Warning(s): Vague dub-con.
Disclaimer: JKR owns. I only play. You do not sue.
Length: 4K words
Summary: War is often more about waiting than anything else. Draco thinks poker is an adequate way to pass the time. Harry disagrees.
Beta: goneril, much_reality, oddnari
Note: Originally written for the hp_loveletters fic exchange (posted here).
Concrit: Always welcome and appreciated.
Draco glanced down at the small pile of coloured marbles beside him. There were four left, two green and two red -- the equivalent of twelve Galleons. Not that anyone was actually keeping track of the amounts. These games were just a way to pass the time.
Shrugging, Draco moved all four marbles towards the centre of the oak table. "Raise." He had a full house with three queens and two tens. Potter's luck had to run out.
"You're giving up quickly," said Potter, his eyes guarded.
"Giving up? You wish," muttered Draco, casting another glance at the cards in his hand. The ten of spades had come during the drawing round, and Draco had only drawn one card. Potter had drawn three -- the odds were on Draco's side.
"Let's see, then," said Potter.
Draco shot him a look. "Why do I always have to show my cards first?"
"It's the way of the world, Malfoy. Go on."
Draco considered refusing, but then decided that the look of disappointment on Potter's face would be worth it. There was something exhilarating in watching your opponent react to a loss that only he knows about. It was what made this stupid Muggle game so addictive. Potter bluffed excellently, but he lacked the self-restraint to keep a completely straight face whenever he saw that Draco had a better hand.
Draco lowered his cards and watched Potter's face. He knew immediately that he had lost: Potter's eyes gleamed with mirth and the corner of his mouth curled upwards just a little. Potter's tongue darted out briefly as he licked his bottom lip and Draco forgot about the game, staring stupidly at Potter's mouth and willing him to do that again.
Draco realised he'd begun to lean forward. He hastily glanced down at the cards in Potter's hand, as though he'd been leaning in to get a closer look. He didn't need a closer look to see a straight flush, five to nine of diamonds. Sighing, Draco put down his cards and contemplated tea as he cast an idle glance at the stove.
"Like I said," murmured Potter. "Giving up quickly."
Draco turned to him sharply. "Kindly fuck off," he said, without any real feeling behind it.
It was happening the same way every day, for weeks now. They would actively avoid each other during the day, never spending more time in the same room than was strictly necessary. In the evening, Draco would come down to the kitchen for a spot of tea, and Potter would be there, shuffling cards, eyebrow raised.
Sometimes Draco lost and sometimes he won. They always divided the same pile of marbles, equally, at the start. When one of them would run out of marbles, the other would make an appropriately disparaging remark and receive a retort in an equivalent tone -- the words themselves no longer mattered at this point.
Then Draco would make himself a cup of tea and retreat to his bedroom until the morning. He would do his best to block out improbable fantasies of Potter's fierce green eyes boring into his as Potter held him down. 'Try' was the operative word -- he would always fail, spilling over his fingers every time he imagined Potter's mouth opening over the head of Draco's cock.
Draco rose, turning towards the stove. He cursed himself inwardly, furrowing his brow; what was he doing thinking about that here, with Potter not three feet away?
"You could ask for a rematch. I wouldn't say no."
Draco blinked and turned to Potter, careful to stay behind the table so Potter wouldn't see his hard-on. Fucking Muggle clothes.
"Bored, Potter? I'm afraid I'm not here for your entertainment. I'm sure you'll find a way to cope."
"Don't you enjoy these games?" Potter sounded -- and looked -- genuinely surprised. His forehead was creased in a frown, his glasses beginning to slide down his nose.
Draco bit his lip. "As much as it's possible to enjoy them, I suppose. But have you ever heard the phrase 'too much of a good thing'?"
Potter's eyes narrowed for a moment, but not in a malicious way -- he looked a little like a cat being scratched behind its ears. "I think I misheard you. Was that a compliment, Malfoy?"
