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~ Drinking poison from a cup of gold ~
"Well, well. If it isn't James Potter."
James and Harry stopped as Lucius and a boy James assumed was his son strode
across the train platform in their direction. A house-elf was struggling to
drag a large, dark green school trunk behind them. James set Harry's faded
cases down on the ground, then straightened up to face them.
"Lucius."
"How have you been?" Lucius took James's hand in a firm, silver-ringed grip
and shook it, his smile broadening.
"Very well, thanks," said James, grinning back at him. "It's good to see you."
His eyes lowered by a head to look at Lucius's son, whom he had never had the
chance to meet, though had heard a great deal about from the other man during
their meetings at the British Quidditch Headquarters. "You must be Draco."
James released Lucius's hand and held it out towards the young man.
Draco raised his chin slightly - reminiscent of his father, James thought with
an inward smirk - and curled his cold, milk-white fingers around James's.
"Nice to meet you," he said, both face and voice neutral. He was a good
looking boy, James thought; the resemblance to Lucius was very apparent. His
grip was even as self-assured as his father's.
"You too," James said, letting go when Draco didn't. "Lucius, I don't think
you've met my son Harry."
"Ah, I don't believe I've had the pleasure," Lucius said, turning his gaze on
Harry, who was standing a little awkwardly at James's side. "Harry, Draco's
told me so much about you."
Harry looked like he wanted to be anywhere else at that moment. James
understood; unless you knew Lucius Malfoy, the man could seem a little
overbearing on first encounters.
Lucius laughed softly, staring at Harry. "Nothing scandalous, I assure you.
Only how you continue to excel at Quidditch." James saw Draco visibly tense
out of the corner of his eye. He glanced at him, noting that the look on
Draco's face wasn't entirely pleasant. In fact, judging by his expression
James seriously doubted Draco had told his father anything of the sort, at
least, not as praise.
Harry flushed. "Oh, um..." He ran his hand through his hair nervously. James
nudged him with his elbow, trying to be subtle about it. "Oh, thanks," Harry
righted.
"Who knows, there might well be a place for you on the Tunbridge Tigers when
you leave school." Lucius's tone was loaded with approval. "You'd have to try
out, of course, but from what I've heard from some of the professors, not to
mention all the cups you've won for your House..." His eyes flicked across to
James briefly. "Wouldn't it be wonderful to follow in your father's
footsteps?"
James had never pushed Harry about what he wanted to do after he left
Hogwarts. But the idea of him taking the place of Seeker on the team James had
played on for almost twelve years certainly was a thrilling thought. And
Lucius was definitely the man to know; he had bought the team back in James's
second year of playing. From there they had met and struck up something like a
friendship. And from that friendship Lucius had become something of a saviour
by encouraging James to keep playing after Lily had died, when Harry was just
a small boy.
And now at sixteen, Harry was being given the opportunity to rise into the
world of professional Quidditch. What a break!
It struck James a little odd, however, that Lucius seemed comfortable talking
about this in front of his own boy. He had been almost certain that Lucius
would take advantage and secure a place on the team for Draco, who was, from
what James had heard from some of the other parents, a more than adequate
Seeker, though maybe not as focused as Harry. And to do it like this, with
Draco standing right next to him as he praised Harry and more or less promised
him that the place was waiting for him.
James offered the younger Malfoy a small smile and had it returned tightly.
Draco's eyes wandered down to James's shoes, then slowly back up to his face.
He blinked, and then again, and James started to wonder if there was anything
significant in that look. The boy had the same intense air about him that
Lucius carried, only his features were a fraction softer, his blond hair
shorter, and his frame much thinner than his father. He seemed like a nice
enough kid, James thought.
"Do drop me an owl when you're ready," Lucius said, taking some small mercy on
Harry, who couldn't seem to look him in the eye, let alone respond politely.
"Perhaps then we can meet to arrange try-outs."
"Well, that's great news, eh Harry?" James said, cutting through the tense
atmosphere that had descended. He clapped Harry on the shoulder, but didn't
remove his hand. "Look, uh, it's great catching up with you again Lucius, but
we really do have to get going."
"Of course, James," Lucius said, still staring at a very red-cheeked Harry.
"Actually, before you go, there is something I'd like to ask you." Now his
grey eyes rose to meet James's. "I'm having a private get together at the
Manor on the twenty-sixth of this month. A lot of the Quidditch officials will
be there, along with ex-players such as yourself and their families. I'd very
much like it if you would attend. It has been years since we've seen each
other, after all."
