Draco Malfoy pushed into the men’s room, allowing the heavy wooden door to swing shut behind him before pausing to lean against it. He closed his eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath and released it, letting his shoulders slump.

Gods, he was tired. The last three days had seemed interminable, one endless conference after another, one late night ‘dinner-meeting’ after another. He loved his job as an interpreter for the Ambassador for International Magical Cooperation: his fluency in six languages certainly helped, as did his in-bred understanding of protocol. And he couldn’t deny that he usually found the ‘four-star’ treatment that he and his superior were greeted with on their business trips something that he savoured, and looked forward to. But they’d been gone from London for nearly six weeks; first in Brussels, then Prague, then Italy, and now he just wanted to go home. Even though this last stop was in Paris, and they were currently staying in one of the most elegant wizard hotels in the world, he missed his bed, his house – his lover.

Harry had understood the necessity of this trip. The Ambassador was a very influential man, and with the Quidditch World Cup finally coming back to Britain for the first time since the end of the war, negotiations were more important than ever. Draco’s skills as a translator were essential. And, given Harry’s own role as Deputy Chief Auror, Draco had understood that there was no way he could leave England and accompany him on the trip. He just hadn’t realized how very long six weeks would actually feel once he was away from Harry. They’d been together for three years, and this was the first time they’d been separated for more than a week. He was, quite simply, randy as hell. And if Harry’s last note was any indication, he wasn’t the only one.

“You tell Prescott for me,” Harry had written, “that if he delays getting you back to England any further, I can’t be held responsible for my actions. It simply isn’t healthy for a twenty-five-year old man to run around with a hard-on all of the time. Wanking has ceased to be effective. If there is any hope of my retaining my sanity, I need your arse, and I need it, now!” Draco had been grinning like a fool by the time he was done reading the note; he’d also been hard as a rock.

Harry wasn’t the only one skirting the edge of his sanity. And knowing that Harry was just across the channel wasn’t helping him concentrate a bit. Twice that evening, he’d seen Ambassador Prescott eyeing him askance when he’d missed something. Sighing, Draco ran his hands over his face and pushed away from the door, walking to one of the gold plated urinals lining the mosaic tiled wall. He wearily opened the silver clasps down the front of his dark gray velvet robe, unfastened his slacks, and pulled himself from the soft linen pants beneath. Letting his head fall forward and his eyes closed, he relieved his full bladder.

He heard the door open and then swing shut behind him, and didn’t turn or lift his head. He heard the footsteps approach the urinal on his left, and still didn’t look up. It wasn’t until he heard the voice, and his spine stiffened when he did.

“Very pretty,” a deep male voice said near his shoulder. “Just like the rest of you.”

Draco’s head came up and jerked to the side, his eyes opening wide. When he saw who was next to him, dark eyes staring at the cock in his hand, his lips tightened.

Derrick Abagnale was the liaison for the Ambassador from Russia. He had impeccable lineage and was nearly as qualified as Draco himself, but there was just something about the man that had made Draco’s skin crawl almost from the moment he’d met him. He was attractive, in a dark, swarthy sort of way; his robes were as fine as Draco’s own, and his black hair was impeccably cut and styled. He wore expensive jewellery, and was unfailingly polite. It was just something about his eyes. Draco didn’t like the way that he looked at him. And there was the fact that he was forever making sotto voce comments about ‘how much older, and vastly more experienced’ he was. He’d tried to make it sound as if he were referring to the job that they both did, but Draco wasn’t naive; he knew the older man wanted him. Abagnale had asked him to dinner several times, but Draco had always responded that he was ‘in a relationship, but thanks’. Now that they were near the end of the trip, Abagnale had become a bit more insistent. In fact, Draco had first escaped to the restroom just to get out from under the man’s constant scrutiny. Now he found himself being watched again, and uncomfortably vulnerable.

Draco started to tuck himself away, but Abagnale’s hand shot out and clamped down around his wrist, hard.

“Unhand me,” Draco said through clenched teeth, even as his heart leapt in alarm.

“Now, now, now,” the man crooned, a slight smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “You don’t really mean that.”

“I most certainly do,” Draco ground out. “You’ve no right to put your hand on me.”

“Ah, Draco.” The man took a step towards him, crowding him, and Draco found himself backing up to get away. “You should know that it isn’t nice to tease.”