Heat stung Draco's cheeks. "I was merely commenting on your lack of impulse control."
Potter was studying him intently, messy head tilted slightly to one side. There was something like a smile at the corners of his mouth, and suddenly Draco felt like his mind was being taken apart, like Potter could see into his head, see the images of himself, sweaty and naked...
Draco felt heat creeping up his neck. His cock was painfully hard now, enough for him to contemplate simply bolting for his bedroom.
"I have plenty of impulse control," said Potter. "It's only a game of cards we're talking about, isn't it?"
You have no idea, thought Draco. "Fine," he said. "Divide the marbles as usual?"
"Well, that would hardly be fair," said Potter, his voice low. "If we'd been playing for real money, I wouldn't just hand you half my cash. Neither would you, if you were in my place."
Draco frowned. "Are you daft? We divide them every night -- that would hardly happen if we were out there," -- he jerked his head in the direction of the door -- "so what's your issue?"
"Well," said Potter, grinning broadly, "What would happen is we'd start betting things that can be converted to money."
"Like what? All I have is my wand, and if you think I'm betting that, you're thicker than I could ever have imagined."
"Clothes cost money."
"These Muggle rags? They wouldn't fetch five Sickles-- what did you just say?" Draco gaped at Potter, who seemed to be enjoying himself far too much. Of all the unimaginable...
"Oh, I see," said Draco slowly. "So spying on me while I shower is no longer good enough for the Chosen One, he wants an up close and personal--"
"I do not spy on you while you shower, Malfoy!" Potter spluttered. The grin was gone, replaced with a look of utter mortification, and Draco could see a pink flush spreading across Potter's face.
After all, Draco's inane fantasies had begun only after he'd caught Potter looking in through a tiny hole in the bathroom door. He hadn't said a word then, but the idea of Potter watching him naked had started an avalanche of thoughts that had nothing to do with logic.
"Don't you?" Draco asked, stepping closer to the table to put some kind of pressure on his cock, which was not at all amenable to playing poker and was demanding that Draco march up to his bedroom.
"If you're referring to that time you nearly smashed my face in with the door, I was only passing by," said Potter in a flat tone.
Except I felt you watching me and cast a charm to confirm it. I opened the door because I wanted to smash your smug face in, you wanker.
"Maybe you were and maybe you weren't," Draco said. "Whatever the case may be, you'll excuse me if I take my leave and don't take you up on your exciting offer."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Terrified."
He filled the teapot with water and placed it on the stove, careful to display his back to Potter. He lit the burner and leant forward, placing his hands on the counter next to the stove, bowing his head. His erection had subsided -- a small wonder, really, considering what Potter had just offered.
He should never have agreed to do this. He'd thought it would be easy -- keep an eye on Potter to make sure he doesn't do anything too reckless, make sure that Potter can't leave the house without him and generally keep Potter away from the fighting until it was Potter's time to shine, or whatever. Draco still didn't fully understand the prophecy business, nor did he particularly care as long as he wasn't the one expected to save the wizarding world.
The Order hadn't let Weasley do it because they were afraid that Weasley would help Potter escape and go after the Dark Lord as he obviously wanted to. Granger was too involved with the safe-houses, and so Shacklebolt had asked Draco -- knowing full well that Draco and Potter disliked each other. Smart man, Shacklebolt. It was too bad Draco hadn't realised that Potter would turn out to be a sneaky little voyeur.
Draco prepared his tea in silence, wondering how much longer they'd stay here. How long until Potter went off and most likely got himself killed? The thought didn't warm him as much as it should have. Clearly, he was going insane. First he had joined the Order of the Phoenix, now he was feeling something other than glee at the thought of Potter's death. What would he do next, procreate with Granger?
He picked up the steaming mug of tea and began to walk out without glancing at the kitchen table.
"Have it your way, Malfoy," said Potter just before Draco reached the door. "We'll divide the marbles as usual."
Draco turned to look at him. "Are you really that bored?"
