Harry still had his firm grip on Draco’s waist when they Apparated back to his apartment. It was dark and quiet, the only light coming from the kitchen overhead which, in his haste to leave the apartment and search for Draco, Harry had left on.
Draco seemed more hesitant about his normally aggressive invasion of Harry’s space. Once they had released each other, Draco waited in the living room, watching Harry walk around to switch on various lights.
“What are you thinking about?” Harry asked, pausing on his way upstairs.
“Pardon?” Draco looked nonplussed, almost like he had never seen Harry’s apartment in the light before.
“You look lost in thought….or something.” He walked over to Draco, taking his hand in what was an obscenely awkward means of reassurance. Draco looked down at his arm, then back up at Harry’s face.
“Or something.” He said decidedly. “I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten all day; what with your clumsy upsetting of the cereal and all the ill-treatment of my character, it’s remarkable that I haven’t passed out.”
Harry rolled his eyes and headed off to the kitchen to search for food. The only thing he could find were the ingredients for peanut butter sandwiches, which were met with loud protests.
“Peanut butter comes from a jar? How disgusting.” Draco was examining the label as if ‘possibly toxic’ might be hidden in the fine print.
“Did you think it just magically appeared on the bread?” Harry asked, biting into his sandwich.
Malfoy glanced up from his intent studies of the jar label to say, “Yes, Potter, actually that’s exactly what I thought.” He shot Harry a halfhearted sneer.
Harry let them sit in silence for a few minutes, each absently chewing, before blurting, “So your clothes are here now.”
Malfoy paused, mid-chew, and then swallowed cautiously. “Yes?” He had put his sandwich down, as if he might need his hands to physically defend himself.
“So that’s….” Harry was trying to phrase this well, “…new.” Disaster.
“Yes?” Malfoy repeated, leaning back in his seat. Harry was coming to realize that the things that never came out of Malfoy’s mouth usually communicated themselves in his body language. He was tilting back in his seat now, looking to any casual observer as if he was completely relaxed. What he was really doing was putting substantial distance between them.
“I just thought….it was….you know…”
“Weird?” Malfoy interjected, “Sudden? Clingy?”
“What, no…”
“Presumptuous? Annoying? Startling?”
“No…not like that…”
“Charitable? Vulgar? Obtuse?”
“No…Malfoy, could you just stop…talking for a second?” Malfoy fell immediately silent. Looking at Draco’s face, Harry had a sneaking suspicion that the blond could have gone for hours on his vocabulary alone.
“I thought it was nice.” It was simple, but it was true. And the surprised look on Draco’s face was priceless.
“Oh.” Malfoy paused, “Well, alright.” There was a long silence; for a second, Harry almost thought Draco was going to thank him. Silly thought, really, considering that Draco’s next comment was: “But you should know you can’t wear any of it.”
“What? That isn’t fair, you wear my clothes constantly!”
“Yes, I know, Potter. But firstly, I do not believe in ‘fair’. And I advise you to abandon any and all notions that I ever play ‘fair’, because I don’t. Secondly, you wrinkle everything.” He recommenced eating his sandwich, watching Harry open and shut his mouth in anger.
“I do not wrinkle….and…wait.” Harry heard Draco’s sentence again in his head, and realized he didn’t really like the sound of it. “You mean….even in terms of…of us? You won’t play fair when it comes to….us?”
“Especially when it comes to us.” Malfoy was eyeing him wickedly; Harry couldn’t decide if this was really good and was leading to sex, or if it was really bad and was leading to pain.
“I don’t follow you.” Harry said, frowning.
“Of course you don’t. That’s why it’s unfair.” And with that, Malfoy was on his feet, dropping his plate in the sink.
And stripping off clothes as he went.
“I’m taking a shower.” Malfoy said from the staircase, “It would be unfair to demand that you join me.”
Maybe there was already enough fairness in the world.
Malfoy spent the rest of the night proving what a vile cocktease he could be.
When Harry was just ready to come, lathered up and soaking wet, Draco’s hands between his legs and his black hair sticking in his eyes, Draco had reached around and turned one of the taps completely off, so that in the next second the water was freezing cold on Harry’s back.