Something hard had entered the dark eyes, and Draco frowned. “I haven’t…”

Abagnale’s eyes narrowed. “Liar,” he said under his breath. “You’ve been leading me on for weeks, smiling, flirting…”

Draco’s mouth dropped open in startled outrage. “I haven’t! I told you, I’m with someone…”

“Of course, you are,” Abagnale sneered, continuing to hold Draco’s wrist in a bruising grip, continuing to back him towards the wall. Draco was no longer holding his own cock, but his slacks were still open, and he was still exposed. And now, he was beginning to feel alarmed. The other man was quite a bit larger than he was, and the grip on his wrist was painful. “Do you think I’m such a fool, to fall for that old line? Tell them you’re taken, in order to make them want you more… There is no lover, Draco, or I’d have seen some evidence of him.”

“I… we…” Draco shook his head even as his back came to rest against the tile wall. He swallowed heavily. “I have a partner,” he managed to say coldly, proud that his voice dripped disdain even as his pulse galloped. “I have been in a relationship for three years. And you would do well to watch yourself, Abagnale. He’s a powerful man, and he won’t take kindly to my having been manhandled.”

At that, Abagnale laughed harshly. “Of course, he is,” he said derisively. He stepped closer, his thick body too close, his breath brushing Draco’s face. “Why don’t you admit defeat, my dear, and just allow that the game is up?”

“I’m not playing any –“ Draco’s words choked off in his throat when Abagnale slipped his other hand between them, and curled his fingers around Draco’s cock.

Draco made an undignified gagging sound and tried to shove the man away with his other arm. It was like trying to move a pallet of bricks with a hand cart, and had the added indignity of making Abagnale laugh.

“Stop it!” Draco insisted, but Abagnale laughed harder. He laughed so loudly in fact, that neither of them heard the restroom door swing open and closed again. They didn’t become aware of another person in the room until he spoke.

“Pardon me,” a tight, deep voice said over the derisive laughter. “But the cock that you’re holding happens to bemine.”

That silenced the laughter. It also brought both Abagnale’s and Draco’s heads around as if they were attached to a swivel.

Harry was standing just inside the bathroom door, his jaw rigid and his eyes narrowed, and Draco had never been so happy to see anyone in his life. With Abagnale’s attention diverted, he was able to give the man a decisive shove.

“Get OFF of me,” he growled, and Abagnale rocked back on his heels. Draco quickly tucked himself away and secured his pants.

“So,” Abagnale said with a smarmy grin, “is this the mystery boyfriend, then?” Draco looked from Abagnale to Harry and back again, his eyes wide. Was it possible that someone who had been in politics as long as the man claimed didn’t recognize Potter?

A muscle twitched in the side of Harry’s jaw. “This is the fiancé.” His voice was flat, but the words brought Draco’s head jerking around again, his heart jumping into his throat. Fiancé?

“Oh,” Abagnale said, grin turning wry. “Fiancé. How very progressive. Well,” he shrugged negligently, his eyes still on Harry. He looked him up and down in a thorough, and frankly insulting, manner. “You’re not bad, either. Don’t suppose you boys would be interested in… something collaborative?”

Harry’s eyes did everything but shoot fire. “Listen, you sick fuck,” he said, his voice a hiss, as he approached Abagnale slowly. Draco watched him warily, saw the fury in each line of his solid body, felt the rush of his magic brush the air. The crystals in the elaborate sconces on the wall began to ding lightly as they moved against one another. “I saw what was going on when I came in here. He wasn’t interested, and I” – the stall doors began to swing – “don’t” – the lights overhead flickered – “share!”

Abagnale finally seemed to grasp the danger in his situation, and he glanced around nervously, swallowed heavily, and raised his hands, palm out. “Listen, I didn’t mean anything…”

“And if I hadn’t walked in here when I did?” Harry went on, his voice menacing. “I heard him tell you to stop.” The stall doors began to slam, and it had gotten so loud that he had to raise his voice to be heard above them. “So, what did you think he meant by that?”

“I… I didn’t…” Now Abagnale was backing away, nervous perspiration slicking his forehead. If Draco hadn’t been afraid that Harry was about to kill him, he’d have enjoyed the man’s discomfort. But he was beginning to fear that his partner wasn’t going to stop.

“Potter,” he said, his own voice loud so as to be heard. “I’m all right.”

Abagnale’s eyes widened almost comically in his shiny face. “Potter?” He wheezed, looking quickly between the two men. “Harry Potter?”

