1  The Martini

Nathan "the Gnat" Parker (better known to his fellow paparazzi as Nat) sat well-hidden behind a copy of The Sun at his table in the trendy Muggle bar. His untouched martini sat just next to his right hand. His wizard robes had been exchanged tonight for a dirty overcoat, stained with coffee and reeking of stale cigarettes.

He drew no attention to himself as anything but a sleazy Muggle, and that was just what he wanted. Invisible yet annoying as his insect namesake, Nat Parker was a freelance photographer with a specialty for capturing celebrities at their worst - and then selling the stories to the highest bidder to be splashed across the tabloids.

A thin smirk sat on his lips as his beady eyes took in every detail of the young couple at a nearby table. He'd set his eyes on the ultimate prize today - an exposé of all the sordid details of Harry Potter's sex life.

Nothing sold papers like the Boy Who Lived, and Nat knew a good shot of him snogging his prissy boyfriend would fetch a high price. Today, however, he was going for the gold. He wanted detail - intimate detail about what went on in the bedroom - and photos. If the couple was half as randy as they were rumoured to be, Nat was sure by the end of the night, he'd have all the dirty pictures he needed.

His smirk deepened. The really nasty shots could be discreetly sold to certain individuals for a very tidy profit.

The couple leaned in to whisper to each other, so Nat adjusted his newspaper to keep them in view. This particular copy of The Sun was cleverly charmed to allow him to see through it, while still appearing solid to others. His Quick Quotes Quill was within easy reach in his inside pocket, his camera dangled at the ready beneath the overcoat, and an Extendable Ear discreetly hidden in his sleeve helped pick up their lovey-dovey whispers.

"I'm so happy to see you," Potter said, with disgusting earnestness. "I barely saw you all day. I missed you."

Malfoy favoured him with a smile, a rare thing to see on a Malfoy. "I missed you too," he said sweetly, sipping from a pale green martini.

"I missed you more," Potter retorted. His loving expression was enough to turn Nat's stomach. "I spent the whole day bored out of my mind, staring at Merryweather's ugly face. You have no idea how nice it is to finally see something as gorgeous as you."

Malfoy almost preened. "Flattery will get you everywhere," he said coyly, before the last of his drink disappeared down his throat.

Nancy little ponce, Nat thought derisively. Look at the way he laps up the attention Potter gives him.

He turned his newspaper back to page three, the only page that he'd left un-charmed and still solid. His concentration turned for a moment to the topless blonde woman with pigtails pouting prettily for the camera. The text below informed him that "Nikki" was nineteen, hailed from Essex, and liked pink cocktails, sparkly barrettes and nice cars.

Nat eyed her lecherously. After he sold the photos of Potter, he just might get himself a Benz and see if he could pay Miss Nikki a visit.

When he finally tore his gaze away from her double-Ds, he realized that Malfoy was watching him closely.

A little too closely.

"Harry," Malfoy suddenly cooed, in a voice as sweet as fairy floss. He leaned over and gave his boyfriend a kiss on the cheek. "I'm ready to go. Will you take care of the tab?"

Completely spoilt, Nat surmised, as Potter readily agreed. Gets whatever he wants out of Potter by acting cute. And Potter's absolutely cock-whipped by the look of things. Pathetic.

Potter stood, and headed over to the bar. Nat folded his paper, getting ready to follow the couple, when he suddenly realized that Malfoy was walking straight towards him.

To his great surprise, seconds later Draco Malfoy took the seat across from him.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," he said, fixing Nat with eyes the colour of steel. "But then, you already know my name, don't you?"

Nat's eyes widened slightly, but he refused to let Malfoy get the upper hand. "The name's Nat," he said, dodging Malfoy's question. "Nat Parker." He held out a hand.

Malfoy didn't take it. "I know who you are," he said coldly. "You're that filthy paparazzo known as "the Gnat." Here to make a bit of money by exploiting my boyfriend, are you?"

Nat's eyes narrowed. When he spoke his voice was snide. "Do you really think I'm going to answer that question?"

Malfoy raised one perfect eyebrow. Nat sneered. Probably has them bloody tweezed, the vain brat.

"Leave Harry alone." It wasn't a request. Malfoy's soft tone only thinly veiled his underlying threat.

Nat chose to ignore it. "No," he said scornfully. "The public loves Potter. A good picture of him is worth piles of galleons."

Malfoy regarded him balefully. "No amount of galleons is worth messing with a Malfoy's lover."