"Oh," said James, feeling a bit put on the spot. "Well, that's very kind of
you, I-"
"Nothing formal," Lucius cut in. "Just a drink and the chance to catch up with
you all. I will not deny, the day you were injured I knew I had not only lost
one of the biggest assets my team possessed, but also a good friend."
James was finding it harder and harder to think of an excuse to decline,
though the mention of the injury he had sustained two years back brought bad
feelings to the surface. His inner scars ran much deeper than the outward
ones. He had loved Quidditch, and had helped in taking the Tunbridge Tigers to
the top of the league for almost as many years as he had played for them as
Chaser. If it hadn't been for Harry, and the efforts of Sirius and Remus, he
might have allowed the depression following the fall to consume him
completely.
"And I insist that you bring young Harry with you," Lucius added. "As company
for Draco."
"Oh," James said again. He felt Harry's shoulder tense under his palm.
"Marvellous," Lucius said, in the tone he used to use during team meetings.
The No Refusal Tone. "You can Floo straight in, eight-thirty, Malfoy Manor.
Our channel will be opened for that evening to only those who have been
invited."
James opened his mouth to say something - anything - to get out of it, but
instead he found himself nodding. Why did he always feel like a sodding
teenager around Lucius Malfoy? The man was only six years his senior. But it
wasn't just that that bothered him. James didn't like reminiscing about his
past Quidditch career, and being around a whole crowd of ex-players, not to
mention his ex-manager, wasn't going to be easy for him.
"We will see you there." Lucius flashed him a smile and then turned on his
heel and strode away.
James glanced at Draco and found the boy looking back at him. He seemed to
snap out of his reverie, leaned ever so slightly towards Harry, and said: "See
you, Potter."
"Yeah," mumbled Harry, staring down at his feet.
With a polite bow of his head to James, he then followed Lucius off the
platform, the house-elf dragging his school trunk behind him.
James watched him go for a second, then turned back to Harry, who was now
picking up his owl's cage from the ground, Mechtilde cooing irritably from
inside.
"What was all that about, son?"
Harry glanced up at James and shrugged. "I don't know what you mean."
James narrowed his eyes, hoisting Harry's school trunk under his arm more
tightly as they started to meander through the crowd of parents and children
littering the train platform.
"With Lucius's boy," James clarified after a moment, lowering his voice and
speaking close to Harry's ear. "Is he bothering you at school?" He would be
very surprised if that were the case. Draco knew Lucius and James were on good
terms, so there really was no reason for bad feelings between him and Harry.
Then again, they did play for opposing Quidditch teams, and Harry had beaten
Draco to the Snitch at almost every game since their second year. Maybe that
was it.
Harry's face and neck took on the same flush from earlier. "He's not bothering
me. It's nothing." With that, he sped up and disappeared through the barrier
from platform nine and three-quarters into Kings Cross station, making it
quite clear that he didn't want to talk about it.
James wasn't convinced at all. Harry's cagey behaviour, especially in public,
was so unlike him. Well, James thought, following his son through the wall,he
wouldn't push Harry. He would have plenty of chances to observe the two
teenagers at the Malfoys' party.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Right then," James said, standing in front of the fireplace in the sitting
room. "What do you think?"
Harry glanced up from the Quidditch Weekly magazine he was reading, frowned,
then looked back down. "Yeah."
James arranged his black tie for what felt like the thousandth time, but no
matter how much he pulled at it, it still seemed to pinch his neck. He knew he
had to mellow out. It was only a bloody party, after all. "The shirt, Harry.
Is it... okay? How do I look?"
Harry sighed and glanced up again. "You look like... you."
"Oh thanks," James said irritably. He turned towards the mirror above the
mantle to toy with the collar of his midnight blue-coloured shirt. "And here
was me thinking I'd finally pulled off the Albus Dumbledore ensemble."
Harry snorted. "It's smart. It's fine." James watched Harry's reflection in
the mirror as he folded his magazine and rose from the sofa. "Hey, Dad?"
"Mm." James took out the Snitch cufflinks he was wearing, deciding finally
that they were a little too childish. Unfortunately, they were the only ones
he owned, and had been a joke gift from Lily when he had made the team almost
twelve years before. He would just have to do without cufflinks.
"Do we have to go tonight?"
Now he turned and stared at his son. Harry stared back, a little sheepish.
"Are you not feeling very well?"
"Oh no," Harry said, twisting the hem of his t-shirt awkwardly in his fingers.
"It's not... I just..."
Ah. James went to his son and ruffled his hair. "You've got nothing to feel
nervous about. The Malfoys are friends of ours. I know their lifestyle is a
little... different, but they've been gracious enough to invite us out
tonight. I think it'll do us good to get out of the house for a bit."
"Will Sirius be there?"