Harry’s eyes remained on Abagnale, and the symphony of angry noise continued. “Potter,” Draco said again, more firmly. This time, Harry heard him and turned his head, his eyes finding Draco’s face. “I’m. All. Right.” He moved away from the wall and approached Harry cautiously. “See? I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me. He insulted me, that’s all.” He reached out and touched Harry’s rigid arm, sliding his hand down it, feeling the vibration beneath the wool of his robes. “I’m all right,” he repeated, and the noise around them began to lessen.

“I… Merlin, Mr. Potter, I had no idea…”

Harry’s eyes shot back to Abagnale, and some of the tiles above his head exploded away from the wall, raining plaster down onto his black hair and robes. He jerked as if he’d been shot, his dark eyes frantic.

“My advice, Mr. Abagnale,” Draco said, curling his hand around Harry’s and holding on. “Would be that you leave, as expeditiously as possible.”

Abagnale didn’t need to be told twice. He skirted the room as near to the walls, and as far away from Harry, as he could, tearing at the door when he arrived at it, running out into the hall as if his robes were on fire. Which, given the situation, they might had been if it had gone on much longer.

Harry closed his eyes, and Draco held his hand even as the doors wild swinging slowed and the lights stopped blinking and burned steadily, and the crystals silenced along the walls.

“Impressive, Potter,” he finally murmured. “But this is four-star hotel. We’re probably going to have to pay for that tile.”

“Fuck the tile.” Harry’s eyes lifted to Draco, and Draco saw the last vestiges of his anger still simmering there. “You should have let me castrate the son of a bitch. He had his HAND on you.” Draco lifted his other hand and placed it in the middle of the hard chest.

“But he didn’t hurt me.” He stepped closer, placed himself in front of Harry, lifted both hands and cupped the hard jaw. “He’s an annoying, obnoxious, self-inflated prick. The idea: that he’d think I’d want him when I have this at home.” Harry’s eyes came back to his, and Draco smiled faintly. “Hello, love,” he murmured. “I’ve missed you.”

Harry exhaled, lifting his arms and encircling Draco, pulling him into his chest. Draco slid one hand to cradle his nape, and his other arm slipped around Harry’s broad shoulders. “God, I’ve missed you, too,” Harry said, turning his face into Draco‘s neck. “You can’t go away for this long, ever again. I hate it.”

“I do, too,” Draco murmured in reply. “It’s been interminable.”

Harry sighed again, and Draco felt the hot, moist breath brush against his throat. It made gooseflesh rise on his arms and the back of his neck. He pressed closer into Harry’s embrace, relishing the feel of the hard back under his arm, the hard chest pressed against his own. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink into the warmth, the strength, the feel of the man. And the scent; Harry used a Muggle aftershave that Draco was forever giving him grief over, but the scent of it made Draco’s heart swell and his cock twitch. Slightly spicy, slightly too strong, he’d forever equate that smell with Harry, and he’d never admit it, but he loved it.

Harry’s hands moved over Draco’s back, mapping his spine, then slid lower, curling over the mounds of his arse through the thick velvet and pulling him in tighter against him. “Merlin, you smell good,” he muttered, his nose moving along the line of Draco’s jaw. “No one smells like you.”

Draco felt himself growing breathless as Harry’s open lips skirted the path the tip of his nose had taken. “It’s that obscenely expensive cologne you’re always carping about,” he breathed, letting his head fall to the side as warm breath bathed the skin just behind his ear.

“I’ll never complain about it again,” Harry promised, hands squeezing. One of Harry’s thick thighs slid forward between his long legs, and Draco’s breath shuddered as it escaped over his lips. “Ever. Not ever.”

“Promises, promises.” Draco teased, even as he rolled his hips forward into the press of Harry’s.

“Stop talking.” Harry lifted one hand and cradled the back of Draco’s head, turning it, capturing his lips in a slow, open-mouthed kiss that turned Draco’s knees to jelly. He clutched the back of Harry’s neck even as he returned the kiss, welcomed the sleek slide of Harry’s tongue against his, returned the wet caress with a curling stroke of his own. He shuddered, thinking how desperately he’d missed this feeling.

Harry made a needy sound in his throat, angling his head in the other direction, hand fisting in the back of Draco’s hair. He took a half step forward, Draco did the same, as if they could somehow meld, somehow merge into one person. Draco even wrapped his leg around Harry’s calf, and Harry groaned, pressing his pelvis forward. Draco couldn’t really feel him through the layers of heavy fabric, but he was so hard that he was aching, and thought that Harry must be the same.

