Fic: The Handsome Stranger (Part 5 of?)
Summary Does an invitation to a housewarming party constitute a date?
Warnings Fluff ... lots and lots of fluff ... and sweetness ... so much sweetness you'll need to clean your teeth. Oh, and later there will be smut, but not yet. Rating R (to be on the safe side).
The Handsome Stranger
Chapter Five ... Justin’s Revelations
If the housewarming party on Saturday had been a disappointment to Harry, then dinner on Sunday evening had been everything he could have asked for.
Now sitting in his office at the Alchemy Publishing Company on a balmy (for December) Monday morning, Harry happily daydreamed away his time reliving in exquisite detail every moment of what he considered his first ‘real’ date with Draco Malfoy. It had left him with a warm glow and, probably, a stupid grin on his face. Draco was ... was.... He sighed and mentally chastised himself for acting like a lovesick teenager. He was twenty-six for Merlin’s sake!
But the truth was, Draco was just about everything Harry had ever wanted in a partner. He’d changed during those years in Finland; oh, he was still the same insufferable git with the sharp wit and whiplash-like tongue, but there was a softness to the edges now and Harry wanted to know everything about him. Everything from what Draco liked for breakfast to his favourite colour of underwear.
Harry picked up his coffee mug, warming his hands around it, and tried to work out why Draco’s return had had such a profound effect on him. The man had only come back into his life a few days ago and here he was thinking of Draco as a prospective partner. If he didn’t know any better he would be wondering if he’d been bewitched in some way.
With a little laugh, he took a sip from the mug and reached for the note that the same owl that’d delivered the party invitation had brought. It was more personal and longer then the previous one.
Harry
I’m sorry again that we didn’t have time to talk last night. I’d like to make it up to you and have booked a table at The Golden Lion in Lesser Wobbleton for this evening (unless you’d prefer The Otter’s Rest). Ukko (my owl) will wait for a reply. If it’s a ‘yes’, I’ll pick you up at 7.30. If ‘no’, well, I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.
Of course he’d said ‘yes’. It had taken him precisely 45 seconds to find a pen and scribble his reply.
Draco had arrived on Ginny’s doorstep on time. Harry had never been picked up before and certainly not in the most beautiful Muggle sports car. He’d assumed they would Apparate and the fact Draco drove a car came as a surprise; Draco had always hated anything Muggle. Yet he drove much better than Harry did. But then, Harry considered if he had a beautiful Muggle sports car he’d drive like that.
The evening had been perfect; from Draco’s derogatory comments about the name of the pub, which persuaded Harry that this really was Draco and not some clone, to the food and the small talk. At first Harry assumed Draco would sidestep any question about Finland, but Draco had been quite forthcoming.
They’d talked about lots of thing. About the war and how Narcissa had hidden Snape away after the man had disappeared when the truth of Dumbledore’s death had come out. Snape had lived out the last two years of the war supplying the Order with much-needed potions ingredients almost impossible to get in Britain. Narcissa, the spoilt money-loving pure-blood who Harry wouldn’t have given the time of day to in the past, risked her life smuggling the ingredients back into Britain and then getting people targeted by Voldemort back to Europe.
Of course, Harry had known this. Snape had been pardoned once several memories belonging to Dumbledore had been found and Narcissa had been awarded an Order of Merlin Third Class for her work.
Harry found out that Draco had a very successful business sourcing rare herbs and potions ingredients and that he had returned to Britain to set up a branch in Diagon Alley. He knew now that Draco’s owl was a Northern Hawk owl and that he was named for the Finnish sky god.
But most importantly he’d found out that it would be Arlen’s 5th birthday on Christmas Eve. He’d listened enraptured as Draco had talked about his son with such delight and pride.
There had been a moment, when Draco had gone to get drinks that he’d tried to do the mental arithmetic to work out how long it had taken Draco to find a wife. He’d been shocked to realise it must have been virtually the moment Draco had stepped off the plane or boat or however he’d travelled across the North Sea. Perhaps his wife had been part of Narcissa’s wartime smuggling ring and she’d met with Draco before the end of the war. That would explain how Draco could have fathered a child so quickly.
Harry had tried to get the conversation back to weddings and wives when Draco had touched his hand and mentioned that he was returning to Helsinki for New Year and perhaps Harry might like to join them if he had no other plans.
That, of course, had completely knocked any other questions out of Harry’s mind and sitting there, in the candlelight, he’d decided that Draco was more than handsome and that if he’d asked Harry to get down on his knees and suck him off, Harry would have done so without a moment’s hesitation.
