#tis the damn season wip snip

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'tis the damn season wip snip

THANK YOU @wolfpants & @mallstars for tagging me to share a wip snip (please see wolf's incredible wip snip for terrible people — which i am incredibly excited for — here and mallstars wip snip — for draco as a LIBRARIAN, kill me now please & thanks — here)! sorry it took me ~5 million years to get to it, but i am finally revisiting my beleaguered wip post-secret work completion. @mallstars and @queermccoy have given me excellent alpha feedback & am slowly making a plan of attack to fix the damn thing. this snip is later in this scene feat. emotional disaster case Harry and haughty, prickly, and desperate-to-be-loved Draco.

Malfoy gave him a scathing look. “Whatever I said to Ginevra was said without the intent of getting into your good graces and the second I tell what exactly I said, it’ll become about that, at least a little bit. All this to say, I will never, ever tell you.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy, and Malfoy picked up his mug again, held it in front of his face, and said, trying to sound haughty and cold, but falling slightly short, “If you’re to … to love me, it’s on my own merits.”

Harry couldn’t look at Malfoy after that, just took another gulp of tea and tried to calm his pacing heart. Could Harry really love Draco Malfoy, who tormented him and his friend for years, who had a Dark Mark, who was nothing like the pathetic dream Harry clung onto of a cottage in the Cotswalds like his parents, like Ron and Hermione? Trying not to sound strangled, Harry said, “Can we just be … friends? Like can we hang out?”

Malfoy bristled. “Malfoys don’t audition, Potter.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.” Harry slammed the mug down, sloshing a bit of tea on the gleaming coffee table, and ran a hand through his hair. “I haven’t … I don’t do this, I’ve never … I don’t know what I’m doing, and you’re so“—and he waved a hand up and down Malfoy’s body, who clutched his mug of tea tighter to his chest, looking unsure if he should be offended or flattered—“bloody gorgeous and obviously funny and … and interesting, but we have so much history and look, we’ve done the shagging thing and it’s obviously great, but I don’t actually know you, do I?”

After Harry’s outburst, he snatched his mug up off the table and drained it, sure Malfoy was about to kick him out of his gorgeous cheerful home. But Malfoy actually looked to be thinking Harry’s proposition through. He ran his finger down the handle of his mug over and over, considering Harry. 

Eventually, he just said, “Fine.”

“Fine?” Harry said, hardly daring to hope.

“Fine. Fine, but,” Malfoy brandished a finger at Harry. “I won’t be waiting for you like some damsel-in-distress. I’ve been through too much to wait around for someone to decide if I’m good enough for them, even The Chosen One.” His voice dripped with disdain.

Harry frowned his direction. “I’ve been through a lot too!”

Malfoy sneered and Harry was forcefully hit with the reminder of the Malfoy he hated. “I’m not turning this into a competition of who has suffered more, Potter.”

“Well, if it were, I would win,” Harry muttered darkly.

Always love to see what anyone (aka YOU, reading this post) are working on, so please post & tag me if you do, but tagging @romaine2424 because i'm so intrigued by your long fic, @tackytigerfic because i will beg for scraps of multiverse drarry fic at your doorstep if you let me, @vukovich because i love your brand of derangement in my life, and ofc @mallstars and @wolfpants because i am truly obsessed with both of your wips.

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six sentence(+) sunday

I was tagged by the brilliant @tackytigerfic for a wip snip a month ago & then that month was lost in a haze of writing. I'm now nearing 50k, which is where I thought I would be done, and I am definitively not, so finally here's a lil wip snip. Tacky's incredible snips here and here. I've also loved following both @wolfpants (here) and @lettersbyelise snips (here). Cannot wait for all of these full fics and/or any more wip snips you all want to share—please consider yourselves officially tagged if you'd like (and anyone else who wants to share!)

cw: discussion of sex, totally unedited

“Alright!” Harry had enough of Malfoy’s stupid, gorgeous face, his grey eyes, his long, lean body. “Alright, just stop being an arsehole for one second. Please!”

The ‘please’ seemed to actually work. Malfoy shut his gob and looked at Harry, extremely peeved. When Harry didn’t continue, completely unsure about how to proceed, unsure about why he was about to propose this, Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Your time limit is up, Potter. Why are you staring at me like a scared Bowtruckle?”

