Harry awoke the next day happy, but alone.
He and Malfoy had made rather messy work of the locker room in their post-fight, make-up sex enthusiasm, and while Harry was sure he would never quite look at the showers the same way again, Malfoy had made it clear that neither stopping nor relocating were viable options. Malfoy had also made it clear that he looked very enticing wet and that he could bend his legs at unbelievable angles and press his back against the wall in a way that opened his hole entirely for Harry to take and abuse and worship…
Harry stretched out, testing his limbs, flexing his arms to see where he was sore. Holding Malfoy’s entire weight balanced on his cock was bound to take some sort of physical toll.
He felt a slow burn in his right shoulder and rotated it slowly; nothing major, but a definite reminder of last night’s exertion. As he padded into the bathroom, he blanched as he got his first good look at himself in the mirror. Apparently Malfoy had been a bit rough with the teeth again; there were screaming red bite marks practically covering Harry’s collarbone, and a love bite on his neck that was turning an irate shade of violet.
Harry thought over last night’s events as he showered and debated over the intelligence of trying to magic the marks away.
They had decided it would be best for both of them to get a full night of rest in their own beds. Showing up late again would not go over well, especially considering the fact that today was the lecture on the rise and fall of Voldemort- what went wrong, what tactics worked, what tipped the scales- and Harry would almost certainly be pressed to speak.
Malfoy had left Harry with a searing kiss- one that used his whole body, with their thighs pressing together and his hands on Harry’s face and lips and tongue and teeth- one that Harry swore he could still feel even after a night of sleep. There was no doubt that Malfoy had an incredible effect on Harry’s hormones- the mere idea of that kiss had kept him overheated all evening, but there was something else clamoring for Harry’s attention.
After Malfoy had gone all of these questions started forming in Harry’s head. What was this? Where was this going? He knew that voicing anything of the sort would almost certainly earn him scorn from Malfoy’s direction, but the truth was that Harry had never considered himself the ‘fuck buddy’ type.
The thought of applying that term to whatever was going on with Malfoy made his stomach squirm anxiously.
If Malfoy had the right to be angry with him over something as simple as a misstatement, something for which Harry seemed to have a particular talent, did that make this more than just two Aurors having it off after a day of sweat and training?
Feeling confused and more than a little girly over all of his analyzing, Harry got for his third day of training.
He was immediately cornered by set-faced Ron.
“Hey, Ron, I was just going to…” But one look at Ron’s expression told Harry that he was not going to be able to avoid the topic. It also told him that Ron had spent the entire night building up a monologue of anger.
“Mate, I need to know what the bloody hell is going on. You disappear after our first day of training, you waltz into class late the second day, and you barely speak to me then because you’re apparently too busy looking miserable, and now you’ve got this dazed…happy…blimey!” Ron’s eyes had snapped onto Harry’s throat. “What kind of animal got a hold of your neck?”
Harry’s hand immediately flew to the love bite. All that thinking about Malfoy in the shower had gotten him somewhat…distracted.
“What? Oh…yeah….this…well, um. It was…late…” Ron was staring at him incredulously.
“Have you been copping off with someone from class? You have, haven’t you! Well why didn’t you say so in the first place? I wouldn’t say anything….you know, ‘cause it would probably be considered bad form to start groping a professional associate…” At this, Harry’s stomach tightened uncomfortably…he hadn’t really thought of himself and Malfoy as business partners quite yet. Ron was now peering around the gym, apparently scrutinizing all of the possible suspects.
“I have to say, though, there aren’t many decent ones here.” This was a fairly true statement; the Auror position was not one that drew many who were overly concerned with their looks. Ron was still giving his running commentary on the situation.
“I mean, I suppose Hannah Abbott turned out well, but…hate to tell you, looks like Malfoy pretty much has her cornered..” Harry turned around so fast it was remarkable he didn’t fall over again.
“What…” Sure enough, in the far corner of the gym, Malfoy had one hand braced on the wall next to Hannah, who was leaning back looking rather pleased. Because today’s lesson was going to be more theory-based, they hadn’t been required to change into training clothes, which meant that most of them were adorned in Muggle attire. Of course, Malfoy was looking suave and sophisticated in a pair of well-fitting jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. He was obviously re-enacting one of his little stories; his face was animated and his gestures expressive and Harry felt suddenly hot and very disinclined to agree with Ron’s assertion that Hannah had turned out well at all.
He watched Hannah’s eyes trail over Malfoy’s mouth and down to his neck, and wished fervently that he had been smooth enough to administer his own territorial love bite.
“…mate, there’s no need to look quite so dejected,” Ron continued, breaking through Harry’s haze of envisioned methods of torture which would be apropos for the situation, “first off, they’re just talking, and secondly, Malfoy has nothing on you.”
Harry found himself once again reluctant to agree. Looked like Malfoy had quite a lot on him after all.
