ravenna_c_tan

Best Mates

Summary:

Five years after the war, Harry's still got a lot of processing to do and he's still catching up on his missed adolescence. Some of the other people in his life are way ahead of him. (Written for the HP Threesomes fest on Livejournal in 2015.)

Notes:

• For Lokifan.

Work Text:

BEST MATES
by Ravenna C. Tan

Harry knows Draco Malfoy is up to something.

And no, it's not the first time. But Harry tells himself that now, five years after the war, everything's different.

Everything.

So even this one thing that seems the same, can't be. Isn't.

Quidditch isn't the same. In the old days it was always good clean fun, wasn't it? Well, okay, it was actually all about the bitter entrenched rivalry with Slytherin and acting out surrogate warfare in the form of sport. But at least within the Gryffindor ranks it had been about camaraderie and thrill and physical prowess and flying and winning, and not about working out one's sexual frustrations on the pitch and crying in the shower after under the guise of heat exhaustion.

Right?

Homework isn't the same. Auror Academy is grueling, but Harry thrives on the tests of physical skill, and even the intricate charmwork. He turns out to have a knack for surveillance: all those years of skulking around under the Invisibility Cloak turned out to be good for something. What he's not so good at is all the essays and theory, and he no longer has Hermione around to talk him through it. Oh, he could call her, he supposes, and at least Floo chat about things--he's sure she'd find the textbooks and case studies fascinating--but he would feel like a heel that the only reason he ever called her was when as essay was due. And otherwise, ever since she and Ron broke up, Harry just doesn't know what to say to her otherwise.

It wouldn't be so bad if it was just that Ron and Hermione had split up. Harry had always told himself that if they did he'd maintain friendships with both of them. And that would have been easy to do with Hermione if only his relationship with Ron hadn't also changed.

Ron isn't the same. Well, maybe he is, and yet now it's different. He was always the one who was there for Harry, who would do anything to help Harry out, would sacrifice himself if necessary, and would tell Harry whatever Harry needed to hear for Harry's own good. Harry thinks it is that spirit that motivated Ron to start. To start... it. To start doing for Harry what he does. Harry's not sure whether to call it a relationship.

It began one day after Sunday Quidditch in the summer. Sweaty, exhausted, yet somehow still beside himself, Harry had found himself slumped against a locker, barely half stripped out of his gear, his mind going in circles: how the hell, what the hell? He usually felt better after a tough match. He usually felt calm and... and complete... even after a loss. Quidditch and serious physical exertion were the only things that quelled the gnawing ache inside him, the void that had been eating him away bite by bite since the war, since splitting up with Ginny, since Dumbledore's death, since Cedric, really, if he was being honest with himself.

Which of course he wasn't.

Quidditch was the one thing that reliably made Harry feel whole, and it hadn't worked, and he didn't know what to do, standing there with his forehead pressed against his forearm, leaning against the doorframe of the shower room, unable to move.

Harry didn't know what to do, but Ron did. Ron tackled him from behind in a bear hug, and before Harry could protest, had his hand inside Harry's flying trousers, wrapping around Harry's cock, and a kind of wrestling match ensued in which Harry was unsure when exactly it went from a game of Harry trying to wriggle free to Harry seeking a different form of release entirely.

It's only after he's lying there on the floor, with Ron's spunk-covered hand still wrapped around his now-shriveled parts, when thoughts start to slowly crank back to speed in his mind, that he realizes that they've just sort of perhaps had sex. Depending on what you mean by sex, that is, but Harry's pretty sure that in anyone's definition getting off like that has to count.

He's just about to say something to Ron, to ask if, like, he's supposed to reciprocate now or what, when Ron gets up and coughs and says something funny and a little sarcastic that makes everything okay. Actually Harry doesn't hear what Ron says, he just hears himself laughing, and he's so desperate to be sure everything's okay that he takes Ron's cheeky smile and the wadded towel he receives to the face as the sign that it is. Okay, that is.

Harry's certainly okay with it. It's the best he's felt in weeks. And when they meet up with the fellows at the pub later, instead of things between him and Ron being weird, it's the best time they've had in a while. Harry's relaxed and funny and Dean even says, at one point when they're at the bar getting another round, that Auror training must be easing up because Harry's noticeably different.

"Different how?" Harry asks, while the wizards crowding the bar in front of them suddenly realize they're blocking THE Harry Potter and squish themselves aside.

"More like yourself," Dean says.

"But what's that mean?"

"I dunno, you're less cranky."

"Cranky? When am I cranky?"

"Okay that's not the right word but I don't know. You've been awfully wound up ever since you went into the Auror programme."

"Like I wasn't wound up when I was trying to save the wizarding world from Voldemort?"

Dean just shrugs. "Ah, we were kids then."

It doesn't last of course. By Monday he's back at the academy, and by Tuesday he's back to trying to figure out what Draco Malfoy is up to.

It isn't that Harry doesn't appreciate that without Narcissa Malfoy, Voldemort would have won and Harry would have lost. He's really quite keenly aware that she and his own mum have a lot in common. Harry's quite sure that if Narcissa could have traded her life for Draco's, she would have. Fortunately for her, she didn't have to, and she escaped the war with her husband and son both still alive.