Nat rolled his eyes. "Lover?" he repeated derisively. "Spare me. Everyone knows a pureblood like you isn't going to stay with Potter. He's a half-blood, raised by Muggles. Not really Malfoy style …unless you like slumming?"

Malfoy cold eyes turned to ice. "Don't talk about my boyfriend like that," he said dangerously.

"Oooh, did I ruffle your ickle feathers?" Nat said patronizingly. "Perhaps slumming is your kink. I can see the headline now: Draco Malfoy - Slut for Half-Bloods and Closet Muggle Lover."

Instead of getting angry, a nasty smile crossed Malfoy's lips. "You can learn a lot from Muggles," he said coolly. He gestured to the table. "For example, take this martini you've been pretending to drink. Gin and vermouth, shaken with ice. A Muggle once told me a perfect martini is at a temperature of just over three degrees."

Nat sneered. "As long as it's cold, why should I give a bleeding fuck about the temperature of my martini?"

Malfoy's smile became nastier. "Because temperature can change so quickly. See, if I use this charming little spell…"

Nat didn't see a wand move, but the next moment the martini in front of him was boiling rapidly.

"…the temperature is now a steamy one hundred degrees." Malfoy's eyes were full of barely concealed venom. "By contrast, the blood that runs through your veins is thirty-seven or so degrees - a good deal warmer than a martini. Much easier to bring to a boil, wouldn't you say?"

For an instant, fear sparked in Nat's stomach, but he quickly banished it, scoffing. "You're bluffing," he said rudely, as the martini continued to bubble and steam. "There's no spell to make human blood boil."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you think?" He twirled his wand between his fingers. "You know, my father learned a lot of interesting spells in his life," he said casually. "Spells you might not think exist. Spells you might not want to believe exist. And like a proper dad, he taught me everything I know."

He paused. "I believe you've met my father?" he added nonchalantly.

At the mention of Lucius Malfoy, all the blood drained from Nat's face. His one attempt at doing a story on Lucius Malfoy had led to Nat's dismissal from The Daily Prophet, a painful skin condition that left him hospitalized for a week, and an unnatural case of night terrors so intense he'd been forced to see a psychiatrist.

He stared wide-eyed at the boiling martini, seeing it in a whole new light. The blood in his veins suddenly felt much too hot, and his overcoat stifling. Tiny drops of sweat began to bead on his forehead.

"Now, I'm a nice guy," Malfoy said pleasantly. He raised the bubbling martini by the stem of the glass - and blew. The surface immediately stilled; crystals of frozen water forming as the steam froze and rained down into the liquid like miniature drops of hail. A thin layer of ice blossomed on the glass rim, crackling softly. "I like a good time as much as the next bloke."

Nat shivered, the sweat on his body rapidly cooling and catching the smallest of drafts. Is Malfoy doing this to me? he thought wildly. Or am I imagining things?

Malfoy took a delicate sip and then set the icy martini back on the table. "But you know what gets me down, Nat?"

Nat shook his head. Goose-bumps were beginning to prickle on his arms.

Malfoy's smile could have frozen every drink within ten feet. "When someone upsets my boyfriend."

He lifted his hand to the martini glass and gracefully traced his index finger around the frozen rim. Nat flinched, certain he could feel tiny, icy fingers crawling up his spine. "You see, Harry is very special to me. I like to make sure he's happy. And when Harry's not happy - well, I'm not happy."

Nat gulped, and rubbed at his arms to warm them. His body temperature felt like it was dropping, and he tugged his overcoat closer, feeling a chill deep in his bones.

"Harry has had a bit of trouble with the papers," Malfoy continued thoughtfully. He smoothly lifted the olive garnish out of the glass. It was speared by a cheap plastic stick and coated with frost. "The press wasn't very nice to him when he was younger. I'm sure you can appreciate that he doesn't enjoy having his personal life splashed across the tabloids for all and sundry to read."

As Nat continued to shiver, Malfoy raised the olive to his lips and slowly, almost obscenely, sucked it between his parted lips. A moment later, he slid it back out. The frost had melted from the heat of his mouth, and the olive glistened in the dim light. "You see, Harry wants to be left alone by the press. And as his boyfriend, I see to it that he gets what he wants."

He touched the olive to the surface of the martini in an almost dainty gesture. Nat had to stifle a gasp as the liquid immediately curdled, turning black and poisonous before his eyes. A foul stench wafted up from the glass, like rancid meat. Nat's stomach lurched sickeningly, and he knew he was moments away from being seriously ill.

