Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the work of J.K. Rowling and is not my intellectual property. I intend no copyright infringement and seek no financial gain from this work. This work of fiction is purely for entertainment purposes.

A fucking bar fight – that's how I choose to get reacquainted with Potter.

I could have just sat there in the corner table with my whiskey and stayed out of sight but nooo. My own obnoxious lack of prudence has never failed to cause me chagrin, after all – ever so reliable, that foible of mine.

So I'd sat there waiting for the perfect moment I could go announce my presence in front of Potter and his coterie, preferably with a crisp remark that would send Potter flying off the handle like only he could.

See Potter – provoke Potter. It's the natural order of life.

...Oh, because the rest of you are all so perfect?

Back to how I'm in my current predicament.

I'd eased myself out of my seat right as they all seemed on the very verge of what I could accurately predict would be a virtual explosion of obscenely loud gales of laughter.

I'd chosen to pause right beside Potter as they'd all hooted, looking not at him but at the ginger headed tumour on his hip whom he calls his best friend, as I'd chimed, "Nice to know you still sound like a Hippogriff in labour when you laugh, Weasley."

About seven pairs of eyes instantly swivelled onto me and I was quietly grateful for having worn my best shirt, I look fucking fabulous in this thing.

"Fuck you, ferret face," Weasley's ears still did that thing where they turned beet red and looked like they'd sizzle off his stupid head.

"Such a delight, aren't you?" I'd smiled sweetly, still not looking at the man sitting half a foot to my left, smelling like aftershave and worn leather, looking up at me with eyes that are greener than the Malfoy grounds in spring.

Ugh, now I'm speaking in poetry?

Well, I've had one too many whiskeys and my thoughts tend to atrophy into doggerel by this stage – you're not exactly the Bard of Avon yourself, let me see you come up with a decent verse or two when you're tiddly.

Do you want me to go on or not?

So then the other tumour on Potter's other hip, also red headed – though I'll admit Ginerva did come with a rather pleasant face, if slightly bespattered with an overmuch of freckles – piped up with a condescendingly sneered, "Well, if it isn't Draco Malfoy."

"Oh, well done, dear. Managed to put a name to the face, did you? Does your pretty little ginger head hurt after such a strain?"

At which point Potter had sprung to his feet and shoved a thick forearm into my neck, pinning me back into the dark wood panelled wall.

Which is where I still stand – propped up against the wall with Potter's furious expression inches away from me, his beer scented breath washing over my face warmly.

"Woah," Longbottom is instantly on his feet. "Mate, he's not worth it."

Well fuck you too, you Slayer of Gigantic, Terrifying Snakes.

"Ah, Longbottom," I choke out. "What are you doing out of bed? Does your grandmother know you're out so late, you naughty boy?"

Potter's arm tightens across my throat. "Go on," he invites threateningly while I choke and try to sneak in a gulp of air. "Insult another one of my friends."

I'm grateful that nobody but Potter can hear my faint gurgle. "I know where you were hiding while on the run from the Dark Lord," I waste whatever precious little air I have left in my lungs. "In Granger's truly atrocious hair."

My slowly dying brain is faintly surprised at the ringing laugh that escapes Granger even as her boyfriend leaps to his feet, sending his chair toppling over backwards, and stomps over to glower at me over Potter's shoulder, baring his teeth.

"Oh, Weasley, I have the painful task of informing you that that particular shade of puce on your ugly mug does nothing whatsoever to compliment that appalling shade of orange on your head."

I can actually see black creeping inwards from either end of my vision and Potter only further leans his weight into his arm so that my hands, until now clenched resolutely by my sides, fly up to try and instinctively tug it away out of an elemental need to be able to breathe.

"Harry, let him go, or you're the one Flooing him over to Mungo's."

Granger is fucking a queen, I fucking love her.

I manage to stay upright when I'm released – remember, one must remain insouciant even as their old school rival attempts to crush their windpipe.

"Still a wimp I see, Potter," I smirk, resisting the temptation to raise my hand to cradle my throat as I discreetly pull in lungfuls of air, my brain screaming at me to shut the fuck up and get out of there before its oxygen supply is cut off once again.

