Fic: Desire (Now Betaed!)

[marriesue]

Title: Desire

Pairing: HP/DM

Rating: NC-17

Words: 6525

Status: One-shot (at the moment)

Warning: Infidelity, Anal sex, Bad language, First time, Slash

Summary: Sort of epilogue compatible, it’s better to read as ‘a singular moment in time’. Draco and Harry led different lives after the war. Right before Draco’s 31st birthday, their world clashed; an accident involved an unexpected yet perfect collusion, with the aid of Firewhisky. There isn’t that much plot in it. It’s written for Draco’s birthday. It took longer than I thought to finish…. The title is very telling, don’t you think?

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe (all recognizable characters mentioned all institutions, situations, events and happenings) is copyrighted by J.K. Rowling and her corporate affiliates. The following work is fanfiction, which means that no commercial use is intended. Nor is any revenue being made from it or any website which it may be archived on. Nor do I own the song ‘Supermassive Black Hole’. Let’s appreciate the fact that it’s an awesome song by Muse without thinking it was featured in … Twilight…

Author’s notes: My dear friend GypsyRaeyven betaed this for one. I can’t thank her enough! You guys should check out her YouTube channel if you’re interested. She is amazing at writing and making Drarry slash vids which can be found here: http://www.youtube.com/user/GypsyRaeyven.

Moonlight filtered into the dark room through the glass window; it was gloomy, barely enough to see by. Harry lay on his stomach, eyes bright and wide, panting heavily as he tried to figure out what was going on through a drunken haze. His mind, despite the efforts, refused to cooperate. His burning cheek rested against the fine satin sheets, creasing the cool fabric as his head bobbed around in small movements.

A hard, perhaps a little bit too warm body was grinding against him from behind. He could feel hot, soft lips on his back, gentle kisses fluttering like butterflies. Large hands, one slightly callused, teased every inch of exposed skin, long fingers stroking back and forth. Harry quivered when the hands caressed the small of his back. He never knew that part of his body could be so sensitive. It had never played a part in sex until tonight; well, occasionally Ginny clutched onto it when she was in the moment of bliss, but that wasn’t this, it wasn’t this. The nerves he hadn't known were there all became alive under those clearly not-feminine hands.

A pale hand suddenly reached forward, lifting his head slightly to remove his glasses. Warm breath ghosted over his neck and then, quite unexpectedly, his earlobe was bitten. ‘Hey!’ Harry gasped, letting out a restrained moan. The bite wasn’t painful; if anything, teeth closing on skin only elicited sensation. His hips rose in frustration and the other person responded instantly, strong hands on his hips guiding him. There was evidence of another man’s arousal between his buttocks, threatening to tear Harry apart. Strangely, this realisation only made his raging pulse increase to a rate that was almost maddening.

Harry Potter had everything any man could possibly dream of: a loving wife, three beautiful children, loyal friends. And the general public adored him. Then, to top it all off, three years ago he was made the youngest head of the Auror Office at the age of twenty-seven. His early years had not been lavished in flower and sunshine, yet he had managed to achieve many things, things which he couldn't even have imagined as an eleven-year-old living in a cupboard underneath the staircase.

But something was fundamentally wrong. He considered asking others how they could be so content with the same mundane routine everyday, day after day. Nothing ever changed, nor would it. He should be grateful; Ginny had been wonderful by postponing her career to stay at home with the children. Although his wife never complained, she had given up a lot for them. The children were his life, too. He loved them to bits. But Harry would rather face a fire-breathing Hungarian Horntail than dealt with three screaming children.

When no one was around, he questioned himself over and over; why couldn’t he be happy? Why wasn't he satisfied with what he had? He couldn't deny it any longer. There was a hunger inside him, suppressed and hidden, waiting to be unleashed. It had become particularly unbearable recently, around the time that stupid git, Draco Malfoy, had reappeared in his life.

They had gone their separate ways after the war. He was, after all, the Chosen One, the Master of Death, although this wasn't public knowledge, whilst Malfoy was a former Death Eater who had narrowly escaped Azkaban. Harry hadn’t thought about his old school nemesis in years. They crossed paths at social functions occasionally but exchanged nothing more than polite nods. Harry knew Malfoy had married the younger Greengrass girl - it had been all over the Daily Prophet at the time - and that they had a son the same age as Albus. He also knew that Malfoy was employed by St Mungo's Potions Department, who had a contract to supply the Ministry. The man certainly didn’t need to work, but Harry wasn't surprised that he had chosen such a career. He was equally unsurprised when in 2009, Malfoy had been promoted to head of the department.