James hated dashing the hope in Harry's eyes. "No, he won't. Sirius and Lucius
have... well, they have a difficult past. I don't think he would have been
invited."
If Harry only knew the half of it. Lucius had nearly killed Sirius years ago
when him and James had been in their seventh year, after catching Sirius in
bed with Lucius's then girlfriend, Rowlenda Bassett, at a party held in
Hogsmeade. Old grudges die hard. Putting them both in the same room would be
like setting two lions loose together. It didn't help that they were related
by marriage, Lucius having picked up with Narcissa Black not long after that
almost fateful night. That had assured a permanent sting to both Lucius and
Sirius's old wounds. It was a damn shame, too, since Sirius's presence would
have definitely put Harry at ease. "I'll be right beside you the whole time,"
James added as Harry slumped.
Harry mumbled something James didn't catch, before turning and making his way
towards the stairs.
"Don't be too long in the shower," James called after him, absently retying
his Snitch cufflinks in his shirt. "We've only got half an hour before we have
to be there."
He took the cufflinks off again before they left, as well as the tie.
* * * * * * * * * *
Not many people were given the chance to see the inside of Malfoy Manor. James
wasn't surprised - the foyer alone would probably fetch enough to keep six
generations of Potter comfortable. No wonder Lucius kept such a tight hold on
his house. He was sure that not even criminal masterminds could dream of this
kind of wealth.
Harry's eyes were wide as they were led from the fireplace by the same
house-elf that had been carrying Draco's school cases on the train platform.
James felt a little breathless too, by the sheer size of the place. He could
imagine it would take half a day to get from one side to the other.
As they took off their coats a voice spoke up from behind them. "Father's in
the study with the others."
Both James and Harry looked around to find Draco leaning against a nearby
doorframe. He was all in black - shirt, trousers, shoes - which made him look
even thinner and paler, but not unhealthily so. "Dobby, could you show Mr
Potter through." His voice rang in the authoritative tone James had heard on
Lucius so many times before. He smiled at the fact that Draco seemed to mould
himself on his father, and rather hoped Harry did too. He was always being
told how much Harry looked like him.
The house-elf stuttered a timid: "Y-yes, sir," and gestured for James to
follow. James cast a glance at Harry, but Harry was watching Draco, his face
flushed but guarded.
"I'll be right through here," he said.
Harry merely nodded.
As he left he overheard Draco say: "Nott and Zabini are here too. We're
playing pool in the games room."
James relaxed a little. At least there were people from Harry's year there to
keep him entertained. He couldn't help but wonder at the obvious tension
between Harry and Draco, though. To all outward appearances the atmosphere
between them seemed very bated, although Draco had sounded nothing but
agreeable, and Harry had seemed more embarrassed than challenging.
James shrugged it off as simple House rivalry, something that he knew was a
serious deal to youngsters still at school. He figured they'd grow out of it,
and maybe even become good friends.
"James," said a smooth, low voice to his right as he walked into a smoky,
expensive study. "Welcome." Lucius handed him a crystal glass half-full of
amber liquid.
"Thank you," James said, apprehension swelling in his gut. Lucius smiled and
ushered him over to a crowd of people that were sitting in a circle of brown
leather sofas in the centre of the room.
James couldn't help but feel like he was being swallowed whole.
* * * * * * * * * *
After an hour and a half (and another drink or four), James was fully relaxed
and wondering why he had been so anxious about going to the party in the first
place. Most of the ex-players in the room could sympathise with him, having
experienced injuries at various different stages of their careers. Only a
couple had retired willingly, and even they had found it hard adjusting to
life after Quidditch and fame. He found he even knew some of them quite well,
having played against them in league matches in the past.
For the first time in years, James was around people that understood what it
was like to loose a dream job, hobby, and good income source. He could have
leapt out of his chair and thrown his arms around Lucius to thank him for
setting the party up, if only the room weren't spinning so much. He grinned to
himself, warmed by the alcohol in his veins. It really was a shame his friends
couldn't be there to see him socialising, which was something Sirius and Remus
always complained James didn't do enough of nowadays.
Well, they didn't have a teenage son to take care of, or a house to maintain
single-handedly when Harry was at school. Harry. James pictured Harry
somewhere in one of the many rooms of the Manor, having fun and laughing with
boys his own age. He was glad Lucius had invited him too; it would do Harry a
world of good to get out of the house over the summer.
As if he had been summoned subconsciously, Harry appeared in the doorway,
closely followed by Draco and two other boys James assumed were Nott and
Zabini. They were all smiling - Harry with a red tinge to his cheeks, Draco
with his featured soft from laughter and his eyes alight, making him look more
boyish than James had seen him yet. Nott and Zabini were elbowing each other
and smirking as if they had just shared a dirty joke. It reminded James a lot
of him, Sirius, Remus and Peter at that age.