"Fuck you, Malfoy," he growls, Weasley plucking at his t-shirt with a scowled c'mon Harry and turning away.

"Well sure, if you insist," I breathe back so only Potter can hear me. "But tell me, Potter. Do you really think you can handle me?"

Satisfied with the way the green eyes widen almost comically, I sidle out of Potter's looming presence with a smug 'always a pleasure' in the general direction of his table, looking around at the rest of the patrons who'd paused to watch the show with my best derisive lip-curl.

I saunter my way through the maze of crowded tables, rounding my way to the other side of the central, circular bar so I'm hidden from view before I sink gratefully onto a stool, ordering another neat whiskey with a shameful tremble in my voice.

I don't bother savouring this one, I down it in a single gulp; I'm still shaking from Potter's manhandling of my person.

I'm also painfully hard.

Did I just hear you think 'slut' at me?

Well, I have two words I'm thinking at you; want to take a guess?

...You must forgive me my rudeness. It's been a while since I've been this rattled.

But this is just what I do, alright? Armour myself well before hand; eliminate all and any chance of a surprise ambush by, yes you guessed it, attacking first.

And it's Potter – he always brings this out in me, this... this... I don't even have a word for it!

That's quite enough firewater you've had there, young man. Back to the Manor with you.

Father awaits an answer, after all.

I'm checking my neck for signs of bruising in the mirror above the sinks, when the door to the men's swings open. It's not until he's standing right behind me, close enough that I can feel his heat through my clothes, that I realise it's Potter.

We stare at each other in the mirror, my breath quickening at the look in his eyes.

At the heat in his eyes.

"You're all mouth, aren't you, Malfoy?" he says softly, and his voice is like warm silk. "Always getting in trouble because of that mouth."

A toilet is flushed and one of the stall doors opens. A denim jacket clad twit drunkenly sways out, his fly only half done up, and then pauses, staring blearily at us, "Ever tried to piss sitting down?"

Potter snorts; I glare. The oaf ambles out without washing his hands.

Potter pointedly locks the door with a low murmur and I'm suddenly shivering wretchedly, holding my breath.

And then I'm being spun around and slammed back, the counter digging painfully into my back, a hiss escaping me through my tightly clenched teeth.

"One of these days, Malfoy, you're not going to be able to get out of the trouble that mouth lands you in."

He's right up in my face once more, his lean, hard body pressed into mine – except this time I can feel the unmistakable length of his erection pressed into mine and I'm holding onto his muscled shoulders for support as I gasp out loud at the feeling.

"One of these days, Malfoy..." he murmurs against my jaw, his tongue flicking out in a swift lick, making me jerk. "Sooner than you think..."

"Oh no, I'm terrified," it's a valiant attempt at apathy – but you can't blame me for that slight tremor, the strain of breathiness; Potter is nibbling up my jaw, grinding his cock into mine, large hands bracketing my hips, holding me in place, and it's a fucking wonder that I can talk at all.

"Hmm," he hums into the crevice under my ear. "I wish I could say I'll be gentle with you," he pulls back, eyes drilling into mine. "But I'm going to wreck you, Malfoy," he promises in a dark whisper and I'm desperately trying to remember how to breathe. Potter leans back in, pausing with his mouth less than a hair's breadth away from mine. "I'm going to leave you in fucking shambles."

I lunge forward, kissing him like I'm trying to hurt him – maybe I am.

Potter opens his mouth, sucks my tongue in and ruts his hardness into mine, making me break away with a loud moan that rings off the walls. He smirks.

Then there are a series of loud bangs on the door along with an angry, "Where the fuck is a bloke with a full bladder supposed to go then, eh?!"

"Let's get the fuck out of here?" I pant – fuck, I'm drunk.

"That," Potter tightens his hold on me. "is the only thing you've said all night that doesn't make me want to punch you on the mouth."

We Disapparate.

Potter has me naked and begging before I've even steadied myself properly.

I'm begging into his mouth, actually. He's kissing me so bloody hard that it makes my 'feral' kiss back at the gents' look like a chaste peck on the lips. I actually have to scrabble around for purchase because even though I'm lying flat and secure on his bed, I feel like I'm about to roll off a dizzyingly steep edge, just from the force of his kiss.