They corresponded when it was necessary, strictly work related. Malfoy’s letters were always indifferent, as if he and Harry were strangers. Not that Harry minded; they were never friends to begin with. Then one day he was called to Kingsley’s office.

When he pushed the door open, Malfoy was there too. The blond turned around to look at him, grey eyes calm and steady. Kingsley smiled at Harry as he sat down, and excitedly dropped the bombshell.

‘… Harry, I’ve got great news. Mr Malfoy has kindly agreed to oversee our Potions training. Isn’t that fantastic?’

Harry was confused. He turned to Malfoy, who was sitting in the chair beside his. Malfoy raised an eyebrow, giving Harry a look - that look. Bloody hell, he was thirty years old, yet the man still had a way of making him feel like a school boy. Refusing to let Malfoy get a rise out of him, Harry turned back to Kingsley. ‘I don’t understand. I thought St. Mungo’s had already appointed someone from the Potions Department to teach classes?’

‘Yes, yes, that won't change. But from now on, Malfoy will be more involved with the training within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and will also teach extra classes if his schedule allows.’

So there it was, the day Harry's life had started to unravel.

If he was honest, things hadn't started out too badly. Malfoy was rarely in the Ministry, and when he was it was mainly for important classes and Question & Answer sessions. The arrangement worked out fine. To Harry's surprise, trainees soon began quoting Malfoy, because it was he who famously said, ‘if you have to have a potion malfunction, what better place to do it than St. Mungo’s; that way, any injuries will be treated immediately.’ One day, out of curiosity, Harry observed one of Malfoy’s classes and was shocked by what he saw.

When it came to Potions, Malfoy really knew what he was talking about. He had a different teaching style to Snape, or any other Potions instructors in Harry’s time, engaging trainees by telling them a story of their counterparts at St. Mungo’s who had added the wrong ingredients and caused several cauldrons to explode. The trainees loved the stories, which made them less likely to make the same mistakes themselves. Confidence exuded from every word he spoke; he smiled with ease when he was answering the trainees questions, nothing he was asked ever caught him out. Harry eventually reasoned with himself that he should be pleased the trainees were in such expert hands, and left Malfoy to get on with his job.

The reason for Harry’s current predicament came when one of the trainees, a young lad called Ashdown, asked Harry if he would be joining them all - Malfoy included - for drinks at the Leaky Cauldron after work.

What caused him to say yes, Harry had no idea. Maybe, as head Auror, he felt it was his responsibility to keep an eye on the trainees. That's what he told himself, anyway. Besides which, Ginny and the children were in France for the weekend, with Bill and Fleur. Harry was due to join them the following day, but he wasn't looking forward to going home to an empty house that night.

The evening began like any other after-work gathering, with everyone chattering loudly and happily getting hammered. It wasn’t long, however, before the trainees had disappeared. Actually it took three bottles of white wine. No doubt they were off chasing skirts somewhere. Harry wouldn’t have minded, he was their age once. But it meant he was left alone with Malfoy and a freshly opened bottle of Portnahaven. Although, after two double Firewhiskys, even Malfoy seemed more pleasant.

Harry couldn’t stop staring at the other man, sitting across the table from him in a relaxed manner, his pale face wearing an expression of disinterest, or apathy - Harry couldn’t tell. The years had been kind to Malfoy; his white blond hair shone under the candlelight, his skin smooth and wrinkle-free. Interestingly, he didn’t look like his father. The resemblance was there in the hair and the eyes, and the facial bone structure, but that was where it ended.

He looked like a man who had never had a hard day in his life. Harry knew better, though. Malfoy was practically separated from his wife. According to the tabloids, she resided permanently in Paris, leaving their son with his father. The Malfoys didn’t have it easy after the war, many doors were shut on them. To a lot of people, forgive and forget were just meaningless words. Not that they were ever attacked outright, but the whispering behind their backs, a slight here or a snub there, were bad enough. For such a socially disgraced man to climb to the top of his profession in so short a time must have taken strength Harry never realised Malfoy had.