Harry pulled his lips from Draco’s, his breath harsh against his face. “I need you,” he gasped. “I need to be inside of you.”

Draco swallowed. “Yes, good plan.”

Harry set Draco from him and took his hand, heading toward the door. “What floor…?”

“Fifteen,” Draco answered breathlessly as Harry pulled him from the restroom and into the lobby. “But, Prescott…”

“Knows you aren’t coming back,” Harry answered tightly. Draco frowned, and tugged on Harry’s hand until he looked back. He wasn’t crazy about the length of this particular trip, but he liked his job, and he didn’t want Harry causing him problems with his employer.

“What do you mean…?”

“He sent me an owl earlier in the evening,” Harry explained, lowering his voice and stepping closer as people moved past them, curious glances shot their way. One or two faces even showed recognition as they spotted Harry, but he was oblivious to their interest. “He said he’d kept you long enough and that it was time for you to go home. I was afraid something was wrong, and then when I got here, Prescott told me to come rescue you in the loo…”

Draco sighed inwardly. The old man really was too observant for Draco’s good; he must have seen Abagnale follow him.

“But before he sent me in after you,” Harry went on, “he said we should spend the night in the suite, on the Ministry, because you’d been brilliant on this trip.” Harry’s eyes were shining and his lower lip curled up at the corner. “Brilliant. His word, not mine.”

The momentary concern Draco had felt about his job melted away, and he took a step in closer to Harry, lowering his voice as well. “The only place I want to be brilliant right now is under you.”

He saw Harry’s eyes darken, saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Right. Suite.” He studied the queue across the lobby in front of the lifts, and cursed under his breath. “Fucking anti-apparition wards,” he growled. “We’ll just have to wait… unless…”

He looked around the large lobby quickly, then made a sound of satisfaction in his throat when he saw a door with a small brass plaque in the middle that read ‘stairs’, and he headed in that direction, hauling Draco along behind him.

“Stairs?” Draco asked in disbelief. “Potter, I’m on the fifteenth floor!”

“We’ll just go up a couple, until there’s a floor with no wait for the lift. Come on.”

Draco knew there was a flaw in his reasoning, but he allowed himself to be pulled through the door and up the first flight of stairs. Harry arrived at the door on the landing, and stuck his head out and looked down the hallway.

“Nope. Queue here, too.” He stepped back into the stairwell, chewing his lower lip, a habit that Draco found almost unbearably sexy. He stared at those white teeth, abusing the kiss swollen lower lip, and felt his breath catch. “I might be able to crack the wards, but there’d be hell to pay…”

Harry didn’t get anything else out, because his mouth was suddenly occupied with Draco’s. He pushed Harry’s shoulders against the stairwell wall and covered his lips, sucking the plump lower lip from between his teeth and nibbling it lightly before soothing it was a swipe of his tongue. Harry grunted and curled his fingers in the soft velvet of Draco’s robes, sucking the tongue into his mouth, catching it against his teeth. Draco moaned, then pulled back and nipped Harry’s chin with his teeth.

“Missed this,” he murmured, hands lifting, fingers curving over hard shoulders.

“Yes,” Harry whispered, Adam’s apple bobbing, enticing Draco to take a nibble of that, as well. Harry’s hand came up to the back of his head, fingers carding through soft, fair hair. Draco’s fingers lifted, and he continued to nip and suck on the line of Harry’s throat as he unfastened the clasps down the front of the heavy robes. When he pushed them back, he found a fitted long sleeved dark tee hugging the musculature of Harry’s chest and flat stomach, and a purr of satisfaction lifted from his throat. Harry’s nipples were peaked beneath the snug cotton, and Draco leaned down and bit one lightly through the fabric. Harry hissed, and the hand in Draco’s hair fisted.

“And this,” Draco said against the mound of muscle, worrying the stiffened nub with his teeth. Harry hissed above his head.

“Fuck, yes.” Harry sounded winded, and Draco smirked. One of his hands slid down over the hard stomach, then lower, over waistband and belt, until his palm was resting over the hard bulge tenting Harry’s denims. He pressed, and Harry pushed into his palm. Draco lifted his gaze back to green eyes nearly blackened with lust. He squeezed, and he saw Harry’s mouth fall open in reaction.

“Definitely this.” he whispered. “It missed me, yes?”

“Yes,” Harry answered thickly.