And yet, that's not why I'm begging. Potter also has my cock in a scorching hot, tight grip and is stroking me, slow, teasing – nearly cruel. He throws his tongue into my mouth, licking around, tickling, drawing my tongue into a frantic battle, his lips firmly sealed around both mine.

I twist my fingers into the sleeves of his tight black t-shirt, feeling the curve of his muscled biceps under my hands, and thrust my exposed cock through his fist, against the rough denim of his jeans, carrying on pleading with him in wordless, croaky whines.

But several minutes later, Potter's ravenous mouth doesn't show any signs of easing off or mellowing down, and for the second time in the night, I've run dangerously low on oxygen and have to desperately shove at the man pinning me down, whimpering to be allowed to breathe.

"Fuck!" I gasp when Potter rips his mouth off mine in a move that makes me reach up and feel around for blood on my lips. My lungs burn as I open my mouth, dragging in great big breaths of cool air and my head still spins from a combination of inebriation and that fucking kiss.

Before I can open my mouth to inform him of his complete and utter lack of any kind of finesse, however, Potter lifts up onto his knees and flips me over roughly, yanking my hips up off the bed so hard that I'm yelping in shock, my poor whiskey soaked brain struggling to process all of it.

I'm suddenly aware of two things: how loudly I'm panting – how loudly we're both panting, and how unbelievably vulnerable I am at the moment.

I'm starkers – he's actually Vanished every last item of clothing off me – and I'm bent over in front of Harry fucking Potter. My arse is literally open and in the air for his fucking perusal.

I wonder if I'm suddenly going to be woken up with a rough shake and find that I've fallen asleep at the bar back at the pub and had a startlingly vivid dream. Ten minutes ago, all I wanted to do was take a quick look in the fucking mirror in that fucking men's room. How the fuck am I on all fours in Harry Potter's bed right now?!

Behind me, I can hear the quiet rustle of swift undressing and then Potter makes an odd growling sound.

"Fucking look at you."

It's all the warning I get before he roughly licks over my arsehole with a sopping wet tongue.

I let out a startled exclamation and then I'm, well, moaning – and swearing – loudly, Potter demonstrating what 'eating arse' looks like with superb efficiency (and with unabashed enjoyment).

And Merlin, it feels fucking incredible, Potter is my fucking God, and I'm never leaving his bed.

He skates one rough hand up my back, setting my skin on fire wherever he touches me, dragging his nails on his way back down. I writhe, spreading my legs wider, bucking back in time with his tongue before hurriedly trying to scramble away when he starts to use his teeth.

He immediately grabs me, painfully digging his fingers into my sides until I stop struggling with a resigned cry and give in to his biting kisses on the rim of my arsehole, each of them sending brilliant shocks up my spine. My hair lands in my eyes and I get some in my mouth as I fight to breathe, my scalp prickling with steady streams of sweat rolling down the side of my face and dripping off my jaw, my breath coming out in rough, moaning rasps through my teeth.

Potter uses his thumbs to spread me open wider and crudely spits into me, coaxing the saliva in with his tongue and one thumb, making me push back with a whine of desperation.

"Potter!" it's a ragged sob.

"Malfoy!" he replies in a mock-high voice, before stuffing his tongue back into me, my spit-soaked channel opening easily for it.

"Fucking arsehole," I grit, pushing back into his wet, sucking mouth.

"Yes, quite a fucking arsehole you have here," he says seriously, the bed dipping as he shifts around behind me.

"Don't stop."

Fuck, I've lost every last shred of my dignity; I'm never going to get it back now that I'm fucking begging him to lick my arsehole.

"Have to, sorry," he chuckles. "Need to fuck you before I come from just eating you."

Potter's lube slippery fingers open me up with the same hard, demanding urgency that he kissed and rimmed me with. He scissors me open in a way that would have been downright painful were it not for the way he flicked at my prostate as frequently as he did, and by the time he pulls his fingers out and places the tip of his cock against me, I'm teetering back and forth giddily and drooling in long threads onto the soft cotton sheets, moist gurgles emerging from my throat as I sag forward with my head hanging down, my orgasm viciously being held at bay by Potter's left hand curled in an unyielding grip around the base of my cock.

