Draco and Harry's Escort Service

Chapter Two

Harry listened to Draco's footsteps on the stairs until they receded to inaudible. He felt like crawling under the blankets and sleeping until his problems disappeared--about a hundred years or so.

After putting his glasses back on, he slid off the bed and padded over to where Draco had tossed his jeans. He flushed at the memory and frowned at the quick frisson that accompanied it. God, what was wrong with him? As he dragged his clothes on, he reflected that he was most bothered by the fact that every time Malfoy touched him, he felt markedly less guilt and regret. In fact, it would be far too easy to let go of all resistance and submit completely to whatever Draco asked of him.

He sat on the bed and unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt--he'd have to add it to the pile of those needing repair. He grinned ruefully at the bitter knowledge that he mainly wore shirts with buttons because Draco seemed to enjoy tearing them off. He swallowed hard at the thought and slammed a fist into the bed.

Why the hell was he so obsessed with the bastard? How had he allowed it to get so complicated? It had seemed so simple in the beginning--almost natural. He had made it seem so.

Harry pulled off his shirt and walked to the wardrobe to retrieve another... and remembered. They had been almost giddy when they had left the chamber of the last Horcrux. Harry had been flush with the return of his magic and the success of healing Malfoy. Draco had simply been glad to be alive.

They had barely left the place behind before tearing at each other in a frenzy of passion--a cloak thrown over a patch of clover where Draco had introduced Harry to a never-before dreamed of realm of sensation.

"Flesh is flesh, Potter," he had said. "Need is need."

But Harry's remorse had been tangible once it was over. What he had not been able to explain--still could not explain--was that his regret sprang from the fact that his emotions were so inextricably woven into the complex web that was Draco Malfoy. Harry hated that he wanted him--needed him--to the point of physical pain. Need might be need, but why the hell couldn't Harry feel it for someone besides Malfoy? And why did he require more than the casual relationship Draco offered: sarcastic companionship and the hottest sex Harry had ever imagined? Harry wanted more, but he knew Draco just thought of him as an amusing diversion. It also disturbed Harry that Draco never allowed him to reciprocate. He would see to Harry's pleasure and bolt like a skittish deer.

He sighed and shrugged on a pale green shirt, gritting his teeth at the unwitting image of Draco sending the verdant buttons flying across the room.

"Fuck," he said softly.

Harry knew he should return to his books and scrolls, but the room seemed empty without Malfoy in it. Harry tugged his hair in frustration. He couldn't read when Draco was in the room because he was too distracting. Harry found his eyes drawn to him time and again when he paced the room like a caged lion, or stood at the window framed in rain. Now he couldn't read when Draco was gone; because he missed him.

Harry cursed himself again as he started for the door. As tortuous as it was to be with Malfoy, it was worse to be away from him.

ooOoo

Draco seriously needed a drink. He entered the parlour--all light wood and pale fabric--and snatched up the decanter of brandy on the sideboard. He grabbed a glass and retreated down the hall to the room in which he felt most comfortable--the study. It was a relatively small room lined with leather volumes. Potter had mostly left the mahogany alone and the upholstery was burgundy and forest green. Muted and dark, like Draco's mood.

He lit a fire with a quick burst of his wand after filling his glass nearly to the brim. Draco settled on the couch and stared into the crackling flames. He wondered why he stayed with Potter.

He should leave. He had his own flat on the other side of London. In a wizarding neighborhood--not this run down place surrounded by Muggles.

Even as the thought occurred to him, he knew he wouldn't go. At least, not until Lupin and Tonks returned. They lived with Harry, but had left for a belated honeymoon a short time after learning that Potter had regained his powers. They had been a bit shocked to find Draco in tow, but Lupin seemed to realize after a couple of weeks that Malfoy was no longer Potter's enemy.

Draco sneered at that and took a long pull from his glass. Not outwardly, at any rate. Sometimes, Draco felt he was destroying Harry from the inside out. Breaking down his iron morality and excusing it with lame platitudes, trying to make Potter believe it was just casual fun. It might have started that way, but it wasn't casual for Draco any longer. Potter's hooks were set into him good and tight. Not that he would ever hand over that weapon. Better for Potter to continue to think him a hedonistic bastard than to know Draco cared--

He set his glass down and leaned his head back to press his fingers against aching temples. He definitely needed to leave, but the thought of Potter alone in this huge empty house was something he didn't care to contemplate. Though Harry refused to acknowledge it, Draco could feel the yawning pit of loneliness in Potter--the one that continually threatened to drag Malfoy in and drown him with the immensity of Harry's need. Hell, to be perfectly honest, Draco didn't want to be alone, either. And, fuck it all, the thought of not being near Potter was akin to being stabbed in the heart.

He sensed Harry before he heard him. Potter had an irritating habit of padding about barefoot. Although, Draco had to admit, it made it much easier to remove Harry's jeans... Potter halted behind him and his fingers slipped beneath Draco's to take over the massage. Malfoy sighed and relented to the small pleasure.

Harry said nothing, as usual, and his hands gently but firmly stroked Draco's temples and the top of his head before working their way down to Draco's neck. His thumbs kneaded the tight spots of tension at the base of Malfoy's skull and then lower, to compress and release Draco's shoulders. His hands were warm and strong and languorous heat stole over Malfoy, mingling pleasantly with the alcohol. God, he was becoming aroused again. He unquestionably needed to do something about that.

He reached up and grabbed Harry's hands.

"Enough, Potter," he said thickly. "Go read a book or something." He squeezed Potter's hands gently to soften the words. Harry hesitated. Draco grimaced. Heaven forbid Potter wanted to talk. The last thing Malfoy wanted to do was analyze their fucked-up relationship. Draco spent enough time doing that on his own. He said, "In fact, throw me one. I'll try to help you with your damnable research."

Harry sighed, but obediently walked to the nearby desk where he had several volumes already laid out. He tossed one to Draco and sat down at the other end of the couch, propping one leg on the cushion. His gaze was level.

"Do you remember how to read?" Harry asked.

Draco sneered at him, but he was secretly grateful for the jibe and the attempt to put things back to normal. Or as close to normal as they could get.

ooOoo

Harry fell asleep on the couch. Draco watched him in amusement as his head lolled back against the hard wooden trim of the sofa. Malfoy finished his drink--the third, if anyone was counting--and set the glass down. Potter was going to wake up with a nasty neck pain if he stayed like that. Draco sighed. He should carry him upstairs, but damn there were a lot of them. And Draco wasn't sure he could restrain himself from undressing Harry and screwing the life out of him once they got there.

He sighed and got up. He took off Potter's glasses and tugged the heavy book out of his lap before fetching a pillow from a nearby chair. He lifted Harry by the shoulders and tucked the pillow beneath his head, chuckling slightly when Potter didn't even stir. The Chosen One slept like a damned corpse. Draco had been forced to bang pots together to rouse him at times. He stood and surveyed his handiwork, and then added a throw.

Impulsively, he bent down and placed a kiss on Harry's lips. He thought Potter gave a small sigh, but that might have been wishful thinking. Draco pushed a hand through the hair that fell over Potter's brow and then snatched his hand away, realizing there wasn't enough alcohol in the world to drown the beast raging through him tonight.

There might be enough to numb it, though. He went upstairs to throw on a shirt and then snatched up his cloak and went out into the tempest.