Harry slouches in his seat, trying to keep his eyes open as Professor Binns drones on about something pertaining to the history of the Wizard's Council... he thinks. He hasn't really been paying attention to most of it. Maybe it's the Wizened Council, or perhaps the Witch's Council – Harry will ask Hermione later when they have to write a paper on it. It isn't as if he's the only one experiencing an incurable inattention toward the subject, most of the class is dozing off in their chairs as the ghost keeps on in his usual monotonous way.

His eyes start to slip closed and that's when he sees it. Well, Harry's not really sure he's seen clearly. Surely he's just gone insane and Malfoy's not actually sporting netted stocking's beneath his trousers.

He inches forward in his seat to get a better look at the blonde boy who is sitting a few seats ahead and to the left of him, taking notes at his table.

There it is. A flash of the fabric catches his eye and his mouth gapes open. He's completely entranced by the black fabric stretched over Malfoy's pale, slim ankle. Harry shakes his head. Maybe it's some sort of wizarding fashion.

He let's out a loud snort and Ron elbows him hard in the ribs, the red-headed boy jolted awake by the noise, his eyes dopey and confused.

"Is class over?" Ron asks with a wide yawn, not even bothering to cover his mouth.

"No... no, go back to sleep, Ron," Harry placates, unable to tear his gaze away from Malfoy's leg. He just can't stop looking at the criss-cross pattern peeking out from under the hem of the boy's trouser leg and he stares until class ends, his curiosity eating at him from the inside out and leaving Harry with a rather odd feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Flinging his padding to the side as he strips the muddy outerwear from his body, Harry strides into the change rooms, still annoyed with his team. He's been training them hard over the last few days, trying to whip them into shape for the upcoming match against Slytherin, but none of them are performing as well as he's hoped, himself included.

He sighs, removing the rest of his clothes as he heads into the showers, reaching out to turn the water on until it's hot enough to redden his skin. He spots blonde out of the corner of his vision.

Was that Malfoy? What's he doing in the change rooms?

Harry huffs. There's absolutely no reason for the blonde's presence, his team doesn't even have practice as an excuse. He hopes the prat hasn't been spying on his own team's practice session.

Leaning far over to the side, no longer under the spray of the shower, he tries to see into the other section of the change rooms, gulping when he spots Malfoy's form. Oh gods, is that a skirt?

Harry quickly resumes showering, pretending he hasn't looked at all, rubbing the grime from his body as fast as he can so he can get out of there as soon as possible, trying to ignore the fact that he has, for some reason, become half hard. Hopefully Malfoy has left by the time he's done.

Snatching a towel from the cupboard, he wraps his waist with it and heads back to his locker to get dressed. Malfoy's not gone. Harry shuts his mouth tight to stop the shocked noise that wants to escape and Malfoy looks up at him with a queer, startled expression before his lips stretch out into a quirky smile.

"D'you like my skirt, Potter?" Malfoy asks, pouting his lips at Harry and bending his knees into an elegant little pose as he smooths the midnight blue fabric down his thighs.

"I-I-I... uh, I-" he tries, eyes roving over Malfoy's shapely, soft-looking, bare legs.

"Potter? Potter, you okay there?"

Harry just nods, swallowing hard at the sudden flooding of saliva in his mouth. He realizes he's probably blushing. His cock noticeably twitches from beneath the towel around his waist and he's mortified. What if Malfoy sees his rather obvious response to his skirt?

Turning away, Harry grabs his clothing and flees out of the change room, far away from the blonde, not caring that he's outside with nothing but a towel on and it's kind of cold. The chill air is good. It calms him down. He hides behind the quidditch shed where no one can see him and slips his clothes on. Harry's fine. Really. He's just losing his mind - it was bound to happen at some point.

Harry avoids Malfoy for days. It's more difficult a task than he'd figured it to be as he has classes with the Slytherin. But, he determinedly doesn't look his way. Okay, maybe once or twice. But Malfoy is wearing eye make-up, or something that gives the same effect that make-up would, his lashes long and dark, his light grey eyes lined in coal, making his eyes look like beacons that call out to Harry from afar.

He shakes his head and studiously continues taking notes. Potions class is simply not the time for ogling Malfoy. Or any boy for that matter. And Harry really should stop looking at Malfoy anyway, any minute now; he's not gay at all, no, it's just that Malfoy looks so very feminine...

"Mr. Potter! Pay attention," Professor Snape snaps, standing directly behind him, his voice startling Harry as he's abruptly jolted from his thoughts. He hadn't even noticed the man's presence. He immediately turns red in embarrassment and stutters out an apology.

"S-s-sorry sir."