I'm going to wreck you, Malfoy.

"Malfoy?" he speaks quietly. I force my eyes open, drag in some air – and some self-respect.

"You waiting for something, Potter?" I manage, swallowing painfully, my throat dry as parchment. "Or have you decided you'd rather not fuck me after all?"

He wordlessly presses forward, the initial resistance almost immediately dipping inwards to let the head of his cock slip in with a filthy, wet sound, and then pushing in the rest of the way before I can do so much as gasp.

And Potter is fucking hung, and I'm actually pressing back into the burn, into the incomparable sensation of being stuffed so full that you can't breathe. "A little warning, next time?!" I scream, my spine bowing downwards as he bottoms out.

"So there is going to be a next time?" he sounds smug – and I can swear, also a little relieved. "Good. Hold on tight."

With that, Potter begins to take me apart, each savage, pounding thrust peeling away layer after layer of everything that I am, reaming me open in a way that makes me wonder how I'll ever be able to let anybody else but him fuck me after this.

I can't speak or swear or scream or moan – I've been stripped off the faculties to be able to do any of that and so I simply capitulate, surrendering myself to Potter and his shocking strength and his enormous cock as he single-mindedly pulverises me, claiming me like a prized conquest.

The only sounds that escape me through the truly exquisite assault are the sounds that Potter wrenches out of me; hoarse, helpless, mindless sounds that each brutal thrust of his cock into my arse forces out of me. I retain no awareness of myself anymore – I'm nothing.

And Potter fucks me like I'm everything.

He simply takes me like I have no say in it, like we both know that this is what I want, this is how I want it, and knowing that there's no way I'll ever ask him to stop. All our years of childish rivalry don't even matter anymore suddenly; Potter nullifies every minute of it with pure, brute force, every thrust of his cock into me jarring my whole being, rattling my bones.

He pauses to sling his arms under mine, curling them over my shoulders and straightens me up so I'm leaning back into him, before fucking me in sharp, wonderfully violent stabs that make me dig my nails into his thighs and hiss. Yanking my head back by my hair, he kisses me, all tongue, teeth and fierce growls, reducing me to a state where I just rest my head on his shoulder and keep my mouth open for his, pinned firmly against him with one broad arm across my chest.

I'm dying with how good it all feels; I'm dying to make a sound, call out his name, maybe tell him not to stop this time.

I'm not able to – and he doesn't stop anyway, so I don't waste much time trying to.

Sharp, short puffs of air escape him as he snaps his hips forward and then he releases his hold across my chest to grab my hips. He draws nearly all the way out, shoves me forward onto my hands once more, and then plunges forward with enough force to send me falling onto my face. He keeps me there, face down, slowly sending me further and further up the bed as he hammers into me in a way that has me biting down into his pillow, until I'm bracing myself with my hands clenched on the headboard lest I end up smashing my nose against it.

I finally let out an involuntary scream of incoherence when he changes angles and batters away at my prostate, at which point I promptly come, my orgasm sudden and devastating, my arse contracting in rapid clenches around his pumping cock, my body convulsing into a sweaty mass of flailing limbs, my cock throbbing excruciatingly with the force of my climax.

And then, I shit you not, I lose consciousness for several minutes.

Potter is panting heavily from somewhere next to me when I blink my eyes open, my vision blurred, lying flat on my front, my arse still spasming dismally, the lingering burn of Potter's cock throbbing through me.

I'm going to leave you in fucking shambles.

Well, certainly kept his word, didn't he?

Drawing a last burst of energy from Merlin knows where, I turn over onto my back, immediately arching up as my arse comes in contact with the bed, a pathetic whimper escaping me before I clamp my mouth shut.

Potter doesn't say a word but I can feel the smug satisfaction rolling off him in waves that make my skin tingle with embarrassment.

"Fucking savage," I grit, and I can barely get my voice out louder than a weak croak.

"What's that?" Potter asks easily, and I turn my head to see him lying there with his hands under his head, grinning.