“Er …” Harry blushed. Malfoy just raised an eyebrow. “I guess I’ve been thinking about what you said, earlier.”

“When earlier, Potter?” Malfoy snapped. “If you hadn’t noticed, we’ve been spending eight hours together every day for the last couple weeks and, before that, we have a whole ignominious history.”

“Earlier, as in when you proposed, er, ‘experimenting’?” Harry used his fingers to make air quotes around experimenting, and truly couldn’t feel any more awkward. “Together?”

Malfoy’s whole countenance changed. His body loosened up and he smirked, which looked unfairly sexy on his face, especially given how much Malfoy had tormented Harry with that smirk on his face for Harry’s entire life. He asked, smoothly, “Oh? Have you? What exactly have you been thinking?”

Harry’s face blazed red and he almost worried Malfoy was using Legilimency on him, given the dirty thoughts that were racing through Harry’s mind, all of his stupid fucking fantasies since Malfoy had proposed this original deal. How he had thought about Malfoy while he had his hand on his cock. How Harry was becoming a little hard already, just at Malfoy’s smirk.

Even if his face was bright red, he was not going to let Malfoy just walk all over him. Trying to play nonchalant, he shrugged back. “Just that it seemed like an alright idea. If, er, you were still interested.”

“Still interested?” Malfoy repeated back, incredulous. His eyes were focused right in on Harry’s eyes and high spots of color appeared on his cheekbones. He fumbled with his robes, not taking his eyes off Harry’s face, and pulled out an old-fashioned pocket watch like the wanker he was. He glanced down and said, all in a rush, “It’s 3:30 right now, Potter. I think we could reasonably take off early and no one would know.”

“What?” Harry blurted out. “You were thinking right now?”

Malfoy gave him a sly look from under his eyelashes, which were so pale that they were almost invisible, but Harry could tell how long they were and that was driving him mad. “Shall we make a date on our calendars instead, Potter?”

“No—o,” Harry drew out. He suddenly knew that, if he didn’t have Malfoy right now, if they scheduled some date in the future, he would be absolutely useless with wanting until then.

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smut saturday?

VUK (@vukovich) ty for the tag. I certainly don’t (yet) have 10 smut scenes to post, so going to post one from my upcoming WIP and one from my published fic. I’ve learned that I love to start a story with slightly-antagonistic, extremely-unsure sex, probably from my formative years reading enemies-to-lovers H/D in the early 2000s. If that’s your vibe, enjoy :)

Eta: forgot to tag! Lots of people on my dash have already gone but would love to see @tenthousandyearsx because “trouble with your tie, potter?” is amazing and would love to see what else you choose and anyone else who’s seeing this & hasn’t written one yet

This is from my upcoming WIP & essentially follows another wip snip I've posted. Completely unedited, aka peep where I use [] to write notes to myself when I can't come up with the right word while drafting.

They landed in Harry’s bedroom. Harry was suddenly, fervently glad he’d been changing his sheets like a madman because, otherwise, his room was musty, untidy, strewn with socks and pants and his other sets of Auror robes. Malfoy’s disdain was apparent while looking about and Harry was reminded of all the reasons why this was a terrible, horrible idea.

    Malfoy plucked a pair of Harry’s socks off the bed and placed them on the desk chair in the corner. He said, “Eurgh, don’t you have a house elf, Potter? Why does this place look like such a dump?”

    Harry crossed his arms over his chest. It was his dump and so what if he didn’t like to clean up? He’d had a lifetime of that by age ten and threw himself into messiness with reckless abandon at Hogwarts—messiness was freedom. He protested, “Kreacher is getting old! And I don’t like him sorting through my dirty pants! He takes care of the rest of the house, as best he can.”

    Malfoy turned to him. With barely-disguised interest, he asked, “Where exactly are we, Potter? I thought I remembered an elf named Kreacher—“

    Harry cut him off, defiant. “I won’t have you selling me out to the papers, Malfoy. If we’re to do this, you’re not to tell anyone about it.”

    “Oh, I see.” Malfoy’s eyes glittered dangerously. “The great Harry Potter doesn’t want anyone knowing about his dirty, little secret.” He had advanced on Harry and emphasized each word with a jab to the chest. “He won’t even tell the people that he shags where he lives. What’s next, Potter, memory charms?”