Potter hefted the deck of cards in his hand, eyebrow raised. "Yeah. I am."
Draco hesitated. "The question is, am I that bored?"
Potter smirked. "Yeah, you are."
"I'll thank you not to assume you know anything about my level of boredom," said Draco, lifting his chin.
Shrugging, Potter leant back in the chair, letting his arm drop down over the back of it. "You asked."
Draco walked back to his chair and set the mug down on the table. "All right, you're on."
He wasn't even that bored, really, but Potter had just done something he'd never done before -- he'd changed his mind, relented, ostensibly because he wanted Draco's company.
He wants to see you naked again.
Draco shivered slightly, ignoring the goose pimples that covered his back at the thought. Potter was free to want whatever -- it didn't mean he would get it. Potter was dealing already, his expression all business. Draco bet two green, Potter called, they drew cards. Draco had a pair of kings; Potter, nothing. Slowly, the pile of marbles beside Draco grew as it became apparent that Potter's luck had, indeed, run out for the night. Draco took extra pleasure in watching Potter's face grow more and more pensive.
When Potter had nothing left, the candle on the far end of the table was half gone, the white wax forming bizarre, fluid shapes as it slid down in the holder. Draco tore his gaze away from the candle and looked questioningly at Potter.
"Well, looks like I had my rematch," he said.
Potter tugged at his collar. "Don't think so," he said, beginning to undo the buttons on his shirt.
Draco swallowed. "What are you doing?"
"Betting my shirt, of course," came the reply.
"What if I don't want--" But Draco couldn't finish his sentence, because -- well, because Harry Potter was undressing for him. In front of him. Fuck. He was beginning to sweat, and he hoped that Potter wouldn't be able to see it.
Draco lost the next round and Potter's shirt was back on, but now the candle seemed to burn brighter and Draco found that he wanted nothing more than to make Potter lose, so he would take his shirt off again. It wasn't even that Potter was beautiful -- he wasn't. But he was Draco's in a way that few people had ever been -- Draco had been abusing himself to thoughts of that chest above and beneath him, those bare arms around him...
When the candle was almost dying, Draco was staring dully at the cards in front of him. A pair of jacks -- hearts and spades -- after drawing three. Potter put his cards on the table, next to the pile of marbles at his elbow. Two pair.
Draco threw down his own cards and peeled off his underpants, tossing them on top of the rest of his clothes, piled haphazardly on the floor by his feet.
Before Draco could register what was happening, Potter was up and moving, and a moment later he was standing in front of Draco. He stared down into Draco's lap, his thin lips parted slightly. Draco was frozen, embarrassment battling with desire inside him. Potter leant forward -- oh fuck, he's going to touch me, please God don't let him touch me--
"Much better from this distance," breathed Potter into his ear.
Draco began to tremble, somewhere inside where Potter couldn't reach. What was wrong with him?
Potter knelt down before him, took off his glasses and put them on the table beside Draco's wand. His movements were slow, deliberate and Draco felt a pulse point in his throat thumping fretfully against his skin. Potter licked his lips as he looked up into Draco's face, that insufferable smirk returning to his mouth.
Without warning, Potter placed his hands on top of Draco's legs, the unexpected warmth of it causing Draco to start. Potter pushed his legs apart, his fingers digging into Draco's skin, and Draco found he couldn't quite control his breathing anymore. He stared down at Potter, knowing he should say something, put a stop to it -- but he couldn't, not when Potter's thumbs were rubbing slow circles into his inner thighs, not when Potter's breath was skating across his bare abdomen.
Potter closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, and Draco wondered how often he'd done this before -- and with whom--
"Potter, don't," he said urgently as he found his voice again. "We shouldn't--"
Potter paid him no mind, instead leaning down and placing his mouth over the head of Draco's cock, exhaling slowly. Draco's words became lodged in his throat as his insides seized up and his cock twitched. He felt his body tingling, a new wave of arousal creeping slowly up his chest. Everything was washed-out, blurry; the only stark details were Potter's black hair and the sensation of Potter's breath on his skin. Draco had never been this hard in his life.
