1

It was the gloves, Harry decided. They were unusual enough to draw attention, although at first glance they seemed to be simple black leather gloves. The more they snared his gaze, however, the more he noticed. They were covered in intricate stitching, most likely black silk thread, considering the owner, and seemed to follow an elaborate pattern. The more Harry studied them, the more he wondered. Was the pattern a rune? Were the gloves spelled? If so, what was their purpose?

The gloves, unfortunately, happened to be attached to Harry's once-again rival, Draco Malfoy. They had returned to Hogwarts after what some people referred to as "that unpleasantness with You-Know-Who" regardless of the fact that dozens of people had been brutally killed. Despite the heinous condition of the school, the professors tried gamely to ensure that school life basically maintained normalcy. The few "eighth-year" students were housed with the new seventh-years and inter-House rivalry remained strong, spurred along by a renewed interest in Quidditch.

Harry had succumbed to the urging of Professor McGonagall and tried out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. To his surprise, Malfoy did the same and was once again the Slytherin Seeker.

His eyes fixed on the gloves as Malfoy knelt to tighten the laces on his green leather boots. Harry flexed his hands, encased in plain brown Quiddich gloves trimmed in red and gold. Why did Malfoy have special gloves? And why were they not Slytherin colours? Why black? Were they infused with Dark Magic?

The platinum head rose suddenly and grey eyes locked with Harry's. He flushed and tried to look away, annoyed at having been caught. Instead of the patented glare, Malfoy only smirked and waggled his black-clad fingers in Harry's direction. Harry looked away then and clenched his hands on his broom. Damned Slytherin. He seemed to have bounced back quite nicely after the "unpleasantness" although his choice of friends had changed dramatically. He no longer spent time with Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini. His only friend now seemed to be Theodore Nott, whose father was also doing a stint in Azkaban with Lucius. Gregory Goyle had not returned to Hogwarts.

Harry glanced back once more—at the gloves—and found them disturbingly near Malfoy's face, wrapped around the handle of his broom just beneath his pointy chin. Malfoy's eyes were still fixed on Harry and he flushed again. Shit. Twice in as many minutes he had been caught looking at the blond.

Not that he wasn't a sight worth looking at. Over the summer Malfoy had turned into a lean, muscular god, which was particularly annoying now that Harry had discovered that, without the constant threat of death, he actually found blokes attractive. Especially tall, slender, delicious-looking blond blokes wearing black gloves.

Harry scowled and debated bashing his head against his broom handle, but the team surged forward and he realized the game was about to begin. He shook off his reverie and hurried forward to the cheering of the crowd.

Quidditch was still exhilarating. The weather was perfect, crisp and cold, with excellent visibility. He circled the pitch lazily while flicking his gaze from the sky to Malfoy, alert for any sudden movement from the blond. At one point Malfoy surged downward and Harry sent his broom hurtling toward him. Had Malfoy seen the Snitch?

When he got close, Malfoy slowed his broom and smirked at him. "False alarm, Potter."

Harry looked at Malfoy's gloves. Did they help him grip the broom? Would they help him catch the Snitch?

"Like my gloves, then?"

Harry jerked his eyes away and shrugged, once again combing the sky for a flash of gold.

"Don't care one way or the other, Malfoy," he replied nonchalantly.

"Really? Then it must be my hands that you find so fascinating."

Harry's eyes widened at the taunting words and the ridiculous surge of lust they generated. He glanced uncomfortably at the gloves once more and tried not to notice the way they curved around the wood. To his horror, Malfoy uncurled one hand and stroked it up and down the broom in a suggestive fashion.

Harry choked back a strangled cry and surged his broom forward, trying to escape the Slytherin and his bloody black gloves.

His reprieve was short-lived. It was only minutes later that a flash of gold caught his eye and he raced forward, determined to finish the game and get as far from Draco Malfoy as possible. The blond in question was suddenly right next to him, close enough that their knees bumped together. Harry clenched his teeth and put on a burst of speed that Malfoy matched. The Snitch was close, darting to and fro in front of their brooms. Harry stretched out his hand and Malfoy did the same.

The black glove brushed over the back of Harry's hand, distracting him for only an instant—an instant too long. Long, black-clad fingers stretched out and grasped the winged ball. Draco Malfoy had caught the Snitch!

***

Harry took his time in the showers. None of the Gryffindors had blamed him for the loss, but he felt foolish all the same. He replayed the catch in his mind for the dozenth time and convinced himself that he should have had it. Malfoy's gloves had to have been spelled. Perhaps they were enchanted to pull in the Snitch when he got close enough?

Harry dressed with sudden resolve. He needed to check out Malfoy's gloves. Most of the Gryffindors had already gone, so Harry assumed the Slytherins were also back at the castle by now, celebrating their victory. To be safe, he dragged his invisibility cloak out of his bag and slung it on before gamely trekking down the hall to the Slytherin locker room. He hoped Malfoy had left the thrice-damned gloves in his locker.