    That honestly didn’t sound such a bad idea at the moment. This was obviously such a colossal mistake that Harry had half a mind to Obliviate himself. But, he reasoned, if he did, then he wouldn’t remember to never ever act on the fact that he thought Draco Malfoy was fit. “Fine, then! If you’re just going to be a wanker about me, where I live, how I live, then it’s best we don’t do this at all.”

    Malfoy continued on as if Harry hadn’t even said anything at all. “Well, don’t you worry about me spilling the magic beans, Potter. Don’t be ridiculous. You may be the hero of the Wizarding World, but I’m not exactly eager to advertise this either.” Malfoy’s face twisted into a bitter sneer. “Besides, who do you even think I would tell?”

    “Okay, okay. Just—“ Harry paused, wondered how revealing this was. “Just don’t call me that.”

    “What? Hero of the Wizarding World?” Malfoy scoffed. “You always were-“ [disgustingly modest? But would Malfoy think this yet? Maybe he figures it out later and just lashes out here]

    With a flourish, Malfoy started to untie his cloak. He slid it from his shoulders, folded it nicely, and set it on Harry’s desk. He then sat on the bed to unlace his dragonhide boots.

    “Er—“ Harry began. All thought left him when Malfoy began unbuttoning his shirt, starting with the cuffs and then showing a dangerous sliver of his collarbone. Harry’s mouth was suddenly very dry. He forced out, “Er, I guess I’m not sure we should do this, anymore? Maybe it was a bad idea?”

    Malfoy cast a glance at him again, continuing to unbutton his shirt, which was now open to his ribcage. “Of course it’s a bad idea, Potter, but we’re young and you’re fine-looking, I suppose. You’re looking for someone to experiment with who won’t sell you out to the press, which I won’t, and, even if I did, who would believe me, Draco Malfoy, Death Eater, telling anyone that we shagged? And I’m just looking to get off and don’t particularly care with who, even if it is someone whom I’ve hated for forever.”

    Harry’s breath had officially left his body. Malfoy’s shirt was now completely open, baring his chest and stomach. Harry reached down to adjust his cock, which was straining against his fly, and Malfoy tracked the movement with his eyes.

    Malfoy abruptly stood up, apparently having taken Harry’s obvious desire as agreement. He unbuckled his belt and threw it on the floor. He slowly unzipped his fly and shimmied his skinny trousers down his legs. Then Malfoy was just stood there, in his black pants, long legs, swelling cock, broad shoulders, all that skin on display, looking uncertain for the first time. Harry blurted out, “You’re so fit.”

    Malfoy barked out a laugh, seeming surprised and pleased. He palmed his cock and said, “Now you, Potter,” softer than Harry thought possible from him.

    Harry realized he had just been standing there like a wally, while Malfoy stripped. He hurried to take off his clothes. He hastily toed off his ratty trainers and his socks, only one of which had a hole in the toe, he was pleased to note. He shucked his trousers, which were starting to become quite uncomfortable anyways. When he went to remove his tee, he got it stuck in his armpits and then his glasses came clattering to the floor when he removed it. He bent down to pick them up and shoved them back on his face.

    Malfoy looked temporarily taken aback. He asked, “You’re going to keep your glasses on, then?”

    Harry cleared his throat. He said, gruffly, “I want to see you,” and grinned when red spread across Malfoy’s chest, up his neck, onto his face.

    Malfoy sat on Harry’s bed and leaned back, resting on his palms. He let his legs sprawl in front of him, off the bed, and Harry could see the soft swell of his balls in his pants, the dusty fuzz on the insides of his thighs. Harry realized Malfoy was letting him look and his mouth flooded with saliva. Malfoy asked, quietly, as if afraid to break the spell, “Have you ever bottomed before, Potter?”

    “Er,“ Harry said, “no?” He knew the mechanics of it, of course; after Christmas, Charlie had sent him some quite instructive magazines, that Harry had wanked to at least once or twice. Harry had even tried to poke around back there with a finger once or twice, but it had just been uncomfortable and not very enjoyable.

    Malfoy snorted and reached down, put his hand down his pants and stroked himself. Harry’s eyes followed the movement, the long pulls up and down, and his mind filled with static. He truly didn’t think he had ever been more turned on in his life.