Malfoy glanced up at him suddenly and caught him staring. Grey eyes met emerald in mid-air, with Malfoy refusing to back down. He smirked slightly and said, in a voice intended for Harry's ears only, ‘Enjoying the view, Potter?’

Harry tried to ignore the somewhat suggestive tone to Malfoy's question, answering it with one of his own. ‘Why are you doing this?’

Malfoy shifted a little in his chair, and took a sip from his glass. ‘Shacklebolt asked. I complied.’

‘Kingsley asked you to take the trainees out for drinks?’ asked Harry incredulously. His eyes lingered on the bottle; they were drinking the finest Firewhisky Tom sold.

‘Oh, you mean this...’ Malfoy let out a deep laugh, indicating their surroundings. ‘I will be thirty-one years old in a little over twenty-four hours. I think a man deserves to drink himself to oblivion under those circumstances.’

Harry wasn’t expecting that. For a moment he was at a loss for words. Neither of them spoke, instead letting the loud chatting and drunken laughter fill the tiny space that they occupied, he and Malfoy. Eventually, Harry said clumsily, ‘Happy birthday…’

Malfoy flashed him a small smile and somehow it lit up the whole interior of the pub. ‘Thank you,’ he replied, and Harry returned his smile.

While one hand reached out to top up Harry’s glass, Malfoy asked conversationally, ‘What about you? Shouldn’t a family man such as yourself be at home?’

‘Ginny and the children are in France,’ Harry replied. ‘I didn’t have anything else to do tonight.’

‘So you’re available.’

Malfoy wasn’t asking. Harry swallowed nervously. For reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on, what should have been a plain and simple statement sounded strangely provocative; so much had been left unsaid. Was Malfoy flirting with him? Confused beyond all reasoning, Harry did the only thing he could and downed his drink in one. Followed by another. And then a third.

Any subsequent attempts at conversation stayed on the safe side. Before long, Harry was giggling uncontrollably at the slightest thing, from how the ice clinked together in his glass, to the squeak on the door leading to the toilets. Remarkably, Malfoy didn’t seem at all irritated by his behaviour. Or if he was, he kept it to himself. His eyes, however, remained fixed on Harry, piercing through even the drunken stupor and making him squirm inside.

At some point during another safe topic of conversation, what sounded like electric guitar filled the air; Friday night at the Leaky Cauldron was Muggle music night. All around them empty tables were being pushed aside, clearing out space for people to dance.

‘Ooh, baby, don’t you know I suffer?

Oh, baby, can you hear me moan?

You caught me under false pretences

How long before you let me go?

……………’

‘Merlin, not this ghastly Muggle music again!’ Malfoy snarled, pressing his fingers to his temple.

Harry tried to suppress a smile, but felt the corner of his mouth twitch all the same. ‘Come on, Malfoy,’ he slurred, ‘you must have liked it enough to listen to it at least once, or how would you know it was Muggle? Besides, ’ Harry pointed out, ‘it's not strictly Muggle, it's the Weird Sisters’ cover of ‘Supermassive Black Hole.’

‘Whatever, Potter,’ Malfoy replied impatiently, ‘I’m going outside for some fresh air and a Colorado Claro. Are you coming?’

‘Sure.’ Tom always had tables in the courtyard during summer; it would nice to drink in the light evening breeze.

After stumbling a couple of times on the way, Harry eventually found himself seated outside. Although the back door muffled the sound from within, the music was still discernable.

‘I thought I was a fool for no one

But ooh, baby, I'm a fool for you

You're the queen of the superficial

And how long before you tell the truth?

Oh……………………

You set my soul alight.

Oh……………………

You set my soul alight.

……………’

Harry watched Malfoy take out a red-brown wrapper from a silver case. He paused, offering the case to Harry. ‘No thanks, I don’t smoke,’ Harry said, waving away the offer. ‘But you surprise me. First Muggle music, now Muggle cigars?’

‘It would have been impossible not to notice all the publicity which surrounded the ‘wizard band covering a Muggle song’ nonsense.’ Malfoy brew out two circles of smoke, giving Harry a serious look. ‘As for the latter, I can assure you this is wizard cigar, grown and wrapped by wizards.’