“Good.” Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s for another slow, searching kiss, his fingers still curled around the hardness encased in denim. After a moment, he pulled back and holding Harry’s eyes, dropped to his knees. When he leaned forward and sank his teeth lightly into the swollen shape, Harry’s hips jerked and he gasped.

“Gods, Draco,” he moaned. “Bed.”

“Too far,” Draco said against the bulge, opening his mouth and exhaling hot breath over the denim encased cock. Harry jerked again.

“Someone might come,” he said between clenched teeth.

“I’m sort of counting on that, actually.” The grin Draco sent upwards was wicked.

“You know what I meant.”

“They won’t,” Draco answered, leaning back, nimble fingers pulling the belt open, unbuttoning and unzipping.

“You don’t know that,” Harry said, voice hoarse and bordering on desperation.

“I do.” Draco shook the wand from his sleeve and negligently cast a spell towards the nearby door, then set it near his knee and slid his long fingers into the front of Harry’s soft flannel y-fronts. He pulled them down, freeing the hard arc of flesh that rose from the tight black curls at Harry’s groin, and nuzzled it with an appreciative sigh. Leaning back, Draco looked up the length of Harry’s body to find his green eyes glued to him, and smiled slowly before leaning in and running his tongue in a sinuous slide from base to tip. Harry’s hands went to the brass railing running along the wall at his lower back, and grasped it in a white-knuckled grip.

“Fuck, Draco,” he gasped.

“That’s your job.” Draco circled the stiff flesh with his hand, savouring the velvety feel under the pads of his fingers. He ran them lightly up the rigid cock, gently pulling back Harry’s foreskin so that the gleaming, reddened head was fully exposed. “I’ll stick with what I do best, shall I?” There wasn’t time for Harry to respond with more than a garbled moan when Draco leaned in and engulfed him smoothly.

Draco knew he gave a magnificent blow job. It was something he took enormous pride in. He knew just where to flick Harry with his tongue (just beneath the swollen glans) just where to press with his fingers, just when to take the whole of the thick, meaty cock into his throat. He’d learned early how not to gag, how to relax his throat, then swallow around the straining head. He knew how to caress the full, warm balls beneath, cupping them in his palm, and then rolling them through his nimble fingers. He knew Harry’s body and his responses as well as he knew his own, and he felt the tremor that ran down the inside of Harry’s thighs as he got closer to completion. Just when the stomach muscles beneath the fitted tee began to stiffen and his thighs went rigid, Draco gave one last light nibble to the mushroom shaped head and rose to his feet, pressing his mouth over Harry’s once again, kissing him deeply; the slightly musky taste of Harry’s pre-come in his mouth.

Harry took charge of this kiss instantly, desperation in the thrust of his tongue, in the trembling in his arms. He grabbed Draco around the ribcage and spun him, pinning his back to the wall, then tore at the expensive robes in order to get to the body beneath as he clamped his mouth over the curve of Draco’s throat.

“Potter,” Draco gasped, hands filling with thick black hair. “Bed, remember?”

“Too late.”

Draco’s toes curled in his shoes as the robes fell open and Harry roughly palmed the tenting in his slacks, and the wet suction on his neck became almost painful. “Potter, easy. I bruise.”

“So you do.” The lips eased a bit as Harry opened Draco’s trousers, but his teeth sank into the supple flesh and bestowed a sharp nip. Draco’s eyes rolled up in his head even as he complained.

“Brute.” He moaned when Harry circled his painfully hard cock with his fingers and stroked him briefly. “What are you doing? Branding me?”

“Yes.” Harry’s eyes came back to Draco’s, inches away, dark, intense. “I want everyone to know that this” — he bit the spot on Draco’s neck again, and he jerked – “is mine, and these” – he leisurely kissed swollen lips -- “are mine. And this” – he squeezed the hard cock that he’d freed from Draco’s trousers – “is most definitely mine.”

“Potter,” Draco muttered, now thoroughly breathless. “You know they are.”

“Right now, it’s more important that they know.” The words were a stark growl, and then Potter was shoving Draco’s trousers and pants down his slender legs, kneeling long enough to drag them off of one ankle. The slender cut slacks caught on Draco’s dress shoes, and Harry finally yanked hard enough that the shoe came off of his foot, still stuck in the pant leg. Harry left the bunched fabric around Draco’s ankle as he hooked his hand under Draco’s bare knee and lifted the leg up to ride his hip. His bare arse rested against the brass railing, and it was cool against him. Draco saw that his skin looked almost unnaturally pale in the dimly lit stairwell, that the dark wool of his sock looked ridiculous at the end of that long, bare leg. But then Harry pressed his hips forward, lining his cock up with Draco’s, pushing and dragging his hardness the length of Draco’s, pressing his balls into the corresponding softness between Draco’s thighs, and he forgot about the silly sock still clinging to his foot in the rush of heat.