The Slytherin's snicker and Harry lowers his eyes to the table, listening to Snape proceed to drill the rest of the class with questions pertaining to the potion they're about to make. Malfoy turns to stare at him, his eyebrow arched and a small smirk gracing his features.

And Harry starts to perspire, feeling it bead along his upper lip, his heart beating so hard he thinks that everyone will start to hear it pumping along in his chest. Eventually, Malfoy turns away and begins preparing his ingredients. Harry wipes his sweaty palms down the leg of his trousers and proceeds to do the same. He just hopes he doesn't manage to blow anything up.

He isn't the only person to notice - so he isn't going crazy after all. It just happens that, other than the skirt that Harry supposes that only he bore witness to the blonde wearing, everything he's worn has been rather subtle so no one has bothered commenting on it, until now.

"Is that a corset?" Hermione suddenly asks, sitting across from him at their usual table. They're in the library working on their school work... well, in his case it's more along the lines of fighting with it.

"What?" Harry asks, confused as he pushes a large tomb aside to look for the one he needs. He nudges Ron when he realizes his friend has been using it as a pillow.

"Malfoy. I think he's wearing a corset. That's..." Hermione's brows come together as she tilts her head to the side to contemplate Malfoy's look, "rather strange, but it looks oddly good."

Harry twists his head around as far as it can go to look in the direction Hermione is looking. It isn't weird that he wants to see what she's talking about, he's not that interested, really. His pulse picks up as he takes in Malfoy and his - he licks his lips - corset, sitting two tables behind them. It's pretty and dark grey, an intricate black design covering nearly every inch of it and cinching Malfoy's waist into an hourglass shape with little clasps holding it closed in the front.

"Fuck," Harry says, forgetting himself. He's instantly hard underneath the table as he stares at Malfoy, his eyes trailing along Malfoy's bare shoulders, lingering in the curve of his collar bone, up his long, slender neck, and into light, amused eyes. Oh shit.

Harry abruptly turns away, back to Hermione, who is giving him an awkward look that bores straight through him. He gives her a sheepish smile and gathers his papers to escape.

But he can't escape the torment. He lies awake at night trying not to let his mind imagine Malfoy's sudden wardrobe change. Except it doesn't work and he does anyway, staring up at the ceiling, ignoring his erection, and listening to his room mates snore instead.

Harry has this melded image in his mind now, of Malfoy, wearing that corset and, merlin help him, also that pretty skirt. He's showing off those stockings, and his pale, smooth legs, and batting his eyelashes at Harry seductively. This image of Malfoy is always seductive, giving him sultry looks and licking his lips. Harry rolls over and groans into his pillow.

He thinks that maybe Malfoy's intentionally trying to drive him mad. Harry grinds himself into his bed, eyes shut tight as he tries to picture anything but blonde hair and grey eyes. It doesn't work. It never works. He bites down on his pillow as he comes all over his sheets.

The world is against him. He doesn't know why he's been partnered with Malfoy in Defence Against the Dark Arts, but whoever instigated this was a very cruel person. Harry glares at the back of his Professor's head nearly as much as he stares at Malfoy.

At least Malfoy doesn't seem to be wearing anything that variates from their normal school wear, although the dark red lipstick staining his mouth is rather distracting. Harry finds his eyes drawn to that painted mouth and it causes him to miss the Slytherin's wand movements so many times that he's consistently hexed by him instead of blocking like he's supposed to.

Malfoy tuts at him, shaking his head as he waits for him to stand again. Harry just wants class to end. He shouldn't have to deal with this. Malfoy's not supposed to cause this kind of reaction in him, isn't supposed to make him feel anything but hatred. Damn him.

And the unnerving thing is that he remains half-hard the entire time, even as Malfoy is hexing him... and Harry sure is glad that his robes cover him enough to hide it. He squirms every time Malfoy bites down on his bottom lip or sucks it into his mouth as he's concentrating on his spell work. But, it's when Malfoy smirks at him as he lays sprawled across the floor, mostly in pain from the spells he's taken, that makes Harry's erection spring to complete readiness. He's doomed.

It was a big mistake. He shouldn't have let Ron and Hermione, and also the rest of his Gryffindor mates, talk him into coming. He should have stuck with his original gut feeling to not attend.

At first, Harry has an alright time, talking with his friends and enjoying a drink or two, and he completely ignores his recent problem to the best of his abilities. The distractions are actually quite nice. But then the Slytherin's have to show up. And who gave them the directions to the party anyway?

Harry looks to Hermione, sipping his drink as he glares at his friend. It was probably her. She's always talking about house unity and how they all need to get along... traitor. He sits and sulks, something he's found he's rather good at, but nevertheless, his eyes still trail Malfoy throughout the room.