"I said you're a foul bastard who deserves a rather painful death," I snap, my irritation at his expression automatically giving me another boost of strength. "And would it cost you your balls to offer me a glass of water after nearly murdering me like that?"

Laughing lightly, Potter conjures a tall glass of cool water, handing it over with a jaunty, "Here you go, kitten."

"Fuck. You."

I sit up half way, leaning heavily on one arm, and gulp down the water in one go, Potter obligingly refilling the glass for me at once.

I drink some more, stiffly hand the glass back over to him, and then push myself up fully, swinging my legs off the bed with a gritted groan.

"What's your hurry?" Potter asks casually, and I can hear him gulping down the rest of the water.

"Don't fucking tell me you wanted to cuddle?" I look around the dimly lit bedroom. "Where the fuck did you Vanish my clothes off to?" I ask fiercely, whipping around to glare at him.

Potter puts aside the empty glass, turns and supports his head on one hand, gesturing with his chin to a chair under the window across the room; my clothes are in a neatly folded pile, wand lying on top, my shoes sitting primly underneath.

I flip him off and then Summon my stuff, not trusting my jelly legs yet to dress standing and so remaining seated as I pull my clothes on, lifting my aching arse off the bed as I tug on first my pants and then my trousers.

"Seriously, what's your hurry?" Potter repeats, and I can feel his gaze on my bare skin; I hurry into my shirt.

"I've to go," I say shortly.

"Where?"

"Home," I answer irritably.

"Home's not going anywhere, Malfoy," Potter says softly and I turn once more to look at him. He's wearing a small smile and looks so fucking at ease lying there, stark naked, rugged and carelessly handsome.

"You and I just fucked," I say pointedly, hoping he'd display some of the discomfiture that I'm feeling.

"I know," he looks like a cat with a giant bowl of cream and I want to hex him.

"That by itself is a fucking aberration, Potter," my hands shake a little as I button my shirt up. "Me actually lingering after would be making it outright absurd."

"We could all do with a little absurdity once in a while, it keeps things fresh," he shrugs. "We can't undo what just happened, anyway."

Merlin, I wouldn't want to undo it. I can't remember the last time I orgasmed so intensely that my cock hurt from it, and never before have I been fucked so hard that I fucking fainted.

"I have to go," I say once more, my head suddenly swimming again. "I told Father I'd tell him by the end of the night," I say vaguely and then purse my lips.

"Tell him what?"

I take a second to consider, and then-

"Whether or not I'd marry Astoria Greengass."

I answer clearly, and I'm in my full senses as I do so.

I hear the bed clothes rustle behind me and get to my feet, my legs immediately starting to tremble, turning around to look down at Potter who's sitting up, his mouth twitching like he's holding back a huge burst of laughter.

"What?" he asks, as if waiting for me to confirm that I was in fact joking.

"Are you deaf?"

"You're going to marry Astoria Greengrass?" he cocks one eyebrow at me. "No, wait. You're going to marry a woman?"

"Again, fuck you," I turn away, pulling out my wand to Disapparate.

"Don't make me Body-Bind you, Malfoy."

I freeze and turn around with an icy glare. "And I'll what, stand here and let you?"

"What are you going to tell your father?" he asks, ignoring my thinly veiled threat.

"This is your business, how?"

"Malfoy," he looks slightly incredulous. "Are you actually considering marrying her?"

"I told my father I would consider and I did," I snarl.

"And?"

"And I'm still struggling to understand how this is any of your business!"

"Don't be a fucking idiot, Malfoy. Tell him no."

I splutter for a second and then laugh mirthlessly. "Have you any idea what that would mean for our close friendship with the Greengrasses?"

"Fuck the Greengrasses!" Potter lets out a little laugh of his own, as if I'm the one being ridiculous.

"I wouldn't expect you to fathom matters of high society, Potter."

"What does that even fucking mean?" Potter snorts, looking neither offended nor interested.

"It means I'm a good son!"

I've been telling myself this on loop since I left the Manor this evening, my father's sour expression of disappointment at my request for a little time to consider the marriage alliance dancing behind my eyes the whole way to the pub.