    Malfoy said, lazily, continuing to stroke himself, “Well, I suppose since I’ve done it before, I’ll do you the favor this time, but next time, you’ll have to hand your arse up to me.”

This is from my fic A Case of You, and is quite close to the beginning. Harry and Draco are both in the Auror training program, partnered together. Harry is obviously interested in Draco, but is also keeping secrets.

Draco pulled off of Potter’s cock and hovered above his body, now completely unsure how to proceed. Potter still had an arm thrown over his eyes; he was breathing hard, with a flush extended down his chest. He whispered, “Fuck,” once more and pulled his head up to look down at Draco. “Draco, that was—fuck. Are you … are you going to fuck me now?”

Draco barked out a laugh of disbelief; he smiled up at Potter, just a bit. “Fuck you? Potter, you just came.”

An obstinate look came over Potter’s face. “You said you were going to use me, so fucking use me.”

 Was that not good for Potter? It seemed like it was good for Potter. It was certainly good for Draco; he was viciously hard, a literal, aching need in his groin. Humiliation flooded through Draco’s body, but then Potter was reaching down to him, grabbing, clasping hands trying to pull Draco up.

“You really want me to use you, Potter?” Draco snarled. He pushed those hands down, clambered up Potter’s body, and straddled his shoulders. “Open your mouth.”

And Potter just fucking did, what the fuck?

Draco channeled all the wants of his fifteen-year-old sexual awakening and guided his cock into Potter’s open mouth. Potter’s lips were so red, bitten; his mouth was so wet and hot; his tongue sliding on the underside of Draco’s cock. Draco was already so turned on and now this—literally something he wanked to in the Slytherin dorms, angry and so horny. He imagined himself holding Potter down, fucking his face, Potter moaning around his cock. Now it was happening and it seemed like Potter loved it, groaning and writhing and eyes fluttering closed.

“Look at me,” Draco commanded, pumping in and out. Potter’s eyes snapped open and focused on Draco’s. Potter’s eyes were so green without his glasses, looking through Draco like he could see his want, his anger, his shame that he had been carrying around with him for years. Draco thrust helplessly, desperately into Potter’s mouth and Potter just took it. It certainly wasn’t the most technically-skilled blowjob Draco had ever received—Potter’s teeth were coming too close and Draco was bumping up against his soft palate, but Potter was seeing him, fuck. Draco carded his fingers through Potter’s hair, which was much softer than it looked, too soft, and tugged. Potter hummed in appreciation and brought his hands up to Draco’s hips, urging him on. Draco realized belatedly that maybe Potter liked this, liked Draco being rough with him. Maybe Potter actually wanted to be used. He wanted Draco to pour out all of his anger at his position, his frustration at never been good enough, his urgent want for Potter.

So Draco did.

Too quickly, Draco’s cock started tingling, the ache in his groin returned with a vengeance, and Draco could feel a rushing throughout his body. And fuck it, if Potter wanted to be used—

“Potter, I’m going to—can I come? On your face?”

Potter moaned and squeezed Draco’s arsecheck, which Draco could only take as assent. Draco breathed in harshly through his nose, as a jolt of arousal shot through him. Fuck, if Draco wasn’t living out every pubescent fantasy he’d ever had—though, in his fantasy, he hadn’t asked Potter if he could. Potter hollowed out his cheeks, running his tongue over the underside of Draco’s cock. Draco could feel his orgasm rushing and he pulled his cock out of Potter’s mouth. Then he was fucking coming, coming on Potter’s face, his open mouth, his tongue. Potter had even kept his eyes open, the hopeless fool, but Draco knew he would probably never forget Potter’s green eyes looking up at him in this moment.

“Fuck,” he whispered. Potter grinned up at him, brilliantly. Draco took in shuddering breaths and ran a thumb through his come on the corner of Potter’s mouth, smearing it.

“How was it?” Potter rasped out. Potter’s voice was gone from Draco’s cock—if that wasn’t the hottest thing Draco had ever heard, he would sell his soul.

“Potter, you have a lovely career in sucking cock ahead of you, if you want it,” Draco smirked down at him.

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self-rec/six sentence sunday :)

I was tagged by the lovely @the-starryknight (read their self-rec sunday here!). I actually have exactly one fic published, so this is a lil different format than everyone else's that have been floating around!

