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Christmas was shit. All bright and twinkly, with snow trying to drool its way through every protection spell imaginable. The moisture already infected the normally straight lock of hair fond of falling into Draco's eye in a charming way — if Pansy Parkinson was to be believed. There was nothing charming about it now when it was trying to stick to Draco's skin and worse — curl. It was just his luck to have the Apparition checkpoints close on Christmas Eve because there was no one around to monitor the traffic. Except there was no traffic because no one was around. But that was too much logic for the Ministry to handle.
Judging by the eerie darkness of high, long hallways, Draco was the only one here. The sadistic maintenance personnel must have ran, too, right after they'd Charmed all the fake windows with a spectacular snow blizzard. Howling wind slammed against windowpanes, propelling thick snowflakes forward to splatter on the glass. Draco imagined they had panicked little faces, all of them aware they didn't stand a chance against the merciless wind, and turning to white goo before melting to nothing was their inevitable fate. With that much snow piling up on the frail windowsills, it was a wonder that —
Glass shattered and shot in every direction; it raced snowflakes on its way to Draco's face. Draco only had time to raise his hand. A pointless gesture, but there was no time to take out his wand. He'd have used the wrong spell anyway: snow and glass alike transformed to water before hitting its goal. He was soaked, and the window was whole again. Fresh snowflakes hit the glass.
Draco willed his racing heart to calm. Had he been a paranoid sort of person, he'd suspect a conspiracy. One involving maintenance personnel, which was fond of accusing him of treating them like house-elves; Gawain Robards, who sent him an owl to tell him he should come in on Christmas Eve; and Ron Weasley, who was a Weasley and therefore the most likely suspect in any conspiracy.
Another window shattered behind him. Draco pulled the hood of his black, fur-lined cloak as low as it would go and hurried down the hallway to Auror Headquarters. By the time he reached the rows of empty cubicles, he was running. When another window exploded, he all but jumped for the door on the left, which led to a smaller, windowless room.
He burst inside with wind and snowflakes hot on his tail. Hotter still was what waited for him in the office. Draco's desk was on fire, bright flames painting the walls orange. Beside it, stood Harry Potter, his wand raised. Draco only caught a glimpse of him before a silver shape with impossibly large antlers burst forward and ran straight through Draco.
The shock of it vanished as fast as it came. Despite it making no sense, warmth and calm encompassed him like a physical thing, drying his clothes and clearing his mind.
"Did you just...?" he breathed. "I'm not a Dementor, Potter!"
"Oh." Potter's eyebrows shot up. "Honest mistake. Sorry," he said, quite inadequately. He must have thought that spewing a half-arsed apology meant the matter was settled. "You let the cold in," he chastised and, with a wave of his wand, slammed the door shut.
Draco gave Potter a quick and hopefully inconspicuous onceover. Potter wore a simple white shirt and black trousers today. He seemed to have chosen not to bother with an Auror uniform. Which was fortunate because spending too much time alone with Potter in black leather and royal red was a dangerous distraction. Potter did remember to bring his messy hair, green eyes and perfect skin. Probably on purpose.
Draco sighed, taking off his cloak. "Why is my desk on fire?"
Potter, who'd been watching Draco hang his cloak with far too much interest, whirled around and pointed his wand at the fire. "How shocking!" he said and sent the flames bouncing down to the floor and up on Weasley's desk where they settled and continued their merry dance. "Er, Ron's desk was too close and Padma's too far. We really need a fireplace." He nodded.
Draco walked as calmly as he could to his desk, scanning it for damage. It was quite unharmed, however, and pleasantly warm.
"Pretty brilliant, right?" Potter grinned just when Draco thought he'd managed not to show how impressed he was by Potter's spellwork. Inflaming wood without harming it wasn't an easy trick.
Draco shrugged and busied himself by shuffling miraculously unsinged papers on his desk. He was trying hard not to look at Potter. Looking at Potter was always dangerous. Especially now while Draco still felt the pleasant after-effects of Potter's Patronus. The last thing he needed was to be caught staring at Potter with a soppy expression.
"Why are you here?" Draco tried to infuse as much anger as he could into that question.
"Oh, you know how it is. I realised that leaving you in charge for the day is bound to have catastrophic consequences. So I'm here to keep an eye on you. Make sure you don't fuck something up."