Where I'd seen Potter and had, temporarily, been distracted.

Now, Potter's expression is soft and understanding, and I want to claw at his face and shred it into ribbons.

"Of course you're a good son," he declares simply, like it was a blindingly apparent fact. "That you've even considered this makes you a good son; a good person."

"Why shouldn't I consider it?"

"Because you're also a gay person," Potter says kindly. "You ought to tell Lucius Malfoy that. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Says the man with a girlfriend who just had his cock up my arse," I sneer. Potter looks amused, his eyes glinting in a way that suggests I should reconsider what I've just stated. I frown down at him and he looks up at me like he's waiting for something to hit me.

And then it does. "She's not your girlfriend," I say blankly, remembering the she-Weasley's shy, tender smiles directed, not at Potter, but at Longbottom back in the pub. He gives me a sanctimonious little smile, tilting his head as he brings his knees up to his chest, the dark shadow of his heavy balls begging me to look down. "She's not your girlfriend," I repeat and he grins.

"Hasn't been for a while, Malfoy," he informs me, clearly on the verge of a good laugh.

Must he always be a step ahead of me?! Why, just tell me why.

Having no desire to continue this utterly fucked-up conversation, I turn away once more but Potter speaks softly, stilling me again.

"Malfoy, for once in your life do what you know you should do and not what you think you have to do."

I don't turn around as I leave.

I snag another glass of bubbly on my way out of the ballroom, slipping out quickly before someone notices, loosening my bow tie a little as I walk.

It's a gorgeous spring evening outside, and yet I don't head towards the wide open front doors, making my way instead up the wide, sweeping staircase, climbing two floors until I'm turning towards the semi circular balcony Astoria, Daphne, Blaise and I would hide in and smoke during the summer break.

I brush aside the lazily fluttering, gauzy curtains and then elbow one stained glass door shut behind me, sighing heavily and leaning over the parapet, looking through the fading twilight at the Greengrass' prized rose garden in full, riotous bloom below.

Strains of music drift up to me from downstairs, and when I shut my eyes I can picture the string septet on the low, glossy stage, Astoria's spotless white wedding gown blooming out around her petite frame as her father twirled her while they waltzed to the pretty tune.

I've only stood there for maybe ten, fifteen seconds, when—

"Imagine my pleasant surprise when I receive an invitation to the much talked about Greengrass wedding and discover that the groom is not Draco Malfoy, but in fact, Theodore Nott."

I'm smiling into my champagne and I don't even know how that happened.

"To be very honest, I'm more than a little surprised myself that you actually attended this 'much talked about' wedding," I say lightly, and then turn slightly, just enough so I can look over my shoulder and glance at him leaning a shoulder into the door jamb; take in his head of tousled black hair, shining emerald eyes, pink mouthed smile, plush, tasteful robes fitted over his superbly sculpted form, burly arms crossed casually. "I thought Harry Potter didn't do social obligations."

"When there's the definite possibility of running into a certain blond who's arse tastes like candy, who he let slip away too soon after a singularly spectacular fuck, Harry Potter does just about anything."

Despite the shameless lack of class, I'm sniggering softly, his crudely phrased statement sending a jolt of excitement up my spine.

"It was hate sex, Potter," I inform him without looking at him. "One doesn't linger after hate sex."

"Was it?" Three blunt clacks of expensive, well-polished shoes against luxurious marble and then he's right behind me – his front just about grazing my back. "Really?" I don't reply, my breath coming out in shallow bursts at his proximity. "Malfoy," his tone is gentle. "If I'd wanted to hate fuck you, I'd have bent you over the sinks at the loo, finished in three thrusts and left you there with your balls swollen." He presses in closer, my cock jumping between my legs when I realise he's hard against my arse. "I certainly wouldn't have brought you home and taken the time to reduce you to that gorgeous fucking mess you were by the time I was done permanently denting your insides with my cock."

Just like that, literally just like that, I am harder than fucking granite; and it's just from the uncouth bastard's obscene illustration. My arsehole twitches gleefully and I want to pull my robes up over my head, bend over and beg him for a repeat performance.