Jealousy smothered Harry’s day completely. It seemed like every time he glanced over, Malfoy and Hannah were chit-chatting about something, she was giggling, he was smirking, and it was all a terrible betrayal.
He was so busy being angry and jealous that he forgot the main event of the day. The Voldemort presentation.
Which was why he was surprised to find himself and all the other trainees being ushered into a large auditorium in the late afternoon. Ron had been talking his ear off all day, listing all the ways in which Harry should try to get one up on Malfoy for attempting to steal his girl, telling Harry he was better off, and generally rubbing the entire thing in Harry’s face. Or at least that’s what it felt like.
He huffed into a set at the back of the large hall, Ron plopping himself down on Harry’s right. Harry glared intensely at the seat in front of him, daring Malfoy to sit in his line of vision.
Then Malfoy sat down on Harry’s left.
Both Ron and Harry must have worn identical looks of shock and outrage, for Malfoy looked over and grinned sweetly, his eyes glinting with malicious glee.
Run spluttered a protest “What…what do you think you’re doing?” He was leaning forward in his seat and practically over Harry’s lap to confront Malfoy, who looked as if it was the most natural thing in the world; just a few enemies cozying up for a teaching session.
Malfoy also leaned forward to address Ron, placing himself at the same level and also almost covering Harry’s lap. Harry could feel the heat starting to rise in his cheeks at the thought of getting Malfoy completely situated….
But then he looked, and Ron was snarling and Malfoy was sneering and there was actually only about an inch of space between them and in a flash of the jealousy that had been rising in him all day Harry thought he saw Malfoy angle his face with Ron’s…
“Enough!” He shouted. And then the whole auditorium was looking at him, and he felt the heat rise in his cheeks for a totally different reason. He edged down in his seat, just wishing that the day would end. Malfoy’s sharp voice cut through his prayers.
“A little edgy today, aren’t we, Potter. What could possibly be wrong? Can’t handle the pressure?” And his drawl caressed the last word and Harry thought he could almost feel Malfoy’s hand ghosting along his cock.
Ron, thankfully, had missed the innuendo. Not so thankfully, he was now furious on Harry’s behalf.
“And what, exactly, do you know about pressure, Malfoy? Looks to me like you’re in over your head in the romance department, let alone anything else.” Ron sat back, satisfied with his comeback. Harry was left staring at the side of Malfoy’s face, which had frozen mid-sneer. Harry could see a dull pink rising in Malfoy’s neck.
He was intensely aware of how badly things could go from here.
Malfoy sat back in his seat, face a complete blank. Harry was torn between trying to read his expression without gaping at him and the desire to turn and say something. Because at this point, even Harry’s awkward fumbling with the English language was better than whatever Malfoy might be thinking.
“Hey….he just…I…Ron is….we…he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
Malfoy looked back at him, expression carefully unreadable. “Do you?”
At which point Harry fell into confused silence.
Thankfully, the lecture started. Not so thankfully, the lights dimmed, leaving Harry and Malfoy together in the dark, which was always recipe for…something that could not happen in a crowded auditorium with Ron right there and someone talking about Voldemort in the background and Malfoy either hurt or angry or misinterpreting things and Harry just wanted to reach out and do something reassuring….or something that would communicate affection….or maybe frustration…or jealousy. God, he was so bad at this.
Malfoy seemed to come to a decision, and he carefully leaned down and picked up a notebook out of his bag. He gracefully flipped open the book, licked the tip of a quill, and started writing.
Harry realized two things. One, that he himself had no notebook, and two, that Malfoy had probably been a really good student. Leaning over slightly, he could make out Malfoy’s elegant script; apparently he was making some sort of timeline.
To his right, Ron, who was still grinning with pleasure from his well-delivered barb, had also taken out a notebook.
Harry began to feel incredibly unprepared. For a lecture that was pretty much about himself.
He hastily whispered a request to Ron, who produced both a quill and spare bit of paper for Harry to use. The lecturer, some ancient looking Auror with a low voice and a diagonal scar that ran the length of his face, was droning on about the years before the rise of Voldemort. Harry had never cared less about the subject.
He made a quick decision, and, stretching over into Malfoy’s space, started writing on Malfoy’s notebook. It was a quick message, something along the lines of “I’m sorry, I didn’t tell Ron, you have the wrong idea,” but when he looked up, Malfoy was glaring at him.
It was the look of an artist who had just had their Magnum Opus stepped on. Harry realized belatedly that Malfoy’s notes were obsessively organized, and that his immature scrawl had no place among them. He was simultaneously reminded of Hermione and Madam Pince.
“Oh c’mon….you can’t possibly…” Harry whispered furiously.
Malfoy raised his eyebrows. “Some of us are trying to learn, Potter. I know the concept is foreign and unappealing to you, but do try to broaden your horizons in the name of fighting the good fight.”