The husband and son are what concern Harry. Given what Narcissa did to save Harry--and defeat Voldemort--Harry testified quite strongly in front of the Wizengamot on her behalf, and the result was a lot more leniency for the Malfoys than Harry had expected. Maybe that was also due to the generous war reparations that the Malfoys were willingly paying, too. Harry really didn't want to get into the politics of that, so he didn't pay it much attention.

What he did pay attention to, though, was what Lucius and Draco were up to. It only made sense to keep them somewhat lightly surveiled, didn't it? Given that they had far more freedom than Harry had expected them to have, and given that he didn't trust them, when he'd learned those first few tracking and surveillance spells, he'd practiced the spells on the two Malfoy men. On a purely temporary basis, of course. In fact, when it was obvious Lucius hardly ever left the Manor, Harry let that one go fairly quickly.

He just hasn't lifted the one on Draco yet. And, well, now that it's clear Draco's up to something, he can't very well just forget that, can he? Harry flips open the log book he keeps on his kitchen table and sees the entry that appeared the previous night. The book logs each time the tracking charm is blocked.

Maybe it's time to give Hermione a call. He Floo-calls her and is pleased when it turns out she's home and happy to talk. They spend a couple of minutes catching up. He tells her about Dean's new job in Knighton in Muggle Relations, and how Seamus and Penelope are engaged but haven't set a date yet, and she tells him about how her studies in advanced potions are going, though not too too much about it, since she knows the subject sometimes stirs up negative feelings for Harry.

"You know, it's okay to tell me how Ron's doing, too," she finally says.

"Are you sure? I mean, the whole ex thing, how's that supposed to work?"

"Ron and I parted on perfectly good terms, you know. We're still friends. You just see him a lot more than I do."

Harry finds himself blushing before he can force himself to think of something else and he hopes it's not visible in the light from the flames. "Er, he's fine. You know. Same old Ron."

Hermione seems to accept this as an answer and instead gives Harry a smug smile. "So, not going to ask me for help with your homework?"

"What, I can't call up just to be friendly?" Harry acts affronted, but not very strongly since he knows she's right.

"Of course you can, you just never do," she says.

"Well, it so happens that I do not have a homework question for you," Harry says, crossing his arms. "I, er, do want to ask you about something, though."

Hermione gives him an I-thought-so nod. "Go on."

"So if you had a tracking charm on a person, a pretty weak one you know, because the weaker it is the more likely it'll go undetected, but that has the drawback that it can be blocked by various things--"

"Are you sure this isn't a homework question?"

"Yes. Um. Let me start over. Here." Harry grabs the logbook off the table and opens it so Hermione can see it. "So a weak charm like this, it gets blocked at various points, but presumably the person I'm tracking hasn't noticed it or it would probably stop working altogether."

Hermione looks the the page and frowns. "So what blocks it? Another charm?"

"Well, more likely something like putting on a ring or cloak that interferes with being seen."

She reaches through the flames to point at the log. "Or maybe, entering an Unplottable location?"

"Yes, that would do it, too. What makes you think of that?"

"Well, look at your pattern. If I'm reading it right, your subject disappears from your track only in the evenings. It's not every week... but almost every week... and almost always on Thursday nights."

"That's brilliant, Hermione, but what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking it's more likely your subject goes somewhere regularly that is Unplottable than that he or she happens to put on a cloak or a ring at the same time every week."

"But it's not every week," Harry says, his voice dripping with suspicion.

"Harry, I don't know who that is you're tracking, but it could be something totally innocent. Ron used to go some Thursday nights to a poker game that George ran."

"You just equated George Weasley running an illegal poker game in an Unplottable location with 'totally innocent,'" Harry points out.

Hermione shrugs. "That's why you're the Auror in training, not me. So are you going to tell me who you're obsessed with this time, or is it Malfoy again?"

"Oh, would you look at the time! Sorry to have to Floo and run, Hermione, but it's getting late and I have a dawn patrol tomorrow. You're brilliant and I promise we'll have tea some time, or brunch, yeah? Thanks, bye!" Harry closes the Floo before Hermione can make any other brilliant guesses about what's going on in Harry's life.

Harry would bet that it isn't George Weasley's poker game Malfoy attends on Thursday nights. It's time to start investigating Draco Malfoy's activities a little more closely.

The following weekend Harry and Ron get together with the usual crowd of broom-rowdies for Quidditch and Harry doesn't really let himself think about what happened with Ron or whether it'll happen again. He just plays hard like always, never giving an inch. In pickup Quidditch there's no Snitch, just a timing Charm, and depending on how many show up the teams are sometimes three on three or four on four, and anyone might take any position on a given day. On this day Harry plays Beater in a five on five game that keeps going to overtime because of the tie score, a brilliant game, and it isn't until the day's over and Harry's told the others to leave off--he'll take care of the cleaning charms on the equipment and lock up the showers--that he starts to fear, simultaneously, that he's been too subtle and that he hasn't been subtle enough.