Instead, I draw in a deep breath and wade through my lust-infused mind for a clever answer.

"All that charm, Potter," I drawl, shaking my head. "Did I ever stand a chance at resisting you?"

"Not one," he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear, one heavy hand coming to rest on my hip. I shudder lightly and turn around to face him properly, my erection brushing his. "Tell me, was your father upset?"

"Very," I let my eyes fall shut as his lips trace the shell of my ear.

"That's good to know," he pulls back and his lips twitch up in a tiny smile. "I'm truly impressed with you, Malfoy."

"Are you now? I'm honoured," I deadpan, even as he crowds in closer, pushing me into the low railing, knocking the delicate flute out of my hand, the spun glass shattering with a soft tinkling. "Should I kneel and swear fealty, O Saviour?"

"Swearing fealty is the last thing you'll be doing if you're on your knees in my presence," he growls, eyes gleaming mischievously and I want to slap myself on the forehead at how I'd blindly walked into that one.

"Such charm," I laugh as he nudges my chin up, leaning down to press his mouth against my jugular, sending my cock into a frenzy. And it's easy, it's so easy to tip my head back and hold his head in place as he nibbles sharply on my neck, marking me with a gentle ruthlessness, growling as I bravely cup his very prominent bulge and squeeze, my own speedy breath faltering when he roughly kneads my arse.

I don't pause to think further. There's no way Potter and I aren't doing this again.

"Is this happening?" he asks just then, sounding slightly breathless.

"Fuck, yes," I guarantee. He suddenly lifts me onto the broad balustrade. "Potter," I gasp out a laugh as he pulls open my robes. "I didn't mean here."

"Too late," he's tugging my pants down, trousers going with it, snapping open several shirt buttons, bending and sucking on one nipple, making me arch into his wet mouth, the cool surface under my bum making me shiver.

"There's a wedding reception going on two floors below," I groan as he licks a broad, moist path up my neck, one hand pushing my knees wide apart before grasping my cock firmly. "Really, Potter, this is highly indecorous."

"Spell decorum for me, Malfoy," he says seriously, pulling back, worming his right hand between my thighs and finding my arsehole with one warm finger. "Spell it." He prods the tip inside.

I nearly fall over backwards.

"Fucking-" my voice rises hysterically. "Fuck!"

"Fucking fuck?" he chortles, pulling his hand back for one quick second before returning with slick fingers, immediately pushing one into me, stroking my cock lazily with his left.

I wrap one arm around his shoulders and draw my knees up and apart, panting noisily up at the dusky firmament.

"You're not exactly Mr. Articulacy yourself, so shut up," I tell him. "Don't let me fall back onto the fucking roses, Potter."

"I've got you," he bites into my shoulder, a second finger already edging its way in.

"If someone walks in on us, Potter-"

"They'll get a free fucking show, Merlin knows this place could use some excitement."

"Not what I was going to say," I groan, my eyes falling shut as he jabs into my prostate. "I swear to god, if someone walks in on us-"

"I'm not going to fucking stop."

The squeak of a zipper, the hurried squelch of lube fisted onto a cock.

"I'll kill you if you do!" I choke out shrilly, thrashing dangerously. "Yes, fuck yes. Put that fat cock in me," I gasp as the head nudges my entrance.

"Waited six months for this," Potter breathes as he pushes forward in a slow, persistent slide. "Six bloody months of wanking to the memory of your arse."

"It may be hard to tell right now but I'm extremely flattered, Potter," I'm pretty darn sure I'm going to fall over and break my neck by the time Potter is done fucking me.

"Fuck," Potter scrabbles to yank me back towards him. "Malfoy, fucking hell," he grumbles through tightly grit teeth.

"Get on with it!" I'm desperate, tugging him forward so roughly that he crashes into me and nearly sends me flying back once more.

"Jesus."

He pulls out and lifts me down and I complain loudly as he backs me into the wall behind the half open door, both of us shuffling unsteadily with our trousers around our ankles, our robes hanging off our shoulders and our cocks bobbing morosely. Potter presses me back into the narrow stretch of wall and then, unexpectedly, kisses me deeply.