He watched the four boys wander over to where Lucius was entertaining a small
group of people. Lucius barely registered Draco, but as soon as he spotted
Harry he turned all his attention on him, taking Harry's arm and pulling him
away from the group slightly. Harry's smile faded, but he politely followed.
James observed with fascination the way Lucius's eyes fixed on Harry's
intently, one hand rested on the back of Harry's neck as if to reassure him,
like he was the centre of the world, all else - the people, the steady noise
of the room, his own son - seeming inconsequential. It was remnant of the way
Lucius dealt with pre-game jitters with fledgling players.
But God, Harry looked as tense as hell, and James could only imagine what was
being said.
His back prickled and he swallowed. He wasn't going to do himself any good by
worrying, especially while Harry was in the same room and he could keep an eye
on him. He resolved to relax, and allowed his gaze to roam back to the group
of people standing opposite. And that was when he found Draco staring back at
him with a slight frown, which abruptly turned to a languid smile when he
caught James's eyes. After a few moments it started to make James
uncomfortable, because no matter how long he stared at the boy, the boy stared
back with just as much intent. He eventually managed to look away, and found
Lucius gone and Harry now talking with one of the Quidditch officials James
remembered from when he had played.
That was a good sign, as long as Harry didn't clam up. He looked reasonably
relaxed, no doubt due to Lucius's guidance... plus the bottle of beer in his
hand. James grinned, almost proudly. If it gave Harry the courage he needed
right now, how could he go over there and warn him not to take up the habit?
He'd save that for when they got home.
"Are you all right?"
James stifled the urge to jump when the words were whispered into his ear. He
craned his neck and found Draco - when had he moved? - leaning on the back of
the sofa behind him.
"Fine," James said, smiling. "Thanks."
"Good." And with that, Draco smiled back lightly and wandered off.
The kid was nice, James thought, hearkening back to his first encounter with
Draco on the platform. But a little odd, he now added.
He reached for his near empty snifter, and as he brought the glass to his lips
he noticed that it had been topped up at some point.
With an appreciative snort, he gladly tipped the drink down his throat.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Hello."
"Oh, hi."
"I'm Melinda."
"Nice to meet you. I'm James."
"So I've been told."
"Oh?"
"Adam Farell is my big brother."
"Farell? Yeah, I remember training with him once or twice."
"Do you mind if I..."
"Not at all. Go ahead."
"Thanks."
James took another swig of his drink. Melinda Farell's thigh brushed against
his as she sat down next to him.
"So where's your girlfriend tonight... or is there a Mrs Potter?"
James swallowed and cleared his throat. "Um, no, actually. She passed away
almost eight years ago."
"Oh. Oh James, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to-"
"No, it's okay. I don't mind talking about it."
"Aw. So do you live all alone then?"
Melinda Farell's black stiletto clad foot rubbed softly against James's leg.
James blinked.
"No, I live with my teenage son. That's him over there." He pointed across the
room at Harry. "I'm not filthy rich, either."
Her slow, not-so-subtle seduction ceased immediately. "Your son? Oh, that's
nice - he's a nice-looking boy." And although she ignored James's point about
money, after a few moments of silence, she added: "I'm um... I'm going to get
myself another drink."
"Fine by me," James said with disinterest as she rose.
Melinda Farell didn't come back. She certainly wasn't the first, and most
probably wouldn't be the last.
* * * * * * * * * *
Half an hour earlier the room had seemed slightly tilted to the left, and the
carpet had been moving gently, like the rippling waves of a calm sea.
Now James felt like he was caught in a whirlwind. He dropped his glass on the
table by the arm of his chair, deciding that it was time to stop drinking and
time to start sobering up so he could drink more later.
Lucius caught his eyes from across the room as James rose unsteadily, offering
an amused smirk and a nod of his head.
James grinned at him, hiccupped, and stumbled out towards the foyer.
It was much cooler out there; the difference in the air compared to the
smoke-filled haze in the study struck him full force and his head started
spinning. He could hear himself laughing quietly, but wasn't entirely sure
what was so funny. Catching hold of the nearest wall for balance, James
decided to walk as much of it off as possible. And what better place to do it
than a massive, fancy mansion?