Now, in the cold light of day, Harry wondered whether the alcohol had addled his brain. But the fact was he’d wanked off that morning to the fantasy of taking Draco there in the restaurant of the Golden Lion and he knew he’d never be able to go back again without thinking about that.
Draco had driven him back to Ginny’s and actually walked him to the door. Talking out his wand to unlock the door, Harry had just been wondering if he should ask Draco in for coffee and whether Ginny and Esmond might still be up waiting for him. He’d turned back to invite him in but instead Draco had reached for his hand.
“Thank you, I’ve really enjoyed myself.”
Then Draco had squeezed his hand and leaned in to place a soft, chaste kiss on Harry’s cheek. The corner of Draco’s mouth had touched Harry’s lips and he was pretty sure he’d actually groaned just a little. It had taken all his determination and self-control to whisper, “It was great. Perhaps ... we could do it again.”
“Of course.”
Harry couldn’t remember if the hand that had cupped his cheek was the same one that had been holding his hand because the next time Draco had touched his mouth, the rest of his body seemed to have gone numb. Harry wasn’t a virgin; he knew about kissing and sex and things like that. But the way Draco had kissed him was like -- ambrosia on his lips. He was sure he could taste the orange and rosewater sorbet Draco had had for dessert. And when fingers had threaded into his hair, Harry had turned just a little, opening his mouth to try and suck at Draco’s lower lip.
But Draco had refused to open his mouth. Instead he’d continued to place small butterfly kisses on Harry’s lips and along his cheekbones.
It had been, Harry remembered, one of the most sensual kisses he’d every shared and just thinking about it now twelve hours later was making him feel warm and fuzzy all over again. He dropped a hand to his crotch and shifted against the growing heat there.
He’d been hard after that kiss and he couldn’t decide whether or not he wanted Draco to know. Then, just when he thought he might press against Draco’s thigh and make it quite clear how much he was turned on, Draco had pulled back just a little.
Holding Harry at arm’s length, Draco had run a thumb across his lips and asked, “How many dates have we had, Harry?”
It had taken him a moment to understand the question because he was still rather heady from the kiss. “Well ... um ... if lunch at the Dog and Duck was a date....” Draco had nodded. “And your housewarming party was a date as well.” The haziness had started to clear just a little.
“Making two.”
“Then this,” he’d taken an expectant breath, “would be the third?”
“Oh yes,” Draco whispered words were like liquid chocolate and Harry had thought he might come there and then.
Reaching to touch his cheek again. Draco’s tongue had trail across his lips, the tip pressing in wanting ... demanding ... to get into his mouth.
He’d reached up, curling fingers into to butter-soft hair that flowed like silk, pulling Draco closer as he let that tongue in, let it touch his own before chasing it back into Draco’s mouth. The heat started in his mouth and infused every part of him. It was like....
“Harry.”
Draco hands had moved to his hips, the lightest pressure between their bodies before pulling apart.
“Harry, you’ve got a visitor. Harry? Are you okay?”
He sat up, suddenly remembering where he was.
In his office, with his secretary shaking his arm.
“Um, sorry. I was....” Heat coloured his cheeks and quickly he pushed his chair closer to the desk, trying to hide the results of his daydream. “A visitor?” His half-hard erection twitched at the thought that it might be Draco.
Brenda nodded. “It’s Justin Finch-Fletchley.” She peered closer at him. “Maybe a cup of tea will help?”
He nodded and tried to think of things that might stop him getting any harder. “Yes, thanks. And show Justin in.”
****
They sat in silence as Brenda bustled around with cups and found biscuits. Harry knew she was just being nosy about why Justin was there. Finally she all but flounced out of the room, closing the door with a very loud huff of displeasure.
He looked at the other man. “I suppose this is about Draco Malfoy?”
Justin nodded and pushed a folder across the desk. “I know you said you didn’t want me to, but you made me curious about our favourite Slytherin.”
“And?” Harry’s heart was sinking. He doubted very much that Justin would have gone to all this trouble just to tell him what an all-round good guy Draco actually was.
“Well, some of this is hearsay.” Justin shrugged. “Actually most of it is -- our Mr Malfoy is a very difficult man to find out anything about.” He opened the folder and pushed it towards Harry.
Carefully, as if the folder might bite, Harry pulled it closer. He read the first paragraph, blanched, and read it again. “Are you serious? Draco Malfoy was married to a Veela?”
