Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Breaking Up Is Hard to Do"
Hal Sirowitz

"We don't have anything in common,"
I said. "We're two completely different people.
It doesn't make sense to stay together."
But then she started to rub my penis
through my pants, & I suddenly remembered
that we both did like Indian food.

The building stood tall among the faded shop fronts off of Diagon Alley and Harry wondered again how he never noticed it before. It was not so very tall as the crowded skyscrapers of London, but it stood at least a floor higher than the next tallest building and it’s dark, gleaming glass front looked strangely modern and muggle, compared to the stooped shops that it was sandwiched between. Whatever answer he had expected, when he had asked his friends about the curling script that read simply “Encounters,” apparently etched into the door, it was not Ron’s flush and strained clearing of his throat, nor Hermione’s unconcerned, “dating service meets bordello.”

He’d heard of the idea, of course, mentioned here and there in the course of his checkered dating history. One didn’t put themselves in the dating pool of the wizarding world without at least hearing whispers of this sort of thing, especially not as many matchmaking services and blind dates as Harry had suffered through. But while girlfriends and boyfriends alike had mentioned them as though they were commonplace, Harry had never seen so much as a hint of how to apply for these services, much less seen an actual shop. Yet here it was, plain as the nose on his face. He half wondered if there had been some spell, preventing him from seeing the place until now.

Maybe he simply hadn’t been desperate enough. Merlin knew he still wasn’t sure, standing here on the doorstep nearly two weeks after first sighting that bloody sign and its curving letters: Encounters. What kind of a name was that, anyway? Now that he was standing right in front of the door, however, he saw the smaller words lined up neatly underneath: “Companionship for the discerning and discreet witch or wizard.” That certainly suited him, though something about it still didn’t sit right. If he couldn’t manage a relationship with another person face to face, how was this meant to help?

And, yet, when he thought of his last fiasco of an attempt at dating--the Prophet had gotten all the juicy details, practically printing outright the dimensions of some very intimate areas, and it was no secret how that had happened--he supposed it couldn’t very well get any worse. Besides, that had been nearly six months ago and his libido had had quite enough of the enforced celibacy, thank you very much. He pulled open the door.

Again, whatever Harry had been expecting, this small room flooded with streaming, late afternoon light wasn’t it. The result of all those windows on the front of the building, though it was a strange effect, when this endeavor was intended to end in pure darkness. There was no shopkeep or even attendant to greet him, merely a small table in the center of the room holding a stack of parchment and a small sign beside it saying, “Take one.” Harry glanced around the room uncertainly, certain there should be more, that he was somehow missing something, but when nothing in particular jumped out at him he stepped forward and obediently lifted the top piece of blank parchment from the stack.

At his touch words burst into being across the page, ink streaming into lines and letters quick as a blink, Harry having barely enough time to recognize his name, age, and a handful of other alarmingly personal details, written in what looked very much like his own handwriting, before the parchment folded itself out of existence with a flash of light--uncomfortably warming his fingers in the process--and a door creaked into existence on the far wall. Very briefly Harry wondered what in the bloody hell he had gotten himself into and then a voice spoke from beyond the door.

“This way, Mr. Potter, whenever you care to join me.” The voice was expectant, as Harry if weren’t considering turning and running as far and as fast as his legs would carry him.

“Right, then,” he muttered to himself, gathering every bit of Gryffindor courage he had. “Here goes nothing.” He stepped through the door.

The room Harry stepped into held a large, imposing desk and a nondescript, unimposing wizard sitting comfortably behind it. He looked familiar in that way some people do, a niggling sense of “where have I seen them before,” until he gave a crooked smile and Harry’s mind produced the inane image of a butler from some mystery movie Dudley had watched over and over again on the telly when they were children.

“Welcome, Mr. Potter.” The wizard gave a small wave of his wand and a comfortable chair appeared opposite the desk. “Please, sit.”

Harry sat. The wizard granted him another smile, the expression rather knowing, and then turned to the parchment that Harry hadn’t noticed sitting in front of him on the desk. He craned his neck just enough to see that it was apparently filled in with his own handwriting and then sank back in the chair as the other wizard tapped the edge of it with his wand and hummed thoughtfully at the colors that the action sent dancing over the page.

“Well then. If you would be kind enough to sign our non-disclosure agreement, Mr. Potter, we can arrange your first match.” One more wave of his wand and ink, quill, and a very thorough looking legal document came into being in front of Harry.

Harry blinked. “Is that...is that it? Just sign and then…” He felt his face heat as he thought of what was supposed to follow now, confused by the ease of this process. He’d gone through a speed-dating service with a lengthier and more rigorous matching process. The man behind the desk smiled.

“We at Encounters pride ourselves on ease and expedience of service. Once you sign the non-disclosure agreement we will have a quick discussion about terms of service and we will arrange a meeting time for you and your Encounter partner.”

“It just seems a little too simple. Shouldn’t I answer a question or two?”

“Our unique matching process was completed once you took a piece of parchment in the waiting area. Your needs and desires, your magical signature, as well as several other points of relevant information, were imprinted to the page once you took hold, which will allow our spellcasters to find you a partner or partners of the utmost compatibility. All that’s necessary now is your agreement not to divulge either the process Encounters utilizes for our matchmaking services, nor any private information you may inadvertently uncover about your partners-- we are as discreet and careful as humanly possible, but some things, particularly in repeat meetings, are inevitable. Your signature, please, and then we may discuss the particulars.”

Harry lifted the quill in front of him and carefully scanned the apparent non-disclosure agreement. He had learned enough legal jargon from Hermione to at least be able to parse which things were safe enough to sign. The wizard across from him waited patiently as Harry ascertained that this contract looked safe enough, with the standard wording on privacy violations and the repercussions and measures that would be taken if he broke his word. He dipped the quill into the inkwell and scrawled his name across the bottom of the parchment. With a snap it rolled itself up and zoomed across the desk, into the wizard’s waiting hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter. Now, shall we speak of more pleasant things?” He opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out a short, black length of cord with a small silver charm dangling from it.

“This charm will inform you when a match has been made for you and shortly thereafter you will receive an owl to select meeting times. Once you and your match agree on a time, you will meet here for use of our dark room. Short survey forms will be owled to you within two business days after an encounter at which time you may indicate whether or not you would like to meet with the same partner again. Both partners must agree or they will not meet another time. Payment will be made for the initial processing fee and then a flat rate for any encounters that you make with a match.”

Harry nodded, absorbing the information as he examined the small charm. It felt smooth and oddly heavy. The wizard paused and he glanced up. “The dark room?”

“A comfortably furnished room magically made completely dark. You will be unable to see your partner, and your partner will be unable to see you. Complete anonymity,” the wizard said with obvious pride. “The dark room where you meet your partner will be yours for as long as you would like, but extra charges will apply after a period of three hours. All acts inside the dark room must be strictly consensual. If at any time they become non-consensual an attendant will be alerted, you and your partner will be removed from the room and the aggressor of the non-consensual acts will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. You or your partner may choose to leave the dark room at any time for any reason.”

Harry nodded again, indicating he understood, and the sales pitch continued smoothly.

“If you agree to these terms you will provide your initial processing payment of 25 Galleons and then 5 Galleons in advance per dark room encounter. If you exceed this time frame you will be charged for an additional three hours, to be collected by Encounters immediately after your use of the darkroom.” He opened a different desk drawer and pulled out another parchment, passing it over the top of the desk along with the charm. “Do we have an agreement, Mr Potter?”

Harry picked up the quill.

Although Harry tried to keep his mind off the inconspicuous galleon sized disk in his pocket for the next two days, he was disappointed to say he was entirely unsuccessful. He kept unconsciously reaching into his pocket (and to his nightstand, where he left it overnight), holding it in his hand or turning it over between his fingers. The proprietor of Encounters, that strange wizard, had informed him it would glow blue and warm when a match was made, and an owl with meeting details would follow shortly after.

Even though he’d been burned many times before in trying to find someone to call his own, he couldn’t help the flutter of excitement at this prospect, odd as it was. Maybe this would be the best way for him to find someone, with complete anonymity. No one would see him first and foremost as the boy who lived-he could finally be “just Harry” again. (First, however, he had to convince a stranger that “just Harry” was worth meeting outside of anonymous trysts in the dark.)

He hadn’t told Ron or Hermione yet about signing up with Encounters. They’d probably guessed his interest when he first sighted the shop in London, but for now he wanted to keep it just for him. He would tell them once there was something worth telling, he decided. And he couldn’t stop hoping (blame that Gryffindor optimism) that maybe there would be something worth telling soon.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts he almost didn’t notice when the silver charm began to do exactly what he was waiting for it to do-warm up significantly and pulse a faint glowing blue-not unlike the color of the patronus charm.