A surge of indignation forced Draco to look up. But Potter was grinning, pocketing his wand, his green eyes twinkling with mirth.
"Whatever turns you on, Potter." Draco dragged his gaze away from Potter's face. "How you waste your time is no concern of mine." He hoped Potter was at least disappointed that Draco didn't take the bait. He certainly sounded disappointed when he said, "All right, then," and returned to his desk to do Merlin-knew-what.
There wasn't much one could do in the Ministry on Christmas Eve. Draco considered indexing his paperwork and sharpening his quills, but his paperwork was already indexed and colour-coded, and his quills were as sharp as daggers. He settled on opening a random file and pretending to read it.
This was not how he imagined his future. He'd spent three months trying to get into this elite task force meant to deal with the darkest of wizards, and a month trying to get out of it once he'd realised that Potter was the one in charge. He theorised that his subconscious was aware of this, and it purposely and self-destructively pushed him closer to Potter.
The pesky subconscious also didn't allow him to put more effort into actually leaving the team. It was clearly a separate entity living inside Draco, forever focussed on making his life difficult. Draco turned the page, concluding it was likely he was staring at it for far too long. Plausibility mattered. Potter didn't miss much.
Though, Potter was very quiet at the moment. Suspiciously so. Draco had to sneak a peek at him, if for no other reason than to make sure Potter was still there. And he was, in all his messy-haired, green-eyed glory. The fire on Weasley's desk between them obstructed Draco's view somewhat. It made shadows dance on Potter's face — in one moment it was bright, in the other dark.
Potter was reading a book; Draco wished he'd thought to bring a book.
He leaned a little to the left and narrowed his eyes at the cover. He smirked. "The house-elf did it," he informed Potter.
Potter didn't look up. "There are no house-elves in this story."
"There are always house-elves. And they always do it."
"Then someone put him up to it. Clearly."
"Ah no." Draco shook his head. Pointlessly, as Potter wasn't even looking his way. "That's the twist, you see. Innocent little creature, with big sad eyes, obedient and fearful, and then suddenly — spontaneous free will! Used for murder." Potter was staring at him now, his expression between disbelieving and amused. Draco nodded emphatically. "It's quite tragic."
Potter pursed his lips and lasted for about five seconds before flipping the book to read the last page. His forehead was becoming increasingly wrinkled. Then he slammed the book shut in obvious disgust.
Draco had to laugh.
"I bet that would carry an effective emotional punch," Potter said bitterly. "If you hadn't dissected the mechanism behind it."
Draco preened. "You're welcome."
Potter tossed the book in the bin. It landed with a dull thud.
"Oh, come now, Potter. You don't strike me as the sort who seeks emotional punches. Or else you wouldn't be here, but rather having dinner with the Weasleys. Together with your ex and her new boyfriend."
This earned Draco another glare. "Finding out you read the Prophet's gossip column is quite a shock."
"Only when it has your name on it." The words were out of Draco's mouth before he could stop them. That was perhaps a little too much truth to disclose aloud.
Potter was already in a better mood. "I didn't realise you're so interested in my love life."
Draco's heart hammered in panic, warning him it was time to shut up. His brain was feeling much too defensive, though. "Quite interested. For all of our sakes. Perhaps if you finally stop pouting about the end of your relationship and get laid, you'd stop being such a prickly boss."
Potter leaned forward on his elbows, his face the picture of innocence. "Are you offering?"
Draco blinked. "What?"
"Sex," Potter clarified. "Meant to cure my prickly behaviour for everyone's sake. It's very noble of you. I truly appreciate it."
Draco drew in a calming breath. Or at least he tried to. Someone must have sucked all the air out of the room because his lungs were finding it difficult to capture. How did Potter always manage to turn every joke on him, forcing him to either back down or scramble for an insult that wouldn't sound defensive or childish? Getting defensive now would be too obvious; backing down was not an option. Draco calmed himself enough to say, "If having me stick my cock up your arse means you'll stop behaving like a witless control freak, I'm more than willing to make that investment. I did worse things in my life." He smiled, trying not to look too pleased with himself. Potter had no choice but to blush in embarrassment or feel insulted.
To Draco's horror, Potter chose that day to be completely unpredictable. He shrugged, fingers reaching for the buttons of his white shirt. "All right," he said. "Don't have other plans, can't read my book… And I think I'd fancy a shag."