---
Chapter Six ... The Veela Paradox
Warnings Fluff ... lots and lots of fluff ... and sweetness ... so much sweetness you'll need to clean your teeth. Oh, and later there will be smut, but not yet. Rating R (to be on the safe side).
The Handsome Stranger
Chapter Five ... Justin’s Revelations
If the housewarming party on Saturday had been a disappointment to Harry, then dinner on Sunday evening had been everything he could have asked for.
Now sitting in his office at the Alchemy Publishing Company on a balmy (for December) Monday morning, Harry happily daydreamed away his time reliving in exquisite detail every moment of what he considered his first ‘real’ date with Draco Malfoy. It had left him with a warm glow and, probably, a stupid grin on his face. Draco was ... was.... He sighed and mentally chastised himself for acting like a lovesick teenager. He was twenty-six for Merlin’s sake!
But the truth was, Draco was just about everything Harry had ever wanted in a partner. He’d changed during those years in Finland; oh, he was still the same insufferable git with the sharp wit and whiplash-like tongue, but there was a softness to the edges now and Harry wanted to know everything about him. Everything from what Draco liked for breakfast to his favourite colour of underwear.
Harry picked up his coffee mug, warming his hands around it, and tried to work out why Draco’s return had had such a profound effect on him. The man had only come back into his life a few days ago and here he was thinking of Draco as a prospective partner. If he didn’t know any better he would be wondering if he’d been bewitched in some way.
With a little laugh, he took a sip from the mug and reached for the note that the same owl that’d delivered the party invitation had brought. It was more personal and longer then the previous one.
Harry
I’m sorry again that we didn’t have time to talk last night. I’d like to make it up to you and have booked a table at The Golden Lion in Lesser Wobbleton for this evening (unless you’d prefer The Otter’s Rest). Ukko (my owl) will wait for a reply. If it’s a ‘yes’, I’ll pick you up at 7.30. If ‘no’, well, I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.
Of course he’d said ‘yes’. It had taken him precisely 45 seconds to find a pen and scribble his reply.
Draco had arrived on Ginny’s doorstep on time. Harry had never been picked up before and certainly not in the most beautiful Muggle sports car. He’d assumed they would Apparate and the fact Draco drove a car came as a surprise; Draco had always hated anything Muggle. Yet he drove much better than Harry did. But then, Harry considered if he had a beautiful Muggle sports car he’d drive like that.
The evening had been perfect; from Draco’s derogatory comments about the name of the pub, which persuaded Harry that this really was Draco and not some clone, to the food and the small talk. At first Harry assumed Draco would sidestep any question about Finland, but Draco had been quite forthcoming.
They’d talked about lots of thing. About the war and how Narcissa had hidden Snape away after the man had disappeared when the truth of Dumbledore’s death had come out. Snape had lived out the last two years of the war supplying the Order with much-needed potions ingredients almost impossible to get in Britain. Narcissa, the spoilt money-loving pure-blood who Harry wouldn’t have given the time of day to in the past, risked her life smuggling the ingredients back into Britain and then getting people targeted by Voldemort back to Europe.
Of course, Harry had known this. Snape had been pardoned once several memories belonging to Dumbledore had been found and Narcissa had been awarded an Order of Merlin Third Class for her work.
Harry found out that Draco had a very successful business sourcing rare herbs and potions ingredients and that he had returned to Britain to set up a branch in Diagon Alley. He knew now that Draco’s owl was a Northern Hawk owl and that he was named for the Finnish sky god.
But most importantly he’d found out that it would be Arlen’s 5th birthday on Christmas Eve. He’d listened enraptured as Draco had talked about his son with such delight and pride.
There had been a moment, when Draco had gone to get drinks that he’d tried to do the mental arithmetic to work out how long it had taken Draco to find a wife. He’d been shocked to realise it must have been virtually the moment Draco had stepped off the plane or boat or however he’d travelled across the North Sea. Perhaps his wife had been part of Narcissa’s wartime smuggling ring and she’d met with Draco before the end of the war. That would explain how Draco could have fathered a child so quickly.
Harry had tried to get the conversation back to weddings and wives when Draco had touched his hand and mentioned that he was returning to Helsinki for New Year and perhaps Harry might like to join them if he had no other plans.
That, of course, had completely knocked any other questions out of Harry’s mind and sitting there, in the candlelight, he’d decided that Draco was more than handsome and that if he’d asked Harry to get down on his knees and suck him off, Harry would have done so without a moment’s hesitation.