Fortunately the moment Ron's teeth knock into his in what could hardly be called a kiss and might be better labeled "roughhousing" all coherent thoughts pretty much flee Harry's head like a pack of terrified Cornish pixies leaving only...to carry forward the metaphor...a slavering, howling three-headed dog of lust.

They're actually in the shower this time, Ron having lingered the longest there, and Harry isn't about to be some kind of ponce about it--except wait that's totally the wrong word for this situation--but anyway he's going to be the bold, daring Gryffindor he's always been and this means he grabs Ron's cock with a soapy hand and is surprised at how brilliant it feels. Rigid and alive and simply brilliant, and then Ron folds his own hand around Harry's, bringing their two cocks together, and Harry's got water spraying right in his face and he doesn't care in the slightest. He can barely breathe but he doesn't need to breathe, not anywhere near as much as he needs this.

After Ron comes against Harry's belly in spurts that feel hotter than the water, Harry thinks he'll always remember that sensation. He tries to fix it in his mind, in his memory, something to think on while wanking, and that thought makes his own cock start to spurt, and he finds himself hanging onto Ron around the shoulders while Ron milks out every last drop.

Later, when they're dry and getting dressed, Harry does manage to hear what Ron says this time. Ron says, "You could've said."

"Said what?" Harry replies.

"Never mind." Ron stashes his wand into the inner pocket on his jacket. "We meeting Seamus and the boys as usual?"

Harry tells him yes, so far as he knows, and they go have a kidney pie, or was it shepherd's pie? At any rate it's brilliant even if Harry isn't really paying that much attention to it.

Things go on that way for about another month before Harry gives Hermione another Floo call. They do the small talk thing, and this time Harry says, "Okay, so, I should tell you how Ron is, but you know, I'm still figuring out the whole how to talk about exes thing."

"I thought we established that it's fine?' Hermione asks.

"Well, but I want to check if it's an exception if the ex in question is seeing someone else. Is that not to be, um, brought up?"

"Well," Hermione says, in her best here-comes-a-lesson voice. "Would you be upset if I told you who Ginny was seeing these days?"

"What? No, of course not. I wish Gin all the best!" Harry thinks he's caught on to the moral of the lesson then. "All right, I get it, I should just tell you, then. Ron and I have a thing going."

Harry's expecting a bright, chirpy That's great, Harry! or something to that effect so his heart plummets into his stomach when what he gets is a concerned frown.

"What exactly do you mean by 'a thing'?" Hermione asks.

Harry, panicking now, stammers, "A...a...a sexual thing? I mean, I don't want to call it a relationship, I mean, we already have a relationship, we're friends, we're still friends, nothing's changed there, except for the bit about getting each other off on a regular--"

"Harry," Hermione says sharply, cutting him off. "That was too much information."

"But you said--"

"Oh, look at the time, I've got a morning portkey to going mushroom hunting on the Asiatic steppes, I really must go, Harry, bye."

Harry's quite certain in the silence that follows her disconnecting the Floo call that what he shouldn't do now is call Ron to ask about it. Quite certain.

He calls Ron anyway, thinking it would be better to have this conversation in person, so he asks if he's eaten dinner yet.

"I have. It's a bit late, Harry, why?"

"Oh, just, you haven't been round to my flat since I put in the new cabinets and I can't eat a whole shepherd's pie myself--"

"Yes, you can," Ron says with a laugh. "I've watched you. You don't have to make an excuse for me to come over there, Harry."

"Oh. Well, come on then."

And seconds later, there's Ron, his hand on Harry's hip, pulling Harry against him. "Wondered when you were going to ask for this," Ron says, as he bends Harry back into a proper kiss.

Harry doesn't recall actually asking for anything... yet eventually somewhat belatedly realizes Ron's there under the assumption it's high time they did the getting off thing not on the floor of the Quidditch storage shed, followed quickly by the thought that it's in fact a brilliant idea to do it here instead. Here there's a bed and, amazingly enough, privacy. Harry points out the bed and moments later Ron's Apparated them onto it, which leaves Harry breathless, not the least reason because he's done it without Apparating their clothes. Neat trick, that.

They're well on their way to giving each other rug burn there's so much rubbing up against one another when Ron says, "You'll have to tell me outright, Harry, if you want to be fucked."

It's the first time either of them has really addressed the subject of sex itself directly, at least so far as Harry can remember. "It's all been brilliant so far," he hears himself saying. "Is that what's next?"

Ron laughs. "You mean now that I've done everything but? We don't have to if that's too much."

"Well, it's not too much for me, if it's not too much for you," Harry says, wondering if the thought of Ron fucking him is supposed to be challenging.

"I assure you it's not too much for me," Ron says, reaching for his wand. "I know some good preparation spells?"

"Preparation?" Harry asks, and receives in answer a flick of Ron's wand and a delicious warm sensation spreading from behind his balls through his whole pelvis. "Where'd you learn that?"

Ron pushes Harry down onto the bed--face down. "Same place I learned there are blokes who can't ask for what they want."

"I'm not afraid to ask," Harry says, turning his head aside so he can try to see Ron's face.

"You're not afraid of anything," Ron says. "You just don't know what you want. Or need."

"And you do?"