When he had gotten Harry to lie down after almost a half an hour of berating and telling off about the ice water incident, and he had taken Harry’s cock all the way down his throat, and Harry was so close, only to have Draco pull back and walk all the way downstairs under the pretense of getting a glass of water.
When he had come back and proceeded to jerk himself off at the foot of Harry’s bed, leaning back against the banister, telling Harry that he could only watch, eyeing Harry’s heated reaction with a confident smirk as he got himself closer and closer.
It was all dreadfully unjust; the sexual scale tipped so heavily in Malfoy’s favor that Harry felt almost lost, left behind in a sea of lust that he couldn’t control.
Malfoy read his hopeless expression, just before he made himself come, and said in a husky voice, “Now you know how I feel when you say you love me.”
And before Harry could respond, Malfoy was all over him, riding him, and he couldn’t even think.
In the morning, Harry woke up alone again. This time, he wasn’t worried.
When Malfoy returned from his run, a daily ritual, he informed Harry, he kissed Harry’s mouth firmly, a drop of sweat running from the edge of his lips into Harry’s mouth.
Malfoy was smiling and chatty; talking on and on about Muggle flats and the strange inconvenience of things like stoves and refrigerators. Harry felt full and happy just listening to him prattle on about stoplights and their relative ineffectiveness around certain types of cars.
Harry supposed he could see why Malfoy enjoyed his company; he was a blank slate, a practically wordless confidant, someone Malfoy could talk at and bounce his ideas off of without ever being concerned about a battle for the floor. And, though Harry didn’t really want to admit it, he found the endless noise issuing from Malfoy’s mouth somewhat comforting; he had never realized how silent his life was until someone so loud came along.
Later in the morning, Harry introduced Malfoy to his computer, a small laptop that really wasn’t much to look at but derailed Malfoy’s attention from anything else for well over an hour. God forbid he ever discovered porn.
It was comfortable. The banter was sharp at times, but when accompanied by a winning smile, Harry found himself enjoying it. Malfoy had made a habit out of rubbing Harry’s love in his face sufficiently; every time he made an off-color or offensive remark, he simply quipped: “Oh, whatever, Potter, you love me.”
Harry found this a little off-putting at first, but it was nice to have Malfoy say it so he wouldn’t have to. The impulse caught him at strange moments; watching Malfoy attempt to type “Potter loves cock” onto a Microsoft Word document, sitting back when Malfoy made coffee and then sniggering a bit when Malfoy pondered out loud the possibility of making the coffee Irish. And watching Malfoy fly beside him, having it all feel familiar and strange at once. It made him want to shout it.
They had a rhythm, a back and forth, and it had only been a week, but Harry was just so mind-numbingly happy, he wanted this happiness all the time, with him constantly….
“Are you going to live here?” he said loudly. And had he even been thinking that? It was like the shortened version of all of his thoughts and fantasies condensed into a proposition that barely made sense. It was like asking Malfoy to divine something he couldn’t possibly know, he might as well have asked if Malfoy thought he might trip and fall in the near to distant future, it wasn’t even like an invitation….
And now Malfoy was openly staring at him. They had landed in the grass after playing around in the air for a few hours; both of them were windswept and tired, and the sun was setting behind them.
“I mean….um…” And now Malfoy was openly laughing at him. Giant peels of laughter, Malfoy was bent over and panting for breath and Harry could feel himself going red. Really, he had to work on this.
“Oh, Potter.” Malfoy said, made eye contact with Harry for a millisecond, and then burst into another round of laughter.
“Alright then.” Harry said roughly, desperately trying to piece some bit of his pride back together. “No need for the wild hysterics. We both know I’m awful with words, nothing new there.”
Malfoy still kept laughing for a few minutes, but it died down eventually. Harry decided not to say anything lest he make a bad situation worse. Draco was looking at him searchingly, eyes scanning over his face.
“I don’t think you could handle me, Potter.” And that stung, even though Harry wasn’t sure why.
“What do you mean?” Harry asked, unsure if he even really wanted to know the answer.
