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+1 year.
One evening, Harry decided to broach it. He had one drink and then decided, actually, not to broach it. Then he had another and broached it.
“You know how you once told me,” he started, and then cleared his throat. “That there was always a fantasy?”
“Erm…” Draco said, pretending to struggle to remember. He was such a fucking liar. “You’ll have to remind me.”
“You said you always had a fantasy,” Harry went on, trying to visualize the flush in his face being pushed back down into his bloodstream. “About me. I suppose I’m just wondering, like, from what age.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Well, I knew who you were before I met you, everyone did.”
“But surely that wasn’t — a sexual fantasy…”
“Ah,” Draco said. “So you’re attempting to ask me to describe my sexual fantasies about you from adolescence.”
“Yeah,” Harry admitted.
“That’s really quite private, you know, what you’re asking.”
“Yeah, I know…” Harry said uncertainly.
“I might not want to share something like that,” Draco said. Only his demeanor, which was becoming more evil by the second, was telling Harry that he actually did want to share it.
“Okay, then don’t,” Harry said. “I was just curious.”
“They might shock you,” Draco went on, dangling it annoyingly now. “I really didn’t like you at all.”
“But you did — have fantasies about me. We’re not just talking about, like, occasional confusing dreams or something.”
“Oh no,” Draco said. “These were quite deliberately authored.”
“All right,” Harry said, his enthusiasm redoubling. “I want to hear one, yeah. Actually, I was thinking—”
His face burned more intensely. Lost cause. He’d already started saying it. He forced himself to finish. “I was thinking we could. Errrr. Do one.”
Draco held his gaze. As always, Harry’s embarrassment stimulated him. “Oh, is that what you were thinking?”
Harry thought Draco was probably exaggerating how shocking he would find them. He, too, had once been a teenaged boy, after all. Draco had been vindictive and nasty, sure, but he had also been young and inexperienced. Surely his sexual imagination couldn’t have been as baroque as all that.
“Well, there was one…” Draco drawled, getting comfortable. “We’re still in school, right. And somehow — I never really bothered with why — I’m alone in some deserted corridor, only I’m not really. I turn the corner and there you are, and you’ve been waiting for me actually, and you put your arm against my windpipe and push me up against the wall.”
“Oh!” Harry said. Trying not to get flustered or excited. Seemed like he was going to be a bit aggressive in this one.
“And you, like, confront me. Like, ‘I’ve heard a rumor about you, Malfoy, I’ve heard you’re a poofter.’”
Harry frowned. “I wouldn’t—”
Draco ignored him in favor of his fake conversation with fake him.
“And you’re like, ‘So is it true?’ And I say no and try to push you off, but you know it is true and you’re stronger than me.”
“I’d say we’re about evenly matched…you’ve got a longer reach…” Harry put in weakly, although the evidence bore it out: he had always won in physical confrontation. But moving forward healthily meant de-emphasizing this, in Harry’s opinion.
“And then you’re like, ‘Go on then, cocksucker,’ and, erm…” He saw in Harry’s expression that he was finding this sort of distressing, and picked up the pace of storytelling. “So I sort of keep refusing and then you, er, put me under Imperius and make me do it—”
“What?!”
“—and then I think that’s gonna be it but you’re, like, mad with power and now’s your chance to do whatever you like with me so you decide to have my arse as well—”
“What?!”
“And internally I’m like, ‘Oh no, not like this, I’ve never done it before,’ but obviously I can’t say anything and you wouldn’t care anyway…”
“I would care,” Harry muttered unhappily.
“And so you, y’know, fuck me really hard and I’m sort of crying but it’s also really good and I can’t help it and I come and you’re like, ‘Ha ha, slut, that wasn’t Imperius, that was all you, you disgusting—’”
“Okay, well,” Harry said. “I’m not doing that.”
“Obviously,” Draco said. “It’s an illegal curse.”
“What about one where you top,” Harry said, aware that this avenue was not terribly promising. Still, if it was going to be mean-spirited, he’d rather not have to be the inflictor.
“Well,” Draco said, smirking as he prepared to say something wild. “I had one where we’ve won the war. We meaning—”
“Yeah, got it.”