A match! Harry nearly knocked his chair over standing up in excitement. Why he assumed the owl would appear within half a second he wasn’t sure, but he was too happy to care. He stood awkwardly for another few moments, then sat back down. Then stood up again and paced the room. Sat at the table. Then he remembered if he was expecting an owl, he should open a window. He opened one window, then sat back down, then stood up again to open a window on the other side of the cottage, just in case. He clutched the charm, still pleasantly warm and flushed a bit at the thought he was acting like a nervous teenager the day of his first date. What had gotten into him?

Several minutes of ups, downs, and pacing were mercifully interrupted by the arrival of a large brown owl, who flew in and landed, graceful and dignified, on the table. Harry reached excitedly for the letter but the owl pulled back, affronted, until Harry offered him a piece of bacon from his forgotten breakfast. The owl seemed satisfied and stuck out his leg. Harry grabbed the letter with the fervor of opening a present on Christmas morning. Merlin, he really ought to lower his expectations for this, or he was going to end up sorely disappointed.

Congratulations! You have been matched for your first encounter! Read the neat script of the very first line.

Harry skimmed over the rest of the letter before really reading it. Much of what the proprietor had already told him was in there, rules and regulations for behavior within the darkroom, a reminder about the 3 hour time limit and the fee for exceeding it, the spells he would need to cast on himself before arriving at Encounters--for their privacy and safety--, and at the bottom a brief overview of what he might expect during the experience. His gaze was drawn to the sparse information listed about his matched partner--no obvious identifying information, just a number designation, his partner’s gender and the indication that Harry was the younger of the pairing. He hadn’t dated many older wizards, but he had no issues with keeping an open mind.

The very last paragraph of the letter suggested that their match was one of high compatibility and listed a few of the discriminating factors that Encounters spellwork considered, such as loyalty, integrity, strength of character, and similar personal histories. He was encouraged by the words towards the end, assuring him that “this match has been chosen for you with careful and deliberate Encounters matching spellwork with the expectation you should each fulfill the others needs and desires.” Considering the incredibly personal questions about wants and desires he’d filled out for other dating agencies, he was curious what sort of information the Encounters questionnaire used, with its magical approach to research, and very interested to meet the person he’d been paired with.

Harry selected one of the three meeting times already approved by his match, and sent back the owl with his signature confirming he’d read and understood the letter and spellwork instructions, and that he would “conduct himself with discretion and in a dignified manner throughout the experience.” Tomorrow, early afternoon. He tried to tell himself that he hadn’t just chosen because it was the earliest time, but oh, who was he kidding?

He attempted--again--to lower his expectations, calm down, and think of this as just another blind date. Tomorrow, he thought smiling to himself. I’ll not think about it again until tomorrow.

When he Apparated into the Encounters waiting room the proprietor stood waiting for him with a bland smile. He wondered if all customers received this sort of preferential treatment or if his status as “The Boy Who Lived” was to blame. It hadn’t been mentioned, at least, and he was hardly being fawned over, so Harry supposed he couldn’t really complain. What he might complain about, however, was how the strange wizard had stepped forward with a tsking sound under his breath and he’d brandished his wand at Harry, flicking it purposefully and repeating the charms Harry had performed before leaving his home. Somehow he still didn’t know this peculiar little man’s name, but he was now familiar with the itchy tingle of his magic washing over him.

“A little practice might not go amiss, Mr. Potter. These charms are rather delicate work, all for the benefit of your safety and comfort--and, more importantly, that of your partner.”

“Right.” Harry mumbled and flushed at the chastisement, feeling it sharply for the mildness of the tone, but allowed himself to be led to a door that he knew hadn’t been present for his first visit here.

“Through this door, if you please. Change from your clothing into the robe provided and as soon as you and your partner are ready the darkroom will be made available to you.”

The proprietor allowed him to step into the small room, dimly lit with only a small stand holding what looked like a rather soft robe to decorate it, and closed the door behind him. Harry took a deep, slow breath to calm the fluttering of his nerves and began to carefully strip out of his clothing. The only door in the room was the one he had entered through and there wasn’t much space. Harry hoped that none of the customers here were claustrophobic, but if they were perhaps the quality of the robes provided would distract them--it was the softest thing Harry had ever felt against his naked skin.

As he tied the robe closed, he tried for one final time to lower his expectations. After all, as much as he wanted to find a connection, a lasting relationship, at the very least today should end in two adults quite sexually satisfied and it had been what seemed like ages for Harry. Suddenly, the lights were doused in the small alcove he’d been sequestered in, and he felt a whoosh of air as a door opened in front of him. The ball of heat that the proprietor’s locator spell had left fluttering against his chest urged him forward.

Harry stepped out into what he could only assume was the bedroom that had been shown to him on his very first visit. Now, of course, the room was blanketed in an absence of light that rivaled the blackness of Peruvian Instant Darkness powder. There should also be someone else here, who had been sequestered in their own adjoining alcove, but Harry could sense no trace of them, could hear no sound other than his unsteady breathing and the rhythm of his heartbeat in his ears, could make out no smells, and certainly no vision beyond the vast dark in front of his squinting eyes. The idle part of his brain pointed out that he might as well have left his glasses with the rest of his clothing. The rest of his mind had more important things to consider.

How was he supposed to know if the other person was there? Or where they were? Well you could talk, dummy, thought Harry.

“Err...hello?” Oh very clever, Harry's mind provided scathingly. I’m sure I’m blowing them away already. A heavy sigh escaped into the darkness and Harry started, fruitlessly turning to try and locate its source in the darkness, though the warm pulse of the lodestone spell gives him a general direction to turn toward. “Hello? Are you...there?”

“I don’t know where else you would expect me to be, we did both agree to being here.” The other man’s voice was heavy and full of gravel and a shiver traveled down Harry’s spine to hear it. He sounds...weary, thought Harry, after a moment of searching for the right word, and older I expected. It wasn’t off-putting. Rather the opposite, in fact, it was strangely heady to think he would get to carefully take this man--who sounded as world-wise as anyone Harry had met outside of this building-- apart and then quietly, delicately, put him back together. Still, he couldn’t let the man think he wasn’t up to the challenge.

“Well, pardon me for being a bit nervous,” said Harry.

“What, is this your first time?” asked the voice, with an edge of mocking sarcasm.

“Oh, no,” Harry said. “I’ve been nervous plenty of times before.”

There was a strange sound, which Harry supposed might be stifled laughter, a short almost croak that did not repeat. He thought, perhaps, this mystery man didn’t laugh often enough. He could fix that.

“I see you’ve brought along your sense of humor, such that it is.”

“Well, it comes along with my cock, I’m afraid.”

“So I suppose I’ll have to endure the first if I want the other, then?”

“That all depends on what you want from me, I imagine.”

A heavy sigh. In the silence Harry could practically feel the man rubbing his brow as if to ward off a headache. “I had thought I made it clear in the forms that I did not want a novice, but it seems I am doomed to disappointment.”

There was a rustle of cloth and then, suddenly, long fingers winding themselves in Harry’s hair, tugging him firmly forward. Warm lips collided with his and ended in an awkward bump of noses that resolved itself in less than a moment. This man was certainly no novice, from the way he seemed to be trying to devour Harry with a single-mindedness that spoke of hurried past encounters, of moments in the dark that were brusque and business-like, begun and ended without a moment of true intimacy.

Harry pushed the man away and tried to catch his breath. In a different moment he might have allowed this man to consume him, might have shown him that there was more to being in control than being dominant, but here, now, he had come for a different reason.

“No, wait-- wait,” He took another deep breath, the kiss had been good, for all that it had lacked true passion, and reached up, wrapping his hand around the wrist of the fingers still caught in his hair--its messiness was good for something, it seemed-- as they tried to escape. He squeezed gently then followed the wrist up to an arm, the arm to a shoulder, to a throat with ridges of scar-tissue and lingered there for a moment before continuing to a jawline that held the slightest hint of stubble and stroked gently there. “What should I call you? ”

“Call me?” For the first time that gravelly voice sounded less than completely confident, sounds nearly bewildered. “Whyever would you need to call me anything?”

Harry smiled, leaned forward into the guide of his hand and nuzzled the warm skin of his throat, tilted his mouth to the cuff of an ear. Yes, he could fix this. “You can call me H, so you have something to cry out while I’m fucking you,” he purred, nipping lightly at the shell of cartiledge. “I’m good, but having you call me ‘Merlin’ might be a bit much. And I need something to call you, so that you know when I’m telling you how very good you feel beneath me.”