He lifted his gaze to Malfoy, who was watching him with a malicious expression. Panic surged through Nat as he finally grasped the danger he was in.

"Let me make myself clear." Malfoy's voice was soft and deadly. "If some filthy rag publishes one single word from you that Harry doesn't like - if you make his brow furrow, or his lips pout, or, Merlin help you, if you make him frown…then you'll be seeing me again. And next time, there won't be a martini."

His eyes were venomous, like a cobra sizing up a mouse. Nat wasn't entirely sure he hadn't wet himself from fear.

Slowly, Malfoy lifted the congealed martini and brought it to his lips. His eyes remained locked on Nat's as he kissed the rim.

When he set the glass back down, the liquid was clear again, as if it had never been anything but gin and vermouth. Relief flooded through Nat in a powerful wave, and he sagged in his chair, exhausted.

"So I think we understand each other, yes?" Malfoy suddenly said pleasantly. He reached into his pocket and brought out his wallet. "Drinks are on me. You have a lovely evening."

Nat could only watch in a frozen sort of horror as Malfoy smoothly dropped a couple bills on the table and then stood. He strode away, meeting Potter halfway across the room. With the Extendable Ear still in his sleeve, Nat could just barely make out the couple's voices.

"Mmm, there you are," Potter said fondly, as he planted a big kiss right on Malfoy's lips. "I've settled our tab. Are you ready to go?"

Malfoy returned the kiss with passion. "Absolutely," he purred. His voice was warm now, suffused with love and even tenderness.

They began to walk away, fingertips discreetly entwined. "Who was that you were talking to?" he heard Potter ask.

Malfoy kissed his cheek. "No one you need to worry about," he said reassuringly, and then they were too far away for Nat to hear.

Nat remained seated for several minutes, toying with the stem of the martini glass with trembling hands. When he finally thought he had a bit of his composure back, he stood. He just needed to pay a quick visit to the men's room before going back to his flat and spending the rest of his life hiding from all things Malfoy.

As he stood in the men's room, washing his hands, a muffled noise coming from one of the stalls caught his attention. Even scared almost witless, he was still a curious reporter, and followed his ears to the very last stall.

The door was ajar, so he tilted his head slightly and peered inside. Then he gasped.

Draco Malfoy was off his feet, pressed against the wall by Harry Potter. Potter's arms held him securely, and he was kissing Malfoy's neck, muttering endearments as he did. Malfoy's trousers dangled from one of the legs wrapped tightly around Harry's waist. An expression of complete ecstasy was on his face as Potter thrust into him with careful strokes.

Nat could have had his story. Malfoy and Potter were much too wrapped up in each other to notice him. And the picture they made was sexy as hell: Malfoy with his disheveled hair and flushed face and Potter nearly shirtless, muscles flexed and glistening from exertion.

He could have an offer on their photos by midnight. Enough galleons to set him, Miss Nikki, and Miss Nikki's double-Ds up with a Mercedes-Benz and a nice flat in Chelsea…

…Or he could live to see his next birthday. Quietly, he closed the stall door and ran.

2 Get Your Own Gryffindor

Blaise Zabini sat comfortably at a high stool at the bar, and eyed his long-time friend over the top of his chocolate martini. "Draco," he said witheringly. "You do know that 'Gryffindor-baiting' is not a real sport?"

"Rubbish," Draco said emphatically, sucking down the last few drops of a luridly pink drink. "It is too."

There were two high spots of pink on Draco's cheeks, and his eyes shone slightly brighter than normal. By his count, Draco had just finished his third cocktail. Blaise surmised that while the blonde wasn't quite drunk, by no means was he operating at the height of his Slytherin cunning.

"It's not a sport," Blaise repeated, with the air of a man dealing with someone rather slow. "It's just something you do because you like getting Potter riled up."

At the mention of Potter, Draco turned, looking over his shoulder at a nearby table where Potter sat laughing with several of his friends from Hogwarts. Their get-together had been the main point of tonight. Blaise was only here because Draco had begged him to come and not leave him an only Slytherin at the mercy of a bunch of Gryffindors.

"You have to come, Blaise," Draco had whined when he Floo-called earlier that day. "They're going to drink beer and talk sports and appall me with their table manners. I need backup."

