.” Harry sucked his earlobe into his mouth, and Draco was already hard. Harry ground their hips together, the hard line of him pulling a wretched sound out of Draco’s mouth.
Harry slowed, kissing his neck softly. “How many times do you think I could make you cum?”
A full-body shiver, and he choked out, “I don’t know.”
Harry grazed his teeth over Draco’s clavicle, humming softly. “Want to find out?” A smile at the answering shudder.
Draco couldn’t seem to contain it—the nervous desperation for this to be real. For Harry to accept him as he was, to want him like this. But if Harry changed his mind… Draco’s fingers gripped his shirt. “I want so much more than you think, Harry. I’m obsessed with you. I wake up thinking about you, I go to sleep imagining you fucking me.”
Harry pulled Draco into a crushing hug, and the world twisted around them. The kitchen disappeared, replaced by Harry’s bedroom. It had to be; the entire room was drenched in Harry’s cologne, his sweat, him. It was enough to make Draco slightly dizzy.
Harry led him by the hips, walking him backward until his knees hit the mattress and he was forced to sit. Harry leaned over him until he was bracketed on the bed—Harry’s bed. “It’s your turn.”
Draco made a confused sound, too overwhelmed by the line of Harry’s tensed neck to ask.
Harry worked the oversized t-shirt over Draco’s head. His hands trailed, hot and insistent, over his chest as he breathed heavily. “You’ve got to stop me if I do anything you’re not okay with.”
Draco yanked at Harry’s shirt, bereft at being the only one half-naked. “You won’t,” He insisted.
Harry shed his trousers as well and worked at the knot holding the sweatpants on Draco’s hips. “I’m serious.” His voice didn’t sound serious. His voice sounded fuckable.
“Fine, I promise.” Draco leaned back on his elbow, lifting each leg as Harry carefully undressed him. They could use magic to speed up the process, but neither mentioned it. Something about the first time, Draco supposed. “But, I can guarantee you’re not capable of doing anything I don’t want.”
Harry grinned, “Always with the arguing with you.”
“It says something about the pace we’re going that I’m even able to—” the words choked off as Harry dropped to his knees, yanked down the last layer of boxers, and licked a long stripe up the shaft of Draco’s cock. His hand immediately moved to grip Harry’s hair, but there was no use to it. He was putty under that mouth.
Harry licked a second stripe, tonguing at the slit before wrapping his heavenly lips around the head. Draco arched his back, eyes squeezed shut at the sensation of it.
Harry’s breath was hot as he pulled off. “Draco.”
Draco made a pathetic little sound in response.
“Look at me.”
Draco pushed himself back onto his elbows, and the sight of Harry’s lips, moist and pink, hovering just above his leaking cock was almost enough to send him over the edge. “What?”
“I want you to see how much I want you.” He swirled his tongue, collecting the bead of cum and smearing it over his lips. “Don’t look away.”
Draco whimpered at the commanding tone and nodded helplessly.
Harry kept eye contact as he slipped the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue in time with the light bob of his head. Draco shuddered, his hips thrusting automatically, and Harry gripped his hip, pinning him. His dark eyelashes fluttered, and he pushed lower, until Draco could feel the wall of his throat, the warm, wet heat of him so gorgeously distracting. He almost didn’t notice Harry’s other hand move to his balls.
The knot in his stomach tightened. He was so close already. His fingers clenched in Harry’s hair, and misreading the motion as encouragement rather than a warning, Harry started moving, bobbing his head up and down, the wet slurping noises loud and debauched in Draco’s ears.
“Harry—” Draco choked, and it was all he could manage before he was cumming, stars sparking behind his eyes. Harry tightened his lips and worked him faster, swallowing drop after drop of cum.
“Harry—” Draco said again, his chest heaving, but Harry’s mouth continued to move over his softening cock, tongue licking and coaxing every last bead of pleasure out of him. He made a soft sighing sound, resting his cheek on the crease of Draco’s thigh, Draco’s cock still nestled in the warmth of his mouth.
Draco tried not to twitch as Harry looked up at him. It was too much. Draco should pull him off, but the heat and post-orgasm bliss made him light and pliant. Harry could have whatever he wanted.
Harry smiled around him and pushed his thighs farther apart. Apparently, he had no intentions of letting Draco recoup.
Slick fingers slid along the inner part of his thighs, soft but insistent until Harry found what he was looking for. Draco shuddered as Harry pressed in, gentle and slow. A swallow around his cock, and Draco was all but trembling.
“Harry…” He moaned again, collapsing onto his back. He covered his burning face with his arm as Harry worked him open. Each pump of his finger splayed him wide, revealing how completely and utterly gone he was.
Harry hummed around his cock, the vibration pulling yet another sound out of Draco.