“Hmph. That sure of yourself, are you?” The voice held an edge of annoyance now and, buried beneath the irritation, just a hint of interest, though the body in his arms holds itself stiff against him, giving no indication of any kind that Harry’s mouth working against his ear is affecting him.

Harry gave a surprised huff of laughter, though something told him he shouldn’t be surprised at all, considering. “Not hardly. I’m sure you’re going to make me work for every single thing. Luckily for both of us, I’m not a bit afraid of hard work.” Instinctively, he shifted up and pressed a soft kiss to a warm cheekbone. “If you wouldn’t mind joining me on the bed, I’ll prove it to you.” He tried to sound warm, enticing, though he hadn’t yet found his feet with this man, wasn’t certain of his usual playbook--though it was admittedly not as wide and varied as he had implied--, and didn’t know whether or not the other man would unbend enough to take that first step.

The voice sounded thoughtful, measured, when his answer finally came. “Very well.”

The lodestone spell led them to the bed much the same as it led them together to begin with; their steps surprisingly sure as they moved together, and Harry gently guided his partner to sit on the mattress, stepping carefully between his legs when they were settled. He leaned down and began exploring, first with gentle fingertips, then following them with light kisses against an upturned face. It’s not something he would normally do in a more casual sexual encounter, but it felt right somehow, the trails of his lips replacing his sight with the soft blemishes of skin and curious prickling arch of an eyebrow. The quiet sounds of their breathing suddenly seemed even louder in the darkness of the room. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist on something to call you or this is going to become far too awkward for me.”

The silence stretched between them, Harry waiting with his hands perched lightly on the cups of rounded shoulders and his lips and nose nudging a silky hairline. He was afraid, after a long moment passed in stillness, that he’d crossed some line unknowingly, that the man would push him away and leave.

“Russ,” the voice came again at last, rather grudgingly it sounded like. Harry smiled, pleased by the victory, small as it was. “Although I won’t be calling you H. What an asinine pseudonym, I might as well call you Merlin. The only thing more ridiculous would have been suggesting to call you Harry Potter.”

Harry felt his breath catch at the idea that he could hear this man’s voice growling out his own name in pleasure, but he chastised himself to stay calm--it wouldn’t do to appear to eager, after all, and give something away. He licked his lips and forced himself to speak with a light amusement he didn’t truly feel. “You could call me Harry, if you’d like.”

“Merlin, no,” the voice held a surprising amount of scorn at the suggestion and Harry wondered if he should be offended or relieved that his partner so disliked the idea of calling him Harry Potter. He gave a soft huff of laughter and resolved to consider it later, when there were less pressing matters at hand. He cast about for another suitable name.

“Leo, then, I think.”

“A Gryffindor. I should have known.” Now the voice held a mixture of emotion, something like amusement and perhaps something like wariness. Harry could hardly parse it and wished, for what he was sure would be the first time of many, that he could see the man--Russ' face. Maybe he’d been burned by a Gryffindor before. Harry would be the first to admit that emotional consideration was hardly a trait his house was known for. That didn’t mean all of them were careless with the things that had been entrusted to them, however.

“You think so? I might have been a Slytherin.” Which was true enough, though he certainly wasn’t going to say any more about that. Still, considering the way this conversation was going, he doubted his partner would believe him if he did.

“Not hardly.” The voice was filled with smug certainty, as if Harry had given away some vital clue about himself.

“Clever boy,” Harry teased. “I suppose that makes you a Ravenclaw?”

“Did you really come here planning to discuss school houses? I must say I’d hoped for more interesting activities.” He moved forward to capture Harry’s lips in another kiss, more insistent this time and Harry groaned his pleasure into that warm mouth, pressing them gently down onto the mattress.

Greedily, Harry slid his hands down firm sides encased in soft, silky robe fabric, tugging open its belt once they found it and pressing his advantage when Russ’ robe had gaped open, sliding his fingertips over the warm bared flesh. His pride thrilled when his fingers found a pebbled nipple and Russ broke their kiss with a gasping sound of surprise, gratified by the other man’s responsiveness.

If there was one thing that Harry knew for sure he enjoyed, it was coaxing little gasps and moans of pleasure out of his partners. He very much enjoyed spending a while on foreplay, and was immediately encouraged by the man’s reactions. He trailed kisses down Russ’ jaw and neck, interspersed with teasing licks and gentle nips, while his fingertips continued stroking the soft skin of his chest, stopping occasionally to circle a nipple.

He pushed the robe further open and slid it off of Russ’ shoulders, casually tossing it over the edge of the bed, and repositioned them so they were lying properly on top of the mattress, with Harry over his partner, trying to take in as much as possible with only lips and tongue and fingertips. It was a surreal experience, not being able to see his lover, and he regretted that he couldn’t see the expression on the other man’s face.

“You’re going to have to make some more noise if you like what I’m doing,” said Harry between kisses. “You have me at a bit of a disadvantage since I can't see if you’re smiling or scowling at me.”

“I’ll be sure to let you know if you fail to meet my standards.” Harry could tell his partner was going for breezy and uninterested, but was pleased to note a hint of breathlessness.

“I have no doubt you will,” he murmured absently, mind already turning and considering how to turn that hint into outright gasps, how to loosen his partner’s tight grasp on his control. Luckily he had more than a few ideas.

He leaned in again, his mouth going to Russ’ throat, tongue exploring the ridges of scar tissue that he’d discovered before, more slowly this time, taking his time and leaving behind evidence of his explorations, though he could not see it, in pink and red, as he sampled and sucked at the flesh below his mouth.

“What are you, part sucker fish? It’s not a requirement that we use the full three hours, you know.”

Harry pulled back, confused and a bit offended. “Oh, do you have somewhere to be?”

Russ just huffed. “What I mean is, surely all of this isn’t strictly necessary. We know what we both came here for.”

Harry sat back abruptly, the words like a pail of ice water over his arousal. “Do we?”

“Of course. We’re both adults here, Leo. I am not in the habit of being coddled. You needn’t waste your time with seduction, certainly none of your predecessors have.”

“What’s wrong with seduction?” Harry was torn between being annoyed at the man’s harsh attitude and confused as to why he was bringing this up. He wasn’t getting the sense Russ hadn’t been enjoying his ministrations, more like...he hadn’t expected them at all. Hadn’t anyone ever taken their time with him before? The thought made him suddenly sad, and he intended to figure out exactly what his partner’s issue was. He was reminded of the initial letter’s assurance that they were exceptionally compatible. He knew how much he enjoyed (even needed) to take care of his partner--was it possible he’d been paired with someone who wanted or needed that in a lover?

“There’s hardly any point, when you have no intention of meeting me again.” His partner’s words sounded almost defeated, as if this were a foregone conclusion. But the man had such a harsh and grumbling exterior, Harry could see why this would put off any other sensitive sort of match Russ had been with before.

“Who says I haven’t any intention of meeting you again?” He made the question as calm and emotionless as he could, not quite ready to give away the whole extent of his interest, as quickly as it was growing.

“Why should you? No one else has.” The voice was almost petulant now and Harry couldn’t keep himself from smiling, suddenly grateful for the dark that hid the expression.

“No one else has been me. Besides, have you ever considered that they’re the ones who were wrong?” He took a chance and leaned in, trusting the locator spell to guide him to Russ’ lips and sliding a brief kiss against them when it did. “Let me show you what this should be. You won’t regret it.”

Russ sighed, almost as if he were being inconvenienced by the request, although the sound held a sense of release to it, rather than impatience or annoyance. “If you insist.”

Harry gave in to the soft snort of amusement that bubbled up in him and pressed another firm kiss to his partner’s lips. “I do.”

Harry, confident in his abilities in this arena at least, slowly began his approach to his lover’s body again. Continuing steadily downwards in the manner he’d begun originally, he trailied fingertips and warm wet paths with his tongue over Russ’ chest, stopping to lap at a nipple or press a slight bite to the soft flesh of his belly, gauging his success by both the sounds his partner was making and the eager writhe and shift of the body beneath him. As Harry progressed, he began getting the sense his partner was continuing to hold back sounds of pleasure, which Harry took as a challenge, increasing suction and pressure in his motions until Russ huffed a groan in frustration.

"If you wouldn't mind-," he said with irritation.

"Oh, what's wrong?" Harry asked innocently.

“Bloody tease,” the voice beneath him ground out, and Harry grinned into the dark before lowering his mouth to a hip bone and nipping it gently in reprimand.

“Well, I shouldn’t want to overstep, since I can hardly tell if you’re enjoying yourself.”

