A/N: This story contains sexual situations. You have been warned.

Where the bloody hell is he? I can't stop the impatient tapping of my foot as I check my watch for the millionth time. It's been almost twenty minutes now. If he thinks I'm going to sit around much longer . . . what is that awful racket? Through the front window, I see a dated car pulling into our driveway. It's hideous. Some American monstrosity. Expecting it to back out and turn around, I'm shocked when the headlights flick off and Harry pops out the driver's side, glasses glinting in the setting sun.

"What the hell is this?" I shout as I storm out the front door.

His grin is maniacal. "Sweet, huh?"

"That is not the first word that comes to mind," I sneer.

"I always wanted a car like this when I was a kid. Bloke down the street had one just like it. Aunt Petunia though it was horrible, but I thought it was brilliant," he continues, petting the hood in a manner that can only be described as sexual.

"What's it doing in our drive?"

"It's from the Ministry," he says and starts circling like a predator.

I can't hold back a snort of derision. "This? A ministry car?"

"Yeah, they said I could use it as long as I'm an Auror. Said they were going to stick with sedans from now on—that this was too flashy for large groups. Too noticeable. But I think that Barrows bloke is into classic cars too. It was his idea."

"Are you trying to tell me this thing is yours?" Lucius will never let me hear the end of this. Harry obviously hasn't picked up on the distaste in my voice, because he just keeps stroking the car and staring at it as if it might disappear if he looks away . . . or blinks. I'm the only one he's supposed to touch like that.

"Isn't it great?" he beams.

"Most certainly not."

That got his attention. He finally spots me for the first time since his arrival.

Brows pinching together, his smile fades. "You don't like it?"

I give him the signature Malfoy sneer and eye roll.

"Come on," he says, taking my hand. "You'll change your mind once you've ridden in it."

"I'm not getting in that thing! It looks as though it could blow up any minute! Cars do that, you know."

Harry just laughs at me and pulls open the passenger door. "Don't be daft."

He practically shoves me inside then slams the door closed. While he's jogging round to the other other side, I eye the interior. It appears that I have become trapped in a time warp. The 70's are alive and well . . . and infecting my new silk suit. (Well, just the trousers. The jacket is still safe on the chaise inside.) Shivering in revulsion, I try not to touch anything.

Just when I think things can't get any worse, Harry grins and turns the key. An obscene roar nearly deafens me. We're backing out of the drive before I can object. Once in the street, Harry shifts gears, and we shoot off down the road, tires pealing sharply in my ears. I'm sure to have hearing damage.

"Where are you taking me?" I shout over noise of the engine.

"You'll see," he says, grin widening.

The world passes us in a blur, and I have to grip the door handle to stay in my seat. "Slow down! Have you gone mad?"

The tiny smile on his lips worries me. Is he so numb to danger? He takes us out to the country. When we get on straight stretch of road, he slams the car into gear again, and we pick up even more speed.

"Bloody hell, Potter! Are you trying to kill me? Slow the fuck down!"

"Would you relax. This car has every spell the Ministry could throw at it. We're not going to get hurt."

My hand aches from squeezing the door handle so hard. "Really? I don't know any anti-death charms."

His laugh sickens me, and I'm already sick enough. My stomach rolls as he makes the center of the road his own personal lane (the only consolation being we're no longer inches from careening off the edge of the pavement).

"We're not going any faster than you do on your broom," Harry assures me with a smirk.

"Brooms are safe, you lunatic! This is a deathtrap on wheels. Now, slow down!"

"You're such a drama queen," he scoffs.

Me? A drama queen? Not likely. I just have a healthy fear of death and dismemberment like any other sane person. I notice the seatbelt and, despite my distrust of Muggle inventions, strap myself in. Harry finds this hysterical. A warm hand grips my knee, and I tear my eyes from the rushing scenery to look down. His palm slides halfway up my leg, his thumb drawing small circles on my thigh. While I usually appreciate a nice groping, I don't think he could have chosen a more inappropriate time.

"Don't you think you should keep both hands on the wheel?"

"The road is perfectly straight, Draco."

"It's not the road I'm worried about," I counter. The road will be fine. I'm more concerned with our ability to remain on it. Intact. Images of us roasting in a fiery heap of twisted metal flash through my head. I'm too young (and pretty) to die like this. Is a modicum of caution too much to ask? His roving hand works it's way higher, and my cock stirs. It seems completely oblivious to the threat we're under. Traitor. This damn silk isn't the least bit concealing.

We near the end of the road, and Harry pulls his hand away from my thigh to shift and steer. The logical side of me is relieved, while my baser instincts claim disappointment. A couple more turns later, and we're bumping along some heavily wooded "lane" (whatever it is, it isn't a proper road), and then he eases into a deserted clearing. I've had enough. As soon as the car stops moving (and my head stops spinning), I intend to get out and Apparate home. This is insanity. Harry throws the car into park and starts grinning at me again, his hand falling right back to my thigh.

"Well, what do your think?" he asks.

"What do I think?!" I know I'm yelling, but I can barely hear myself over my racing heart (or that infernal motor). "I think you're a bloody mental patient!" I cup the bulge of his crotch just to prove my point; he's as hard as I suspected.

"Is this for me or the car?" I sneer and yank my hand away. His grin falters, hurt flickering through his eyes.

After a few stunned seconds, he shakes his head. "Are you jealous . . . of a car?"

"Of course not," I huff. What an imbecile.

"Yes, you are," he says as though he's just solved a great mystery. "You're jealous!"