“And you’re our prisoner…and at the last second the Dark Lord decides not to kill you and says instead you’ll be our special plaything. And as a reward for my faithful service he gives you to me and says it’s my job to break you.”
“Break me,” Harry said dully.
“Yeah, you know, like a horse.”
“Meaning…”
“I guess I just slap you around and spit in your face and fit you with a ball-gag and torture your cock and balls and put things in your arse, stuff like that. You start liking it eventually.”
“What, no piss?” Harry asked.
Draco affected a small shrug of dignified dispassion. “If that’s a real suggestion, I’ll consider it.”
Harry sighed. “Didn’t you ever imagine us doing anything nice?”
Draco gave him a skeptical look. “Did you?”
“No…but I wasn’t even on this wavelength…you never had one where, like, I confess that I fancy you or something…”
“How would that have been realistic?”
“And Voldemort making me your dungeon slave, that’s realistic?”
“We hated each other,” Draco said. “That was the material I was working with.”
“Us being nice normal boyfriends who love each other is realistic, by the way,” Harry said, defensive. “It’s what actually happened.”
“Yeah, fine. Sorry I made you rape me,” Draco said, sounding unsorry. “It was just something fun for me to enjoy privately.”
The thought of Draco enjoying it privately cheered Harry a little. “So you, like, wanked to this stuff?”
“It’s stuff I invented whilst wanking, that’s why it’s so grandiose.”
“Okay, I want to invent one,” Harry said, sitting up more fully to concentrate. “So we’re in school—”
“How old are we?”
“I dunno, it’s a fantasy. We’re of age but we’re in school. It’s seventh year, I guess, like a normal version of seventh year.”
“If it were real seventh year I’d have a nice room for us,” Draco entreated. “And a really bad attitude that needs harsh correction.” Harry stopped himself from pointing out Draco’s school idea had taken place, as far as he could tell, in the middle of a corridor they hadn’t bothered to leave. But it wasn’t a writing workshop.
“If it were real seventh year I wouldn’t even be there. And if I were, I’d be faithful to my girlfriend, thanks very much.”
“You could make us a bit younger for more verisimilitude.”
“I don’t want to make us younger, pervo. Now shut up and let me invent it. So it’s normal seventh year—”
“Don’t you think you’d still have the girlfriend if you were at Hogwarts for a normal year?” Draco said, enjoying the pedantry. “What if the Dark Lord’s incursions into your mind have poisoned you with sadistic urges that you can’t give into with her because you respect her too much? But then you’re pushed too far by someone you don’t respect at all…”
Harry gave him a look. “No, okay, in this universe I’m single. Don’t ask me what happened to Ginny, I don’t know.”
“I can invent something,” Draco said with a sinister smile.
“So we’re both Quidditch captain and it’s Slytherin versus Gryffindor for the Cup. It’s the last time we’ll ever play each other.”
“I hate this already,” Draco said.
“Okay, okay,” Harry said, reluctantly saying goodbye to the shit-talk and sexy uniforms and smell of clean sweat and the ultra-tense captains’ handshake. “Skip over the match. We’re in the showers after.”
“Who won the match?” Draco demanded.
“…you did,” Harry said with an ingratiating smile.
“My dick’s never been softer,” Draco said. “It’s melted off.”
“Let me get to the good part!” Tough bloody crowd. “So I’m really upset and annoyed, obviously, about this embarrassing loss, total down note to end my Quidditch career on and it couldn’t have come at the hands of someone more horrible.”
This Draco seemed to like. Sicko.
“And I’m trying to avoid my team, who are all telling me, ‘Oh, it’s okay, Harry,’ even though I can tell they’re all hacked off.”
He considered getting deeper into the storyline of the match, which was effortlessly arranging itself in his mind. Gryffindor had been slightly ahead until Malfoy pulled out a shocking Snitch catch out of nowhere. Only out of pride had Harry not accused him of cheating, which he strongly believed he had, and his accepting the outcome rather than petitioning the ref to charm-check Malfoy’s broom was what his teammates were angry with him over. But Draco was, as he’d made clear, not that taken with the Quidditch stuff.
“So I wait a long time for everyone to be finished with the showers but a couple of people are really lingering, thinking I want the company, so I’m like fuck it and go use the other team’s, which is empty.”
“As one does.”