"What would you have me do, beg for it?"

Harry shivered, the heat of arousal pulsing through him at the idea of that gravelly voice lost in pleasure, begging him, though he knows it’s too soon to expect such a thing. “Let me hear you,” he said after a moment, a hint of gravel and more than a hint of lust in his own voice. “Your voice is amazing, you know, and it doesn’t hurt to give me an idea that you’re enjoying yourself.”

“If you don’t get your hand or mouth on my cock the only thing you’ll be enjoying is your own hand.”

Harry smirked and, deciding he had made his point, briefly complied, shifting down just so and nuzzling the attentive erection that he’d been ignoring. He drew his tongue down the length of it and suckled gently around the base, gratified at the sounds that escaped his lover as a result--though he intended to make them louder still--before venturing lower, mouth sliding over heavy testicles, carefully nudging them aside and whispering a spell that had taken him very little effort to master wandlessly, as he’d had rather a lot of motivation.

When he parted the globes of Russ’ arse with a sure touch and dragged his tongue confidently over the ring of muscle he’d uncovered, the hoarse, wordless exclamation that left his partner was exactly the gratification he'd been hoping for, although he anticipated even greater pleasure for the both of them in the very near future. Teasingly, he dragged the flat of his tongue over Russ’ entrance again, wringing a whimper from the other man before he worked his tongue inside, first with gentle, exploring twists and then shifting into firm, plunging strokes; Harry learned the taste of his lover, the sounds of his pleasure as they shifted from insensate cries into babbled pleas for more.

Russ was panting for breath by the time Harry finally pulled his mouth away and pressed a sloppy kiss to the inner thigh that had squeezed close to his ears as he’d work to drive his lover’s pleasure higher.

“See there? I knew how good you would be, once you stopped holding back. Such a very good boy,” Harry crooned softly, the endearment falling from his lips almost without thought. “Now let’s see about rewarding you, shall we?”

A soft sound, something like a strangled sob, escaped Russ and Harry shifted, leaning up once more to trail kisses over what flesh he could reach, making his way back up his lover’s body, not wanting the other man to feel as if Harry was pulling away from him when what they both wanted was more closeness. He fumbled for a moment, not wanting to relinquish the feel of Russ’ body pressed close to his, but needing his wand and to rid himself of his robe, until warm hands reached upwards and helped him, pushing the fabric from his shoulders and down his back.

Another spell, this time accompanied by a careful wand movement, and Harry could feel his lover’s body shudder beneath him as the magic went to work. His wand was tossed aside with a rather careless clatter, eager to cause some shuddering of his own, his fingers traveling unerringly to the place his mouth had been only moments ago, dipping carefully inward, one at a time to gauge how much preparation his partner still needed. The tight space of Russ’ body welcomed each digit easily and Harry had to suppress a shudder of his own.

“Already so ready for me, Russ,” he murmured, sliding his fingers out slowly and then thrusting them inwards much more quickly, pleased at the soft wail that escaped his partner.

“Yes, please, I want it,” the other man’s voice was more growl than words now, but he had enough control left to squeeze pointedly around the stretch of Harry’s fingers. “In me.”

“All right, sweetheart. All right.” Harry couldn’t pretend that he didn’t want to be buried in his lover’s body just as much as Russ wanted him there and he gently pulled his fingers free once more and wrapped them around his heavy erection, spreading the spelled lubricant from Russ’ body onto the heated flesh. He guided himself forward, the head of his cock nudging the entrance to his lover’s body impatiently, even as he stroked a gentle hand down Russ’ side, one last moment of calm before the storm overtook them both.

Harry pushed slowly inward, gritting his teeth as the heat of the body beneath him devoured all of his thoughts but one. “Russ, fuck,” he gasped roughly as seated himself fully against the other man.

“That’s the idea,” the voice beneath him hissed out, just before rocking down against Harry and whiting out his thoughts for a breathless moment. When he became aware of himself again, his hands were gripped tightly around Russ’ hips, holding him still.

“Cheeky bugger,” Harry muttered, thinking perhaps he’d given his lover slightly too much time to recover his senses. “I’ll stop teasing us both, then.”

“Yessss,” that addicting voice hissed out once more, the closest thing Harry had heard to parseltongue in years, as he shifted his hips in a short, testing thrust. Well, he certainly couldn’t find it in him to deny such an appealing request, he thought, and began to move in earnest, thoughtfully experimenting with angles and force until he found a combination that made his lover cry out and arch against him in pleasure.

Once they’d found their rhythm there wasn’t anything holding them back from taking the pleasure they wanted in each other, Russ rolling his hips back into each of Harry’s thrusts and then jerking sharply forward into the friction of their stomachs trapping his cock between them. Harry took pity on his lover after several thrusts, wrapped the leaking erection into the palm of his hand and gave it one firm tug, then another, shuddering hard at the orgasm that then shook its way through his lover’s body and the way Russ spasmed and clenched around him, managing one thrust, then two, before following his partner into the abyss of climax.

Both panting, Harry withdrew and rolled over so he was lying next to Russ, who from the sound of it was also barely able to catch his breath. They lay in silence for a few moments while recovering, until Harry broke it with a happy laugh. "Well then. How was that?"

"That was…" Russ seemed to be searching for words. Harry hoped he'd enjoyed himself as much as he had. "Adequate, I suppose."

“Adequate?!” Well, Harry knew a challenge when he heard one. He quickly cast a freshening charm over them both, ridding them of the sweat pooling on their bodies, so he could comfortably pull Russ closer. "I suppose you'll have me work even harder next time."

“What makes you think there will be a next time?” The words sound strangely distant, considering the man speaking them is practically spooned against him, almost practiced. That doesn’t stop them from stinging.

“Oh.” He doesn’t want this to be their last meeting, finds this strange man of contradictions endlessly intriguing, and the sex had surpassed all of his expectations. Still, he couldn’t rush blindly into things here. He needed a plan. Perhaps he just needed to show Russ that he was worth taking a risk on. “Well, if that’s the case, I better make this time worth my while, try to get my fill of you--though it seems unlikely.” He reached out, sliding a curious hand down over a slightly sticky stomach, and lower still wrapping questioningly around a quiescent length of flesh.

“How young do you think I am?” Russ’ voice was a strange mixture of amusement and confusion, but he didn’t pull away, which was the important thing. Harry grinned.

“Don’t worry, I’m doing all the work this time, remember?”

Harry couldn’t help the self satisfied smirk on his face as he read the missive sent from Encounters. He had filled out a short survey asking him to rate the compatibility between himself and his partner (of which he put the highest mark possible) and the request for an additional meeting (affirmative) nearly immediately after it arrived. Russ must have delayed a bit in his response though, as it was nearly a week after the first meeting that Harry finally received a letter informing him that his partner had also requested an additional meeting, and asked him to select three convenient meeting times his partner could choose from and owl back as soon as possible. He fought the urge to select morning, afternoon, and evening of the very next day. Had to still appear a bit more casual, despite the absolutely amazing time he’d had the previous week.

So amazing in fact, that they had actually managed to exceed the three hour time limit, and were charged an additional fee for the time extension. Harry, of course, paid Russ’ fee as well, since “it’s hardly my fault you had to take so bloody long”, as he said. Harry smiled at the memory. Russ was definitely kind of a berk, but he was witty and interesting and made some excellent noises in bed, so Harry was eager to keep meeting with the man.

He selected three times at random over the next few days, and sent back the owl.

Harry was a bit more comfortable when faced with the overwhelming blackness of the meeting room the second time around. And much more excited than he was nervous, given that he knew exactly what he was getting, and how much he was going to enjoy Russ’ company. Still, he couldn’t resist teasing him a bit.

“So, that good, was I? Couldn’t resist coming back?” The other man had traded witticisms with him easily their first encounter and this time was apparently no different.

“My my, so sure of yourself?” Russ drawled. “As it happens, my quill dripped over the affirmative, and the over eager owl snatched the letter away before I could correct it. I knew they would charge me some sort of exorbitant fee if I failed to show up and, so, here I am.” Though he could not see it, Harry could clearly imagine the exaggerated shrug Russ was likely making and smiled.

Something told him that it would be prudent to play along, not to press through what was, without a doubt, the flimsiest excuse he had ever heard. The reluctance didn’t sit quite right with him, but maybe Russ just wasn’t the type to let his eagerness show. “Of course,” Harry said finally, in a vague drawl of his own. “I’m certain that happens all the time.”

“You want to just go ahead and call it off, then?” Harry asked lightly, returning to the gentle teasing. “Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you any further.”