Stairs were a total bastard, he decided, as he reached the top of the second
flight only to be confronted by a third. Thinking about it, mansions were
bastards on the whole, unless you had a map. Whichever wing he was in now, he
could no longer hear the soft thrum of voices echoing around the stairwell as
the party moved on without him somewhere downstairs. He gave up climbing
higher and meandered down the hallway to his right instead, finding the
silence and warm scent of antiques and old parchment sobering. He twisted and
turned within the labyrinth of corridors, noticing that there were fewer
portraits on this floor, unlike the ground level, the walls of which were
littered with pictures of all shapes and sizes. This floor was more spacious,
too, with less things for James to knock into and panic that he had broken
(and would have to re-mortgage the house twice-over to pay off).
As he reached the end of the hallway he heard the steady beat of music gently
playing within a room to his left. James stopped outside the plain oak door,
wondering if anyone was in; he hadn't been told of any other family members
being home. It couldn't be Narcissa, as she was currently in Switzerland on
'respite', or so Lucius had said. Whatever the hell that meant.
He pondered entering for a moment, then decided it was a good idea
because he could plead that he had innocently lost his way (which he had) if
he was interrupting anything, while sating his curiosity at the same time. A
plan worthy of Sirius.
Pushing open the door and tentatively stepping inside, James found himself
suddenly immersed in flickering orange light and duelling shadows, an open lit
fire to one side highlighting a comfortable looking room. The music was much
louder than he had anticipated, and a slow, bassy rhythm pounded along the
floorboards and vibrated up through his body. Straight ahead he saw a large,
old-fashioned gramophone standing proudly on the top of a cabinet. It had to
be enchanted, judging by the quality of the sounds it was producing.
He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the thrum of the beat as the song
washed over him and then gradually tapered off into a fading pulse, until all
that was left was the sound of flames licking around the fireplace alcove.
Taking a better look at the room now his vision had grown accustomed to the
low light, he spotted a high backed chair facing the fire, and on the other
side of the room was a bed, covered with a warm-looking sheepskin blanket. He
tried to take it all in. It was certainly not Lucius and Narcissa's bedroom:
there were posters of Quidditch players on the walls, and one or two school
text books lying on the floor next to the bed.
Ah, of course. James realised whose room he had stumbled upon. Not wanting to
be caught snooping, he started to back his way out, trying not to disturb the
quiet.
"Hello," said a voice.
James looked around for the source of it, as a figure that had previously been
hidden rose from the chair beside the fireplace. A streak of white fluttered
up into the air and shot towards him, and James ducked as it flew straight
over his shoulder and out the door.
"Don't mind her," Draco said, moving into the centre of the room. "Hedwig's a
little nervous around new people."
"Oh, sorry Draco. I'm a bit lost. I'll just leave you to it."
"It's okay, sir. You can come in," Draco said. One pale eyebrow rose and he
added: "Nobody knows we're up here."
"Right," James said, not sure why he was answering Draco's statement as if it
had been a question. "I'd better get back downstairs before they send out a
search party." He smiled and turned to leave.
"Don't go," Draco said quickly. "I'd like to talk to you."
"Oh?" James turned back to face him, not sure if it was such a good idea
trying to hold a conversation in his present, rather inebriated state.
Draco nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving James's.
"What do you want to talk about?"
Draco blinked once, then said: "Do you like boys?"
James frowned. "Well, as you know, I have a boy of my own, so yeah, I guess.
Why do you ask?"
Draco stepped closer. "I don't mean it like that. I mean... do you like boys?"
James stared at him for a moment, trying to decipher what Draco meant. The boy
bothered him, though he couldn't put his finger on why. He was just...
intense, even more-so than Lucius, and it made James uncomfortable. "Have you
had too much beer? You ought to watch it - it's a bad habit to take up." He
turned again, intending to walk out and make his way downstairs.
"Harry and I are fucking."
Stopping dead in his tracks, James wondered if he had heard correctly. He
turned again, his head feeling suddenly clearer, like he had just had a bucket
of ice water poured over him. "I beg your pardon?"
Draco regarded him with an air of calm, the shadows on his face flickering in
the firelight, animating his features like a photo. "While you were downstairs
earlier, I was sucking Harry off against the pool table, after Theo and Blaise
went to get drinks."
Staring at him in disbelief, James ran his hand through his hair uneasily. For
a joke, that was entirely in bad taste. He forced a tight smile. "Very funny
Draco. You really shouldn't say those sorts of things, though. What would your
dad say if he knew you'd been winding me up?"
"There's not much he can do about it when Harry and I are at school, is
there?" Draco shrugged and took a step closer. "Anyway, Harry begged me to
suck him. He loves it-"
"Draco," James warned. This had gone far enough. "Stop telling lies. It's not
nice."
Draco took a couple more steps closer, staring up at James almost innocently.