He crept into the locker room, walking carefully in case any of the Slytherins still lingered. It seemed to be deserted and he breathed a sigh of relief. The layout was opposite that of the Gryffindor locker rooms, so he was slightly disoriented when he tried to determine where the lockers would be. He turned a corner and nearly gave himself away when he stopped short with a gasp.

Malfoy's head snapped up in surprise and then a frown creased his brow when his eyes swept over and then through Harry, who held his breath and prayed his cloak had not slipped. There was a long, tense moment and then Malfoy seemed to shake himself and turned his attention back to what he was doing.

What he was doing was beyond Harry's comprehension. The blond leaned against the wall, clad only in a form-fitting white shirt, a pair of silver-grey briefs—and those gloves. One glove had wrapped in the hem of his shirt and hoisted the material up to expose the stunning grooves and dips of Malfoy's incredible abdomen. Harry's eyes caressed every morsel of bare flesh and travelled downward until they reached the delectable bulge covered—barely—by the briefs.

He shut his eyes for a moment and drew a shuddering breath, unable to process what his eyes beheld. They flew open again almost immediately. There was no way he would miss a single instant of whatever Malfoy planned to do next. Malfoy's other gloved hand slowly followed the curves and dips of his abdomen, splaying as they reached the indentation of his bellybutton. Harry wondered how the leather would feel sliding across his own skin, driven by those hands, and the blood began to hammer in his ears.

Malfoy's hand moved lower and then tucked beneath the waistband of the briefs, nearly stopping Harry's heart completely. Was it his imagination, or had the bulge grown? Harry's newfound erection was large and painful, twitching uncomfortably against the zipper of his jeans.

"See anything you like, Potter?" Malfoy purred. "Besides the gloves?"

2

Harry, torn between the urge to run away and the need to stay, remained motionless, heart thudding wildly.

"Oh come now, Potter. I know you're lurking there beneath your little cloak. Were you hoping to catch me in the shower? Or possibly doing something even more… enticing?" With that, the blond pushed his gloved hand deeper into his briefs… and stroked.

Harry could not have moved if he tried. Every electrical impulse in his body seemed to have concentrated itself in his groin, preventing not only movement, but coherent thought. It suddenly seemed extraordinarily hot beneath the confining material of his cloak.

Malfoy sighed and pushed away from the wall without removing his right hand from his pants. As he moved, the pink tip of his cock peeked from beneath the silvery waistband. Harry's jaw dropped and he touched his tongue to suddenly bone-dry lips.

Run, run, run! his mind screamed as Malfoy drew closer, but his body refused to obey. Malfoy's left hand reached out, blindly feeling his way as he stepped closer and closer… His fingertips touched Harry's chest and the grey eyes widened—had Malfoy been bluffing? The glove curled shut on a handful of invisibility cloak and tore it away in a swirl of material, leaving Harry's hair standing on end in a mass of static.

Harry blinked at Malfoy, whose eyes were still huge with amazement. Harry swallowed hard and tried to speak, but anything he might have said would come out as idiocy. He was caught, plain and simple. He waited for Malfoy to sneer at him, or laugh, or shove him, or hex him. Instead, Malfoy's gloved hand touched Harry's chest again, tentatively, as though Harry were a figment instead of flesh and blood.

When Harry did not move, the touch grew bolder, splaying wide and sliding over Harry's chest. Malfoy stepped closer, close enough that their breath mingled and Harry smelled peppermint and chocolate—Malfoy and his sweet tooth; he seemed to exist on sugar alone.

Malfoy's right hand tugged at the bottom of Harry's shirt, easing it slowly from the waistband of his jeans. Harry realized the movement meant Malfoy's hand no longer teased his cock, which would have been a tragedy if those hands were not touching Harry. He wanted to drop his eyes but his gaze was entranced by silver.

His shirt slid out and out and out, and then fingers touched his abdomen, slightly cool, but soft as lambskin. Harry shivered as Malfoy's hand travelled upwards, beneath his shirt. The fact that Malfoy had not removed his gloves was somehow ridiculously erotic. Both hands caressed Harry's nipples, one outside his shirt and one beneath, stroking languidly.

Malfoy moved closer still and Harry opened his mouth—to speak?—which Malfoy seemed to take as an invitation. His grey eyes drifted shut and then his lips were on Harry's, firm and demanding. Malfoy pushed him suddenly, not away, but into the wall. Harry's head banged against the stone, but he didn't care because Malfoy had not broken the kiss, the kiss that was sending the blood back through Harry's body in boiling cascades and causing him to clutch crazily at anything that would keep him from falling—like Malfoy's hips.

Malfoy was gifted beyond Harry's comprehension. His tongue found places in Harry's mouth that Harry hadn't realized were directly connected to his cock. He whimpered when Malfoy broke the kiss, but he forgave the blond when the t-shirt was yanked over his head and tossed to the floor, giving both gloved hands access to Harry's bare torso. A moment later, Malfoy's shirt joined Harry's and then those hands were back on his flesh where they belonged.