“I’ve already come all the way here,” Russ said gruffly. “Why don’t you try and make it worth my while, hmm?”

Harry strode confidently to where the locator spell guided him and pulled Russ into a heady kiss. “Gladly,” he whispered in his ear, and proceeded to devour him in much the same way as before. Harry was pleased to note that, while still making him work for every last bit, Russ was a bit more forthcoming with those lovely sounds. Harry could easily get addicted to the man’s voice; although it had a strangely strained and raspy quality to it, the authoritative tone and little huffs and moans he produced were nothing short of tantalizing.

Russ had been all too happy to let Harry do most of the work during their first encounter, but now he appeared to be trying to give as good as he got, kissing back roughly and passionately. Did he think this was some sort of competition, Harry wondered idly--although he certainly couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying the new enthusiasm.

“You’re amazing,” he purred encouragingly when Russ found a particularly pleasurable rhythm on his cock, stroking him with one hand and lightly teasing a nipple with the other. “Good boy,” he said, that favored endearment slipping out once again.

Since Russ’ throat was pressed against Harry’s skin, he felt more than heard the silght whimper that followed the gentle praising. Harry’s arousal ratched up considerably at the implication of that vibration. Well, well. Perhaps another thing they were highly sexually compatible in.

“Do you like that?” Harry asked, voice a low growl. Russ stayed silent and immediately renewed the fervor of his touches, as if he were trying to distract Harry. Was he embarrassed? That just wouldn’t do.

Harry reached down and pulled the other man up, so close their faces were almost touching, and he could feel the warm pants of Russ’ breath gust over his cheeks. He twined his fingers into Russ’ long hair, twisting it into a fist and dipping his face closer to better access Russ’ neck. Harry’s tongue darted out to lap the flesh behind his ear, and he repeated himself, voice filled with lust. “I said, do you like when I tell you what a good boy you are?”

Russ’ groan was more obvious this time, though still held back. Harry gave a firm tug to the hair curled around his fingers. “Answer me,” he said, nipping at the shell of his ear.

“Yes. Yes, I do,” he ground out, and Harry rewarded him with a deep kiss.

“That’s good,” Harry whispered, “because I like saying it.”

Harry continued the open-mouthed kisses down Russ’ jaw and neck, pausing at random to suck and lick at the flesh. Although this was only their second time together, Harry had always a quick study when it came to the physical, and the added motivation of how very prettily Russ responded to praise definitely didn’t hurt.

“So sexy, so hot, such a good boy.” A myriad of other phrases, some bordering on nonsense, continued to fall from Harry’s lips as he prepared his lover, a whispered spell and a single digit at a time. Each touch and whisper caused a different sound from his partner, sighs and moans and whimpers pouring from Russ’ mouth.

“You feel amazing,” Harry groaned. “So good, so ready for me.” The words were hissed out as he finally thrust into the warm clutch of his lover’s body. Russ’ legs wrapped tightly around his waist as Harry sank into him, pulling at him to go harder, deeper.

Russ was considerably more vocal this time around, as they shifted and rocked together. Time stretched and receded between them, pleasure a wave that was infinite and endless and entirely too short when Russ finally signaled his release with a throaty moan. Harry followed a moment later into his clenching body. They stayed clutching at each other, panting and sweaty and sated, until Russ moved away and summoned his wand, casting a cleaning charm over them both.

Harry reached out and tried pulling him close again to hold him for a bit, but Russ resisted, staying still.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked softly, stroking a hand over Russ’ arm, not willing to give up at least that small bit of contact.

The other man was quiet on the other side of the bed. “Yes,” he said after hesitating. Then, perhaps because some things are easier said in the dark, he continued. “That wasn’t a...common experience. For me.”

Although he had only a very limited knowledge of the man, and could only gather information by tone of voice and what motions he could sense in the shift of the bedsheets, Harry guessed what the issue might be.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed. Enjoying being praised like that,” Harry said gently. “I love hearing how much you enjoy it.” Harry tried again to pull him in with a slight tug, and after another brief hesitation, Russ let himself be guided down against him. Relief swamped Harry as he tugged the bedsheet up to cover them. They lay in a comfortable quiet for awhile, basking in closeness and afterglow. Harry began stroking the man’s hair, gently carding through tangles with an absentminded affection.

The peace of the situation was interrupted with a groaning almost laugh from Russ.

“So, what’s wrong with you, then?”

“Sorry, what?” Harry asked, stilling his hand.

“What's wrong with you? I know why I'm carousing in the pitch dark with strange men--the list of my flaws is long and varied, but you...” Harry could feel him shake his head, as if totally bewildered by him. “I can find no reasonable explanation of why you're here.”

Harry blinked, digesting the rather backhanded compliment.

“Carousing? You have the strangest way with words, like you stepped out of a Dickens' novel or something.”

Russ huffed, annoyed. “I taught myself the art of proper speech. I had no desire to have a constant reminder of the rubbish town I grew up in or my working class father every time I opened my mouth.”

Harry considered that. Now that he thought of it, he did detect a bit of roughness to his speech shining through in certain moments. Growing up in Surrey, his accent had never been a source of contention. About the only thing that wasn’t, honestly. “I suppose I didn't have to worry about that, though it was a wonder I learned to talk at all, the way I was raised.”

They stayed silent for a while, each considering their childhoods-- or so Harry assumed, he certainly was. Russ had hinted at a bit more than just being poor in the way he referred to his family. Coupled with how absolutely starved for affection and praise the man seemed to be, well, Harry knew neglect when he saw it. Without thinking, he pulled him closer, rubbing soothing circles along his back.

“You haven't answered my question.”

“Oh, right,” Harry said, startled. “Nothing, I suppose. Not in the way you mean, at least. I'm healthy, fit enough. Well off. I might not be the handsomest bloke, but I'm hardly a troll. And I leave cleverness to others, but I'm not a dribbling idiot. No peculiar sexual fetishes, if you discount my growing appreciation for sex with a particular stranger in the dark. I'm just...tired of being a disappointment.”

“A disappointment?” Russ responded, clearly aghast. “You've just listed every virtue a sensible witch looks for in a husband.”

“Maybe they do, and wizards too, but they have an idea of what all those things should be and it isn't me. I don't measure up.” The story of my life, Harry thought wryly.

“Well,” Russ said, snuggling closer and moving Harry’s hand back to his hair, indicating he should continue stroking, “obviously the company you keep don’t know their arse from a hole in the ground, if they think you are in any way a disappointment.”

Harry lightly kissed the crown of his head and continued stroking. Neither spoke again as they waited for the time limit to run out, but Harry was filled with a pleasant warmth at the quiet joy of a soft bed, a man in his arms, and the promise he might have found a potential connection after all.

Harry was flying high, never before had he experienced the level of intimacy with a partner that he and Russ were rapidly approaching. There was something about the man’s open brusqueness that reassured Harry, left him feeling as if they were both on even ground. It wasn’t a phenomena that he could claim to have any experience with. He lay against Russ, each of them trying to catch his breath, and drew his fingertip thoughtfully over the cup of the other man’s shoulder.

“Well, then, have I convinced you to keep me on, yet?” he asked, unable to help himself, leaning close and softening the cheek with a playful graze of teeth over the graceful arch of a collarbone.

“You’re looking for reassurance from the wrong quarter.” Russ’ voice holds something quite like wariness in it.

Harry felt his breath catch. That wasn’t exactly the easy response he’d expected to his lighthearted teasing-- they’d met several times now, with Russ playing coy that he wouldn’t meet him again, but then agreeing by the follow-up owl each time. He leaned up thoughtfully on his elbow, looking down into the pitch black where his lover’s body should be.

“No? You’re that adamant on keeping your options open? Am I doing something you don’t enjoy, then? You might tell me if I am. Or perhaps I’m simply not doing it well enough? I’ve heard that before, of course. If I’m terrible, then, why do you keep agreeing to meet? I had wanted something just like this when I first came here, did you know? What is it you want, that you signed up for this?” The questions fall from Harry’s mouth like a waterfall and he knows that it’s too much, too soon, but there is something about Russ that settles some loose, rattling piece in his chest and the thought of being left at the wayside again causes panic to leap through him.

“I--good lord, I didn’t expect the Spanish Inquisition today,” Russ’ voice emerges from the darkness, his tone obviously appalled and ill at ease.

Harry closes his eyes against their sudden burning and makes himself to take a deep, slow breath. “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.” He forces the words out, tries to keep his voice steady, and Russ--

Russ laughs. “Your chief weapon is surprise, I’ll agree.”