"I do, Harry. 't's why I'm here." With that Ron pushes the first inch of his cock into Harry's bespelled but nonetheless virgin arse, forestalling any further conversation for the moment.

Harry finds the sensation alien and yet deeply affecting. "Ron," he says, but that's all. That's all he needs to say.

Ron pushes his way in with gentle thrusts of his hips, each a few seconds after the previous, like nighttime waves lapping at the shore of a lake. Once he's fitted all the way in, and his chest molds to Harry's back, he jokes, "People always said we were close. Can't get any closer than this."

Harry nods at the truth in that statement. This feels right. This feels good. In fact, it feels better than he hoped it would. He feels utterly and completely at Ron's mercy like this, held by him inside and out, so wholly in Ron's trust.

It feels almost like Ron controls him, like at this moment all Harry can do is feel. And that feels beyond amazing. As Ron begins to move his hips, to drive his cock in and out of Harry's body, the feeling only intensifies for Harry that Ron is in complete control. Harry doesn't think he's ever trusted someone this much, except maybe naive blind trust, but this isn't that. This is knowing. There's no one in the world he would trust to do this other than Ron. No one.

"Not going to drag out your first time," Ron says. "You want to be able to sit tomorrow. Besides, I'm not going to last." He slips a hand around to take Harry's cock in his familiar grip.

It isn't long before Harry feels as if his cock must be bulging and pulsating visibly, that's how strong the orgasm is. And feeling Ron come deep inside him, that feels even better.

A couple of cleaning charms later, they're lying side by side in Harry's bed when Harry says, "Yeah but why?"

"Two birds with one stone, mate," Ron says. "You need to connect with people and you need to empty your balls on a regular basis. You'll go mad otherwise."

"Says who?"

"Didn't you read the Ministry pamphlets on postwar rehabilitation?"

"Uh..." Harry remembers seeing them a few years back. "I don't remember them saying anything about--"

"Fucking your best friend? Not in so many words, no, but come on, it's brilliant."

"It is," Harry admits. "Is it because you and Hermione split up?"

"That I started needing sex with blokes?" Ron asks. "You got it backwards. That's why she and I split."

"Wait, you need sex with blokes?"

"Something I discovered after the war. Maybe even has to do with getting over it all. Once I figured that out for myself, realizing you could do with some too was just the next step."

Harry's not sure if Ron means Harry could do with some sex, some sex with blokes, or some postwar rehabilitation, but maybe he means all of the above. He's sleepy now and Ron is warm next to him. It's hard to keep up the thread of his thoughts. "We're still friends though, right?"

"Harry, nothing in this world will ever change that."

"Yeah, I feel the same, just checking though." Harry snuggles down next to Ron and thinks, we're just even closer than your average friends. Maybe they always were.

The next day he digs out the old postwar advice pamphlets the Ministry had provided them all with and sure enough there are a couple of sections on the necessity of human connection and "intimacy." There's also a whole part about processing aggression, which Harry figures explains Quidditch pretty well.

There's also a chapter on fixations and obsessions which he skims before he puts the pamphlet back on shelf. He doesn't have time to read it if he's going to follow Malfoy to wherever he goes tonight.

Harry's just passed his Concealment and Surveillance exams with flying colors, so he's confident his spells are going to work. It isn't difficult to track the moment Malfoy leaves the Manor and appears in London, at the far end of Diagon Alley. Harry Apparates close by, makes visual contact--yes, that's Malfoy alright, in completely dark robes but his hair as bright white as ever in the torches and illumination charms glowing from shop signs and windows--then initiates following him.

He's almost surprised when Malfoy doesn't turn down Knockturn Alley but goes down Jovey Alley instead. Harry's never been down here before because it doesn't have many storefronts like Diagon, just some back office businesses and things like the Quality Quidditch Supplies workshop where they charm their own Bludgers and Snitches and the auxiliary inventory storage from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. After hours it's quiet, and Malfoy is the only pedestrian Harry sees.

Malfoy ducks under the awning of a building, then through the archway. This close Harry can feel the pop in his ears as Malfoy disappears from the tracking charm. So. Whatever's through that archway is something someone wants to keep hidden. Harry makes a log entry about his whereabouts so in case this should go terribly, horribly wrong, at least his bosses in the Auror department will have a solid lead on where he was going and who he was following.

If he were following procedures, of course, he'd be checking the Ministry records first on whether there was any previously known chicanery at this address. But Harry isn't following procedures.

He waits a while to see if anyone comes or goes. Interestingly enough, another wizard with a dark cloak and his hood up to hide his face goes through the archway a short while later. Then there is another long wait before another one. Harry thinks this one looks somewhat familiar from the glimpse he gets of the man's scarred face. Someone he's seen in the Auror records? Or maybe a former Death Eater? Well, there's one former Death Eater in there, why not two?

Nothing else seems to be happening. Harry puts his own hood over his head and decides to see what happens when he goes through the archway.

He finds himself in a... cloak room? It's a vestibule of sorts, with pegs on the walls where some cloaks and robes are hung. On the far side is the opening to a hallway. There is no one there to stop him from going further, so he draws his wand and steps quietly into the hall.