My most popular, and only, fic: A Case of You for H/D Wireless 2022

I have been so blown away by the response to this—that so many people were willing to read a 97k fic from someone who had never published anything else. I learned so much writing this fic, especially that writing a mystery and compelling OCs is HARD. I also tried to toe the line between a Draco who is still learning & changing after the war, who still has his pride and has gained new insecurities, and who isn't 'redeemed' yet by any metric (but is trying really damn hard). A different snippet than my claim, because I love Pansy & Draco together:

Draco would have maybe resented this secret thing he and Potter engaged in more if he thought Potter was playing the town. It became quickly clear, however, that Potter was profoundly lonely. In the rare instances they spoke about anything beyond “yes, right there”, “this alright?”, or “fuck, so good”, Potter only mentioned Granger or Weasley, not anybody else in the regular gaggle of Gryffindors. That, combined with his obvious misery and exhaustion made Draco realize Potter was carrying some tremendous burden, the self-sacrificing sod. It made Draco want to do senseless things like tuck Potter into bed, feed him, carry something, anything, for him. In the end, though, all Draco was good for was a quick fuck.

Sex with Potter was great—no, more than great. Perfect, really. It was all the in-between bits that were causing problems. Potter would go through cycles of excitement and depression; the bags under his eyes would wax and wane. He steadily put on weight though, his ribs slowly hiding under a layer of muscle and fat. Draco made sure to nod at Kreacher when he saw him in the house, but to never acknowledge him more than that.

Potter never, ever told Draco whatever secret he was hiding.

In fact, Draco sometimes felt that Potter were using him for sex, which would have been insulting if it weren’t so flattering. Draco tried not to let it rankle; he knew he should feel lucky to get to have some part of Potter, at all.

“Maybe it’s my penance,” Draco said, apropro of nothing, as Pansy laid her head on his lap, “for me to never shag anyone who actually likes me.”

“Mmm,” Pansy replied sleepily. The fire was crackling and blazing in the hearth, as the days were starting to get cold and long. “I don’t think any of us will ever shag someone who actually likes us, unless you want to start getting a little incestuous in our friend group. Miles is looking quite fit, recently, don’t you think?”

Miles had started a Slytherin Quidditch meet-up and was beginning to build back his Beater muscles from Hogwarts. Pansy had been ogling him in his Quidditch leathers not earlier that day. Draco tried not to think of Potter in his Quidditch leathers.

Draco smoothed Pansy’s bangs back from her eyes. “He is, Pans. You could go for it.”

She shrugged. “I just might. I suppose the other option would be to move to France.”

“Paris is lovely in the spring,” Draco murmured.

It's also the fic first I ever bound :) I wanted something to celebrate finishing it & also so my partner could read it in a physical form. Some pics:

My current WIP: 'Tis the Damn Season (working title)

One and a half years after the war, Draco Malfoy shows up to the Burrow for Christmas.

I'm ~20k into writing this, but the end isn't really anywhere in sight, so I'm in writing purgatory. Things I'm loving about this fic: writing Harry's POV, Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley's bromance, enemies-to-lovers-to-friends-to-lovers, Arthur Weasley as a trekkie, early '00s raves, the existential angst of not being content with your life despite saving the world, but also make it light-hearted. Snippet is completely unedited:

Harry was banging on Malfoy’s door before he could think better of it.

Malfoy opened the door and looked temporarily taken aback before his features settled into annoyance. He made to shut the door, saying, “Oh, for God’s sake—“

Harry stopped him from closing it with a palm. He distantly knew he must look crazy, sopping wet, raindrops dripping down the bridge of his nose and falling from his eyelashes. His shirt was plastered to his chest and he was panting.

“What, Potter?” Malfoy snapped. “Have you come to profess your love to me in the pouring rain like we’re in some sodding romance novel?”

That snapped Harry out of it. “No, you arsehole,” he growled.

“Oh, so you’ve come to my door just to insult me.” Malfoy rolled his eyes and pushed on the door against Harry’s hand.

“No!” Harry protested. Actually he wasn’t completely sure why he had come to Malfoy’s door. “Just—just how am I supposed to know?”

“Know what?” Malfoy seemed quite exasperated.

“Know if I could … if I could ever love you?” Harry forced out.