Harry’s eyes snap open in shock, a laugh of his own escaping him. Whatever he’d expected from Russ--gruff Russ who has stoically resisted every single joke that he’s made in these moments in the darkness--it certainly wasn’t to have Monty Python quoted back to him. He’d half expected to be pushed out of the bed.

“My chief weapon is between my legs, thank you very much!” The words leave him without thought and, to his amazement, Russ laughs again. Harry takes a moment to revel in the ragged, unpracticed sound of it, and breathes a sigh of relief as Russ’ body relaxes into his again. It’s too soon to let his desperation to be loved to ruin this moment, they’re still learning one another. For someone like Russ, Harry thinks, he can be patient.

He has to be patient. One meeting at a time, for now, he thinks, and leans in to murmur another quip into Russ’ ear, letting the pleasure wash over him as that laughter, miraculously, continues to sound out in the darkness.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a bit of a possessive streak?” The question was exhaled into the dark of the room as Harry pulled Russ into his arms.

“Oh, you’re just saying that because I have my arms and legs wrapped around you within the first two minutes,” Harry replied with a chuckle, leaning in and nipping playfully at warm skin.

“Yes, well, as much as I enjoy your octopus-like attentions, I have very little room to move.” The words are admonishing, but surprisingly gentle for that.

“Sorry,” Harry said, loosening the grip. He hesitated a moment, his fingertips wandering over his partner's skin. “Is that a problem? I know I have some, er, dominant tendencies.”

“I had noticed that,” Russ said with an amused drawl, “considering I am rather covered in suckerfish marks everytime I leave here.”

Harry responded by moving his mouth to a shoulder, the way he nibbled his way down the slope of it doing nothing to contradict his claim of ‘dominant tendencies.’

Russ scoffed, presumably at the strength of his understatement, but instead of saying anything took a moment to return the sentiment by attempting to leave a few marks of his own along Harry’s neck. He very much hoped they lingered on his throat, the wine-colored ghosts of Russ’ mouth. They continued on for several minutes, and Harry assumed the subject had been dropped, until Russ stopped again and broke the silence with an almost tentative tone.

“It isn’t a problem...necessarily. You being a bit dominant,” he said. “A bit,” he added pointedly.

That was interesting. Harry could hazard a guess as to what was making Russ so unsure. “It’s difficult to find a good match if you prefer to be only... a bit submissive,” Harry said, borrowing the other man’s terminology. He softened what could become a rather vulnerable conversation for his partner by interspersing his words with light kisses.

“I know you like to be praised,” he said, muttering an endearment in Russ’ ear and earning a slight shiver, “which is wonderful for me.” He paused to stroke the patch of wiry hair at the base of the man’s belly.

“And I’m gathering that you don’t mind being teased a little, even though you complain.”

Russ murmured slightly at the change in stimulation and sighed, wiggling a bit beneath Harry’s touch. When he spoke again his voice was hard-edged. “I don’t like being told not to complain. And I don’t like--I don’t want to be teased and then...sent away.”

Harry was beginning to understand his match more and more every encounter. He thought of something that he suspected they might both enjoy. “I can’t imagine anyone ever daring to tell you not to complain,” he said with a laugh. “I would never. And besides, as if I’d ever want to deny myself that utterly gorgeous voice of yours.” He paused to run his tongue over the taut flesh of his neck. Harry could tell there was scarring there, knew enough to guess that it contributed to the unique quality of his partner’s voice, but it was disarming to discover it seemingly anew each time he kissed a line down the length of Russ’ throat thanks to the spells cast on both of them.

“You have an absolute fascination with my neck,” Russ said, clearly attempting to keep the trace of pleasure out of his tone but not quite succeeding.

“That doesn’t sound like ‘stop doing that,'' Harry said with a smile, and continued increasing the pressure as Russ grunted in acknowledgement.

“I have an idea…What if I teased you, but I promise to let you come at the end?” Harry asked. “And I’ll keep you close, I don’t like sending anything of mine away,” Harry added, hoping he wasn’t overstepping too much.

If anything, Russ seemed to relax into his arms further. “Hmm, and how is that different than any other bloody time? You certainly enjoy stretching our encounters out as much as possible,” he said, and if it was intended as a complaint it was not a very convincing one.

Harry positioned them so he was seated on the bed with his back resting against the smooth headboard. Russ was pulled back against Harry’s chest and settled in the vee of his lap. He folded his legs loosely underneath them, heels brushing the backs of Russ’ thighs and allowed his mouth to find Russ’ neck. His hands roamed over the front of Russ’ chest, stopping to tweak a nipple or lightly scratch and stroke his inner thighs. Harry continued his touches and kissing and lapping along his ear until Russ began to whine in annoyance. “Were you planning to touch my cock anytime soon, or will I be expected to take care of that myself?”

“You certainly won’t be,” Harry said with an edge of authority, and he felt a very slight shiver from the body pressed against him. He took hold of Russ’ hands and pressed them against his own thighs. If you need to move them or squeeze, you can, but don’t move your hands away from there. I’ll be doing all the rest of the touching,” he said, voice filled with lust.

“Have you ever edged before?” Harry asked.

Russ didn’t reply as much as groan. “Yes,” he said with a petulant hiss.

“You’ll tell me when you’re close, and then I’ll stop until you calm down a bit. Then we’ll keep going.”

“For how long?” Russ asked quietly, and Harry could tell there was a hint of anxiety in the words, but there was also more than just a hint of interest.

“As long as you can stand it,” Harry whispered into his ear. “I bet you can be such a good boy for a while. Let’s see, hmm?” Harry moved down to finally stroke the shaft, pausing to collect the bit of fluid from the tip and swirl it around the head, then continuing light strokes down to the base and up again.

His partner thrust into his hand, attempting to gain more friction, but Harry just paused until he stopped. “That’s a good boy,” he said, “just relax and let me make you feel good.” He resumed his motions, while continuing to devour the man’s neck with licks and kisses.

After a while of being teased and stroked, he interrupted with, “I’m…I’m close.” Harry immediately moved off, moving his hands to cover Russ’ who was squeezing his fingertips down into the flesh of Harry’s thigh. He knew he would have fingertip shaped bruises there, in the morning, and wasn’t that a delicious thought. “That’s good,” Harry murmured, “just breathe for a little bit, and tell me when to start again.”

This continued on for several more instances, Harry bringing the man under his hands right to the edge and then stopping when Russ told him--although the coherency of the words degraded significantly each subsequent time. In the pauses, Harry would move to rub at his knees or over his hands again, or simply wrap his arms around Russ’ chest and hold him close. Harry began to learn exactly what his partner liked best, and what evoked the best reactions.

He slicked his hand with conjured lubricant, increasing pressure here and there. He stopped to cup and tease his bollocks, lightly stroked the skin behind them, and pausing to tease the outside of the ring of muscle there with a fingertip. Each action earned him a reaction: from complaints about what a sadistic brat he was to a throaty moans and pleas to continue--harder, faster. More than once, Harry had to take several deep breaths, his own cock hard and leaking against Russ’ backside. Right now was about his partner’s pleasure, he reminded his cock firmly, doing his best to ignore its needy impatience.

Harry was surprised at how many times Russ allowed himself to be taken to the edge and then have his release denied. After each time he signaled that he was getting too close, Harry thanked his lover, promising how good it would feel when he finally got to come, whispering praises and terms of endearment against the shell of his ear. He took his time, gently soothing his lover until he was again calm enough to continue. Harry had lost count by the time Russ finally started begging, shaking with need and soaked in sweat.

“Please, please, please,” Russ moaned, the words barely formed. “I need to, I need to come, please stop teasing.”

“Shhh, almost, sweetheart. You’ve been so good. Can you give me just one more? Can you ask me to stop just one more time, and then the next time you’ll get to come, I promise.”

The garbled half-moan, half-whine nearly caused Harry to go over the edge himself, and it took every inch of his self control not to just start rutting against his lover. They were both slick with sweat and the temptation to end this now, to turn them and press Russ to the mattress, to slide their cocks together in a heated glide, was almost more than Harry could bear, but he knew that Russ deserved better than such a greedy lover.

His breathing was so erratic and heavy that Harry thought Russ might not be able to hold back anymore, that he would succumb after Harry had tormented him for so long. As ever, Russ apparently lived to defy his expectations, a low whimper ripping free from his throat as Harry twisted his palm over the length of his cock.

“Please.”

Harry reached up with his free hand and stroked lovingly down the line of his throat, that ruined flesh that he only remembered in these dark moments. “Please what, sweetheart?”

“Please, please-- I want to come,” the words are wrung out of him with a ragged keen of sound.