"What — What the hell are you doing?" Draco croaked as Potter stood and walked to the front of his desk, his shirt already unbuttoned, revealing pale, lean chest. Draco looked around in vain hope that some unseen entity would jump from the corner and explain what the hell was happening.
Potter batted his eyelashes at Draco with all the air of a teenage girl doing her best to flirt. "Your level of confusion is a bit worrying. It's not a requirement, but one usually takes off some of their clothes before having sex." Potter reached for the button on his trousers. "I'm beginning to suspect a serious lack of experience on your part. For that reason…" The button popped open. "I'm not letting you top."
Draco forgot all about his dignity and let the last of his defences melt away. "Stop!" he said, aware of the panic in his voice. "It's not funny, Potter."
Potter promptly burst out laughing, nearly doubling over. "You're only saying that because you can't see your face," he managed to say. "It's hilarious." He was trying to button up his shirt but was hampered by his shaking laughter.
Blood rushed to Draco's face, heated to the point of boiling. His vision blurred from the force of his anger. This was cosmically unfair; he didn't deserve to be ridiculed like that. He jumped out of his chair.
"You want sex, Potter? We'll have sex." He closed the distance between them with several long strides, pulling his robes and shirt over his head as he went. He only stopped after he had Potter trapped against the desk, hands gripping the wood on either side of him, face and bare chest as close to Potter as he could get them without actually touching him.
Anger had already given him an extraordinary amount of bravery, and the shock on Potter's face intensified it to the point of near physical pleasure. It was easy to imagine that Potter's flushed cheeks and tantalisingly parted lips were the result of arousal. The look in Potter's wide green eyes had the pit of Draco's stomach burning hotter than the fire on Weasley's desk.
It took all of his willpower to stop himself from leaning forward to bite through the perfect skin on Potter's neck, to hurt him as much as Potter's laughter hurt Draco seconds ago.
Draco pushed words through clenched teeth. "You seem to be the one who's confused, Potter. I'll need you to pull down your pants, not take off your shirt. In my experience, that's the only true requirement."
Potter was maddeningly slow to react. He studied Draco's face before dragging his gaze down Draco's chest and then back up again. He leaned in closer, slowly, as though approaching a lion. He tipped his head to the side, his lips still parted and so close to Draco's they brushed against them as he spoke. "I appreciate the clarification. My mistake."
The light touch of Potter's lips and the vibration in Potter's suddenly deep voice seemed to have electrified Draco's skin. A small brush of Potter's knuckles against his stomach had all the muscles in Draco's body clenching. The sound of Potter pulling down the zipper on his trousers had him shivering.
"You know, I don't really have enough room here to pull down my pants." Potter's lips were still tickling Draco's with every syllable, making it hard for Draco to stick to his resolve not to kiss Potter. A kiss might reveal too much, make him babble and show things he never wanted shown.
He pulled back his hips enough to let himself grab Potter's trousers and pants and shove them down to his thighs. The rough movement jerked Potter's body forward, their lips connecting in an accidental kiss. Or maybe Potter did that deliberately. Draco couldn't tell anymore. He had no idea what was happening. He could only stand there and wonder when he started thinking cocks were beautiful rather than merely hot. Oh, but Potter's cock was beautiful. Thick and hard. Very obviously and unmistakably hard. Which meant this wasn't a joke. What the hell was it, then?
"You look confused again. Shall I explain?" Potter sounded amused. Draco definitely needed Potter to explain himself and he must have nodded because, in a ridiculously patient tone, Potter added, "Well, it happens when one is aroused, you see. One's heart pumps the blood —"
It was rather amazing how irritation could clear Draco's mind in an instant. "This is the point where you shut up and bend over, Potter."
Potter had the nerve to shrug. "Don't feel like it. You're just not persuasive enough. Simple biology has you stumped, apparently."
Draco took out his wand, which earned him a raised eyebrow from Potter. He touched the tip to his palm, coating his hand with translucent liquid. If Potter wanted persuasion, Draco didn't mind giving it.
Potter's eyes widened. "Is that cooking oil? Will you be making dinner?" The corners of his mouth were twitching.