Up ahead are open doorways. He can hear male voices and he hears a moan. His pulse quickening, he casts a periscope spell to see what is going on. In the first room he sees two wizards standing by a table, talking. In the next, he can't make out anything.

In the next, though...? He casts the spell again to try to make sure he's seeing what he thinks he is and not hallucinating. There's Malfoy, naked, chained against something, a pole or a stone column. His wrists are in manacles above his head and his ankles are spread, and a figure all in black, wearing a mask, is dangling some kind of whip from a gloved hand.

"You want forgiveness, boy?" says the masked man. "Then you beg for it."

"Please," Malfoy says. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please, I need it." He shivers and his voice drops to a whisper. "Please..."

The whip flies through the air then, striking Malfoy's pale back with a sharp sound and leaving a wide, rising welt in its wake. Harry's throat goes dry. What is this place?

He watches, transfixed, as Malfoy begs for, and receives, ten more lashes. Then another ten across his arse and thighs. The inquisitor, or whatever he is, then bends close to say something in Malfoy's ear that Harry cannot hear and Harry finally tears himself away from the scene to quickly check what is going on in the other rooms. A few other reconnaissance spells do their work. There are, all total, about two dozen wizards here, scattered among the rooms. Some are being tortured, some are doing the torturing, and some are watching.

Many of them kept their hoods up or put on masks. Harry isn't too keen on masks--they remind him too much of Death Eaters--but he looks around the cloak room and finds there are dozens of them hanging from the pegs closest to the door. He puts one on and moves deeper into the place.

He goes directly to the room where Malfoy is still being worked on by the tall wizard. Now that he's actually in the room, Harry can smell the pheromones in the air, the thick scent of sex and sweat, and he can tell that the men spectating from the shadows are masturbating.

Harry admits it's hard to resist. Malfoy is bloody gorgeous, stretched out face up on a table now, with the inquisitor-wizard dripping black streaks of hot wax from a candle onto him, but his screams have an ecstatic edge to them, his moans are deeply erotic. And his cock stands up from his body, suffused dark red. Harry strongly suspects this is a natural reaction and not a charm.

The scene goes on for what seems like hours, as another man joins in working Malfoy over. They use electrifying charms to send shocks across Malfoy's skin; it almost looks like Cruciatus but much much milder. They put some sort of plug into his arse and then paddle his behind. As the night wears on, more and more of the men from the other rooms eventually concentrate into this one, and eventually Harry realizes he's the only one without his cock in his hand.

He remedies that lest he be found out.

When Malfoy's captors tire of toying with him, they leave him shivering, naked in the centre of the stone floor, while the wizards all around him hem him in. At first Harry is caught in the crowd and isn't sure what's happening, but it becomes quickly apparent that each man is jerking off until he has come all over him. Each man who comes then leaves. Harry find himself quickly at the front, in a circle of about seven, some pulling furiously on their dicks, others taking a more leisurely approach.

Malfoy himself is pulling on his own cock, his eyes closed and soft moans escaping his mouth.

At the moment Harry comes he feels so many things at once it's all he can do to keep from screaming. He feels anger, pain, desire, hatred, and a vicious longing that leaves him torn from the inside. He wants to kick Malfoy and he also wants to scoop him up and fly him out of here and the result is that Harry leaves as quickly as possible, before the others can finish, before he can find out what happens once every man is spent.

He is home, scrubbing himself furiously in the shower, when the tracking charm kicks back in. He dries off quickly and checks the log, then checks the location: Draco is back at the Manor. Presumably safe and sound.

The next day, when Auror training is over, Harry goes to look at the building while there's still some daylight. It appears ordinary enough. He's surprised to realize the stone archway is blocked by a heavy wooden door. Had the door been open last night and he hadn't seen it? He wonders if that sort of gathering happens every night, or is there something special about Thursdays? He returns a bit later to find the door still closed quite tight. Odd. No one had challenged him entering. He felt a prickle of worry. Could it be locked now because they had figured out that an intruder had been in their midst?

He would have to see the following Thursday.

That weekend the weather's terrible—rain and wind and thunder from above. Not that that would necessarily stop them from playing Quidditch if they really wanted to, but he owls Ron and says come over instead.

Ron arrives by broom, rain-soaked and wind-chafed, and Harry is kissing him before Ron can even get his wet cloak off his shoulders. Harry finds his urgency met with just the force he needs, as Ron repeats the Apparition-without-clothes-onto-the-bed trick only he lands on top of Harry this time. Harry struggles deliciously under him; every bit of roughhousing they've ever done prior is inferior to this. Harry knows what it'll feel like to be fucked this time and that makes him want it even more desperately, hungering for it, thirsting for it, needing it in his very bones. Ron seems entirely happy to oblige, after the preparation charm forgoing the gradual entry for a rather forceful thrust that makes Harry see stars and nearly come instantly. He wonders what the charm is because surely that would have hurt terribly without it; instead it's like Ron's cock struck a match deep inside him and started the most delicious burn. Every thrust sends sparks shooting through his entire body until Harry himself shoots like a roman candle, Ron finishing soon after.