Malfoy’s face twisted, his eyes flashed. He snapped, “Well, I think I’ve given you about a lifetime’s worth of material. I’m not sure what more information you would need, Potter. You’ve seen about all the worst, most low moments of my entire life and now you’re here to rub that into my face by pretending you don’t even know me. The fucking nerve.”

Tysm for the tag, starry. I love seeing everyone's self-recs & also wip snips, so please, anybody, post one if you'd like!!!

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post-christmas wip snip

@sweet-s0rr0w posted an incredible christmas vibes wip snip here & i absolutely cannot wait to read the full thing. here's my contribution to a christmas(ish) wip snip. a year and a half after the war, malfoy is at the burrow for christmas & now harry's been avoiding sunday lunch to avoid malfoy. completely unedited. thank you for the tag, sweets!

The last straw came when Ron cornered him in the tea room in between Stealth & Tracking and Rules & Regulations. Every trainee congregated there for the strong cuppa needed in order to get through the most boring training module. This is how everyone, including that prat, Zacharias Smith, came to hear that Harry was scared of Draco Malfoy.

“I am not scared of Malfoy,” Harry hissed back, conscious of everyone’s ears swiveling their direction. He was not looking forward to tomorrow’s Prophet headline—”Golden Boy lost his nerve? Scared of only free Death Eater” flashed before his eyes.

“Well, great. Stop being such a tosser then and come over for lunch Sunday. Malfoy might not even be there, you know? He wasn’t last week.”

“Malfoy regularly been stopping by, Weasley?” Smith interjected from by the kettle.

“Stuff it, Smith,” Ron tossed back. “But, Harry mate, Mum is frantic. And really, you’re the one that said he could stay on Christmas—”

“Potter, you spent Christmas with Malfoy?” Smith shrieked gleefully. The headlines in Harry’s eyes morphed even worse. “Potter Malfoy’s Secret Santa”?

“Smith, I swear—”, Ron growled as Harry grabbed his elbow and forcefully steered him from the tea room towards Lecture Room 5. The other trainees heard enough about his life from The Daily Prophet. He didn’t need them thinking that he was scared of Malfoy, or worse, that Harry had invited him for Christmas.

“Alright, Ron, I’ll come! But I haven’t been avoiding Malfoy, I’ve just been—busy,” Harry ground out.

“Yeah, busy organizing your pants and having tea with Kreacher,” Ron snickered.

And Harry hadn’t been avoiding Malfoy, not really. He’d just conveniently had the itch to explore London, his new home. And conveniently avoiding the dusty hallway at the back of Level 2 that housed the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office. Harry was just taking Auror training seriously and staying in the west wing of 2, which housed the classrooms.

It’s just—everything from Christmas was so mixed up in Harry’s head. The kiss with Charlie and Malfoy’s shocked face. Red climbing up Malfoy’s neck from his chest to his sunken cheeks as Harry said he could stay. How kind Molly and Arthur were and how profoundly undeserving Malfoy was of it.

[epitomereally]

heavenstruck! wednesday wip snip

no one tagged me but i am putting the finishing touches on the next chapter of Heavenstruck! and I am SO EXCITED that we're doing a wednesday wip snip. This chapter fulfills the 'first there's porn, then there's plot!' tag of the story—fast sexual burn, slow emotional burn is my forever beloved.

Would love to see what y'all—yes, YOU!—are working on, if you're seeing this! Am also tagging @oflights for their delicious non-HP wip, @garagepaperback for theirs which I just started LAST NIGHT AND IT'S GORGEOUS, and @mallstars because I love their eighth year wip (just started today!) and love to see their gorgeous prose ahead of time. as always, completely unbetaed, with notes to myself and all!

They somehow made it to the locker room with no one seeing them—not even Proudfoot was sitting in his office, waiting to pounce upon Harry. Perhaps he could sense the mountain of shit Harry would leave on his office chair; not even the chair wanted to eat Harry in this state.

When they get there, Malfoy pulled out his wand, shook his head, and imperiously Vanished the shit on his face and hair and hands. Considering, he looked at Harry, who let out a groan of rage, and spelled his face minty clean. He said, “Not even I want to see you like that, Potter.”

Harry pulled his hoody over his head and dropped it in a sodden, shitty heap on the ground. He said, “Why didn’t we do that immediately?”