I don't have to listen to this. The door handle slips through my fingers as I try to get out. His hand grips my shoulder, trying to turn me back around.

"Draco, stop. You don't understand," he says, his voice rough. "All I could think about the whole drive home was getting you in the backseat and fucking you."

I pause, mulling over his confession. My cock is obviously pleased with the idea, but I'm still angry about being kidnapped and tortured. He doesn't sound repentant enough. "What makes you think I'd stoop to such a muggle cliche?"

His hand slides up and finds my erection (as if that proves anything).

"Because you like to make me happy," he answers simply.

Strong fingers squeeze around me, and I have to close my eyes to keep control. He can NOT just drag me to the middle of the forest and expect us to shag in the back of a dilapidated old jalopy. I do have standards. His fingers start to unzip me, and he leans closer.

"The car is great, but it doesn't compare to you, Draco. You know that."

I snort. "Could have fooled me. I thought you were going to start humping it in the driveway back there."

His chuckle is a warm breeze against my neck.

"Get in the backseat. Let me change your mind."

He opens my fly, and I breathe easier now that I'm not bending to the iron will of my zipper. Hot fingers wrap around me and begin to pump a slow rhythm.

"Dammit, Potter." Turning, I press my mouth to his and attack. The adrenaline fuels my desire, transforming it into angry passion. There's a growl against my lips, and he kisses back just as hard. His tongue swipes against mine with the perfect amount of fire and fight. I try to get closer but am thwarted by the damn seatbelt. Blasted contraption. Harry sees and slides his hand to my side to unbuckle it. Once free, I'm on him in a second, practically in his seat with him.

He pants into my mouth, "There's more room in the back."

Glancing over my shoulder, I'm doubtful of that. It seems unlikely that we could both fit back there at the same time (or separately, for that matter).

To prove it, Harry slithers between the two front seats and settles in. He stares at me, thighs parted, daring me to follow. With a weary groan I accept his challenge. Once I'm actually in it, the backseat is huge. I realize it's an illusion; it's been charmed for extra space.

"Told you," he smirks and yanks me into his lap.

The friction is magnificent. Our bodies fit together as if they were made for each other. His lips and teeth maul my neck as we grind together. Slipping my hands between our bodies, I unzip his jeans and try to shove them off. His cock springs toward me through the gap in his shorts. Pressing my hips forward, our exposed flesh meets, and he groans when I move against him.

Jeans tangled at his hips, Harry bucks against me. I know he's close, but I refuse to let him come yet. He owes me.

"Dammit, Draco. Stop being such a bloody tease," he growls.

I stop and wrap one hand around his throat, smirking down at him. His pulse thumps beneath my fingers. He tries to kiss me again, but I pull my face out of his reach.

"Suck me first," I hiss back. "Make it good, or I'll never set foot in this disgusting heap of junk again."

His grin makes my stomach flip. Before I can understand what's happening, he's pinning my back to the side of the car and yanking my trousers down out of his way. I'm slumped in surprise at how fast he moves. His face presses to my cock, and I feel his tongue swirling around the tip before he sucks me into his mouth. Merlin's balls! This is going to finish me if I'm not careful. Tangling my fingers into his messy black hair, I force him closer and jerk up to meet his lips. He isn't intimidated. The hand that isn't fisted around my shaft starts tugging at my balls, and I feel them tighten threateningly. How does he do this to me? My control is already slipping away.

"Stop," I grunt.

He pulls away with an unnecessary amount of suction then looks up at me, panting over my twitching dick, a devilish little grin lighting his face. I hoist him up by the hair till he's level with my face and kiss his swollen lips. He tastes of pre-cum and sugar. What the hell does he eat when I'm not around? Does he lunch on sugar quills? With one hard shove, I unbalance him; he lands hard on the seat, splayed on his back. I don't give him a chance to retaliate. He may outweigh me, but I use what I've got to my advantage, pressing my chest to his while I push off his jeans. The struggle turns me on, and he knows it.

His legs are wrapped around my hips, and I rummage around on the floor till I find my wand. Tipping his knees to his chest, I perform a simple lubrication charm and smile at his ragged inhale. The chill feel of slickness makes his dick twitch toward me. Once my length is lubed, I waste no time. His fingers dig into my upper arms as I press my weeping tip to his opening.

"Is this what you want, Potter?" I demand. His answer is wordless; he bucks against me and grunts, his heels urging me forward.

Sinking into his heat, my brain goes on holiday. There are no coherent thoughts left, just unconscious thrusting. His panting turns to sharp hisses as his teeth clench. I love that sound. But not as much as I love the sound of him coming. He only lasts a few minutes, my name a hoarse moan on his lips. Pearly cream spatters us both, and the scene pushes me over. Sweet tension pulls at my bollocks as I release inside his twitching arse. I live for this moment—losing myself in him. He seems to get off on my pleasure as much as his own.

When it's over, I pull out and rest my forehead on the seat beside him. We're both out of breath, and he clamps one hand around the back of my neck to keep me where I am.

"Still hate the car?" he pants.

I can hear the smile in his words.

"It . . . has it's merits," I finally concede.

"So you don't mind if I keep it?"

Sighing, I shrug. "I suppose. Just don't expect me to go on any more excursions. One brush with death in this thing was more than enough for me."

Chuckling, Harry turns and bites the side of my neck. "Just one more ride."

"I'll Apparate home, thanks."

He laughs and presses his renewing erection into my stomach. "I wasn't planning on leaving the backseat."

What can I say? I like to make him happy.