“You could come,” Harry whispered, his tone implying the exact opposite of permission. He licked his lips, anticipating the feel of Russ going tense in his arms, shouting out hoarsely in his pleasure and then sagging limply against Harry, imagines the hot slick of Russ’ spend dripping down his fingers and then sliding over his own cock as he uses the same hand to bring himself to orgasm. “You could come,” he repeats hoarsely. “But you’ve been such a good boy for me, sweetheart. Don’t you want to try again one more time?”

“P-please,” Russ whimpers, and Harry can hear the tears of frustration in his voice, thinks that when this is over, when they are finished and fucked out that he will explore his lover’s face with his fingers and look for the trail of those tears.

“Please what, Russ?”

“St-stop.” The word is a ragged, hiccuping sob. “I...I’m close. Please...please stop.” It’s a wail of sound and talons of fingers dig their way into Harry’s thighs in what can only be retaliation. A low hiss leaves him, as the pain causes his hips to jerk up slightly against the warm cradle of Russ’ arse. He probably deserved it, he thought, considering the way the body in his arms was shivering against him.

Harry moved his hands off his cock and wrapped them tightly around Russ’ chest as it heaved with another strangled sob. Harry waited until his partner’s breathing was slightly more under control, although at this point that was a nearly impossible feat.

“You’re amazing,” Harry crooned softly. “So good for me, so perfect.”

Nothing Russ was saying sounded anywhere close to coherent English, but Harry guessed it was a plea to continue, one that he was more than happy to indulge. Soothingly he slid his palms down the planes of Russ’ sides, stroking briefly over his hips and then firmly grasping them, shifting his lover in his lap just enough that his cock nudged firmly against the pucker of Russ’ entrance, leaving them both shuddering hard at the sensation.

“Come for me, sweetheart. You’ve earned it, come. Let go.” The effect was instantaneous, Russ bucking down against him and ripping a low cry from Harry’s chest that was drowned out by the snarl of Russ’ pleasure as they each found their release.

When he came back to himself, Russ was limp against his chest, insensate, and Harry shifted them in the bed, tucking his lover against his chest and whispering soft praises and endearments to him. He doubted Russ heard a thing as he stroked a gentle hand up and down the length of his spine, but he’d promised to keep him close and he had every intention of following through on it.

When Russ finally stirred against him, their heartbeats had slowed and their sweat had cooled. Harry pressed a kiss to his temple and followed it with a nuzzle against silky hair. “Such a good boy,” he murmured softly, and smiled when Russ twitched violently against him.

He stroked a slow hand down his lover’s back again. “So,” he said, after a further few moments of silence to allow Russ to collect himself. He would love to have the other man laid bare before him always, but knew it was too much to ask. “How was that?” He expected a noncommittal, aloof answer, as was his partner’s nature when he closed himself back off after each of their sessions together.

“Amazing,” Russ said, simply and quietly. “It was amazing.”

Harry rushed into the sunny cafe and quickly located his friends at a cozy looking booth in the far corner. He paused again to check his shirt was buttoned up correctly and made a completely useless attempt to smooth out his unruly hair, made all the more a mess by his earlier activities.

“Sorry I'm late!” Harry said, collapsing into a seat, his face still flushed from rushing over. Well, that and...other things. He pushed down a smile at the memory, and tried to switch gears to ‘spending time with Ron and Hermione.’ “I, er, lost track of time."

Ron and Hermione shared a look. "You've been losing track of time rather a lot lately," said Hermione with a smile. “Well, someone’s been missing you,” she added, holding up her infant daughter, already reaching towards Harry.

“There’s my Rosie-Posie!” Harry exclaimed, taking hold of his niece and pulling her close to tickle her tummy. He grinned when she squealed in delight.

“So, how go the…encounters,” Hermione asked. “Are you still seeing the same man each time? Or different people now?”

“Same bloke,” Harry said, grinning at the memory. “It’s been...oh, wow, it’s really been amazing. We--”

“We don’t need to be talking about any of that in front of the B-A-B-Y!” Ron interrupted.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ron, she’s six months old. Besides, I’m dying for some details. What’s got you so happy, Harry?”

“He’s met a nice bloke and they are having a nice time, I’m sure,” Ron squeaked. “I don’t need any more details than that.”

“You know, it’s a wonder Rosie even exists, if you’re like this all the time about sex,” Harry said, teasing.

“Oh, not all the time,” Hermione said with a smirk. “Why, just the other day--”

“Hermione!”

“Relax, Ron,” Harry said, holding up Rose with a laugh and dancing her about a bit in his lap, this time letting her existence make his point. “I do know you have sex.”

“To answer your question, Hermione,” Harry continued, looking pointedly at his friend, “He’s just so much more compatible with me than I expected. And it’s not just the sex, which is phenomenal, by the way.” Ron grimaced and Harry smirked at the sight of his friend’s ears turning red. It was funny how they’d all changed since Hogwarts. Ron had lost his broad interest in the fairer sex once he’d stumbled into his relationship with Hermione, and turned into something of a prude. His cheeks and ears glowed with embarrassment whenever anyone discussed their sex lives. Christmas Dinner was always a treat, when George and Charlie started detailing their yearly conquests to anyone who would listen.

“He’s clever. And funny. And he actually has a lot in common with me I think, from what I can tell. We both love Monty Python, for one.”

“Have you talked about meeting up outside of that? You can right, if you want to? It is technically a dating service, isn’t it?” Ron asked, apparently glad the subject had shifted a slightly off the physical.

“Oh, well, a bit,” said Harry, trying to keep his tone vague, as if it wasn’t a big deal. He busied himself with Rose, silently counting out fingers and toes with gentle taps of his fingers, wincing as she used the opportunity to grab a handful of his hair and yanked. “We haven’t agreed to anything though.”

Hermione’s expression changed to a more serious one. “We’re glad you like this man, Harry, but we're concerned about you. You do get, well, attached quickly. We don’t want you getting hurt.”

Harry didn’t want to be hurt either. The idea that Russ might be only interested in sex, nothing more, threatened to close his chest up with panic and he fought to take in a calming breath, tucking Rose closer to him in an attempt to fend off the pending distress. She smacked at his jawbone in retaliation. Harry’s chest loosened.

“And it’s a little weird mate,” Ron added. “I understand why you started there, with what you went through with the last ones. But you seem to have, erm, meetings very often now and you've never even seen this person!"

"That's the whole point! It's...freeing. The system that Encounters uses is in place to keep us safe and it, well, we can trust in that so we can trust each other."

"Is that wise, Harry? This person you're not seeing, he--he could be anyone!" Ron’s eyes widened in shock as an idea struck him. "You could be sleeping with Malfoy!"

"I am not sleeping with Malfoy." Harry said firmly. The idea didn’t even bear thinking about.

"How would you know?" Ron’s voice was rising in pitch as he gathered steam for his argument. “You can’t see him, for all you know he’s--”

"His voice is nothing like Malfoy's whinging," Harry cut off the burgeoning fight with confidence.

"A wizard can change his voice," Hermione pointed out.

"Yeah, but Malfoy would never choose to sound like this." Harry closed his eyes, fighting a shiver as he thought of Russ' voice, the rasp and growl of it, the smooth way he enunciated each of his words when he spoke, as if he had an absolute grasp of every word in the dictionary, the warm-- Ron’s voice broke into the fantasy.

"All right, all right! We don't need to look at that expression.” Ron scoffed when Harry stuck his tongue at him in amusement. “It's not Malfoy, then. Doesn't mean it couldn't be someone else-- Goyle!"

Harry makes a face, picturing that for a moment, because the knowledge he has of Russ' body is muddled, here in the crowded daylight. It could very well be a Goyle, though Russ is too old to have been his classmate. "I suppose you're right." The words are surprisingly even as he speaks them. He doesn’t think he wants Russ to be part of a pureblood Slytherin family, but it wouldn’t matter if he was.

“Harry! Doesn't that bother you?” Hermione asks the question, surprisingly. She’s usually the first to argue about preconceived prejudices, but perhaps she’s simply amazed that Harry is taking the idea so well. Ron’s face has gone lax with shock. Harry smiled and looked down at Rosie in his arms, chucking his fingers playfully under her chin and then stroking over her soft, chubby cheeks.

“No. Whoever he is out here…” Harry looked back up at his friends and waved his hand in a ‘who cares’ gesture. “It doesn't matter. What matters is who he is when he's with me.”

“And who is that?” Hermione’s got her shrewd look on and Harry shifts uncomfortably.

“Someone who needs me.” There is so much more to it, of course, but when Harry pares it down to the basic essentials, that’s what it is. Russ needs him, not Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world. Just him. Harry.