Blaise had raised an eyebrow. "I thought you liked your men manly."

Draco made a face. "There's a difference between manly and slovenly, you know. And besides, I'm the manly one in our relationship."

Blaise had wisely refrained from commenting, and simply agreed to be Draco's wingman at the bar that night. They had stationed themselves at the marble-topped bar; sipping classy cocktails on Potter's tab a comfortable distance away from the Gryffindor get-together.

Still, as he observed the rowdy table, even Blaise had to admit they were an intriguing group. What Gryffindors lacked in refinement, they generally made up in sheer balls. Potter and his friends carried on loudly and happily, completely unaware of the attention they garnered, and of the curious, disapproving and even envious looks sent their way.

Potter was obviously in his element, surrounded by friends and his surrogate Weasley family. He was laughing at something one of the twins had said, his green eyes sparkling brightly. Blaise remembered how the scrawny, geeky kid had suddenly blossomed in sixth year, stealing the hearts of most of Hogwarts.

"Did you dress Potter tonight?" he asked, noticing that Potter looked particularly fit in a black cashmere jumper. "He looks good."

"Mmm," was Draco's only response as he continued to stare glassy-eyed at his boyfriend.

Blaise sighed shortly. "Draco."

"What?"

"You're drooling."

Draco gave him a dirty look, and reluctantly pulled his gaze away from Potter. "You really should try it sometime, you know."

"What, drooling? I did, thanks, back when I was two."

"No, wise-arse," Draco said shortly. "I was referring to the fine sport of Gryffindor-baiting."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "And what exactly is Gryffindor-baiting? Is it like fox hunting?"

Draco made a pensive face. "Not really," he replied, his alcohol-dulled mind obviously missing the sarcasm in Blaise's words. "It's more like poking a fox with a stick until he snaps at you."

Blaise snuck another glance at the Gryffindor table. "I think Potter's a little more dangerous than a fox," he said slowly, eyeing the man who had defeated the Dark Lord.

Draco shrugged. "Poking a lion with a stick, then."

"What self-respecting Slytherin would do such a thing? You'd get eaten."

A secretive little smile played on Draco's lips. "Exactly," he said, looking over at Potter again. He licked his lips, obviously relishing some private memory.

Suddenly, Blaise was a bit more intrigued. From the lascivious look on his friend's face, the memory had to be good. "Tell me more. I assume we're not talking about a literal stick?"

Draco shook his head. "You remember how the Sorting Hat went on about a Gryffindor's daring nerve and their chivalry?"

Blaise nodded.

Draco continued smugly. "Well, it failed to mention their possessiveness and raging jealous chest monsters."

Blaise blinked. "What's a chest monster?"

"A figure of speech," was Draco's vague answer. "Point is that Harry's got a jealousy problem."

"So do you," Blaise reminded him in amusement.

Draco regarded him coolly. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said loftily. "I'm sure I've never started a brawl in a bar because some bloke flirted with my boyfriend, which is exactly what Harry's about to do."

Blaise stared, confused. "Wait…Potter's just sitting at that table. He's not starting any brawls."

"Not yet," Draco said meaningfully. He pointed down the bar. "See that man?"

Blaise looked. Draco was pointing at a sleazy-looking blonde wizard sitting alone at the corner of the bar. "Yeah, I see him."

Draco's smile was smug. "I'm going to flirt with him a bit. Wait until you see how Harry flips out."

"What? Why would you do that?"

"Because Harry's really hot when he's jealous," Draco said lustfully, climbing out of his stool. "You'll see."

Blaise looked at Potter. Then he looked at his friend's empty cocktail glass. Then he looked back at Potter.

"Somehow I don't think you'd be suggesting this if you'd stuck to one drink like me."

"Sure I would," Draco said cheerfully. "Now watch."

Before Blaise had a chance to stop him, Draco was several feet away and chatting up the sleazy stranger. Mr. Sleaze looked like Christmas had come early as he all but shoved another martini into Draco's hands.

Draco coyly sipped the drink. Blaise couldn't hear what they were saying, but the next moment Mr. Sleaze had sidled right up to Draco and wrapped an arm around his waist.

Blaise snuck a glance at the Gryffindor table to see how Potter was taking all this. Not too well, apparently. The Gryffindor was tense as a bowstring, almost vibrating with anger. His narrowed eyes were glued to Draco and Mr. Sleaze. Blaise could see that the hand Potter had resting on the table was now balled into a fist.