‘Oh... I didn’t know wizards smoked cigars,’ said Harry offhandedly.

‘Well, you were raised by Muggles, weren’t you? And the Weasleys don't seem the cigar-smoking type to me.’

An awkward silence fell between them. In contrast to his unwavering gaze inside the pub, now Malfoy wouldn't even look at him. His blond head remained bowed, his eyes regarding the old worn table top as if it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen. Harry, meanwhile, was beginning to feel the effect of the alcohol he had consumed. He didn’t drink very often but when he did, he tended to get sentimental so it was probably wise for him to leave now, before he embarrassed himself. When he told Malfoy he was going, however, he surprised Harry by throwing the half-smoked cigar into an empty glass and leaving with him.

He didn’t ask why, and Malfoy didn’t explain. He simply assumed they would walk to the Apparition point together and then part ways.  Harry had never understood why they couldn’t Apparate straight from the Leaky Cauldron. Rumour had it that wizards in days gone by didn't want the Apparition point to be so close to Muggle London. Although Apparition had been allowed within Diagon Alley for the last three hundred years, the Apparition point was situated on one of the streets off the alley, as it always had been.

As they walked, Harry tried to make small talk by asking what the blond had planned for his birthday. Malfoy finally looked at him again, and Harry's breath was taken away by the conflicting emotions written all over his face. Without warning, Malfoy hauled him down a nearby street, and Harry had no choice but to be pinned quite forcibly against the wall by the sheer weight of Malfoy’s body pressing against him.

Harry opened his mouth to demand just what the hell he thought he was doing, but before any words could be spoken, Malfoy’s hands were grasping Harry’s head, pulling Harry’s face towards his. His mouth came crashing down, closing the distance between them, his tongue pushing through the parted lips, invading Harry’s mouth. And when he found Harry’s tongue, he made sure to taste him slowly and thoroughly before guiding his tongue into his own mouth.

Harry was so lost in the distinctive blend of smoky tobacco and sweetly spiced flavour of Firewhisky in Malfoy's mouth that he didn't have time to be mortified at what he was doing. Or who he was doing it with. The only thought in his head was that Malfoy wasn’t supposed to taste this good.

It wasn't until Malfoy eventually, reluctantly, pulled away that reality hit home, and he almost died of humiliation. It wasn’t enough that he was being kissed by another man on an empty, poorly-lit street in Diagon Alley. It was that he enjoyed it. It turned him on. What was happening to him?

Malfoy took Harry’s hands in his and lifted them, looping them around his neck. His own hands slipped around Harry’s waist. His face was so near that Harry could count every single one of those blond eyelashes, and when he spoke, his lips brushed against Harry’s, the words blown softly into his mouth. ‘You look at me like you’ve been starving. Is this what you want?’ He pulled Harry against him. ‘Why didn’t you just ask?’

Malfoy was wearing nothing beneath the thin fabric of his summer robes. Harry knew because he could feel Malfoy's body heat radiating through to his own skin. The very thought made him dizzy. His brain slowly registered what Malfoy had said, and something told him that he should push Malfoy away, maybe even give him a good punch, right on that pointy, smug face. Which was exactly what he was going to, before soft lips touched his again. Almost immediately he was lost in another wave of sensations. His whole body felt as if it was on fire, and even the warning voice inside his head recognised when it was beaten and gave up.

When their lips finally parted for a second time, Malfoy rested his forehead against Harry's and whispered, ‘Tell me what you want? What do you want me to do to you? Tell me.’

Harry kept his eyes shut tightly, so that it was easier to pretend this was all a bizarre dream. Or should that be nightmare? He wasn't sure of anything anymore. ‘I don’t know…’ he replied, voice trembling. ‘I’ve never done this kind of thing before…’

Malfoy laughed, something which Harry felt vibrate through him. ‘Come with me,’ he said, breath hot against Harry's ear. His arms curled around Harry’s back, chin resting on his shoulder; then everything went black. No matter how many times Harry Apparated, the unpleasantness was always there. Side-Along-Apparition wasn't any easier, especially like this. With another man’s hands joined at his back, their cheeks pressed together, breathing against each other. This was wrong, so wrong on so many levels. He knew he was playing with fire, yet he felt so alive.