"Want these gloves, don't you, Potter?" Malfoy rasped and Harry leaned forward to capture his lips, knowing his shudder would be answer enough. He had never been so hard. The thought made him remember that his hands were curled hard around Malfoy's hipbones. He curved them around Malfoy's arse and dragged him closer, feeling a rush of satisfaction when Malfoy inhaled sharply. Dear Merlin, his hard cock against Harry's felt amazing and he pulled harder, grinding his hips forward into the blond.

Malfoy growled low in his throat and tore his lips from Harry's. "Jeans off," he demanded and moved his hands downward. Harry regretfully loosened his grip on Malfoy's arse, but did not let go. His eyes followed the path of Malfoy's hands as they struggled with the button on Harry's jeans. Gloves were difficult to manoeuvre around small fasteners, but the Slytherin seemed determined. Harry was momentarily distracted by the sight of Malfoy's perfect teeth worrying his lower lip, until the sound of the zipper sliding down in slow notches drew his attention back to his straining erection.

Malfoy's hands lifted, only to move outside of Harry's arms and take a firm grip on Harry's jeans in order to yank them down in a sharp motion. They fell to his knees and Harry belatedly noted that this would be a hell of a position to be caught in—they could only be doing one thing… That one thing returned to the forefront of his mind when Malfoy's gloved hands trailed up the outsides of Harry's thighs to curl beneath the hem of his boxers. Before he could as much as gasp, another sharp jerk brought those down as well. They settled atop the jeans, baring Harry completely to Malfoy's gaze, which seemed predatory and altogether tantalizing as he reared back slightly to look at Harry—all of Harry.

He held his breath until molten silver eyes returned to his and a pink tongue flicked out to touch swollen lips before Malfoy asked, "Gloves or no gloves?"

Harry had to clear his throat before he could utter the first words he had spoken since his arrival. "Gloves."

Malfoy's smile was brilliant. "Kinky, are we?" Before Harry could retort, a gloved hand wrapped around his cock and the only sound he could make was a strangled cry. Malfoy began to stroke. The leather was soft, but still rough enough to provide delicious friction. Harry was afraid he would come too soon—fuck, he was so close already!

His clenching hands provided a distraction, and he forced his attention from his imminent orgasm to the wonder that was Malfoy's arse. Harry tore at the briefs and sighed when his hands touched warm flesh. Malfoy's freed cock nudged against his and Harry gasped when Malfoy moaned. He realized only one hand stroked his cock in that—oh fucking Merlin—in that brilliant way, leaving the other free.

"Yours," he muttered mindlessly.

"Yes, that one is mine, Potter," Malfoy said in calm tones and Harry was suddenly jealous of the blond's ability to retain coherency.

"Stroke yours, too," Harry managed and Malfoy's eyes widened in surprise before he looked down. Their foreheads bumped for a moment and then rested together as Malfoy wrapped his other gloved hand around his own cock and stroked them side by side in unison. It was, without question, the hottest thing Harry had ever seen.

Sensation was building again, constructed by each amazing motion of Malfoy's fingers stroking, stroking, stroking. He dimly realized that Malfoy was doing all the work, so he let go of Malfoy's lovely arse with one hand in order to move the other forward. He carefully cupped Malfoy's balls and tugged at them gently. Malfoy's strangled cry was ample reward, so he did it again.

"Oh fuck, Potter, I'm—"

"Coming," Harry finished for him as they both exploded at once, shooting liquid haphazardly over Malfoy's gloves, Harry's arm, and both quivering abdomens. Harry didn't dare close his eyes as shudders of bliss wracked through him. He wanted to remember that sight forever. Malfoy kept his hands moving, milking every drop from them both.

His forehead slid away from Harry's only to rest against his shoulder. Harry had the bizarre urge to pull the blond closer, so he moved his hand from Malfoy's arse up his broad back sliding through the sweat gathered there. He nuzzled Malfoy's fine, damp hair.

"I think we need another shower," he joked quietly.

"Is that an invitation?" Malfoy mumbled into the space between them.

The thought of showering with Malfoy opened up another realm of possibility and Harry's spent cock twitched with anticipation, eager for another round. "Yes," he said thickly and Malfoy's head rose. He met Harry's gaze and then his lips curled into a smile.

"Last one to the shower is fucked," Malfoy said seductively and then slipped out of Harry's grasp. He walked away easily, stepping out of his briefs and striding along the corridor with his bare arse gleaming.

"Hey!" Harry called and nearly fell headlong as he struggled to move with his clothing tangled around his legs. "Malfoy!"

"Hurry up, Potter, I won't wait all night," he called. "But there are a few other things I'd like to do with these gloves."

He waggled a black-clad hand in the air. Harry tore at his clothing like a man possessed before racing after Malfoy and his damned incredible gloves.

End