With that, he viciously ripped out the sheet that Harry had written on, and began his timeline anew on a separate parchment.
“You….I….this is just….God, you’re unbelievable..” Harry started, and then noticed that Malfoy was looking at him again.
“Why, Potter, that’s the most sense you’ve made all day.”
“That is not what I meant….” And distantly Harry realized that it kind of was what he meant, just not that instant…and then he was being called to the front of the auditorium to share his experience and talk about the war. He was being asked to be articulate, and a sense of imminent failure settled in his stomach.
He could just make out Malfoy, far in the back, light blond hair mocking him with its distance from his fingers.
With that, he started talking. A flow of words, a stream of consciousness, just recounting the shocks and the triumphs and the eventual confrontation and all that they had lost. And then he found himself talking about love and hope and all of the things that kept him going and gave him strength…and then some part was telling him to stop…because it was all so intense and all of them were listening… and God, Malfoy was there, Malfoy could hear him…
He cut himself off abruptly. There was a smattering of applause, and he left the stage feeling raw and embarrassed. He didn’t even look back as he walked quickly out of the auditorium.
But he felt a pair of light grey eyes watch him go.
Next thing he knew he was in the locker room again. Feeling rather stupid, because they hadn’t even changed that day and now he was standing alone in an empty locker room with nothing to change into and an entire auditorium full of people who now probably thought he was crazy or traumatized or sentimental or something. And Malfoy, who was probably so repulsed by such an outburst that he would never go near Harry again.
That particular thought sat in Harry’s throat like he had accidentally swallowed a rock.
He sat down on one of the benches with his face in his hands, praying that Ron knew him well enough after all these years to just understand and leave him alone.
Then he heard footsteps coming towards him, and felt secure in the knowledge that every deity in the universe hated him.
He didn’t even look up. Just awaited Ron’s discomfited affection which was always so sincere but so poorly administered.
He felt thin fingers on his shoulders, and because he knew that Ron would never in a million years have touched him like that and because he knew that only one person in that entire auditorium would have had the absolute arrogance to follow a broken Harry Potter into a locker room, he laughed.
“Come to mock me, eh?” He could hear the bitterness in his voice. “Well, get it out and get it over with, because I’ve had a really long day and I don’t need….”
“Goodness, Potter, listen to how incredibly eloquent you’ve become. That was almost two entire sentences you got out. If I had known that all you needed to prompt your brilliance was a little public distress I could have easily arranged it earlier.”
How strange. Harry could actually hear Malfoy smirking. He sighed, loosening slowly under Malfoy’s fingers, which were rubbing strong circles on Harry’s shoulder blades. Harry noted that Malfoy was paying special attention to his right shoulder, which had been sore that morning…as if he knew just where Harry was feeling the strain..
“I suppose I deserve that.”
“Well, Weasley’s comment did….pique my curiosity. If that’s what you mean.” Malfoy’s fingers were traveling down Harry’s back, and it was so relaxing…
“Well…ah…he was actually talking about you and Hannah.” Malfoy’s fingers stilled. Harry opened his eyes quickly, suddenly aware that he had closed them.
“Hannah?” Harry couldn’t read Malfoy’s tone. He also couldn’t see Malfoy’s face, which put him at something of a disadvantage.
“Yeah. He…uh…he thinks I’m seeing her.”
“Well,” Malfoy said, and paused, as if he was considering this new take on things, “now I’m a little perplexed, Potter. Your conversational prowess has lost me…does he think I’m seeing her, or does he think you’re seeing her?” The massage started up again, only lighter, as if Malfoy was hesitating with his touch as much as he was hesitating with the conversation.
“Both, actually.”
“Fascinating. And what put that idea into his poor, deluded, overworked and understaffed mind?”
“Well….he saw….um…you….with her. Today.” Harry’s eyes fluttered shut again. Malfoy’s touch was so damn good and he could feel the pads of his fingers on the back of his neck…
“I see. Which explains why he might be under the impression that she and I are….something.” Malfoy’s tone was light, but his touch increased in strength, “Now, why would he think that you and she are….something…as well?”
“Well…he saw…my neck,” Malfoy let out a snort of laughter behind him, “and he kind of….um…drew his own conclusions.”
“Which you didn’t attempt to dispel?” It was a loaded question. Harry knew it, he could feel it. His answer had to be good, it had to convey a lot, and it had to explain everything.
“Well, no.” Dazzling, Harry. Really, bravo.
Malfoy’s fingers stilled again, and he removed his hands from Harry’s back. Harry also realized that he’d been leaning against Malfoy’s legs, so that when Malfoy stepped back sharply, he nearly fell off the bench.