The dim light which trickled through the open curtains revealed they had arrived in a spacious room, decorated with antique furniture and a massive four-poster bed.  Thankfully, Malfoy didn’t bother to light any lamps. What little illumination there was hung over them, suppressing any threat of rational thought. Harry retreated to the relative comfort of the darkness within, as deep and cold as the bottom of a lake. A deed overdue, words spelt out a strange notion in Harry’s head, which made no sense at all. He must’ve had too much to drink, Harry reasoned, when it slipped through his mind.

Malfoy wasted no time in stripping off Harry’s clothes, eyes and fingers focused on buttons and belt buckle. Harry allowed himself to be undressed, kicking off his shoes and stepping out of his trousers. Then, his breathing growing increasingly erratic, he watched as Malfoy stepped out of his attire; pale, lean … and aroused. When Malfoy led him over to the bed and laid him, face down, on the satin sheets, Ginny’s face flashed briefly into his mind. But as Malfoy’s mouth strayed over his back, the wretched feeling of guilt was quickly forgotten.

Malfoy slid one arm under Harry, the other rolling him over onto his back. Harry immediately closed his eyes. He couldn’t look Malfoy in the eye and be fine with what was happening. The problem, however, was that it only intensified the pleasure he was experiencing. Malfoy sucked hard on his throat, then he licked a path all the way to his earlobe, wet tongue lightly probing the opening. Harry inhaled sharply, writhing helplessly on the bed. His hand somehow found its way to Malfoy's blond hair, his fingers running through the fine, silky strands.

He heard drawers opening and something being unscrewed. An odour of something aromatic tickled his senses, a very faint, light scent. It wasn’t Malfoy; he smelt fresh and warm, like summer rain mixed with peppercorns, maybe a little bit of nutmeg, maybe tangerine - all those complex base notes Harry didn’t know. Not to mention the unmistakeably musty scent of lust. The anticipated touch, when it came, was desultory, like it was done by a right-handed person using their left hand. Harry soon found out why; a slippery hand was on his groin, long fingers wrapped around … him.

The substance Malfoy had on his hand felt sticky and, to begin with, strangely cold. When his hand started moving, whatever inhibitions Harry had been harbouring dissipated. He let out a soundless scream as the hand travelled up and down on his shaft, thumb grazing the throbbing head, making him forget where he was and who he was with as he squirmed beneath Malfoy's ministrations. Malfoy bent his head, pink tongue sliding through Harry’s lips and leading a merry dance in his mouth before it found his tongue. The kiss was slow, playful, casual... except there was nothing casual about what Malfoy was doing to him. A hand cradled his bollocks, then pulled abruptly away. When it returned, it reached further down, to a place Harry never paid attention to. A slick finger pressed at his rear entrance, and Harry gasped in shock when it slipped and then penetrated.

Malfoy hushed him, whispered calming words in his ear, ‘Relax, relax, it’ll be good in no time.’ Spoken like a true scoundrel, with all the sincerity of the wolf talking to Little Red Riding Hood. Harry didn’t know if he should be amused or irritated, but it took his mind off things a little bit.

‘I can’t relax when you have your finger in-’ said Harry agitatedly, grunting when the finger poked too forcefully. The sentence was cut short due to Malfoy moving his free hand to Harry’s erection, fisting the burning flesh in a way so that any doubt vanished. Sneaky bastard, Harry thought. Malfoy was Slytherin, of course he played dirty in bed.

Once he had Harry moaning softly, Malfoy carefully inserted another finger. But it felt awkward to Harry... having another man’s fingers in your bum was... unnatural. ‘Whatever you want to do, just do it! Harry hissed. ‘I’m not a girl. I don’t need bloody foreplay.’

‘I happen to like playing. Don’t you? Although, you never let me play with you, not even in school. You just followed me everywhere, after I stepped on your face. Isn’t that right?’ His voice came deep and low, all the while pushing his fingers deeper, making fractional motions at every point of contact. It was an odd feeling, a little unpleasant but not painful. Malfoy worked his fingers inside Harry, slowly exploring, stretching out until they hit a particular spot and suddenly Harry stopped breathing for a second, electric spasms coursing through him, tickling all the way to his spine. It was so good that Harry cried out, his toes curling as waves of delight rushed over his body, again and again.