“Except it’s not empty really. There’s actually someone in here I didn’t notice. Wonder who it could be.”
Harry laughed. There was something delightful about how stupid the setup was, like the story itself was desperate for them to fuck each other.
“But I can’t go check, can I, I’d have to barge in on someone in the shower. So I’m just gonna leave, but then my question’s answered, because I hear a voice. It’s your voice, I recognize it at once, and you’ve just said ‘Potter’ in this weirdly intense way.”
Draco looked at him levelly, interested, giving it a chance now.
Harry swallowed. “At first I’m really freaked out, like, oh my God, he’s noticed me, he’ll think I’m spying on him in the shower.”
“But I haven’t noticed you,” Draco predicted, grinning.
“No,” Harry said. “Which I figure out when you say it again, like, ‘Yeah, Potter.’ And I’m like, holy shit, he’s wanking. He’s, like, wanking over beating me in Quidditch. And ignoring that I’m immediately quite hard over this, it seems like just the table-turn to cheer me up and get one over on you. So I step into view, like I’m gonna catch you at it and gloat. But I’m not really prepared for how you look.”
“Go on…”
“Like, I knew you were wanking, but now I’m actually seeing you and you’re completely naked, and the water’s running all over you, and you’ve got your cock in your hand and you’re, like, pumping it…and the other hand’s on your chest, like, trying to decide if you’re gonna play with your nipples or if that’s too decadent for a public shower…I’m standing there thinking, fuck, do it…fuck, say my name again…”
“Mmhmm…”
“And it’s very clear to me that I do need to announce myself and I need to, like, get in there. So I say — and I still try and say it in a sort of a demanding tone, but it doesn’t really come out that way — ‘What are you doing, Malfoy?’”
“What does it look like?” Draco said, in a breathy voice.
Oh, hell yeah. Draco was co-writing.
“I heard you — you were saying my name—” Harry said, trying to cover nervousness with disgust. “You’re thinking about me while you…”
“I was,” Draco said. “Until you interrupted.” He gripped himself through his trousers, watching Harry.
“You’re not embarrassed?” Harry said, trying to shore up his composure. “To be — that I caught you—”
“Why would I be embarrassed?” Draco smirked. “You’re the one sneaking around looking in on people.”
“But you’re the one who — who wants—”
“I don’t think I’m the only one.” Draco was rubbing himself insistently now. Harry was achingly hard; Draco was pretty good at thinking of these sexy lines, definitely better than Harry was. He probably wouldn’t have had a bad time doing one of Draco’s psycho ideas, honestly.
“So at this point I’m getting my kit off,” Harry said. “I’m really nervous but at the same time I, like, don’t really care about anything.”
“You smell kind of bad,” Draco said. Meanwhile, casual as you please, he was undoing his trousers. He was fully going to wank to Harry’s invented wank fantasy. “From the match.”
“So I’m naked, and you’re, erm…” Draco’s hard cock was out now, he licked his hand and wrapped it around, which made continuing with the story seem like a tedious obligation. It was very distracting, his long fingers, the shamelessly wide splay of his legs. Harry had watched him take care of himself before, during sex, while he rode Harry’s cock from on top. But Harry hadn’t been expected to be creative during that. On the contrary, he’d been expected to be relentlessly repetitive.
“I’m what,” Draco prompted.
“You’re still touching yourself,” Harry said. “And I want you to touch me instead.”
Draco smirked and twisted his hand round himself.
“So I step up close to you, under the water, and put my hand on your arm. Your skin’s soft, and hot from the shower, and I can feel the muscles tensing under my fingers from the way you’re moving. And I slide my hand down your arm until I’ve got your wrist.”
“You could touch me properly,” Draco said.
“I can feel the heat coming off you,” Harry agreed. “But I take your hand off yourself by the wrist and put it on my cock instead.”
Draco made a little noise.
“It’s so — you’re, you’re gripping me. You don’t stop, you don’t even hesitate, you’re just jacking me like you were yourself a second ago. I can’t believe it. It feels amazing, your hand feels amazing on me. I’m watching it with my heart pounding, my cock with your hand around it.”
“You forgot your glasses,” Draco said, catching a lost breath.
“What?”