The scene took on a kind of surreal, blurry quality after that. The slow, insistent push of Harry’s fingers, first one, then two, then three, until Draco’s cock was hard in Harry’s mouth, and he was shivering with need and overstimulation. Harry was everywhere and nowhere. His scent surrounded him as he dug his fists into Harry’s bedspread, thighs trembling over Harry’s shoulders.
But it wasn’t enough.
“I’m ready— Please—” Draco barely recognized his voice as his hips bucked, helpless to Harry’s continued attention.
Harry let go of his cock with a final slide of his tongue up the slit. “Yeah?” He twisted his fingers and grazed over Draco’s prostate.
Draco gasped.
“You want me to fuck you?” Another curl, another gasp.
At least Draco wasn’t the only one who sounded wrecked. Harry’s voice was deep and husky, and it made Draco’s cock twitch to think that he’d done that to him.
“Please,” Draco’s hands touched his shoulders, helplessly trying to pull him up. He wanted to kiss him, taste himself in Harry’s mouth. He wanted to feel the all-consuming press of Harry's body over him. “Please,” he said again.
Harry stood, stripping off the rest of his own clothes. Merlin, and he was so much more beautiful than Draco could have imagined. His chest was broad, speckled with old scars and dark whisps of hair. Elegant muscles pulled and stretched as he manhandled Draco backwards on the bed, settling between his legs. His cock was roughly the same length as Draco’s but thicker. Darker with a reddened head. Gorgeous.
And then his mouth was on Draco’s, and he was swallowing every gasp and moan as their cocks lined up, sliding against each other.
“Can you feel how much I want you?” Harry asked, moving his hips in a purposeful downward grind.
Draco nodded desperately, arms wrapped around his back, trying to pull him closer.
Draco wanted to crawl into his skin. He wanted to feel Harry’s heartbeat next to his own. And each needy kiss Harry answered with an enthusiastic reply, felt like Harry might just let him. Like Harry would open his chest and happily welcome him inside.
How bizarre.
The knot of tension returned as Harry grinded against him. Draco wasn’t sure he could cum again. Not this soon after, but his body was wrecked and wanting, every nerve flayed open and ready for whatever Harry would give him.
“Please—” he managed to choke out.
Harry pulled away and pushed a pillow under Draco’s hips, arranging him. He sat back on his heels, breathless.
“What’s wrong?” Draco whispered, afraid he’d somehow gone too far. Maybe Harry had finally come back to his senses.
Harry banished the thought with a dopey grin. “Nothing. Just happy.”
Draco found it somewhere inside himself to roll his eyes, letting his head fall back into the soft bedding.
Harry huffed a laugh, but took the hint and crawled between Draco’s thighs, spreading them. His eyes lingered on Draco’s exposed hole.
Draco’s cock twitched, and he made a helpless sound, arms spread above him on the bed.
Harry’s dark eyes flickered up to his face, and he smirked. “What was it you said earlier?” He lined himself up, the spongey head nudging at Draco’s hole. “You want me to fuck you until you can’t walk?”
Draco whimpered.
“You want me to fill you with my cum?” He pressed in slowly, refusing to look away as he slid inside.
Draco was going to die.
He’d die impossibly happy, but there was no way he would survive this. Harry felt perfect inside him, the length and pressure of his cock nudging effortlessly at his prostate as if he’d been made to fuck him.
Draco heard himself babble incoherently as he arched his back off the bed.
Harry gave a single, shallow thrust, and Draco was already on the edge again.
“You feel so good—” Harry breathed. He ran his hands over the inside of Draco’s thighs. “You’re gorgeous.”
Draco tried helplessly to find something to grip, the sheets, Harry’s arms. The headboard was too far away. He felt unraveled, his cock red and leaking on his stomach.
“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” Harry thrust again, pushing Draco’s thighs apart until they were on the brink of discomfort but not quite. “Gonna make you cum on my cock.” Another thrust, fast and hard against his prostate.
Draco bit down on his knuckles, stifling a cry.
“I love that I do this to you,” Harry said with another thrust. “Love that I can give you what you want.”
Draco had never felt so much in his life. The persistent ache in his chest as he watched Harry move, the fullness of Harry’s cock sliding in and out of him, the smell of sex and Harry . It was so much, his mind going white with pleasure.
Another particularly well-aimed snap of the hips, and Draco was cumming again, spasming under Harry’s gaze.
He waited for Draco’s breathing to start again before swiping a finger through what little semen he was able to produce. He smeared it slowly across Draco’s stomach.
“That’s three,” Harry whispered reverently. “Do you want to keep going?”
Before Draco could finish nodding, Harry was pounding into him, thighs slapping against Draco’s arse with brutal efficiency. Any control over the sounds Draco made was gone, and he cried out with each push.
Harry fit perfectly. The pleasure and sting of pain was exactly what he needed, but the craving monster was still greedy, as if Harry hadn’t already given him everything he’d asked for. Harry’s cocked pistoned into him, hands holding his thighs apart, but it still felt too far away. Draco wanted more.