Harry reached for one of Draco’s hands and curled it around both of their cocks, squeezing the fingers tight around them. “Hold those,” he quipped, and Draco shot him a wry look. Harry rummaged in the front pocket of his jeans, and removed a small tube of lube. Draco arched one brow.

“Planned ahead?”

“Of course, I planned ahead,” Harry answered, unscrewing the cap and squeezing some of the clear gel onto his fingers. “I haven’t seen you in six fucking weeks. Yeah, I came prepared.”

“I’m not sure if that’s flattering, or insulting,” Draco drawled. “I know I’m pretty much a sure bet by now, but that’s not very romantic, and – oh, fuck…”

He’d been just getting started, but apparently Harry wasn’t interested in the coming diatribe, because he circumvented it by reaching down between Draco’s legs, and spreading some of the cool gel directly onto the puckered entrance to his body. His eyes rolled closed and his head dropped back as Harry gently massaged the slickness into him.

“Draco,” Harry said softly. He lifted his head and caught Harry’s eyes, and Harry held his gaze as he entered him sleekly with his index finger. He was tighter than he’d been in a long time, but there was no pain, and when Harry curled the finger toward his pelvic bone and stroked over his prostate, Draco jerked and hissed as sparks shot up his spine.

“Gods.”

Harry pressed his face against Draco’s throat, and he felt Harry’s smile against his skin. Fingers slick with lube, Harry stroked the swollen place just behind Draco’s balls with his thumb, then pressed in firmly, squeezing the throbbing gland between his fingers, and Draco jerked hard, appalled at the whimper he was unable to suppress.

“Oh, shit,” Draco gasped, squeezing their cocks in retaliation. It was Harry’s turn to moan. “I need you now,” Draco said against Harry’s ear, beginning to move his hand roughly up and down over the straining erections. The prostate massage was making lights flash behind his tightly closed eye-lids. “I need you inside of me.”

“Draco, you’re still too tight,” Harry protested mildly, withdrawing his finger just long enough to add another before pressing in again. There was a mild burn, but Draco scarcely felt it. “It’s been six weeks…”

“I think I know when I’m ready, damnit,” he hissed, adding a twist at the top of each stroke of his palm that he knew drove Harry mad.

“Fuck,” Harry wheezed. “Fine.” He withdrew his fingers and curled his hands around the tops of Draco’s thighs and lifted him effortlessly so that his toes just skimmed the floor. “You’ll have to line me up.”

Draco released their cocks then took Harry’s in his hand. It was so hard that he had to hold him angled away from Harry’s belly, and he lifted his leg higher around Harry’s hip, canting his pelvis forward. When he felt the blunt tip brush against him, he exhaled and positioned Harry, trying to force himself to relax.

“There,” Draco whispered, feeling the press against the protesting ring of muscle. “Now.”

Harry found Draco’s eyes even as he began to breech him. “Don’t you fucking let me hurt you.” He ground out between clenched teeth, and the sound of that ragged voice pushed what caution there might have been out of the window.

“Just… do it!” Draco ordered, hands coming up to curl tight around Harry’s elbows even as Harry’s hands shifted and his fingers dug into the muscle of each arse cheek.

Harry took him with one hard, emphatic thrust. Draco gasped as he was forcefully impaled. His body immediately protested, a sharp burning pain, but Draco wanted him so desperately that the pain morphed with the pleasure, making it almost unbearably sweet. “Oh, Gods,” he groaned even as Harry released a guttural moan of his own. “Oh, yes.” Harry had gone completely still, waiting for Draco’s body to relax around him, but that wasn’t what Draco wanted; not then. He moved his hips, and even though it sent another jolt of pain up his spine, he revelled in the proof of possession. “Come on,” he hissed against Harry’s neck. “Fuck me, Potter.”

He heard Harry’s shaky laugh, but he began to move. “Bossy – fucking – arsehole,” he gasped between shallow thrusts.

“Arsehole currently occupied,” Draco sniped. “And for God’s sake, Potter, you can do better than that.”