When they're done Ron says, "Well, you took to that like a bowtruckle to a birch."

All Harry can really do is agree. "Yeah."

A bit later, after they've had tea, he says, "You really think all this sex stuff is to do with the war?"

Ron's still toying with the last biscuit, making it spin on his plate before he eats it. "Yeah," he says. "I do."

Harry can barely wait until Thursday. In fact, he doesn't even wait until Malfoy leaves the Manor. He finishes up training for the day, changes his robes, and goes directly to Jovey Alley. His heartbeat speeds up when he realizes the archway is open.

He rushes in. There are many fewer cloaks in the vestibule this time, and many more masks. He dons one and presses on. He seems to be the first to arrive but he hasn't put up any of his reconnaissance charms to check. He's not here as an auror in training, or even as Harry Potter vigilante do-gooder.

He discovers that the whips and other implements are hung on the walls. He takes one down. It's a short whip, no longer than his arm, a single fall of leather at the end of a braided stalk. He swishes it experimentally and hears it cut the air.

The next thing he knows he's seated in a dark niche, waiting. What if Malfoy doesn't come tonight? Harry thinks. What if this is one of those Thursdays where he doesn't get away?

The worry dissipates as Harry feels the pop in his ear that means Malfoy has entered Unplottable territory. Before Harry realizes it, he is in the hallway, waiting for Malfoy to step from the cloak room.

Malfoy's eyes are down as he stalks, already naked, from the entryway, but they come up as soon as he realizes someone is blocking his way. His face is somewhat gaunter than it was when he was a rosy-cheeked schoolboy, but his eyes light with amusement and recognition. "I wondered if I'd see you here eventually," he drawls.

"Did you," Harry hears himself say, challenging without even thinking it through. He isn't surprised Malfoy can recognize him despite the mask. They know each other too well.

"I did. Ready to have a go at me?" Draco crosses his arms.

"I'm ready if you are," Harry says.

"You think I'm just going to bend over for you?"

Harry feels his fist tighten on the whip but knows, somehow, that it wouldn't be fair, wouldn't be following the rules, to just lash Malfoy with it now. "You owe me, Malfoy."

"Do I?"

"For saving your life from the Fiendfyre," Harry says. To his surprise Malfoy's reaction to that is to saunter close and rub the heel of his hand up Harry's erection.

"I suppose I could show you some appreciation for that," Malfoy says, and leads Harry into a dimly lit room with cool fingers under Harry's chin, around Harry wrist, pushing Harry's robes aside. So much cooler than the hot mouth that envelopes Harry's cock. Harry drops the whip to sink his fingers into Malfoy's white-blond hair, at first just to feel it, just to luxuriate in it. Ron's sucked him, and he's sucked Ron, but this is something else, something more. Malfoy worships with his tongue and from time to time glances upward to catch Harry's eye.

Harry sees Malfoy's eyes misting and hears the hint of a whimper in Malfoy's moans, and somehow knows when to tighten his grip, when to change it from Malfoy blowing him to Harry fucking Malfoy's face. Malfoy gags and the first time Harry lets him loose in alarm, but when it hardly breaks the rhythm as Malfoy sucks him deep, Harry takes hold again, the next time forcing him to gag and only letting go when tears spring into Malfoy's eyes. Harry knows from experience the tears are gag reflex and not sorrow or contrition, but it cracks something inside him to see it.

He grabs Malfoy by the hair again, and fucks his mouth, wanting to see real tears. He doesn't even care that he's coming far too soon, he's not about to stop, and when he does, when pulls that blond head free of his softening cock he's gratified to hear Malfoy is sobbing.

Why that means Harry has to kiss Malfoy's sloppy mouth, he's not sure, but he's sure that he has to, that he needs to. When he breaks free to catch his breath he sees Malfoy's eyes are red-rimmed but he's recovered some of his fire.

"Now," Malfoy says, voice rough, his face still mere inches from Harry's, "how about what you owe me for not turning you over to the Dark Lord."

Harry feels a sudden spear of ice go through his heart. He's avoided thinking about that for a long time now. The last time he talked about it was at the Wizengamot. "That's a big reason you didn't go to Azkaban, you know," Harry says, but his words don't have much conviction.

"You never said 'thank you,'" Malfoy sneers. "I wasn't sure you really appreciated my gesture. I suggest you demonstrate your appreciation now."

Harry licks his lips. "I'm not...as good with my mouth as you are."

"Perhaps you should let me be the judge of that."

Harry takes a deep breath. This isn't the sort of thing a Gryffindor can say no to, after all. It just isn't in him to deflect or shy away. Malfoy settles himself on a seat and holds Harry's hands on his thighs.

Harry examines the cock in front of him then looks up at Malfoy. "Get the mask off me."

Malfoy doesn't ask why, just pulls the mask free and sets it aside. He doesn't grab Harry by the hair or do anything, really, other than wait with a sort of bemused curiosity on his face.

Harry decides to start with licking. Malfoy's cock is longer and more slender than Ron's, and it curves toward his belly. His balls hang almost hairless and Harry wants to touch them but his hands are still under Malfoy's. He runs his tongue up and down and then draws the head into his mouth to suckle on it for a while.