Mr. Sleaze then made the mistake of sliding his hand a few inches lower to rest on the curve of Draco's arse.

Potter moved so fast that Blaise could have sworn he Apparated. One moment he was glaring from his table, the next moment he was shoving Mr. Sleaze off Draco with enough force to send him sprawling backwards.

Potter was magnificent. There was something sleek and almost graceful about the menacing way he stalked toward good old Sleazy, who shamelessly turned tail and ran. Potter was hot on his heels, chasing him straight out of the bar.

Draco nearly skipped back to Blaise, "Did you see that?" he exclaimed excitedly, not even bothering to sit back in the stool. He tossed down the rest of his illicitly-gotten martini and set the empty glass on the bar. "Come on, how hot was that?"

"…that was pretty hot," Blaise reluctantly admitted. His own cheeks felt a bit hot, and his pulse was just a touch faster than normal. Potter had been impressive.

"I know it's not a very nice thing to do, but Harry is just so damn sexy when he's all riled up like that," Draco continued blissfully.

Blaise fidgeted on his bar stool, telling himself he wasn't jealous of his friend's boyfriend. "Isn't Potter going to be upset with you?"

"Pshaw, I can handle Harry," Draco said dismissively, obviously unconcerned. "He's just a big kitten."

Blaise bit back a grin then, because over Draco's shoulder, he could see that Potter had returned from dealing with Mr. Sleaze and was now making his way straight towards them with a determined glint is his eye. There was nothing remotely kittenish about him.

"I just love it when he gets all jealous and powerful like that," Draco continued with relish. "And I just know the shagging is going to be incredible tonight."

Blaise listened to Draco's enthusiastic, drunken babble, watching in amused anticipation as the predatory-looking Potter walked right up behind him.

"He's so sexy when he gets possessive, you know? I can't wait until he - oh!" Draco let out a high-pitched squeak as Potter's hand came down with a short smack across his arse.

Draco gasped and tried to glare indignantly at Potter over his shoulder. "Harry!" he protested, but Potter was suddenly pressed right against him. His hand still rested on Draco's arse warningly.

"Don't think I didn't know exactly what you were doing, Draco Malfoy." Potter voice was low, his mouth pressed close to Draco's ear. Blaise had to strain to hear his words, but he had a feeling he didn't want to miss them. "You were making me jealous on purpose."

"Wasn't either," Draco denied, but it was weak. Potter's low, stern tone seemed to have a strong effect on Draco, as he was breathing heavily and shifting back and forth on his feet. His cheeks had gone very pink. Blaise was willing to bet that beneath his robes Draco was hard as a rock.

Hell, he was halfway there himself, and Potter wasn't even talking to him.

Draco's eyes fluttered shut when Potter spoke again. "You were," he said, pinching Draco's arse. "And you're going to have to pay for it."

Draco squirmed against Potter's chest. "Am I in trouble?" he asked breathlessly, not quite hiding the excitement in his voice.

"Big trouble," Potter confirmed, nipping at Draco's earlobe and making the blonde shiver. "Now I'm going back to my table to say goodbye to my friends. And when I finish, you better be gone."

"G-gone?" Draco's voice wobbled slightly.

"Gone," Potter confirmed in a rough whisper. "Because you're going to Apparate your arse home right now and be waiting for me on our bed. And when I get home I better find you naked and on all fours or you'll be in more trouble than you already are."

He gave Draco's bum a possessive squeeze that had Draco nearly melting on the bar. Then he turned and strode back to his table.

The whole scene had left Blaise a bit warm. "So, you can handle Harry, can you?" he said, trying to cover it by teasing his friend. "He's just a big kitten, is he?"

"Shut up," Draco said, looking awfully flustered. His cheeks were very flushed.

"Looks like Potter's going to be the one handling you tonight," Blaise said casually, watching his usually calm and collected friend fidget like a schoolboy.

Draco swallowed. "I suppose he is," he said, not hiding the excited tremor in his voice.

A rush of jealousy went through Blaise. No one else could ever get his friend like this, breathless and flustered and pink in the face. Potter got to Draco in a way that no one else ever had, and he envied Draco his relationship.

"He's going to shag the daylights out of you, isn't he?" Blaise asked, trying for all the world to keep his voice light and nonchalant.

Draco was pulling on his cloak. "Oh yes," he confirmed, a look of breathless anticipation on his face.

"Lucky bastard," Blaise muttered. "I don't suppose you'd ever share Potter?"