In this mess of confusion, Draco managed to realise one thing: Potter wouldn't give in if Draco didn't give in first. He hardly cared anymore. He leaned in and kissed Potter with as much force his shuddering body could muster. Then he fell on his knees.
"Is this where you want me?" he asked, ignoring Potter's cock and looking up at Potter's face. Potter was no longer smiling. He sounded breathless when he said, "Depends on what you plan to do down there."
"Well, I can give you the basic idea." Draco took Potter's cock in his mouth and pushed his hand between Potter's legs.
Potter's gasp had him humming in pleasure. He sucked in the bitter flavour, let it fill his mouth, his fingertip pressing against Potter's entrance. It wouldn't give, though. Draco pulled back, his lips barely brushing the tip of Potter's cock.
"You want this or not?" His fingers toyed with the puckered skin. Potter had the most peculiar expression; it seemed stuck between panic and arousal. Draco imagined Potter had never done this before. Likely a fanciful thought, but it made everything that much sweeter. Potter drew in a ragged breath and Draco's finger slipped inside.
"God." Potter clenched hotly around Draco's finger. He was gripping the desk for support, his eyes closed. It made Draco want to be gentle. If only he had the patience for it. Potter was rapidly relaxing. His gasps turned to moans.
"You're— that's—" Potter breathed in, eyelashes fluttering open to reveal dark eyes. "Persuasive. You are. God, Malfoy. It's enough."
Draco pushed his fingers in deeper just to be contrary. Potter's whole body moved upwards with his hand, slammed back down on it, clenched, then did it all over again. Draco was transfixed. He couldn't even move his hand anymore, only kneel there and watch. It was tempting to let Potter come like this. With Draco's fingers inside him, lips barely brushing his cock. But Draco's body ached with need. He never thought it was possible to hate a pair of trousers, but he hated his for existing.
"Turn around," he said. He pulled his fingers away.
Potter shuddered violently. He sucked in a breath. "Come here," he said in that tone he used when he was barking orders to the team. The one that always made everyone obey without question. Draco was powerless to resist it.
He stood and found himself flush against Potter, trapped in a heated kiss. Potter kissed with his whole body, his hands everywhere, his hips pushing forward, thigh rubbing up between Draco's legs. Draco was all too happy to buck against it. Had Potter told him to ride his thigh and come in his pants, Draco would do it, right here and now. He wondered if Potter realised that, in this moment, Draco would do everything Potter asked him to do.
Potter grabbed Draco's hip and wrenched his mouth away. His hands flew to Draco's zipper. He managed to free Draco's cock with two inconsequential tugs. Draco suspected magic. He was sure it was magic when Potter's inexplicably slick palm wrapped around his cock.
Through a haze of pleasure, Draco realised Potter was watching him. His teasing smile was back, brightening his already bright, flushed face. "You won't last very long, will you?"
Draco grabbed Potter's wrist to still his hand. "Longer than you," he vowed.
With a gentle tug of his hand, Potter freed his wrist, though Draco was sure he hadn't loosened his grip. But pondering Potter's tricks was a ridiculous waste of time.
Potter turned and leaned forward with his palms flat on the desk.
Draco's hands were pushing Potter's shirt up within seconds. The sight of Potter's bare arse had him regretting he hadn't used his tongue to prepare him. It was too late now. He slid his palms down to Potter's cheeks, squeezed them, caressed them with his thumbs.
Soft crackling reached his ears. He'd forgotten about the fire on Weasley's desk. A fire on a desk, in an office, in the Ministry. A place where Draco spent his days, with Potter sitting several feet away, never paying nearly enough attention to Draco. His life. All of it real and familiar.
How did this fit in? How did he end up with Potter bent before him, his arse on display, Draco's cock in his hands, ready to push in? A sudden panic had his hands freezing up, unwilling to move. He was no longer sure he was truly allowed to do this. It defied all logic. This was Potter.
Carefully, Draco rubbed his palm against Potter's arse. Potter pushed back into the touch. It felt real enough.
Draco went slow, just in case, only lightly pressing the head of his cock between Potter's arse cheeks. And Potter didn't jump back and tell him to fuck off. Only vocalised something incoherent before arching his back. Draco pushed forward a little more, pushed again, even when faced with resistance. Inch by inch he pushed in deeper, his hands on Potter's hips, caressing scorching skin — Potter's body burned inside and out. He might as well have been fucking fire itself. Fire that chose to stay still for him, that chose not to burn him even though it could.