‘Is that where it is? Do you like that?’ laughed Malfoy, pushing Harry’s knees further apart. The sensation was indescribable. When the fingers pulled away, he was left disappointed, but not for long. Malfoy positioned himself between Harry’s parted legs, lifting Harry slightly off the mattress to place a plump pillow underneath. There was an expression of determined concentration on his sweaty face; he looked rather on edge, lips pressed into a thin line. Before Harry knew what was happening, Malfoy arched forward.

‘What..? Ow…’ Harry wailed in pain, realising what it was that had just rammed its way inside him. The tight ring of muscles gave way to the pressure of hard, hot flesh pushing into him, and involuntarily his entire body tensed up in fear. Dear Merlin, it hurt. Harry flinched as a sharp twinge followed a dull ache. Is this what it felt like to be splinched? He bit down on the first thing his teeth came into contact with, which happened to be Malfoy's shoulder, so hard that his teeth broke the skin and he tasted blood in his mouth. Malfoy definitely knew what he was doing; he had made sure that Harry was well lubricated. But the proportion was completely off. After all, that part of the human anatomy wasn’t intended for that purpose.

For a moment, Malfoy paused, his eyes screwed tight. Then he sighed and ran his tongue along Harry's collar bone, tracing the sharpness to where it hollowed into a 'v' shape. The wet trail continued downwards, ending when his tongue flicked out and strummed one copper nipple, biting the flat, little bud until it was sensitive and perky. His hands moved to Harry’s hips, sliding between firm cheeks and the pillow to grab hold of him and rock Harry around his shaft repeatedly in very slight movements. Harry groaned, the pain beginning to lessen as he got used to the stretched feeling. It still stung, but was more tolerable now.

The release of tension must have been evident because Malfoy began to slide further into him again, every inch a new chapter on this untold journey. Harry took a few deep breaths, trying to relax through the intrusion. When Malfoy’s warm lips closed over his, this time Harry kissed back for all he was worth because he needed a diversion from what was happening down there. He threw his arms around Malfoy’s neck, pulling the man close until sweaty, slippery skin rubbed together. Malfoy was a little taken aback, and tried to gain some leverage by supporting his weight on his forearms but Harry was having none of that. If he was going to drown in the aftermath of tonight's actions, he wasn't going to go down alone.

The two battled tongues for a good length of time, and the distraction certainly did the trick. Malfoy rotated his hips in circular motions, each time sliding in a little more until he was in all too deep. Harry finally broke off the kissing for the need of air, dropping his head back on the pile of pillows. He panted and squirmed as Malfoy moved, careful and shallow. At this point, the burning pain of being torn apart was all but gone; now he felt rather numb and exposed, open and vulnerable. And something else he couldn’t quite find a word for, a feeling, a sensation. Like a caress touching him from inside. It actually wasn’t all that awful. Whenever Malfoy paused to press between his thighs and twist slightly, it stirred every nerve ending within Harry and the intense feeling it brought about made him shiver.

Malfoy was patient, another attribute Harry hadn't expected. He withdrew to the very tip, then plunged back in, controlling the depth of his penetration each time. Alongside the numbness, it started to feel good. Unaware of his actions, Harry tightened his muscles, which in turn led to Malfoy moaning with him at the sensations it provoked in both of them. Encouraged by this, Malfoy picked up speed a little and began to articulate a steady pace. Harry’s body liked it, hummed with need, no matter how shameful his brain kept insisting it was. Malfoy had the prefect rhythm; three gentle pushes followed by one long hard thrust that went all the way. Then it would repeat. Harry found he was holding his breath, looking forward to that one deep thrust. Each time it came, he gripped the sheets, the pillow, Malfoy - anything within reach.

Harry had every intention of lying back and savouring the pleasure of Malfoy moving inside him. Malfoy, however, had other ideas. He grabbed onto Harry’s sides and pulled him firmly up off the bed, falling onto his back and taking Harry with him. Harry inevitably landed on top of Malfoy, sitting astride his thighs. With a quick adjustment, Malfoy re-entered him with relative ease, and at this position his throbbing erection felt even bigger, went deeper. Shifting awkwardly, Harry positioned his knees on the bed and finally allowed himself to look at Malfoy.