Now, in the cold light of day, Harry wondered whether the alcohol had addled his brain. But the fact was he’d wanked off that morning to the fantasy of taking Draco there in the restaurant of the Golden Lion and he knew he’d never be able to go back again without thinking about that.
Draco had driven him back to Ginny’s and actually walked him to the door. Talking out his wand to unlock the door, Harry had just been wondering if he should ask Draco in for coffee and whether Ginny and Esmond might still be up waiting for him. He’d turned back to invite him in but instead Draco had reached for his hand.
“Thank you, I’ve really enjoyed myself.”
Then Draco had squeezed his hand and leaned in to place a soft, chaste kiss on Harry’s cheek. The corner of Draco’s mouth had touched Harry’s lips and he was pretty sure he’d actually groaned just a little. It had taken all his determination and self-control to whisper, “It was great. Perhaps ... we could do it again.”
“Of course.”
Harry couldn’t remember if the hand that had cupped his cheek was the same one that had been holding his hand because the next time Draco had touched his mouth, the rest of his body seemed to have gone numb. Harry wasn’t a virgin; he knew about kissing and sex and things like that. But the way Draco had kissed him was like -- ambrosia on his lips. He was sure he could taste the orange and rosewater sorbet Draco had had for dessert. And when fingers had threaded into his hair, Harry had turned just a little, opening his mouth to try and suck at Draco’s lower lip.
But Draco had refused to open his mouth. Instead he’d continued to place small butterfly kisses on Harry’s lips and along his cheekbones.
It had been, Harry remembered, one of the most sensual kisses he’d every shared and just thinking about it now twelve hours later was making him feel warm and fuzzy all over again. He dropped a hand to his crotch and shifted against the growing heat there.
He’d been hard after that kiss and he couldn’t decide whether or not he wanted Draco to know. Then, just when he thought he might press against Draco’s thigh and make it quite clear how much he was turned on, Draco had pulled back just a little.
Holding Harry at arm’s length, Draco had run a thumb across his lips and asked, “How many dates have we had, Harry?”
It had taken him a moment to understand the question because he was still rather heady from the kiss. “Well ... um ... if lunch at the Dog and Duck was a date....” Draco had nodded. “And your housewarming party was a date as well.” The haziness had started to clear just a little.
“Making two.”
“Then this,” he’d taken an expectant breath, “would be the third?”
“Oh yes,” Draco whispered words were like liquid chocolate and Harry had thought he might come there and then.
Reaching to touch his cheek again. Draco’s tongue had trail across his lips, the tip pressing in wanting ... demanding ... to get into his mouth.
He’d reached up, curling fingers into to butter-soft hair that flowed like silk, pulling Draco closer as he let that tongue in, let it touch his own before chasing it back into Draco’s mouth. The heat started in his mouth and infused every part of him. It was like....
“Harry.”
Draco hands had moved to his hips, the lightest pressure between their bodies before pulling apart.
“Harry, you’ve got a visitor. Harry? Are you okay?”
He sat up, suddenly remembering where he was.
In his office, with his secretary shaking his arm.
“Um, sorry. I was....” Heat coloured his cheeks and quickly he pushed his chair closer to the desk, trying to hide the results of his daydream. “A visitor?” His half-hard erection twitched at the thought that it might be Draco.
Brenda nodded. “It’s Justin Finch-Fletchley.” She peered closer at him. “Maybe a cup of tea will help?”
He nodded and tried to think of things that might stop him getting any harder. “Yes, thanks. And show Justin in.”
****
They sat in silence as Brenda bustled around with cups and found biscuits. Harry knew she was just being nosy about why Justin was there. Finally she all but flounced out of the room, closing the door with a very loud huff of displeasure.
He looked at the other man. “I suppose this is about Draco Malfoy?”
Justin nodded and pushed a folder across the desk. “I know you said you didn’t want me to, but you made me curious about our favourite Slytherin.”
“And?” Harry’s heart was sinking. He doubted very much that Justin would have gone to all this trouble just to tell him what an all-round good guy Draco actually was.
“Well, some of this is hearsay.” Justin shrugged. “Actually most of it is -- our Mr Malfoy is a very difficult man to find out anything about.” He opened the folder and pushed it towards Harry.
Carefully, as if the folder might bite, Harry pulled it closer. He read the first paragraph, blanched, and read it again. “Are you serious? Draco Malfoy was married to a Veela?”
---
Chapter Six ... The Veela Paradox