"Touch yourself," whispered Potter, and the last of the threads holding Draco's self-control in place snapped.
Without taking his eyes off Potter, Draco reached down and curled his fingers around his swollen cock and began to stroke, rough and urgent, feeling the beginnings of release mounting in the pit of his stomach. Potter pushed Draco's legs further apart and bent low to lick his balls, his tongue leaving cool traces of moisture that made Draco shiver. He moaned as his balls clenched, and quickened his strokes -- he was going to come any second-- all over Potter's face...
"Shhh," whispered Potter, and Draco felt Potter's hand close around his. "Let me."
Draco couldn't have protested even if he really wanted to; he allowed Potter to take his hand away. Potter gripped his cock at the base and sucked the head into his mouth. Draco cried out and thrust upwards, wanting to feel that wet, glorious warmth all over. Potter made a protesting noise and pushed down with his hand, his tongue teasing Draco's leaking slit. Draco stilled, shutting his eyes so tightly he saw stars dancing across the darkness. He had no idea what to do with his hands, and he couldn't think with Potter sucking his cock, taking him deeper, making sloppy, wet sounds, oddly resonant and somehow very final. Potter's hand at the base of Draco's cock was moving up and down, and Draco felt his balls and thighs seizing up as Potter took another inch of him inside--
--Draco shuddered as he came. Potter moaned as Draco spilled into his mouth and the last rational thought Draco had for a while was that he wanted to find out if sucking someone else off was as enjoyable as Potter was making it sound.
Draco's entire body felt heavy and limp. His eyes were closed, head thrown back against the chair. Potter removed his mouth from Draco's cock, which flopped wetly down against his thigh. Draco opened his eyes a fraction and locked gazes with Potter, whose eyes were dark as he looked up into Draco's face.
"Isn't this better than tea and wanking?" whispered Potter, smirking.
Draco tried to laugh, but managed only to snort. "Were you watching?"
"Mmm," replied Potter.
Draco wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. Potter licked the side of his limp cock, dragging the tip of his tongue along the foreskin. Draco felt a tug deep inside -- it was like desire but he was still too spent. As the cloudy haze in his mind cleared, Draco slowly began to realise that he'd just completely lost control in Potter's hands. A traitorous, weak part of him insisted that he would gladly be Potter's bitch forever if Potter could do that with his mouth, but reason was taking over and Draco felt cold dread settle in his chest.
Swiftly, he pushed Potter away, rose from the chair and fumbled on the table for his wand. "Accio clothes," he said. "I can't believe you just did that."
Potter, who had in the meantime also risen, narrowed his eyes. Draco wasn't sure if it was because he couldn't see without his glasses or because he was cross; he wasn't going to find out. He knew that he was being incredibly rude, but he didn't care. Potter had no right, he had no fucking right.
Draco bolted out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom, where he put on his pyjama bottoms and walked to the window, wanting to see the outside world just for a few minutes. He was simply going stir-crazy, shut up in this gloomy house together with Potter... of course he had let Potter get away with it... stranger things had happened in the past to men shut up in close quarters together...
The next moment, he was slammed against the wall, the floor beneath his feet shaking from the impact. Potter's hands were sliding up beneath his t-shirt -- Draco could feel Potter's fingers on his skin and his thighs instantly began to ache for that suddenly familiar touch -- strong and burning. He wanted to protest, if only for the sake of appearances, but Potter had his teeth on Draco's left earlobe, making it suddenly difficult for Draco to talk.
"Never thought you were a cock tease, Malfoy," growled Potter, his fingers tangling in Draco's hair.