He had a nerve. "I pulled his hard cock out of his trousers and licked it,
then took him in all the way and sucked and he moaned for more."
That crossed so far beyond the line James could barely breathe. Catching Draco
by the shirt, James turned him around and slammed him against the wall. "You
little- Don't you dare talk about my son like that."
Draco's expression turned from momentary shock to something that resembled
triumph. Before James knew what was happening, Draco reached between them and
stroked one clenched fist firmly up the erection James didn't even realise he
had. He flinched, too shocked to do anything but hold onto Draco's shirt
tighter and shake him.
"I like it when he fucks me... when I'm on my knees. Can you picture it Mr
Potter? Harry slamming into me from behind, me groaning for it..."
James smacked Draco's hand away from his groin, his blood boiling in his
veins. This could not be happening.
"The thing is, Harry always finishes too soon, but maybe you-"
James raised his hand, no longer caring if he knocked the little bastard's
teeth down the back of his throat. Though before he could strike, Draco tilted
his face up and pressed his mouth against James's, stilling him. James wasn't
sure, afterwards, how his fingers found their way into Draco's silky blond
hair, nor why instead of pushing Draco away, he clutched the boy closer,
opening his mouth for Draco's soft, sinful tongue. And although James was
furious to the point of numb disbelief over the things Draco had said about
Harry, he couldn't help but wonder if those things were true. To his dismay,
the very thought, the very idea of the two of them - two young,
firm bodies, sliding and grinding against each other, Draco on his knees,
rocking back and forth while Harry... oh, God - Harry! It couldn't be true -
none of it... could it?
Draco thrust his hips against James's, pulling him back down to earth. The boy
let out a moan into James's mouth, his chest vibrating like the beat of the
music from earlier. James could feel hardness digging into his hip, and
realised that he really should stop this right now and turn the boy
over to his father for punishment.
But.
Damn.
Draco wasn't letting go, only holding on tighter.
He felt Draco's hands sliding around his waist to pull him closer, their
erections grinding together as Draco wriggled in James's arms. His world was
spinning, clouded from all the drink and Draco's wandering fingers - pull
away, pull away, pull away and hit him... DO SOMETHING! - but for some
reason he couldn't tear himself from the boy's hot, wet mouth, or the tongue
that was licking and stroking his own, diving in then pulling back. He hadn't
kissed anyone like this for more years than he dared to remember. The effect
was as frightening as it was thrilling - it was destroying him.
Draco kicked his bedroom door shut, the slam of it ringing in James's ears. If
anyone just heard that...
Hands pulled at the buttons on James's trousers, popping them open quickly.
Then Draco reached inside to curl his hand around James's cock through the
material of his boxers.
James broke the searing, heady kiss and gasped.
Draco ran his tongue across his bottom lip, his eyes wild and desperate. "Will
you... you're so... Please - I want you to fuck me."
The protest was in James's throat, trying to crawl up and burst out of his
mouth.
Any second now.
His hips rocked forwards against Draco's hand.
He had to get out before something awful happened!
And then Draco was licking along James's lips softly, moving down to kiss and
suck his jaw, his neck, biting gently until James let out a groan that was
half a plea for it to stop and half a plea for more. One hand continued to
caress his erection, smoothing up and down the fabric of his boxers,
disintegrating his coherent thought, while the other came up and tugged open
the top few buttons of his shirt. Draco's mouth followed, sucking on his
collar bone, panting against James's flushed skin.
"This is wrong."
Draco finished unbuttoning James's shirt and slid it over his shoulders. "I
want you to like me," he said. "Nobody understands what it's like here. Father
doesn't... he. I just want you to like me." Slowly, Draco lowered himself to
his knees, pulling James's trousers down.
"Draco, stop." James braced his hands against the wall for balance.
Lips on his stomach, kissing down, down, down, licking around his navel, a
burning line of moisture slicing him open, fingers hooking under the waistband
of his boxers, a hot breath puffed purposefully against the material where his
cockhead pushed up against it, making him buck his hips, the material sliding
down his thighs, Draco's hair in his fingers, Draco's mouth around his cock,
swallowing, down, down, down, dear God, heat. Wet. Heat.
And then it was gone.
Draco released him and rose within the circle of James's arms. The boy kissed
him quickly, then breathed: "Please," and started to pull his own clothes off.
"Nobody needs to know."
Oh, but Harry, what about Harry? And Lucius - Lucius would kill him in a
heartbeat if he knew what had just happened. James felt Draco's black sweater
brush his erection as it was dropped to the floor. He heard the clink of a
belt buckle, followed by the whisper of trousers sliding down. Then a quiet
sniff as Draco straightened up.