“Oh, Harry. That’s not something to base a relationship on. What about his expectations? His hopes and dreams? His morals? All joking aside, this man could have been a sympathizer with Voldemort. The Ministry likes to pretend that they’ve rounded up all the Death Eaters, but we all know that isn’t the case. It’s dangerous.”

“I can’t explain it, ‘Mione. I know all of that, I could make lists of all the things I know.” And lists of all the things I don’t, his mind added bitterly. “I’m not going in blind here, I promise. Encounters has measures in place to keep anyone from being hurt physically. As for my heart, well. I have to risk it, don’t I? Where would I be if I didn’t?”

“...I suppose you’re right. I would hate to see you lock yourself away like that. But, Harry, won’t you at least try and find out a little more? For our peace of mind? We worry, you know.”

“I know. I promise I’ll try to find out more.” A loud gurgling sound emerged from the baby in his arms, followed by a sharp wail, and Harry started in surprise. “Ah, this is yours, then.” Carefully he passed the reddening Rose back over the table to her doting parents, smiling to himself as his problems were virtually forgotten in their rush to fawn over their infant daughter. As it should be, Harry thought, watching Ron improvise a game of peek-a-boo and Hermione’s expression run through her mental list of ‘what does the baby need.’ Some day I’ll have this, he swore silently. He just had to convince someone else.

“You know, we don’t know very much about each other.”

Harry felt the man beside him turn in the bed. “If those are the reactions you get when you ‘don’t know much about me,’ perhaps you shouldn’t learn any more. I’m not certain my blood pressure could withstand it.”

Harry laughed and turned to face him. It was still surreal, speaking to what could just as well be an empty space, but he was comfortable enough with Russ by now that conversing this way didn’t bother him much. “I’ve got you down pretty well sexually, but I’m always ready to learn more,” Harry said, a bit of a leer in his voice, and Russ huffed a short chuckle. He tried not to get lost in the light pillow talk their conversation typically ended in, remembering his promise to Ron and Hermione. “I meant...personally.”

The man beside him shifted, the motion speaking to Harry of restlessness, discomfort. “Yes, that is rather the point of anonymous relations in the dark with strangers. If you’ll recall, you’ve not been a fount of knowledge yourself.”

“We’re hardly strangers at this point, you know. Even if we don’t tell each other anything.” As Russ had pointed out, they knew the responses of each other’s bodies, the sounds the other made when they succumbed to the wash of orgasm, but aside from a few inconsequentials and a few deeper hints at truths gleaned from those conversations-- the way Russ tried hard to hide his sense of humor, the wary way he asked for things that he enjoyed, the way his cleverness shined through with his thesaurus vocabulary, the hard meanness of his wit… It was like cutting open an apple and seeing the skin and the seeded core, but nothing else, none of the fruit.

And Russ was right, he’d hardly offered any truths of his own when each time he’d tried to gently broach this very topic in the beginning of their, well, relationship, he’d been put off. It was too frightening to share yourself, when your partner wouldn’t do the same. No amount of Gryffindor courage could convince him to take that final step without reciprocation. As the silence stretched for one moment, then two Harry was convinced Russ was going to brush him off again. Which is why it was so surprising when Russ responded, very quietly.

“What is it that you want to know?”

Now that the opportunity has arisen, he couldn’t think of a thing to say. Maybe start with something easy. Something like--

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Wow, right out the gate with a question like that?” Russ inquired with a hint of relief. “Very well. It’s green.”

“Mine too!” Harry exclaimed, far too excited over such an inconsequential detail.

“Well, now we’ve proven our compatibility. Shall we write the proprietor of this establishment to commend the spellwork involved in matching us?” Russ said, his tone as arid as the desert.

“Oh, shut up, you berk,” Harry said. “It’s nice, is all.” A moment of thoughtful silence passed. “I have green eyes, you know,” Harry said, almost as an afterthought.

“No. I didn’t know.” Russ voice sounded impatient, and Harry felt a bit chagrined at the obviousness of his words, but there was something underneath the impatience that niggled at him until Russ continued. “What’s your favorite book?”

“Hmm. I’m not sure if I have a specific favorite. I like those muggle detective novels. I have a big collection of fairy tales a friend got me for Christmas once. Muggle and wizarding ones,” Harry said. “What about you?”

“Austen.” Harry had heard the name before, a muggle author he thought, but he was sure he hadn’t read any of the books. He made a mental note to take a look around, the next time he visited a bookseller’s. Russ was quiet for a few moments longer, and Harry wondered if he was going to continue the game, and what he would be likely to ask. “Why are you here?” Finally emerged from the darkness and Harry was surprised by the cautious curiosity of his tone.

“At Encounters you mean?”

“Yes. You must know,” Russ hesitated again, clearly wanting an answer but not willing to provide much himself. “You must know that people typically don’t continue with the same match over and over again. It’s either strictly used for casual sex, or--” Russ finished abruptly.

“Ah,” Harry said, taking his meaning. “I guess I’m mostly here for the ‘or’.”

“There are other dating services. Matchmaking, too, if you’re in want of a spouse.” Harry tried not to take to heart that Russ didn’t offer any reassurance of his own intentions at Encounters.

“Yeah. I’ve probably tried them all. And plenty of trying to meet people the old fashioned way.” An endless parade of people, it had seemed like for a while.

“Again, what’s wrong with you? Are you exceptionally hideous? On the run from the law?” Russ’ voice held a surprising edge to it, as if he almost needed for there to be something wrong with Harry.

“No and no.” Harry tried to think of how to explain it without giving too much away. As much as he desperately wanted to come clean with Russ, it was becoming more obvious that getting him to agree to taking what they had beyond the safety of the dark room would be like gentling a wild animal. As easy as just saying “I’m Harry freaking Potter” would be to explain his situation, he doubted that would make things with Russ any easier. “It’s the pressure of formal dating services I think. Everyone goes in thinking they already know what they want...what they’re going to get...I just wanted something that could develop organically. Without the...weight of expectations.”

Russ was silent for a very long time. “But you do want that,” he said. “More.”

“Yes,” Harry said in a small voice, preparing himself to be brushed off or worse, outright rejected.

“To borrow an illustration from one of those muggle fairy tales, you’re going to end up kissing a lot of frogs.”

“Probably,” Harry said, his throat tight. He was so tired of ‘frogs.’ “But what else am I supposed to do? Shut myself away from everyone? I don’t think I could harden my heart that much if I tried, but perhaps I should give it a go,” he said bitterly. He thought back to the serial list of boyfriends and girlfriends he’d had in the past. He’d always been so quick to dive in, pour every bit of love he had into another person, desperate to be filled back up with it. He’d had his heart broken more times than he cared to count, inevitably coming to the realization each time that he just hadn’t found the right person yet, no one willing to stay for the right reasons. He had friends who cared about him deeply, and family with the Weasley’s now, and he was so lucky and grateful for that. But he couldn’t find a mate who wanted ‘just Harry.’ “Maybe one day I will,” he said, defeated.

“Don’t,” Russ said, startling Harry with the commanding tone. “Don’t harden your heart, you’ll become callous and cruel and miserable.”

Harry could sense Russ was speaking from experience, and reached out to smooth a comforting touch over his lover’s arm.

“Do you think I’m being foolish? I could be focused on solving real problems in the world, instead of spending so much time looking for...love,” Harry asked, the last word added with trepidation, as it was not a word yet mentioned in their encounters.

“No,” Russ answered firmly. “It takes an extraordinary strength of character to continue putting yourself out there. Especially if you’ve been hurt before.” Despite the complimentary words, Harry felt his lover move away, putting inches between them, and Harry felt a pang at the loss of warmth. “But you shouldn’t waste it on the wrong people.”

“You can’t waste something like love, Russ. It’s freely given, wrong people or not.”

“I hope you have your faith in people is rewarded one day, Leo.” Although it wasn’t Harry’s actual name, he warmed at the thought of his lover using it, although the melancholy voice dampened the joy significantly. “One day you’ll find someone who deserves you.”

I want it to be you, Harry thought to himself, but didn’t dare say anything like that out loud. Instead, he rattled off another innocuous question, which Russ answered and then returned. They talked the rest of the way through their meeting time, discussing everything from dream holiday destinations and favorite foods to how they took their tea. They talked about movies and the weather and other impersonal things in a comfortable and quiet inanity, with Harry trying his best to ignore the way Russ had closed himself off after those brief moments of connection, trying to ignore the nagging desire to worm his way through the man’s defenses again and settle into a heart that so clearly knew what it was like to be broken, and trying not to wonder how he could put it together again.