Harry seemed to notice Draco’s expression and stilled, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. “What is it?”
“I want—” Draco didn’t know what he wanted. You seemed like a rather unhelpful thing to say when Harry’s cock was wet and half buried inside him. “I want—”
Harry pulled out, and that is not what Draco wanted. He made a loud keening sound, but it was quieted as Harry manhandled him into his stomach, climbing over him until Draco was completely covered by Harry’s weight, pressed into the mattress, and oh, that is what Draco wanted. He felt his body relax for maybe the first time since they kissed last week, the buzzing quieted, even as he struggled to pull in air.
Harry carefully pushed back in, kissing over the back of Draco’s neck, over his shoulder as he set a steady rhythm with his hips.
Draco was full and content, the pleasure finally settling into something calm, satiated. The smell of the blanket settled his nerves as Harry twined fingers over his knuckles. Draco wasn’t going to die; he was going to be just fine. He heard himself make tiny noises as Harry’s cock speared into him, but he didn’t have the breath to spare for much more.
“You’re so gorgeous—so good for me,” Harry whispered into his ear before sucking his earlobe between his teeth. Draco closed his eyes and moaned, the silk duvet soft against his cock. He could feel another orgasm building, but it was quiet this time, a pleasant pressure forming in his stomach as Harry fucked into him, filling him perfectly in the way Draco felt made to be filled.
Harry’s thrusts grew faster, harsher, and he sucked at Draco’s neck, the sting of it so good that Draco could only roll his head to give him better access.
“Taking me so well,” Harry rasped like it was taking everything in him not to lose himself. With one hand, he pulled Draco’s arse cheeks apart to allow himself deeper access. “One more time. Cum for me.”
“Harry…” Draco moaned, and Harry’s hips battered into him, erratic and desperate.
Harry gripped Draco’s hair and pulled his head back and to the side, exposing his neck to suck at Draco’s jugular. Draco cried out at the bruising intensity, shifting his hips so that his cock rubbed against the blanket with each thrust. Draco’s mouth hung open, sounds ripped out of him by Harry’s cock, his hot mouth against his skin.
‘Cum for me,” Harry gasped again and bit down hard on Draco’s shoulder, fucking into him with short, jagged thrusts.
Stars exploded behind Draco’s eyes, and he was cumming, harder and more consuming than before. Like his entire soul had been wiped clean and replaced by the feeling of Harry, Harry, Harry. His muscles tightened, and he cried out, spasming dryly into the mattress.
He wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but by the time he pulled himself back to reality, Harry’s thrusts had slowed. He moved shallowly and grinded into him with warm, wet movements.
Harry kissed over the spot he’d bitten him, whispering sweet words like ‘beautiful” and “lovely” into Draco’s neck.
Draco made a tiny sighing noise, and Harry smiled into his skin before pulling out slowly. It still sent an aftershock through Draco, but Harry was there, pressing kisses to his face and cradling Draco close to his chest.
“So pretty,” he said, “made for me,” he said, and Draco didn’t have enough wherewithal to do anything but believe him.
They stayed like that for a while, Draco’s face pressed into Harry’s neck, their limbs tangled together, sweaty and damp and perfect.
Eventually, “It wasn’t…too much?” Pathetic, echoed through Draco’s mind.
Harry laughed, and the vibration made Draco’s heart hum. “Absolutely not. Fucking hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
His energy was infectious, and Draco felt himself laughing along as Harry pulled away to look him in the eyes. “You could never be too much for me, Draco Malfoy.”
His eyes were so green and so earnest, and all Draco could manage to say was a small, “Okay.”
His expression darkened slightly, and he leaned over Draco, letting a hand trail over his chest. “And I think you’ll find that I want you, just as much as you want me.” His hand pushed between Draco’s thighs, smearing his own cum along the crease of his arse. He teased at Draco’s entrance, massaging the battered rim. Draco shivered.
A beat of hesitation, and then, “I can’t actually breed you, can I?”
Draco let out a surprised laugh.
“Like, should we be worried about birth control?”
Draco shook his head, impossibly fond.
Harry grinned dopily. “I wasn’t sure with the whole werewolf thing...”
“You absolute moron—” But Draco’s words turned into a moan as Harry’s fingers pushed easily into him, slick with cum and lube.
Harry’s smile turned wicked, wanting. “What was that?”
Draco opened his mouth, and Harry twisted his fingers. Another moan.
Self-satisfied, Harry said, “Have you ever thought about wearing a collar?” He kissed the tip of Draco’s nose, “You’d be a good boy for me, wouldn’t you?”
“That’s a… very harmful…stereotype,” Draco whimpered as Harry found his overstimulated prostate and pressed.
“Yeah? Tell me more about that.” Harry slid his mouth over Draco’s and swallowed the answering moan, hungry and feral for anything Draco had to give.