Malfoy swears and leans back. Harry takes that as an encouraging sign and flicks his tongue this way and that inside his mouth. He finds his hands suddenly free as Malfoy reaches up to tweak his own nipples.

Harry explores the silken softness of Malfoy's ballsac then, and pumps his shaft slowly while he continues to work on the cockhead, seeking out all the most sensitive places. Why didn't he ever say anything to Draco about that terrible scene at Malfoy Manor? The last time he had seen Draco before that...he had pretty much nearly killed him. At the time that just hadn't been the thing foremost in Harry's mind. He'd had Dumbledore and Voldemort and even bloody Snape all crowding his thoughts then and...

And he really hadn't allowed himself to think that Sectumsempra would have killed Malfoy. He had told himself Snape had fixed him right up, so it couldn't have been that bad, right?

God, I was such a fool-headed sixteen-year-old, Harry thinks. He tries to take Malfoy's cock deeper, lifting up on his knees to get above it.

Why didn't Malfoy turn him in, then? The thought rattles through Harry's skull as he bobs up and down. Harry had tried to kill him. Then Dumbledore even offered Malfoy amnesty, safe passage, all that--Harry had seen that from under the Invisibility Cloak on the Astronomy Tower that fateful night--but Malfoy didn't know Harry was there. As far as he knew, Harry wanted him dead. Malfoy could have taken out his enemy--Harry--by just saying, yeah, that's him.

Maybe he didn't know it was me. Maybe he really wasn't sure...

Yeah, right. He knew you tonight when he couldn't even see your face.

Harry gags then, as Malfoy's cock hits the back of his throat. He pulls off reflexively and gasps, finding his heart racing and himself in need of air. He looks up at Malfoy, expecting to see hatred or disdain or contempt in his face.

What he sees is Malfoy's half-lidded eyes and swollen lips, the cant of his shoulders screaming fear, and then his teeth biting his lower lip in apprehension. Harry tries to kiss that apprehension away, his hands stroking Malfoy's hair as he seeks to be tender, struggles to be kind.

When he meets Malfoy's eyes again, Malfoy is holding Harry's face in his hands.

"I won't hurt you," Harry says.

"Even if I need you to?" Malfoy replies.

"Do you need me to?" Harry asks.

"Yes. But I get the feeling that the feeling may be mutual." Malfoy swallows. "Even heroes make mistakes."

Harry can only nod. Then he adds, "There's a lot... between us."

Malfoy nods. "We've barely scratched the surface. But it takes a while, Potter."

"Does it?"

"I've been coming here for a year already." Malfoy shrugs. "Then again, maybe a bit part of it is I've been waiting for you."

"I...It's been...I didn't..." Harry doesn't know what he's trying to say.

Malfoy makes it all not matter anyway, when what he says next is, "Fuck me." He pulls at Harry until they're lying across something and Harry realizes the seat was a sort of banquette all along.

"I don't know the preparation charm," Harry finds himself whispering in Malfoy's ear.

"I do," Malfoy says, but Harry can't tell if he's cast it. Can he do it wandlessly?

He slides a finger down to Malfoy's entrance and finds it slick. His finger sinks easily into Malfoy's body and he decides that's a good sign. The next question is whether he can get hard again so soon after coming, or maybe there's a charm for that? How long ago was that, anyway? Maybe it was longer than he thinks because he has no trouble tugging himself to a full erection.

He fits the head against the slick wetness. "You're sure it's okay. For me to do this."

"Potter, I insist."

"Because, I just know, it's, you know."

"Yes, I know, " Draco says.

Harry pushes most of the way in with one rough thrust, and then just holds on while Draco cries out. But Draco's pulling at him, not pushing him away, so he continues until he's buried all the way. And that's when he starts to shake.

"Draco," he says.

"I know," Draco says. "I know."

"I'm...We're..."

"I know," Draco insists.

"I'm in you. I'm in you."

Draco wraps his legs around Harry's back then. "Yes, you are." Then he speaks to someone watching. "Good evening."

"Is that--?"

Harry looks up at the sound of a familiar voice and is surprised--yet not surprised--to see George Weasley standing there, a black leather mask pushed up on his head and making his hair stand up. It's a bit late to be embarrassed by the situation: Harry just rolls with it. "Hullo, George."

"Don't let me interrupt. I'm sure you two have lots of catching up to do." George cracks a smile and then saunters away.

Harry's grateful for that, because it means he can focus all his attention on Draco. Draco and fucking Draco. If he thought being fucked was an unbelievable feeling, doing the fucking is pretty damn incredible, too. He doubts Draco is going to experience the feeling of trust and surrender that Harry did while being fucked, though. Harry gets the sense that Draco's needs are complicated.

Harry does his best to meet those needs, listening to Draco's moans and feeling the way his body moves in response to the way Harry's hips thrust. Harry tweaks Draco's nipples with his fingers and the corresponding tightening of Draco's everything sends a jolt of arousal through Harry's whole body, too.

And then Harry's reverie is broken again, this time by someone leaning over Harry's shoulder to kiss Draco.