“Oh, shut it!” Harry lifted his head then and took Draco’s lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue repeating in his mouth what his body began to do, lower. The thrusts grew hard, pushing him up the wall on each emphatic stroke. Draco wrapped his leg around Harry’s narrow waist, and hung on for the punishing ride.

“Harder,” he prompted, nearly crying out loud when Harry found an angle that pressed directly on Draco’s prostate with each thrust. “Harder!” Harry drew back from the kiss with a harsh gasp and caught Draco’s eyes.

“I’m not – going to last,” he said, his jaw tight. “It’s been too long; you’re too – fucking – tight.” He swallowed heavily. “Touch yourself, Draco. I need you to come…”

“I will,” Draco managed, even as Harry moved into him. “Just -- don’t stop.”

Harry nodded raggedly, pressing Draco’s shoulders into the unforgiving wall and pumping into him hard and fast. Draco’s hands turned into bruising talons on Harry’s arms, nails digging in as the pressure inside of him began to build, as his balls began to tighten and pull up. “Oh,” he groaned. “Oh, yes. Gods, right there. Don’t stop, don’t stop…” He clenched his eyes shut, hanging on for dear life.

The pleasure reached an almost unbearable pitch, and Draco hung there on the edge of orgasm, sphincter tightening, toes curling even as Harry pounded into him, flesh slapping flesh, harsh grunts coming from his throat, change or keys or something in Harry’s pockets jangling on every brutal thrust. It was so loud; they were so loud, that he almost didn’t hear the soft squeak of a door opening. Harry clearly didn’t. But Draco did, and his eyes opened, and he looked down.

On the landing below, the door to the stairwell swung open and Draco had just a quick flash of bluish white hair, a pair of startled pale blue eyes and another of deepest brown, before the door swung shut again. And Draco might have groaned in recognition, and regret that he hadn’t spelled both doors locked, but that was the moment that Harry’s movements went wild and graceless, a harsh growl emitted from his throat, and he began to shake hard as he came. Draco saw his eyes clench shut and his mouth drop open, and Draco knew that this most powerful of wizards had left himself completely vulnerable, to him. It was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in his life, humbling him each time it happened. Harry’s loss of control sent Draco over the edge into his own orgasm, one so violent that he could only cry out and hang on as the force of it shook him to his core.

They were gasping and clinging to one another as rational thought returned. Harry stayed inside of Draco until he began to soften, then he withdrew as gently as he could, still holding him in his arms. Draco let his leg fall limply from around Harry’s waist, and his legs felt shaky when he braced them. The slick slide of liquid down his inner thigh made him grimace.

“I’m… sticky,” he complained softly. Harry muttered something under his breath, and Draco felt the tingling of a cleansing spell brush the tenderized flesh, and he shivered.

“Are you cold?” Harry’s arms tightened around him, and Draco tucked his face into Harry’s throat. He inhaled of that uniquely Harry smell, now mingled with the unmistakable aroma of sex, and sighed.

“Aftershocks,” Draco provided breathlessly.

“Ah.”

They stood silently for a long time, just holding one another, when something Harry had said earlier returned to Draco, and he frowned slightly.

“Hey,” he murmured, curling his fingers in Harry’s damp hair and pulling his head back. The eyes that Draco looked into were faintly glazed, and he smiled slightly. “Since when are you my fiancé?”

He was so utterly charmed by the blush that spread up from Harry’s collar that he almost missed the flash of insecurity that moved through Harry’s expressive eyes.

“I had planned to get down on one knee, and everything,” Harry began self-consciously. “And I have a ring…” He dampened his lips with his tongue, and it occurred to Draco that he was suddenly stiff in his arms, battling nerves. But the eyes that looked into his were now clear and level, and without guile. “You know that I’m terrible with the grand, romantic gesture,” Harry said quickly. “I just… I’m not very articulate, and I say the wrong thing, and even when I try I sort of manage to bollicks it up…”

“Potter.”

The firm sound of Draco’s voice cut off the quickly spiralling ramble, and Harry swallowed again, waiting.

“Ask.”

Still Harry stared, eyes watchful and, Draco thought, a bit afraid. He felt his heart fill, and he reached up with one hand to caress the tense jaw. “Harry, ask.”

Again, Harry nervously dampened his lips, and they stood there, hips, stomachs, soft spent cocks pressed warmly together as the silence grew.

“You’re braver than this.” Draco’s whisper was kind, and he put as much love as he could into his eyes. Harry straightened, and nodded tightly.