He closed his eyes and realised that he wasn't moving. He wasn't pushing
himself away from the wall - away from Draco. He wasn't picking up his clothes
and leaving. He wasn't even protesting. He couldn't think straight.
And then Draco pressed up against him, all skin and sweat and hot, hard cock.
James let out a hysterical cry against Draco's hair as wiry arms wrapped
around him and crushed him closer. And then Draco rocked his hips, and James
nearly came undone.
"Take me to my bed," Draco whispered.
James walked Draco over to the bed and threw him down onto it, where Draco
proceeded to retrieve a tube of gel from under one of the pillows. He uncapped
the top and squeezed out a small amount, rubbing it between his fingers as he
stared up at James from under his pale eyebrows. Had he planned this all
along?
"Draco, you can't know what you're asking for."
Opening his legs, Draco slid one hand down his milky chest and stomach.
Ignoring his flushed erection, he dipped his hand into the hollow of his
thighs. One finger slipped to stroke across his arsehole, then slowly pressed
inside.
"Draco-"
"I can just imagine you," Draco rasped, his hips arching off the bed as he
moved his finger in and out. "Right here." He spread his legs wider, making an
unholy show of it. "In me. You'd like that, wouldn't you."
"No. You're... I'm..."
Two fingers and fucking hell, Draco's body was a picture - the slide of
his eyelids closing, the drop of his jaw, the jerk of his reddened cock as it
hovered above his belly, his tensed, slim boyish frame spread out across the
soft-looking blanket. The incandescent smell of fresh sweat in the room was
like poison. Please, please, no, James silently moaned as the boy stretched
himself open. I can't do this, his mind cried as he slid his own fingers
around his cock and started to stroke. He's just a kid - Harry's age - and
Lucius's son. But he's so beautiful, and he felt so good and he wants me, oh
I'm going to hell for this.
Draco withdrew his fingers with a little moan, held out his other hand, and
stared at James. "I'm ready for you."
One of James's knees was on the bed before his brain decided that it should
be, pressing down in between Draco's open legs. His left hand was bracing
against the most lovely material he had ever felt, next to Draco's shoulder,
before he clutched at the sheepskin as if it were his own sanity; it slid
through his fingers and he held Draco's hip instead. His glasses fell from his
nose, straight onto Draco's chest where they slipped in the sweat mingled
there, down onto the mattress.
"I know what I want," Draco said. "I wouldn't do this otherwise. I'm not...
not a child. I want you to like me. You do, don't you?"
"I like you," James managed.
"Then..." Draco threw his head back against the bed, curling his legs around
James's thighs.
"Oh God."
"Just... fuck, please - you can't stop now!" Draco wriggled and stared at him.
"No- I-"
The boy's steely eyes were like diamonds, cutting into James's soul - Please - I want you to fuck me - as he angled his hard cock and forced his
way inside Draco's tightness, Draco's hot, welcoming arse, inch by glorious
inch. Ahh, he was wonderful, perfect; James groaned, close to coming right
then.
Draco winced once, then had the cheek to look entirely, perfectly lost. "Ohh."
He rotated his hips, sliding himself down James's cock, slowly. "Ohh, yes.
Thank you." Wrapping his legs around James's waist to urge him in harder, he
moaned: "Please, more..."
"Wait-"
"Just-"
"Draco-"
"Please. You don't have to hold back."
"Ohh, God, Draco-"
"Do it hard."
"Please wait-"
"Please-"
Please, please, please. Draco clenched, squeezing James's prick, then
relaxed again. Tentatively, he said: "James. Please, you won't hurt me."
Crumbling helplessly over this boy who shouldn't - really fucking
shouldn't - have such a sudden hold on him, James panted furiously for breath,
and pulled out a fraction. Thrust in. Cried out. Pulled back. Thrust in. Cried
out. Pulled back. Thrust in. Fell. Completely, like his restraint had been
severed and he had lost himself and Draco was the sex he had been dreaming
about and he - fuck, fuck, fuck - pushed in and choked on an obscenity and
cried out as Draco arched, his white chest endless and lovely and his small
pink nipples tasted so. Damned. Good. salty and round and hard. James sucked
on them and groaned as he moved over Draco, his thrusts becoming faster,
easier as Draco relaxed and urged him on with his ankles locked around James's
waist.
He cried out into the hollow of Draco's neck and kissed it, and Draco's
fingers were threading in his hair, and Draco's whispers were so ripe and
needy, and James snapped his hips forwards and fucked Draco hard, harder, harder, desperately, and he wasn't going to last and Draco moaned: "Come
in me..." and James did, spilling and spiralling and his cock jerked hard and
he closed his eyes and felt the warmest, softest sheepskin against his cheek
and Draco's hot breath on his shoulder and then Draco's lips on his skin,
fucking, fucking, fucking hell James's cock kept pulsing desperately in
the tight, slick heat.