And then he was watching Malfoy’s blond head walk away, his shoulders were tense and his stride was so fast…so he was on his feet and moving to stop him because he had to do something to make this all right and why was he so woefully dreadful at all this…
“Wait, Malfoy…I….”
In a second Malfoy had spun on his heel and walked furiously back towards Harry. Which meant that there was almost an almighty collision between them, but Harry managed to start retreating just in time.
“Look Potter,” he said in a tone that was ice in Harry’s ears, “I forgave you yesterday; I understand that you and the words are not so great together. Fortunately, you and the sex are wonderful together, which makes the coherency issue small by comparison.” Harry blushed at that, and felt a small grin twitching at his lips.
Then he looked at Malfoy’s lips, which were thin lines of total rage.
“But all this?” Malfoy said, his hands gesturing largely in the air, so he could have been referring to the situation with Harry or the situation with the world, “This is a new level of inanity even for you.”
And suddenly Harry was angry again.
“Well what am I supposed to do?” He was yelling now, yelling in Malfoy’s pale perfect face, yelling when he wanted to do something else entirely. “If I was to tell Ron, what would I even say? ‘Oh, yeah, mate, me and Malfoy have it off every night and some mornings but then we fight all day long so it kind of evens out’? Do they even have a term for that?!”
“Don’t bloody ask me!” Malfoy was shouting right back, his voice echoing off the tiles of the room, “You’re the one with the issue; you’re the one who can’t say what you think! I’ve been honest, I’ve told you enough—”
“You’ve told me nothing!” Harry was breathing hard, his blood was pounding and they were both so angry.
“I told you that when I see a chance at something, I take it.” Suddenly Malfoy’s voice dropped. It was now barely above a whisper, but Harry still heard it with perfect clarity. “I thought I saw a chance with you.”
There was a great pressure in Harry’s chest, something pulling him towards Malfoy, and the words shouldn’t matter, they always got in the way…but he wanted to hear something…
“A chance at what?” He was closer to Malfoy now, and the screaming was an afterthought.
Pale grey eyes locked with his. “Happiness.” And there was pain in that voice; pain thinly wrapped in delicate hope, all the things he had poured out in that auditorium, it was all the same thing.
Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be inside Malfoy again. Connected intimately, where it all came together and it all made sense and it was all so easy…
He kissed Malfoy’s lips with a passion that he had never felt before; he wanted all those things, he wanted Malfoy to be happy, wanted to be the one who gave him happiness….but there was something else….
“Wait…” he said into Malfoy’s open mouth, “I don’t want to do this wrong again…”
Malfoy actually rolled his eyes. “No, Potter, you see, this is the part you’re good at. When you try things like talking, it all falls spectacularly apart. Will you at least pretend like you’ve studied strategy and play to your strengths?” And Malfoy’s tongue was in his mouth, hot and wet, and it made Harry never want to talk again.
But there was something else….
“Hang on…” And now Malfoy was looking annoyed, “I want to get one thing straight.”
“I think it’s a bit late for that, Potter.” Malfoy smirked. Harry went red.
“All right, I get it. You are an amazingly clever master of innuendo and wordplay. Can…..can I please…just let me try?”
Malfoy remained silent, which Harry took to mean the affirmative.
“I want….well, I’m going to….to tell Ron. And anyone else….who asks.”
And Malfoy really looked shocked, like he didn’t expect it…like he’d never dreamed Harry could mean it….like he was happy.
And then he was kissing him again, fiercely, with possession that made Harry’s hands start to shake, even as they grasped Malfoy’s hips and pulled him forward.
And Malfoy was tearing at his clothing, and Harry wondered if they would ever see a bed again.
But in these moments Malfoy had a passion that needed immediate satisfaction, and Harry was learning that, learning that when Malfoy ripped his shirt over his head and clawed at his boxers frantically, there was no stopping him until he was sated. That Malfoy had a desire to be fucked that rivaled Harry’s need to be inside him.
It was different, tonight. It was slower, it was more vocal. It was still in that dingy locker room, and it was still somewhat rough around the edges, but they were getting accustomed to each other. Malfoy knew Harry’s body so well…knew how to touch him, knew that the small licks and whispers of breath along his shaft were what drove Harry to beg, knew that the continual biting and sucking on Harry’s neck steered him towards orgasm, and knew that when Harry came, deep inside him, he needed to look into Malfoy’s eyes.
And Harry was learning more, too. He knew a particular keening sound that Malfoy made when he was slick and prepared, when he needed more than just Harry’s fingers inside him, when he was ready to be taken and to submit. He learned that there was a spot deep inside of Malfoy that if he could reach it, even just a few times, it would make him spasm uncontrollably. He learned that Malfoy liked to keep Harry inside him, just for a few minutes, after they were both done…it was a security thing, a comfort thing.
And he learned that a small smirk, even on the floor of a locker room amidst the smells of sweat and sex, could convey complete happiness.