Which was a mistake. It was brighter on this side of bed, due to its closer proximity to the window, and there was nowhere to hide. Malfoy possessed a manly sort of beauty; perhaps it was the moonlight, but his grey eyes had turned to a captivating silver, dark and intense. Face shining from sweat, damp hair tousled, and lips pink and swollen from their kissing, the incredible sensuality Malfoy exhibited was truly a sight to behold. Harry’s hand found its way to Malfoy's cheekbone, caressing the flushed skin before he leaned in for a wet, sloppy kiss.

‘Needy, aren’t we?’ Malfoy teased.

‘You talk way too much,’ wheezed Harry, placing both hands on Malfoy’s shoulders as he braced himself against the tensed muscles, moist from perspiration.

‘Okay then, ride away.’ With a cheeky grin on his face, Malfoy thrust upwards, accidently brushing the spot that made Harry see stars. Now that just wasn’t fair. Harry moaned in delight, his face buried in Malfoy’s neck. Wrapping his arms around him, he lifted his hips, trying to find that place again. When he lowered himself back down, Malfoy arched up eagerly, meeting Harry halfway. He experimented with different angles, applying different pressure, Malfoy gripping his hips fiercely to direct his movements.

Out of nowhere, Harry suddenly had a thought. Sex, the act itself, beared resemblance to rocks weathering, in which they collided and scraped against each other, wearing away the edgy, uneven surfaces. For it was, just a couple of more slams later, that he and Malfoy found the tone which suited them, Harry riding hard and fast, pressing his hips down until Malfoy lay buried in him to the hilt. They rocked against each other, locking their hips in a forceful, desperate grind. Long fingers came up, giving his nipple a twist. Harry was soaked with sweat, a wet lock of hair kept falling in front of his eyes but he couldn’t give a damn because Malfoy was stroking his swollen sex between them, the glans glistening with pre-cum leaking from the open slit at the tip.

The room was filled with the sounds of incoherent moaning and harsh breathing. Harry was so close that his heart pounded painfully against his ribs. And then Malfoy seized Harry hard and flipped him over, throwing him onto his back and pinning his wrists above his head. All it took was three long thrusts, three glorious, amazing thrusts, which went so deep that Malfoy’s bollocks slapped his butt cheeks. On the third one, Malfoy slammed in determinedly, with so much force, rubbing Harry at exactly the right place. As Harry's orgasm hit, Malfoy came crashing down, spilling his hot seed inside him.

Harry never knew that climax had colour, but apparently it did. It was bright, vivid. Red, green, yellow, then fuchsia all faded into lively white sparks before they too succumbed to an overwhelming darkness.

Harry sat on the toilet seat, covering his face with both hands. The overwhelming feeling of guilt had hit with almost as much force as his orgasm within minutes of him coming round, and it hadn't left him yet. He doubted it ever would. The weekend in France had been hell; he felt sure Ginny had known something was wrong, but she carried on as normal, which forced him to do the same. The kids had been so happy and carefree, and every time he saw them, he had literally felt sick to the stomach. That was something else that hadn't gone away.

Unable to think rationally at that precise moment, he felt as if he was drowning in self-loathing and self-pity. Perhaps the old saying of ‘no fire without smoke’ had some logic to it. A normal man, a man with any shred of dignity and self-respect, wouldn’t have done what he had. The realisation was soul-shattering. It was a betrayal to his family and the woman who loved him, a betrayal of the worst kind.

Life could be more ironic than a badly written comedy. The boy who had endured years of hell, fought in a war, and almost died at the hands of Voldemort found peace so defeating that he sought consolation in another man’s arms. What frightened Harry the most wasn’t the pain, or the pleasure he had experienced with Malfoy. It was the intimacy.

He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious when he finally came to. He had opened his eyes to find Malfoy lying next to him, still out of breath. Malfoy had looked at him and extended one arm towards him, entwining his fingers in Harry's messy, damp hair.

After taking some time to recover, Malfoy had fetched a bowl of water and towels from the en-suite bathroom and proceeded to wipe Harry’s sweat covered body with all the tenderness and gentleness of a lover. Then he had opened a little pot and carefully pressed the substance contained within into Harry’s very tender bottom. ‘Just a little something in case you’re sore tomorrow,’ Malfoy had explained.