Malfoy pushed his blond hair back from his face, “I’m insatiable, Potter. And experimental and quite kinky.” Sex, he was talking about sex? Harry felt out of his depth again for a moment.
“Well….I mean, OK. But…but I’m learning. And I’m doing all right with that….at least,” his voice got softer, because maybe he wasn’t so sure, “at least I thought I was.”
“You’re fine.” Malfoy said, and for some reason his voice was cold and harsh and not at all like the light laughter they had shared when they were cutting through the air. “You’re just a bit of a novice. Which is all well and good for now, but having me in your home? I mean, I come with props, Potter. I just don’t know if you’d be up for it.” Malfoy glanced suggestively at Harry’s crotch and Harry could feel his cheeks burning.
“I’ll….get better.” Harry said, not knowing for sure that he could, not knowing what he had been doing wrong, and feeling like he was drowning in inexperience and maybe…maybe….
But then something occurred to him. Watching Malfoy running a hand repeatedly through his hair, seeing Malfoy’s eyes flickering between the sunset and back to Harry’s face so quickly, seeing that Malfoy was slowly taking steps backwards, retreating, attempting to get that distance again….
“You’re full of shit, Malfoy.” He said loudly, and he sounded confident this time.
Malfoy stopped moving. It looked like he had stopped breathing. “Pardon?” His eyebrows were raised; he was looking at Harry like he’d never seen him before.
“I’m calling your bluff, Malfoy.” And he just prayed he was right. “You think I’m great, in bed and out of it, and I don’t know why suddenly you’re pretending like you don’t…”
“You don’t know what you’re…” Malfoy looked almost scared, like he wanted to keep retreating, but Harry was keeping him there by some unknown force.
“I know that you surrender yourself completely to me. That you beg me to take you, over and over; that you’d do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted; if I wanted to take you hard, I could, you’d let me.”
Harry was surprised that his voice sounded so sure, he wasn’t sure, not at all, but he had to play the hand he was dealt.
“Whatever ‘props’ you say you have, bring them on. But I don’t think we need them. I think my cock is enough for you. And I know,” he stepped forward into Malfoy’s space, glancing down at Malfoy’s crotch just long enough, “that you’re hard just from hearing me talk about it.”
He could hear Malfoy’s breathing now, it was slow but intense. And now he was sure.
“So, maybe,” Harry concluded, running a hand through Draco’s silvery hair, “it’s you who can’t handle me.”
Malfoy’s eyes snapped onto his own, and for a second he looked furious.
“Stop, alright?” Malfoy said loudly, taking a step back, “Just stop. I get it, you’re good in bed, the jig is up, and I have nothing.”
Harry stopped feeling pleased with himself. “What do you mean?”
“I have nothing!” Malfoy shouted, “I mean, before, I had the sex, I was practiced and confident and you weren’t, but now I don’t have that. And as absolutely abysmal as you are with words, at least you manage to get out what you’re feeling! I can’t…I don’t even have that. But I had the sex stuff and now you’ve…you’ve taken that.”
He looked defeated, like he had after all those Quidditch matches so long ago; still proud and unwilling to call it a good game. He was even still holding a broomstick.
Harry moved forward, putting his hands on Draco’s waist, trying to offer some physical support. He nudged at Draco’s face with his nose, trying to get him to angle his mouth with Harry’s, which he did reluctantly.
Harry kissed him, slow and sure, tongue delicate and rhythmic in Draco’s mouth.
“I love you.” Harry whispered into Draco’s lips. When he leaned back, Draco was still looking down, but he was smiling a bit, too.
“Do you really have props?” Harry pressed.
Draco’s smile got bigger, “Oh yes. Many. Of various shapes and colors.”
“Am I ever going to be introduced to these props?” Harry said, wrapping his arms tightly about Draco’s waist.
“Perhaps.” Draco considered, “if you promise to let me use them all on you.”
“Before I get to see them?” Harry asked, a little anxious.
“Indeed.” And that wicked smile was curving around Draco’s mouth.
“That isn’t very fair, Draco.” Harry said with his own little smile.
“Oh, whatever, Potter, you love me.”