He doesn't even try to stop himself from watching because the blonde Slytherin has had the gall to wear that skirt again... and the corset, along with those net stockings with black, leather ankle boots that show off his lovely calves. Harry gulps his drink down. Maybe he can slip away, go back to Gryffindor tower... wank for a couple hours.

Malfoy turns around, flipping his medium-length hair over his bare shoulder as he looks directly at Harry. Harry's body goes completely still. Malfoy winks at him. What the-? He feels like he's suddenly choking.

Well, apparently he is actually choking. Dean pats him on the back sympathetically and gets up to get him another drink. Harry thanks his friend, trying to regain something of his composure back. But Malfoy's heading his way, an annoying little smile on his face that just confuses Harry. Why is he coming over? He starts to panic, breathing heavily through his nose, trying and failing to stay calm.

"Potter."

He opens his mouth to respond and nothing comes out. He tries again, blushing when all that comes out is an undignified 'meep'. Malfoy doesn't look impressed but continues smiling at him, it morphing into a feral grin, his perfect white teeth showing from behind his rouged lips and looking like he's about to gobble Harry right up... and now Harry's completely hard if he hadn't been before.

He gulps, locking eyes with his rival.

"Potter, come with me," Malfoy demands, reaching out his hand for Harry to take. Harry automatically takes it, not sure what the hell he's doing, or what Malfoy thinks he's doing either for that matter. For all he knows this is just some giant prank. Well, if it is it's one hell of one.

His friends don't even say anything, there are no outbursts as he would've assumed from them, as he gets up and follows Malfoy out of the Room of Requirement.

He glances back at them for a second and only sees smiles, their amusement clearly etched across their faces as they watch him leave with Malfoy. And then his eyes are only for Malfoy alone, watching his skirt clad arse as he pulls him from the party and out into the corridors.

Harry has no idea where they're going or what will happen when they get there, but right now he could care less.

Apparently Malfoy knows the way to the Gryffindor tower. He leads Harry through the Fat Lady's portrait, past the common room almost completely devoid of the lower years, and up the stairs to Harry's bedroom. And Harry just goes along with him, wondering how the blonde knows which room is his, his brain still not processing the fact that they're heading to his bedroom.

Malfoy... and Harry. In his room. Together... alone.

And then he doesn't have to think any more because he's being pushed into the room, hearing the door slam behind them as Malfoy pushes him onto one of the beds. Harry doesn't know whose it is, doesn't care at all, because Malfoy is following him onto the bed, straddling him, and capturing Harry's mouth in a bruising kiss as he grinds his arse down against his lap.

His head is swimming. Bringing his hands up to clutch at that perfectly rounded arse, he groans when he cups warm flesh, his finger tips brushing an indecent, little piece of fabric near the top.

"Are you trying to kill me?" he asks, voice desperate and straining as much as his cock is against his trousers.

Malfoy's wearing a thong - a lacy scrap of fabric that's nestled between his arse cheeks. Malfoy pulls back and grins down at him wickedly, and then bites down on his plump lip, batting his eye lashes demurely at him as he reaches down to slowly undo Harry's trousers.

Harry's eyes roll into the back of his head as, in an agonizingly slow manner, Malfoy pulls his hard length free from the confines.

"Oh gods, Malfoy you're such a fucking tease," Harry says without thought, squeezing his handful and thrusting his hips up roughly as he brings Malfoy down against him.

"You like it," the Slytherin replies, licking his lips and smearing the red stain across his mouth, making him look kind of debauched. It turns Harry on even more. He has no idea what the hell he's doing but he can't make himself stop now that he has Malfoy in his lap.

"Do you want to fuck me, Potter?" Malfoy suddenly asks, seemingly out of nowhere, pulling Harry's head to the side by yanking on his hair, his dirty mouth trailing along Harry's outstretched neck and most likely leaving smears of red along his skin.

Harry makes a strangled noise and tries to nod, his fingers digging into Malfoy's skin as he thinks about that tight little arse sinking down onto his cock.

"Is that a yes?" Malfoy questions, smirking at him again. Harry wishes he would stop doing that as it makes his cock throb and twitch. He manages to say something along the lines of an assent and then watches, his eyes wide, as the blonde slips two fingers into his mouth, licking and sucking on them sloppily.

Malfoy leans forward, his fingers popping out of his mouth, wet with saliva and almost dripping onto Harry's chest. He can't speak, can't move, can't even breathe as he watches Malfoy reach behind himself. He really wants to see what Malfoy's doing but he watches his face instead, watches as his mouth goes slack and his eyes darken and start to flutter shut. The blonde hisses for a second, shifting around, and Harry pulls him down for a kiss.

A hand lifts his penis straight up from his body, stroking him three or four times before Harry feels Malfoy's saliva slick opening against the head.