It really didn’t matter that no one else knew. He knew. Malfoy knew. Out of all the people it could have happened with, why did it have to be him? Not that it would have been any better with someone else, but seriously, why Malfoy? He had allowed himself to be led astray, or so he told himself. But a point had been reached where he had become an equal and very willing participant. The fact that he and Ginny hadn’t been intimate for so long didn’t make it okay for him to cheat on his wife. After three children, that part of matrimony had fallen by the wayside, as it tended to do for so many couples.

Why couldn’t it have been just a meaningless shag? A combination of over-indulgence and poor judgement. That would be easier to live with. Easier to accept than the way in which Malfoy had made it into something tender and almost loving, as if he actually cared.

With a heavy heart, Harry came out of the cubicle and headed toward the sink. Sighing at his troubled reflection, he splashed some much needed cold water on his face and reached for his glasses. When he looked back at himself in the mirror, however, he realised he wasn’t alone. Malfoy was staring right back at him, arms crossed.

He raised an eyebrow as their eyes met. ‘Well, well, well, feeling sorry for yourself? That’s really not becoming, and utterly pointless.’

Harry couldn't help feeling unsettled by this unexpected meeting, although he wasn't about to show it. The last time he had seen Malfoy, he was fleeing at the crack of dawn while the blond was still fast asleep. He had managed to avoid him quite successfully since. But he had known this moment would come eventually, the problem was he had no idea how to deal with it. There was no point speaking to him, there wasn't anything that could be said really. So Harry opted for the easy way out. But Malfoy grabbed him before he could reach the door, pulling him around so forcibly that he fell backwards, trapping himself between man and wall. Harry struggled to get past Malfoy; he had to leave, get away from this dreadful mess.

‘I don’t see how that is any concern of yours,’ Harry exclaimed. ‘What happened was… wrong, it can’t happen again! Now let me go.’ They were in a Ministry bathroom, for Merlin’s sake! Anyone could walk in.

‘Really? Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want it, you don’t want this.’ Malfoy moved in close, his lips not even one inch from Harry’s. Dammit! He didn’t need any more reminders of that night. In fact, he fought with himself every day trying to forget. When he was alone, memories would flash into his mind, tantalisingly intoxicating. Now Malfoy was holding him against the wall with both hands, and the way he smelt was doing wonders to Harry’s consciousness.

He heard him say, ‘Can you really go back to your wife and children like nothing happened after knowing how good it is?’

‘I can’t do this. I won’t be one of your conquests.’ Harry wrestled with Malfoy, and with himself, so lost that he didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

‘One of my conquests? What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You probably bring men to your house all the time, or women for that matter. Well I won't be the latest in a long line. Find someone else to keep you entertained.’

‘It’s nice to know you think so highly of me. I'd be quite annoyed if it wasn’t so…untrue. You really think between my job and my son, I have time to screw around?’ Malfoy’s voice was calm, but his eyes narrowed.

‘Either way, it’s not right. Let me go…’

Malfoy, as if sensing that he was winning this battle of wills, promptly changed tack. ‘It’s a shame, really. Are you sure I can’t persuade you to change your mind? Not even if I do this?’ He smiled a truly disarming smile, his eyes twinkling playfully. He kissed Harry’s finger tips, taking two fingers into his mouth and swirling his tongue around them. When his tongue reached the fold of skin between the fingers, Harry gasped, painfully aware of how tight his trousers were. ‘Just imagine, instead of your fingers in my mouth, I can have something much longer and thicker… how does that sound?’

‘It was a mistake. That isn’t who I am. I don't do that sort of thing…’ Harry objected weakly.

‘Of course you don’t. Always a saint. Here's an idea, then; nobody needs to know. We do this for pleasure. When was the last time you had some of that?’

Like a condemned fool, Harry believed him. He looked up at Malfoy, and felt the last traces of resolve disintegrate inside him. This would come back to bite him in the balls for sure, but he wouldn't think about it until then. After all he had been through, and in particular the the worry and guilt that had been eating away at him lately, the offer of an opportunity to just let go and do what he wanted for once, without worrying about the consequences, sounded recklessly thrilling. He would deal with the fallout as and when it happened. For now, Malfoy’s lips looked soft and tempting.

Desire was a double-edged sword; the need to want and be wanted in return always came with a price. Whatever we choose to do, there will be consequences, which leaves only one question: are we willing to take that risk in the pursuit of happiness?