"HEY!" Draco snapped, pointing at Blaise with an unsteady finger. "Not funny. Get your own Gryffindor."

He Apparated away with a crack. Blaise sighed. He looked over at the still-full table of Gryffindors. Potter was saying his goodbyes, and moments later he'd Apparated away as well.

Blaise sipped his martini, still watching the Gryffindors. There was a free seat at the table, now, right between Seamus Finnegan and Parvati Patil, in the very heart of the group. Everyone at the table seemed to be settling in to stay a little longer, getting comfortable and ordering another round of drinks.

Blaise stayed put on his stool for a few moments, watching the group laugh and thinking about things like chivalry and daring nerve and raging jealous chest monsters. Finally, carrying his chocolate martini with him, he cautiously approached the table.

"Hi," he said shyly, smiling a small, charming smile when every head turned in his direction. "Got any room for a lonely Slytherin?" 
 

3 The Consequences of Wearing Red

"Mmmph, Harry, not - mmm, fuck - here!" Draco protested, hands scrambling against the smooth wall to steady himself as Harry pressed him backwards. He had the clear knowledge that the furthest stall of the men's loo at work was not the ideal place for a quickie.

"Yes, here," Harry insisted, as he tightened his hold on Draco. He nipped at Draco's neck briefly before bringing his lips back to Draco's mouth. "I can't possibly wait any longer."

He kissed Draco fiercely, one hand around Draco's waist and the other fisted in his hair. Draco absolutely melted against him, as Harry's kisses turned frantic.

"You just looked so, so - fucking incredible, Draco -" Harry said between kisses, shoving Draco's robes out of the way. He went straight for Draco's cock, brushing his hand right across the tell-tale bulge in Draco's trousers. Draco had to bite his lip to keep from moaning out loud. "When you took off your cloak and I saw that you were wearing my red jumper underneath it - you know what that does to me."

He ran a hand almost reverently for a moment across the soft fabric covering Draco's stomach, before grabbing the waist of Draco's trousers with both hands. He nearly ripped them in his haste to get them open, and then the next moment he plunged his hand down Draco's pants and took a firm hold of his cock.

This time Draco couldn't stop the moan, the sound echoing off the tiles as his eyes fluttered shut. "I must have put your jumper on by acci - fuck," he panted, as Harry's hand began to stroke him. "I didn't know it would - fuck, don't stop - turn you on - oh please, Harry -"

Harry bit his neck as he continued to fist Draco's cock. "You can't just waltz into work in my clothes and expect me not to react," he said breathlessly, as he used his free hand to shove Draco's trousers and pants to his ankles. "Can't expect me to think straight. There are consequences to wearing red, Draco."

"Conse - oh- quences - ohfuckplease - ?" Draco babbled, as Harry dropped to his knees and took half of Draco's cock in his mouth, still fisting the base with one hand.

Draco whimpered as Harry's tongue and mouth caressed him. A moment later, Harry pulled off Draco and looked up, still sliding his hand up and down over Draco's now slick erection. "Consequences," he said firmly, eyes glowing with a predatory gleam. "Like getting your arse shagged at work by your horny boyfriend."

And as Harry's mouth descended on him again, Draco's last coherent thought was that if this was the consequence of wearing red, then he certainly had some shopping to do.

4 Mine

I'm so bloody glad to be home, Draco thought, as he stepped from the fireplace into the living room. I was two seconds away from murdering those love-struck idiots.

He shook his head in exasperation. He and Harry had been at a party with some friends, and he'd been enlisted to make sure the more tipsy members of the crowd - namely, Blaise and Finnegan - made it home safe and sound. It had taken quite a bit longer than he expected, and he was happy to finally be home with Harry.

He took a few steps away from the fireplace, and then leaned down to remove his shoes. Suddenly a warm body was pressed against him from behind.

"I missed you," Harry nearly growled, in a low voice that made Draco shiver. "You were gone too long."

"Not my fault," Draco sniped, using a snotty tone to hide the arousal that Harry's commanding voice had brought. "You knew I was acting as the Designated Apparator tonight. I had to make sure Blaise and Finnegan got home safely."

He made to straighten back up, but Harry caught him round the waist with one arm and put his other hand on Draco's back. He pressed down firmly, and suddenly Draco found himself trapped, still half bent-over.

"I was worried," Harry reprimanded lightly. His tone of voice promised payback, and sent shivers of anticipation down Draco's spine. "You know better than to worry me."