"Oh god," Harry hears, barely, not even knowing if it's him or Malfoy who has said it, blood rushing past his ears so that he can't hear much of anything other than his own panting breath.

And then he's sliding slowly up into a tight warmth, so very tight - clenching around him so hard it almost hurts. He gasps, arching up and grabbing Malfoy's hips tightly. There's this rocking motion as he slips further inside and Malfoy's nails start digging into Harry's chest.

It doesn't matter, it feels good, because Harry's inside him, buried deep in his pulsing channel. The Slytherin is making these cute little mewling noises, his thighs tirelessly working himself down on to Harry's length as he just attempts to keep breathing.

Harry notices that he's been chanting 'fuck' over and over again and he bites down on his lip to stop himself. Malfoy moves above him, rolling his hips, his arse rubbing against Harry's pelvis and making them both moan. Harry's hands go back under that little skirt, grasps that fucking amazing arse, and helps to lift him up and down his aching cock.

Malfoy is the hottest thing Harry has ever seen. His undulating hips are heaven. His arse pure bliss. Those grey eyes stealing his very soul from his body. And Malfoy's kissing him again, gasping against his mouth, his fingers curling into Harry's messy hair, sucking on his bottom lip like he owns it.

They pick up speed, because how could they not, and they're fucking frantically, Malfoy bouncing so quick and hard onto Harry that there's this loud slapping noise of their skin meeting filling the room.

"Fuck, Harry. Gods... touch me. Just fucking touch me, Potter... now," Malfoy cries out.

Harry scrabbles to comply, bringing a hand around Malfoy's front and tugging at the tight fabric covering his red, leaking erection. It rips away and the skirt bunches up as Harry takes him in his hand. He can see it, Malfoy's thick dripping cock, and it's beautiful. Harry's gone now, replaced by this exquisite need – a need to make Malfoy come and a need to do so himself, to pump Malfoy full of his release.

"Yes! Yes, just there. Right there, Potter! Fuck me right there."

Obscene words and noises fall from Malfoy's lips in a long string of incoherency after that. Harry has to close his eyes, he can't keep looking at the blonde in his black corset, with his short skirt hiked up to show Harry's fist around his dick. It's just too much.

He's clutching Malfoy to him now, grinding his hips up hard... so hard, and as deep as he can go, his thighs tensing as they wildly fuck. Harry comes with such a force that he sees shimmering shapes behind his eyelids - he's coming and coming, feeling like it's never going to stop and Malfoy's chanting his name, no longer Potter any more, but Harry, and it falls perfect from his lips like a sweet and sinful symphony.

He feels Malfoy tighten around him, release then tighten, again and again, milking the last of his strength from him.

"Harry, yes, yes... fuck... please, yes," Malfoy shouts as he works himself up and down unsteadily.

Come shoots across Harry's hand, pulsing out to cover his stomach and part of that blue skirt in a sticky mess. Malfoy collapses against his chest, breathing heavily, mouthing Harry's skin as he sucks in large gulps of air.

"That was-that, that... that was-" Harry attempts to describe something of what he's feeling. He's just fucked Malfoy for merlin's sake, been up his arse, screwed his rival silly. There has to be some set of words for this momentous occasion. He watches Malfoy pull his wand out from the front of his corset and spell them both clean.

"Just shut up, Potter," Malfoy tells him, kissing him quiet. He stays laying on top of Harry, pulling the covers up to keep them warm, like he's going to stay. And somehow Harry's still inside him, all snug and perfect, feeling like he belongs there. Harry swallows the painful lump in his throat and opens his mouth to say something when the door to his room opens and his room mates come in.

"About fucking time, Harry," Ron comments, taking in the scene of Harry and Malfoy under the covers.

Harry freezes in shock, "Wh-what? Ron?"

"Oh thank god," Seamus says, entering the room behind Ron and heading toward his own bed like nothing is amiss, like Harry doesn't have his school nemesis in bed with him, naked.

"Finally, took you long enough," Dean adds, doing the same as Seamus and Ron, and getting ready for bed.

Harry looks completely confused and stares back at Malfoy, looking for answers. The boy winks at him and shifts around to bring the blankets up even higher around them.

"Oh gods, why my bed, Harry?" Neville whines, looking around the room with a lost expression. And now Harry knows whose bed they're in. He can feel Malfoy's face in the curve of his neck as the Slytherin chuckles.

"Quiet you," he tells Malfoy against his shaking shoulder. He hesitantly presses a kiss there, relaxing as Neville decides to simply take his bed for the night and no one else says anything. Harry kisses his way up Malfoy's neck until his lips caress the skin behind his ear.

"Hey, Malfoy," Harry whispers.

"What Potter?" Malfoy whispers back at him, eyes gleaming at him in the dark.

"I like your skirt."