"God," Potter gasped. He fell forward on the desk, down on his elbows. He clenched around Draco's cock so tightly Draco had to close his eyes in the effort to chase away tiny specks of light assaulting his vision.
He hoped it was safe to move because he could no longer stay still. He tried to keep his rocking gentle, but his hips pushed back and forth with force. His plan to keep his eyes closed fell apart. He had to look, even though looking meant he wouldn't last long. How could anyone endure seeing Potter arch and squirm, hips rolling in a sinuous motion, his pleasure on open, raw display.
The slapping sounds their bodies made weren't helping. Draco was too close. He bent forward and wrapped his arms around Potter's chest to pull him upward. He pressed Potter close; it forced his thrusts to shallow.
His nose filled with the scent of Potter's shampoo, a mess of black hair tickling his face. Draco breathed in and reached down to wrap his hand around Potter's cock. Potter groaned low in his throat, hips jerking. It didn't take long for him to stiffen and coat Draco's hand with his come.
"Malfoy," Potter gasped, and Draco didn't even realise how much he needed to hear Potter say his name, acknowledge that Draco was the one giving him pleasure.
Potter reached behind and dug his fingernails into the flesh of Draco's arse to the point of pain. "What a time to pause," he said. Draco's hips obeyed the implied order at once. His body was too rigid to handle proper movement, but it hardly mattered. Potter was babbling something, but Draco only heard "fuck" and "hard" and Potter saying "Malfoy" twice more. It pushed him over the edge, and he came biting down on Potter's neck.
He spent an embarrassing length of time just standing there, holding Potter and breathing against his neck. He resolved to stay like that for as long as Potter allowed it.
Eventually, Potter squirmed. It made Draco find his voice.
"Want go up to the pub for a pint?" he asked Potter's shoulder.
Potter freed himself much too easily. In one moment Draco held him, in the other he didn't. Potter was already fixing his clothes as though he was preparing himself to run away the moment Draco blinked. But Potter wasn't the running sort. Surely.
Draco swallowed. "I asked if you —"
Potter turned around. "I heard." He cocked his head. His lips looked redder and fuller than normal. "I said okay."
Draco didn't remember that, but thought it best not to argue. "Oh," he said instead.
"I meant to ask you that, you know." Potter ran his fingers through his hair, looking somewhat sheepish. "Before." He waved at his desk. "But then you pissed me off. And... Well."
"Right. Sorry." Draco frowned. "Not sorry." Potter's gaze was sliding down Draco's chest. It made Draco's cock twitch. He pulled up his pants and hurried to pick up his shirt and robe from the floor.
He took his time getting dressed. This was not some bizarre accident, then. Potter wanted to go out with Draco. In public. On purpose.
That just couldn't be right.
Draco straightened his robe. "This is probably a bad idea." Potter would surely change his mind. In an hour, a day, a week.
"Is it?" Potter asked in a way that made Draco want to sit him down and explain their history. But Potter was unlikely to have forgotten it. And yet here he was.
"If you think—" Potter began, but Draco hurried to interrupt him. Potter wasn't supposed to agree.
"I meant the pint. I'm on call and Robards seems to think it's necessary for me to be here. And there are exploding windows outside. And Weasley's desk is on fire."
"Huh. Right." Potter had his wand out in seconds. He extinguished the fire and then waved a dismissive hand. "We can handle a bunch of exploding windows. And as your boss, I give you leave to have a pint with me. Any more obstacles?" He twirled his wand. "I love a good obstacle."
Draco couldn't help smiling. He shook his head. "I am rather thirsty."
Potter approached in that careful way again, like he wasn't sure if he was facing friend or foe but was eager to find out.
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Draco's lips. Draco kept his eyes open to see Potter's eyelashes flutter close. This must have been what happiness felt like. He'd forgotten. He even felt brave enough not to try to run away from it.
Potter's lips stretched into a smile; it ended the kiss. He must have seen something in Draco's face that made him say, "I think this is a brilliant idea."
Draco bit his lip. It rather was. "Well..." He shrugged modestly. "It was mine."
With a bark of laughter, Potter summoned Draco's cloak. "Sure it was."