“Draco, would you… I mean, I’d like for you… I want to…” Harry grimaced in exasperation and looked down, and Draco took pity on him, lifting his other hand and cupping the flushed face between his palms.

“Harry,” he murmured, and Harry raised chagrined eyes to his. “I will,” he promised. “I’d like to, I want to, every day for the rest of my life.”

Relief washed over Harry’s handsome face, followed by a sort of startled, wondering joy. “You will?”

“Yes,” Draco said, smiling. “Oh, yes.”

Harry made a rough, thankful sound in his throat and pulled Draco into a firm embrace. “Gods, I love you,” he said, his mouth open against Draco’s face. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Draco answered, his heart full.

Harry took his mouth in a deep and profoundly tender kiss, and Draco felt a twitch in Harry’s soft cock that corresponded with the one that moved through his own. And as they lost themselves to a rapidly growing renewal of passion, Draco allowed himself to completely forget the startled expression that he’d seen on the face of Ambassador Prescott’s wife, and the astonishment in Minister Cardoza’s wife’s eyes, as they’d stared at them through the banister.
*******

Dawn was just washing through the sheer curtains at the floor to ceiling windows in Draco’s sumptuous suite, painting the walls a soft pink, when he stirred the following morning, stretching and grimacing slightly as muscles unused for six weeks protested the night’s vigorous activities. He needed the loo, and gently patted the arm that had tightened around his waist.

“Don’t.”

The voice was hoarse and deep near his ear. The warm breath brushed the soft hair in front of it, and Draco felt a thrill run the length of his spine. God, he really was hopeless where this man was concerned.

“Loo. I’ll be right back.”

Harry grumbled but released him, and Draco moved gingerly from the bed, wincing when his feet hit the floor. He glanced back quickly, just to be certain Harry hadn’t seen his pained reaction. The last thing he wanted was a guilty fiancé; he’d cheerfully participated the two… no, wait, three times they’d made love once they’d made it to the room, and he didn’t want Harry fearing they’d over done it. He’d earned the sore muscles; he wanted the chance to enjoy the twinge and pull in places he’d almost forgotten he had. But as he looked back, he saw that Harry was limp and probably already back asleep, long tawny limbs splayed, black hair a riot against the white pillowcase. Draco smirked fondly, thinking he’d successfully shagged him senseless, and limped toward the bathroom door.




It was when he emerged that he noticed the small silver tray on the table next to the suite’s door, bearing a neat square of parchment with the unmistakable Ministry Seal. Grimacing, knowing the note was from Ambassador Prescott, he made his way over and picked it up. Sighing, for the handwriting on the face was in fact that of his employer, Draco popped the seal.

“Good Morning,” the man had written in the slightly messy scrawl that it had taken Draco months to decipher. “I hope that you and Mister Potter will feel free to enjoy the Ministry’s hospitality for another day, staying on in this suite as my gift to you for a job well done. And do thank him for his patience; in future, I will attempt to limit your participation in these jaunts to three weeks or less. I fear I had forgotten what it is to be young and in love, until my wife scolded me last night for my thoughtlessness.

Oh, and in regards to my wife; she very much wanted me to tell you that she was delighted that your reunion was so happy, but that for future reference you might want to consider someplace other than a stairwell. She’s an amazingly progressive woman, my wife.” Draco’s fingers drifted to his lips, and he felt heat fill his cheeks at the memory of those widened blue eyes.

“I’m not quite sure at this juncture what the reaction of Minister Cordoza’s wife will be. It is perhaps fortunate,” the ambassador had continued, “that anything we do while on these jaunts is covered by diplomatic immunity. I’ll see you back in London on Tuesday.

Adrian Prescott.”

Draco couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face as he dropped the note back onto the silver tray and turned toward the bed. The morning sunlight caught the platinum ring on his left hand, and he lifted it to study the simple band that glowed against his pale skin with warmth blooming in his chest. Harry wore its twin on his left hand, and the significance of it pleased Draco more than he’d thought possible.

“Do you plan to come back to bed?”

He looked up and saw that Harry was awake, reclining on his side with his head propped on one hand, watching him with a fond smile. There was unmistakable heat in his eyes as he studied Draco’s nude body. For his part, Draco took in the broad shoulders, the muscled chest, the ragged mess of black hair, and knew he’d never seen anything so perfect in his life.

“I do.”

And he did, aches and pains summarily forgotten

End