God
Damn
Fuck.
* * * * * * * * * * *
He came to moments later to the sound of his own rasping breath, beating
against Draco's skin and back onto his face. His cock slipped out of the boy's
arse and James pushed himself up, then fell to the bed beside him. He could
feel the trembles running through Draco's body and into his own from where
they lay pressed together, side-by-side. Draco turned over onto his stomach
with a satisfied groan, and James stared up at the shadowed canopy above,
sated, shocked, guilty, so guilty. He closed his eyes and let out a deep,
shuddering: "Oh God."
The darkness behind his eyelids was swarming with flickering movement. He
didn't think he'd ever re-catch his breath, but tried, trying to calm down,
trying not to reach for the person next to him.
"I can still feel you," Draco gasped into the pillow, shifting his hips. "That
was..."
James's stomach twisted at what he had just done. To a boy. A boy Harry's age.
"I have to go," he panted. "I have to find Harry. We're leaving."
"Hm, don't go," Draco mumbled, turning to face him. "It's all right. I imagine
Harry's somewhere with my father as we speak."
James got up and went to retrieve his clothes from next to the door. He didn't
turn his back, but could almost feel Draco watching him. Harry was with
Lucius. And although he knew it was paranoia, James couldn't help but wonder
what - considering what he had just done to Lucius's son - Lucius could be
doing to his son.
Once he had struggled back into his shirt and trousers, he turned, but closed
his eyes when he saw the naked sprawl of pale limbs spread across the
sheepskin shrouded bed, two striking grey eyes staring back at him, dazed and
happy.
"It goes no further," Draco said quietly, his voice hoarse. "Don't worry."
James swallowed the lump in his throat, reached out to grasp thin air, turned,
and left, hoping to God Draco wasn't lying.
It took him just as long to find his way back downstairs as it did on the way
up; he couldn't remember which hallways he had travelled and which he hadn't.
Finally he reached the foyer, his mind focussed solely on finding Harry and
getting the hell out of there, when a hand fell on his shoulder from behind.
"There you are."
James's blood ran cold.
"I hope you didn't get lost," Lucius said, raising an eyebrow as James turned
to face him. "My, it looks like you've had a rough evening. Are you feeling
well?"
"Um," James muttered. "I-"
"It's perfectly all right, James," Lucius assured. "I won't deny the odd
evening where I've been in a similar state." He winked. "But don't tell
anyone."
God, if you only knew, James thought. "Where's Harry?"
"The last I saw of him he was in the study playing cards with young Theodore
and Blaise." Lucius frowned. "Have you seen Draco? I can't find him anywhere.
The other boys don't know where he is."
"Oh, um, no." James felt like he was going to throw up. "I think it's time
Harry and I made tracks. Thank you for... everything." How the words twisted
in his throat.
"It has been a pleasure to have you all here tonight. We must do it again
sometime." Lucius ushered James back into the study, one friendly hand on his
shoulder. James wanted to pull away, but held fast under the press of Lucius's
palm.
He stopped as they entered the room, quite sure his face had just drained of
colour.
"There you are," Lucius said, side-stepping James and going over to where
Harry, Nott, Zabini and Draco were sitting.
Draco. How did he get downstairs so quickly? Were there back stairs at the
manor?
"Hey, Dad," Harry said. "You okay?"
James nodded. "Time to go." He didn't look at Draco, but knew Draco was
looking at him.
"Aw," Harry complained, waving his hand of cards.
"No arguments. Get your coat."
"Let's hope you grow up to hold your alcohol better than your father," Lucius
teased.
Harry didn't look happy about having his game interrupted, but thankfully he
rose. Then the bombshell struck. "Oh yeah, Dad, um, I hope you don't mind, but
I said it was all right that Draco comes to stay over the summer. That is
okay, isn't it?"
Good God, no. Not at my house, not with my son. Not with me. Lucius glanced at
him with a questioning eyebrow raised.
"I promise I won't be any trouble, sir," Draco said, smiling as if nothing had
happened.
"Oh," said James.
"He's very well behaved," Lucius offered. "Though it would have been nice if
you had consulted us first, boys," he added to Harry and Draco.
"I didn't think Dad would mind," said Harry, a hopeful, if sheepish expression
on his face.
Feeling the weight of all their gazes, James bit the bullet. "It's fine."
Though he couldn't help feeling like he had just signed himself up for the
summer from hell.
~Fin~
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