"Slut," Ron says to Draco. "I wasn't ready to drag Harry in here yet, and I certainly wasn't ready for this."

Draco holds tight to Harry, who finds himself pinned in place by Draco's legs. "Are you kidding me? I assumed you told him to show up here."

"Not me," Ron says, looking around as if for the culprit.

"Excuse me, I found the place all on my own," Harry says. He looks up at Ron and puts two and two together. "What you told Hermione. You never went to a poker game on Thursday nights, did you?"

Ron shakes his head. "George started this place." He slaps Harry on his bum. "But that still doesn't answer the question of what I'm going to do now that you two got together."

Draco snorts. "Oh honestly, Ron, I thought you knew me better than that by now."

"I know you well enough that the only thing that rivals how obsessed with Harry you are is how obsessed Harry is with you," Ron says. "Harry's been obsessed with you since we were ten years old."

"I have not!" Harry insists, but his cock throbs at Ron's words and Draco's eyebrow twitches as he feels it.

"Ron," Draco says. "Neither of us is about to change how we feel about you just because we're changing how we feel about each other."

"Admitting is more like," Harry says under his breath but Ron and Draco have locked eyes.

"Come on, darling," Draco says. "There's nothing stopping you from fucking the savior of the Wizarding world if you want to."

"Well, Harry might have something to say about that," Ron answers.

"Wait, does that even work?" Harry finds himself asking.

Draco's grin is wide. "Yes, it does." He reaches up and taps Ron's wand and Harry feels the preparation charm warming his insides.

"Fine," Ron says, and shucks his robe. Draco reaches out with his hand and strokes Ron to hardness, then pulls him closer and takes him into his mouth.

Harry finds Draco's leg grip has loosened and he thrusts gently while Draco's mouth is occupied. Draco whimpers, but it sounds like a good whimper.

Ron pulls away suddenly. "You are far too good at that."

Draco licks his lips. "I've never been as good as that very first time."

"Mmm, true." Ron bends down and kisses him. "This mouth."

"Get busy at the other end," Draco murmurs. "My mouth can wait."

Harry feels Ron's hands on his hips, and then Ron's legs between his own, Ron's cock sliding up and down the valley between his cheeks. Harry holds still, waiting for Ron to penetrate him, but the urge to fuck Draco is high, holding still is excruciating.

Ron takes him roughly then, pounding in, and Harry feels Ron's forehead against the back of his shoulder, even as his own cock drives into Draco on every thrust. It's almost as if Ron's fucking them both--Harry supposes he is, in a way.

He and Draco both surrender then to Ron's rhythm, Ron's pace, and Harry's thoughts go quiet while his skin is so alive. He feels Draco's sweat and Ron's teeth and the air move as other men come to watch. He feels so vulnerable and yet so protected, so centered in his body and yet so connected. He flies through a gamut of emotions as his arousal climbs and the one he doesn't expect is gratitude. He feels grateful.

"Make Draco come first," Ron says into Harry's ear, and despite Draco's protests, Harry doesn't think to contradict him. He licks his hand and strokes Draco's cock while the fucking continues, and it isn't too long before Draco does come, his entire face and chest flashing red as he comes, his eyes shut but his mouth wide and slack.

"Now you, Harry," Ron says as he backs off slightly. "Move as you need."

But moving as he needs to jam his cock into Draco at the proper speed also means jamming himself back onto Ron's cock in counterpoint, and for a while Harry finds himself completely overstimulated yet unable to stop. It's only Ron's firm hands on his shoulders, then one of them moving to his hip, that grounds him enough to gain traction again, and he sprints up the hill of arousal until suddenly he is coming, and coming hard. Ron ploughs him as hard as he can then, and Harry realizes Ron has been holding back from his own orgasm all this time. He wonders if that takes a charm or merely willpower. He'll try to remember to ask later. Right now he can't talk because he's kissing Draco, and then he's trying to kiss Ron over his shoulder, and eventually Draco and Ron carry him to somewhere soft. It might be the floor nearby with a Cushioning Charm, Harry's really not sure. All he knows is he doesn't want to let go of either of them.

Ron and Draco kiss above him and the only thing he feels a pang of jealousy about is that the two of them have been doing this so much longer. Harry wonders why they didn't invite him sooner. Then again, he's sure he wasn't ready for it. Actually, he's still not sure he's ready for it as is, but he wants it.

"All right, I believe you now," Draco is saying to Ron.

"You didn't believe it when I told you me and Harry were fucking?"

"I didn't. I really didn't. I thought you were just saying it to wind me up."

"I like winding you up."

"I know." Draco grins slyly. Then he looks down at Harry. "I want to see if you can both get your cocks into me next time."

"Do we have to wait a week?" Harry asks. "I've got a perfectly good bed in my flat."

"We don't have to wait a week," Ron says. "And that bed sounds pretty good right now. Summon your wands, mates, I'll meet you there." A moment later, he disapparates.

Harry reaches up and pulls Draco down into another kiss. "There is so much I don't understand about this."

"That's all right," Draco says. "Figuring it out is the point. Now you'd better Side-Along me since I don't know where you live."

"Hold tight," Harry says. "Hold tight."

-end-

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14