Draco squirmed slightly, more to rub his arse against Harry's already half-hard prick than to get away. "Well, what did you want me to do?" he said snottily. "Let them Splinch themselves? Of course, as long as Finnegan's cock made it to the flat Blaise would have been happy."

And as long as that lovely cock of yours makes it to my arse, I'LL be happy, he thought, but he didn't say it out loud.

"Hmmm." Harry sounded unconvinced. He hadn't released Draco, still holding him more or less immobile. "You were still gone too long." There was faint but unmistakable relief underlying Harry's voice at finally having Draco home safe, and Draco had to fight the smile that always came whenever Harry did something sweet like worry about him. It was so cute. And hot.

"Well, excuse me for not booking long, sappy Gryffindor declarations of twu wuv into my schedule tonight," he simpered. "Finnegan wouldn't stop babbling on about Blaise to me, even though Blaise was standing right there. And Blaise couldn't keep his trap shut either; he kept teasing me about Dylan and how he couldn't keep his eyes off me -"

Behind him, Harry stiffened instantly. Draco grinned, turning his head and hiding it in his shoulder. That's right, Potter, he thought, stomaching flip-flopping pleasantly. Time for the chest monster to come out and play.

"Some bloke was checking you out?" Harry's voice was suddenly too casual, too aloof, and his arms around Draco had gotten just a bit tighter.

Draco wriggled, testing Harry's grip. It was tight. Very tight. Draco knew he wasn't getting away, no matter what he tried, and that only got him hornier.

"How many drinks did you say you had tonight, love?" he asked in his most innocent voice, as if Harry's possessiveness didn't turn him on. "Because you know your jealousy problem gets worse when you drink."

"Two. And don't change the subject," Harry warned. The hand on Draco's back slid down to rest meaningfully on the curve of Draco's bum. "Who's Dylan?"

Draco couldn't help arching slightly into Harry's warm palm. "Oh…no one…"

"Draco Malfoy…" Harry cautioned, squeezing Draco's arse warningly.

Draco shuddered, his cock swelling to full hardness. "Just one of Finnegan's friends. Apparently he's single and not happy with it."

"Oh." Harry's voice was low and almost vibrating with jealousy. "And how do you know that?"

"Because he told me all about it," Draco said brightly. "We talked for ages."

"Oh, he talked to you for ages, did he? Told you all about how he doesn't like being single?" Harry's attempt at nonchalance failed completely as he was now leaning down over Draco, one hand still locked around Draco's waist and the other on the swell of his arse. His mouth was only inches from Draco's ear, and Draco could feel the tension in Harry's chest as he pressed against Draco's back. "What else did he tell you?"

Draco bit his lip to keep his evil grin at bay as he delivered the kicker. "He told me that he thinks the sexiest thing on earth is a natural blonde."

Harry exploded in a burst of movement, suddenly whirling Draco around in his arms to face him. He dipped him backwards, and then leaned over him until their noses were nearly touching. "Was this Dylan chap trying to get off with my boyfriend?"

Draco gave a contrived nervous laugh. "Oh, don't be silly, Harry. You're just getting jealous over nothing. He was really very nice and -"

Harry yanked Draco upwards and cut off his words with a fierce kiss. "You're mine," he growled against Draco's lips. "Mine. And I'll prove it to you."

Next moment he bent down and put a shoulder into Draco's stomach and lifted. Draco squeaked as he suddenly found himself thrown over Harry's shoulder caveman-style.

"Potter!" he protested, smacking Harry's back (although not very hard). "Let me down!"

"No," Harry snapped, carrying Draco straight towards the bedroom. "Not until you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you're mine and I'm not sharing you with anyone."

And even as Draco salivated over the shagging he knew he was about to get, his heart gave a little leap.

"Why do you try to make Potter jealous all the time?" Blaise had asked him earlier that evening, at the start of the party. "I know he's hot when he's riled up, but is it something more?"

Draco had shrugged. "Maybe," was all he said in response, and left it at that.

Because how do you explain how good it feels to finally be wanted back? How a silly display of jealous can make you feel like the most important person on earth? How having the person who ignored you for five long years - the one person you wanted, the one whose attention you craved, your one true obsession who thought you weren't worth the breath it took to say piss off - how do you explain how it feels when that person finally sweeps you off your feet and utters the word mine?

You don't. You just let him shag you.

End