He sucked at a spot on Draco's neck, making Draco's insides turn to liquid heat. Draco made an undignified noise and bucked against Potter's leg. The rational, normal part of his mind was rapidly retreating with its tail between its legs -- Draco threw his head back and moaned, giving in to the delirious need that was flowing up his spine. There was a ripping sound and Draco's pyjama bottoms were off. His hands seemed to have developed self-awareness, because they were pushing Potter's trousers down.
"Good boy," murmured Potter by his ear.
Draco's rational mind tried to protest against being spoken to like a dog, but Potter's tongue flicked at his earlobe and all Draco managed to say was, "unghhhh" as his eyes fell shut. He felt strong fingers grip his arse and lift him in the air -- Draco's legs came around Potter's waist automatically as he tried not to fall down. Potter grunted and pushed him up against the wall with his shoulder, one of his hands leaving Draco's backside.
Potter muttered a spell of some sort and Draco felt a weird twinge near his opening. There was a clatter -- Potter's wand -- and Draco's eyes opened wide as Potter brushed two fingers gently against his arsehole. Draco clenched his buttocks, the rational part of his mind returning for a moment -- Potter was about to violate him -- but Potter's fingers brushed over his hole again and Draco squeezed his eyes shut with the sensation. Potter pushed one finger inside him, slowly, and Draco gasped -- it felt like his arse had turned to butter. The pain he was expecting never came. He could feel Potter's finger pushing deeper inside him and it was like nothing he'd ever experienced; he wanted more and he rocked up and forward.
Potter chuckled near his ear and pulled his finger out of Draco's arse, only to replace it immediately with two. Draco gasped again, louder this time and moved against Potter's fingers, barely aware of Potter's mouth on his neck, Potter's tongue sliding against his skin, Potter's other hand squeezing his right buttock with too much force.
Then Potter's fingers were gone and Draco felt the head of Potter's cock at his hole. Panic gripped him -- surely Potter would rip him in half with that thing, there's no way he could---
--and then the head of Potter's cock slipped into him, far more easily than he might have ever imagined, and Draco stopped breathing for a second. Potter thrust into him, slowly, and the last vestiges of Draco's control were gone. He moved against Potter, mouth falling open as Potter filled him -- deeper, deeper until Draco felt Potter's balls flush against his arse.
"Oh," said Draco, suddenly finding that being impaled on Potter's cock with his legs around Potter's waist was quite possibly the best place in the whole world. There was a dull ache somewhere deep inside him, but he found it wholly negligible. Where had Potter learned whatever spell had enabled him to do this?
He skewed his eyes down to look at Potter. Potter's forehead was pressed against the wall behind Draco, his face and neck flushed. His chest was heaving and he was biting his bottom lip.
"You have no idea," gasped Potter. "No f-f-fucking idea how much I wanted this."
"Congratulations," muttered Draco, shifting slightly downwards. The underside of Potter's cock was just barely brushing against -- something that was vaguely itching -- almost... there.
A knot of pleasure exploded in Draco's mind and he arched into Potter -- anything to feel that again, oh please... Potter made a sound like a wounded animal and began to move, slamming in and out of Draco with fierce, rapid strokes. Draco's tailbone was crushed against the wall repeatedly, but he only registered echoes of the pain. Potter was moaning into his shoulder, his hair tickling Draco's skin, and then Draco felt it -- jets of warm liquid deep inside him, Potter's entire body shuddering with release.
Potter slumped forward against Draco, his breathing loud and harsh. Draco fidgeted and Potter's cock slipped out of him with a wet smacking sound, causing a vague sense of loss somewhere inside Draco. Had they really just--? Draco began pushing Potter away as he brought his legs down, feeling completely ridiculous.
"What are you doing?" muttered Potter, his voice sleepy.
"Looking for my sanity. Have you seen it?"
Potter glanced up at him, looking every bit as well-fucked as Draco had imagined he would. Not that he'd ever actually imagined Potter -- oh, for fuck's sake.
"I think you lost all your marbles earlier tonight," said Potter, and kissed him.
Draco was inclined to agree, because he kissed Potter back.