“You didn’t take your glasses off. You’ve got your glasses on in the shower.”
Harry laughed. Draco and the bloody glasses. “So I have. Er, I guess I can’t see anything really, my glasses are all wet.”
“I take them off you,” Draco said. “I throw them who knows where, it’ll take you ages to find them and they’ll be scratched.”
“I literally don’t care,” Harry said, smiling. “Now I take hold of your cock. That makes you gasp. Maybe you didn’t think I would do it.”
“No, I — I knew you would.”
“It’s so hard in my hand,” Harry said, feeling jealous of this fantasy version of him who was getting to touch Draco. “It feels good touching it — I’m shocked how much I like it. And we’re both — tossing each other off — and we’re facing each other under the water, and we keep looking at each other a little bit and I think — I really want to kiss you but I’m scared to, I don’t want to do anything to make you stop this — but your mouth is so fucking hot and you’re touching me perfectly—”
“I don’t want to kiss,” Draco said with a convincing cageyness. “It’s too — we aren’t—”
“I know,” Harry said. “But I want to be.”
“I turn around,” Draco said, cock still pushing through his tight fist. “I face the wall.”
“Yeah,” Harry said. “I can’t believe your arse, I’ve got both my hands on it, I’m grinding against you and you’re pushing back into me — I can’t stop myself kissing your neck, your skin tastes amazing, and I have this thought that’s sort of crazed and shy at the same time that I want to put my mouth on every single inch of you—”
Draco reached for Harry then, which startled him into silence. He unbuttoned Harry’s shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. Harry shifted to give him better access to his trousers but instead Draco pushed him down onto his back and straddled him.
“Finger me, Potter,” he said. Potter meant he was in the story. In real life, his legs were spread around Harry and he was jerking off onto him, pressing into Harry’s shoulder with his other hand to hold him down.
“I squirt shampoo on my fingers,” Harry said, watching the movement of Draco’s hand, his leaking cock. “My hands are fucking shaking. I can’t believe what we’re doing. I want you so much, I’m like, if someone came in right now I couldn’t even stop, I’d finger-fuck you in front of anybody.”
“Yeah,” said Draco, who was full tilt wanking.
“I put a finger in,” Harry said. “You’re so fucking tight. God, I’m sliding my finger in and out of you and resting my head on your shoulder and wanking you with my other hand reached around, fuck I love seeing to you with both hands like this.”
“Just like that,” Draco said.
“I put another finger in, you’re arching into my hand like you can’t control yourself.”
“I can’t,” Draco said, and he was looming over Harry, jacking his cock. “Are you gonna fuck me, Potter?”
Draco’s legs were trembling. He was close. The end of the story was imminent. Last match of the year, last year of school…a huge and shocking breakthrough with Malfoy just as time ran out…what Harry really needed was a second date.
“No,” Harry said. “If you want me to fuck you, you’ll have to come find me so we can do this again.”
“Y-you’re holding out on me, Potter?”
“No, Malfoy,” Harry said, and he could almost feel Draco’s body under his hands. “I’m promising you.”
With a cry and a snap of his hips, Draco came all over Harry’s chest.
Harry caught his breath. Draco slumped and Harry pulled his knees up and planted his feet to give him something to lean back against.
“Sentimental ending,” Draco said.
Harry gestured to the mess on him. “The audience loved it.”
“I’d have come then anyway,” Draco lied. “And shampoo’s a bad lubricant, it’s soap.”
“Well, it was actually a special magic shampoo they keep in there for locker room hookups. So. Wrong again.”
Draco slid off him and started tugging his trousers off. “Now you will fuck me.”
“Oh, naturally.”
Draco leaned down and kissed him, sweet and relaxed because he’d already come, indulgent because Harry hadn’t yet. The kissing was so essential, Harry thought, lifting his hips to bring his cock into contact with Draco’s body. Nice normal boyfriends. That was best of all, and it was true.
Still, not bad what he’d invented. He could admire it altogether now, like a scene in a snowglobe.
“What were you imagining me doing, in the fantasy?” he asked.
“What?”
“In the beginning when I walked in on you and you were saying my name. What were you imagining me doing?”
“Hmm,” Draco said, deciding in retrospect. “Stud service.”
Harry smiled. “That I can work with.”