My breath catches in my chest and I wrap my arms around his neck, tightening my hold until he's pressed impossibly close, kissing him urgently, our lips and tongues smacking noisily. He reaches down and grabs my arse with both hands, mashing together the handfuls of flesh in rough, circular motions until I rut my seeping cock into his with a muttered oath.

He jerks me around by the shoulders, pinning me face first, feels along my arse crack with his cock and eases back into me with a hoarse moan.

"Such a tight little arse, Malfoy," he growls. "And you love being filled like this, don't you?" he nips at my ear and I sob, bracing my hands flat and pushing back into him. "Stuffed until there's no room left," he groans, pulling out and ramming back in.

I cry out helplessly and he slaps a hand over my mouth. "Decorum, Malfoy," he pants snidely, drawing out and pounding back in. "Such a sprauncy little party going on down there," he starts driving his cock in persistently rough, sharp thrusts that lift me onto the balls of my feet.

He closes his hands over mine, braced above our heads, our fingers clumsily tangling, and leaves a string of bruises down the side of my neck, licking over and then starting to suck the flesh into his mouth, pulling it between his teeth, and my vision whites out as I'm repeatedly slammed into the wall, his cock grinding past my prostate. "Coming," I politely inform him in a strangled whimper.

My knees give away as I climax, and he quickly releases my hands and catches me, hauling my hips back with a sturdy tug and fucking me open with several more searing thrusts before coming with shudder that reverberates through me. He continues rocking his cock into me even as it softens, and I can feel his come squelch out of me and begin to trickle down the inside of my thigh.

"Merlin's bollocks, that was good," he gasps into my neck and I'm snorting under him, quivering lightly. "Such charm, right? I know," he grins, pulling out and stumbling back a couple of steps to pull his clothes back up, tucking his thick, sticky cock back in and fastening his trousers up, and then further messing his hair up by dragging a hand through it.

"You going back down there?" he asks me as I tuck my shirt into my trousers before I secure the flies.

"Why?" I ask, hooking up one eyebrow at him.

"It's the dullest shite I've ever been to," he declares, leaning back against the balustrade, pressing the heels of his hands into it. "You want to get out of here?"

"And go where?"

"Anywhere," he shrugs, rolling his eyes. "We could take a fucking walk; get some fucking dinner – does your posh palette know how to savour fish and chips?" he doesn't wait for me to answer before he adds, "Or we could just go back to my place and you know... talk."

His grin is downright filthy and I have to bite my lip as I'm tempted to return it.

"Atleast you didn't say cuddle," I snort.

He laughs, vivid green eyes crinkling up genially. "We could, if you like," he pushes off the balustrade and slowly comes up to me, heavily leaning his front against mine. "Talk as we cuddle," he runs the pad of one thumb across a bruise he's left above my collar bones and I tremble. "Cuddle as we talk."

"You're perseverant, I'll give you that," I let my head fall back as his tongue traces the path his thumb had just burnt into my skin.

"Not letting you scurry away this time, Malfoy," he assures me in a low voice, sucking on my ear lobe.

"I didn't scurry away last time," I scowl, turning my head to bite cheekily at his jaw.

He chuckles. "You coming, kitten?"

I don't answer at once, letting him finish sucking a fresh bruise under my ear, using the time to ask myself what exactly I'm doing here.

Something that I know I don't have to do. And Merlin, something that I desperately fucking want to do.

"Sure, Potter," I breathe, tugging his head back gently by his hair and kissing him soundly. "Let's go talk," I smirk.

"Good talk, Potter," I wheeze out forty-five minutes later as he helplessly collapses onto me like an enormous fucking sack of sand, our chests slipping together with my come, his cock still pulsing seed into me, my sweaty legs still firmly hooked over his damp shoulders.

Potter bursts out laughing into my neck, and it's that rumbling belly-laugh of his, vibrating through me and warming me down to my bones, that properly convinces me, more than all the numerous other reasons, that the decision I'd made that night six months ago, with Potter's come up my bum and more whiskey in my veins than blood, was undoubtedly the best fucking decision I'd made in years.

~end~

(SEQUEL'S UP!)