“Well.” Malfoy pulled off his robe, turned it inside out, and folded it up neatly on the bench. He doesn’t quite meet Harry’s eye, looking a bit shifty. “Maybe we just Vanished some of the evidence, but…”

Harry snorted. “I’m not about to turn you in, Malfoy. I also don’t like my face covered in shit.”

“Oh?” Malfoy smirked slowly, and then propped a long leg up on a bench, untying a brogue. “What do you like your face covered in?”

Harry groaned, but couldn’t suppress a smile. He pulled off his shirt next. “Oh, piss off, Malfoy.”

“Just”—Malfoy stripped the sock off his foot, showing off the graceful curve of his ankle, the slightly-dark blond leg hair, his elegant feet. Christ, now Harry was even thinking Malfoy’s feet were fit. He might be about to die of sexual frustration—“consider my offer if you don’t yet know what you like your face covered in. That’s an experiment I would be more than happy to run with you.”

Harry barked out a laugh, and couldn’t ignore the tingle of heat zinging up the back of his legs. He toed off his trainers and suddenly realised exactly where he and Malfoy were heading—both towards the showers, towards being completely naked. Harry was doing his very best not to think about the proposition, not that Malfoy was making it easy with his sexual innuendos and the slow unbuttoning, mercifully spared the ravages of the Portaloo by Malfoy’s robes. Harry’s jeans had known no such mercy, stiff as Harry roughly unbuttoned and shoved them down.

Pink [stained] the tips of Malfoy’s cheekbones as he propped his other leg up and slowly rolled off his sock. Harry was down to just his pants now, feeling scrawny and uncomfortable, except for the way Malfoy was sneaking looks at his legs, his chest. Harry was sneaking the exact same looks at the glimpse of Malfoy’s chest, stomach that he could see through his open shirt. And Harry sure as hell wasn’t going to take his pants off while Malfoy was stood there, still almost fully clothed. Absolutely not. He might be unfortunately interested in Malfoy, but not enough to do that without some kind of assurance this wasn’t all some cruel joke.

Malfoy stood up, shook an arm out, and started undoing his cufflinks, his hair falling loose on the sides of his face. The looks were getting bolder now. Harry was full on staring, shifting foot from foot, arms crossed over his chest as goose pimples crawled their way up his flanks.

Distantly, Harry heard the door to the locker room clang open on the far side, behind the row of showers. The clatter of laughter skittered over the tiles—it was Zacharias fucking Smith. Smith and his whole cohort of mates. Probably most of the Auror trainees by the stomp of shoes.

Harry looked at Malfoy. Malfoy looked at him. Smith grew ever closer, his crude jokes echoing around the corner from the showers.

Harry was down to his pants. Malfoy was in his shirtsleeves, buttons ajar, and his posh wool trousers. They both still had remnants of shit licking their temples, dug under their fingernails. Harry knew, suddenly, absolutely, that Smith could not find him and Malfoy in here together. Not like this. Malfoy didn’t sell Harry out to the Prophet, but Smith would. There was no doubt in Harry’s mind.

Grabbing Malfoy’s hand all in a whirl, Harry pulled them both into the nearest shower. They barely fit, but Harry manoeuvred his hand to turn the water on behind them. It came steaming out of the head, hissing and sputtering and filling the stall with mist.

Malfoy smirked, slouched there against the wall. “I didn’t expect you to take me up so quickly—”

Harry shoved his hand over Malfoy’s mouth.

Zacharias Smith came around the corner, his loud guffaw crawling under Harry’s skin. Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, a huff of air from his nose on Harry’s hand. He glared at Harry.

Fuck, Harry was just now taking in their positions. Harry down to his pants. Malfoy still fully clothed, but his posh white shirt plastered down his chest, his trousers clinging wetly to thighs, clinging to his cock which Harry can basically see. Fuck. Harry’s cock jumps in his pants. The shower stall was so small, they’re basically pressed together. Harry knew Malfoy could feel it against his thigh, against the rough wet wool of his trousers. Steam continued to stream from the shower. Malfoy’s hair clung to his delicate skull. Harry pulled his hand away from Malfoy’s mouth like [it was on fire]. They were both panting.

Malfoy shoved Harry up against the wall. Harry let him.