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Love is a game. Or so the pop-songs all say. Turns out sometimes when you play with Slytherins it’s a blood-sport.
Harry Potter will never be sure if sleeping with Astoria Malfoy was a mistake or a blessing. He was recently divorced when she first approached him, and okay he was also furious at Draco but that was only half the reason, at most.
Ginny’s words on her way out the door were still fresh, months later. “You’re still more interested in fighting with Draco Malfoy than fucking me, Harry. At least Luna likes me!”
Then there she is. Astoria. Draco’s wife. She’s gorgeous by any standards. Dark hair, dark eyes a man could drown in, and curves that beg to be touched. Those expensive robes she wears leave nothing to the imagination, either. Low cut and corseted, she’s a wet-dream of a woman. A trophy Draco proudly displays for all the world to see.
Astoria throws herself onto Harry’s desk, her perfume washes over him something spicy and exotic, a little bit metallic. Almost like a potion.
“Potter,” she says. Her drawl is so much like her husbands but so much kinder. “Where is my husband?”
“Um...” Harry feels like a teenager again. “He left. He’s in the lab, I think.”
“Sometimes I think he loves that lab more than me,” she says, teasingly sweet and closer to the truth than she knows.
Harry shrugs and drags his eyes away from the serpentine necklace draped across her ample bosom. Draco has been Harry’s Auror partner for over a year. He’s not sure why that’s what he’s thinking of when Astoria leans in closer, traces a finger up the buttons of Harry’s Auror robes.
“Does he talk about me, Potter?”
No. He doesn’t. Not often and not really. “Sometimes,” Harry lies. Her nails are painted a deep Slytherin green, it looks good against the deep crimson velvet of his Auror robes.
“You’re a better lier than they give you credit for, Potter.” She leans in to whisper in his ear, her breath is warm and sweet. “He talks about you all the fucking time.”
She grips his robes and pulls him in closer still.
When she kisses him Harry goes with it. He lets her in and wonders when Malfoy last kissed her. She’s nothing like Ginny. She bites his lower lip and claws him closer. He wonders if that’s what Malfoy likes. They married just after Hogwarts. Malfoy must have been the first or close to it. Maybe Harry is about to be the second.
“He’ll be furious,” she teases, already climbing into Harry’s lap. They both know who she means. It thrills him, thrills them both. “Take me on his desk,” she offers. Something must come over him, some kind of ancient pureblood curse, because he accepts.
He lifts her easily and she discards her lace panties in Malfoy’s in-tray. He can smell her, taste her lust in the air.
Her body is hot and wet and waiting for him. Her hands in his hair, pulling him closer to kiss him harder. They both push his robes aside, Harry struggles one-handed with his belt, the other arm still around Astoria’s waist. If he stops touching her he might come to his senses and he doesn’t want to.
He fucks her for the first time right there. His cock aching and desperate by the time her frees it. Her body wet and willing and close. He sinks into her and she draws him in greedily. She gasps into each thrust, whimpers with longing, meets him half way, holding on for dear life and urging him on.
Deeper, harder, hotter, faster. “More,” she whispers. “More,” she begs. This must be what she sounds like with Malfoy. This must be what she feels like wrapped around Draco’s cock. So hot and ready for it. The swell of her breasts pressing against him, her legs hitched over his hips, her hands clawing his back. Both of them still clothed and frantic. “Potter,” she whimpers. “Such a good boy. He’ll be furious.”
Harry comes hard and sudden, shuddering, balls tight and then he releases deep into her. A rush of heat and bliss, slick with the juices of her desire. She holds him, legs wrapped tight until he stops shivering with pleasure.
“Such a good boy,” she says, petting his hair as he comes down from the high, face buried in the expensive silk and velvet of her robes. This close he can smell Malfoy on her under the perfumes or maybe Malfoy just smells like her all the time.
In his fluster, Harry forgets to check the in-tray for evidence. He forgets that Malfoy is an Auror too. Maybe that was the real mistake.
Astoria floos to Harry’s house that very night after she fucks Malfoy. She doesn’t pause, she doesn’t wait. She climbs into his lap, already pulling off his shirt. He doesn’t stop her.
She fucks him then and there, on the sofa, right in the living room. She’s still wet with Malfoy’s cum. He can smell it, feel it. Feel her and taste him on her tongue. He comes harder than he ever has before.
Malfoy knows. Of course Malfoy knows.
He keeps dropping hints. He keeps looking at Harry like he wants to murder him and he hasn’t done that in years.
They’re partners. Their kids are best friends. Harry is going to regret this just like he regrets every damn thing to do with Malfoy.
“What?” He asks, defensive when he catches Malfoy looking at him while they work late one night.
“Astoria is cheating on me,” Malfoy says in the same tone he comments on the weather. “Wondering if you remember what that was like when Ginevra was sleeping with Lovegood behind your back?”
Harry swallows. He remembers the feeling of Astoria suckling him off in the pantry last time he went to Malfoy Manner for dinner. He remembers the taste of Malfoy’s cum on her clit last time she floo’d to his house at 1am. He remembers the way she calls him ‘Potter’ almost the same way Malfoy used to.
“I didn’t know until Ginny told me,” Harry says, honestly at least on that.
“You’re more of an idiot than I thought.”
“So they tell me.”
It is months before Malfoy confronts him. It’s not at home or in the office. It’s on a raid gone wrong, Malfoy is wounded and maybe bleeding out. Harry has pressure on the wound trying to stop the bleeding and a tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Harry admits. Sorry about everything and not sure where to start.
“Don’t be. She only does it to make me jealous.”
It’s far too close to the truth. Far too close to breaking point.
“That doesn’t make me feel better,” says Harry, because apparently this is still all about him.
“I’m not jealous over her, Potter. And she knows it.” Malfoy coughs up blood and it shouldn’t be attractive but it is. Red on his white skin, even paler than normal. “I envy her, little more. She only fucks you because she knows I can’t.”
“You can, if you live through this,” Harry says, it’s meant to be a joke but it’s not. Not at all.
“Careful, Potter. I’m a Slytherin remember, we collect our debts.”
“Not scared, are you Malfoy?”
Malfoy coughs, another laugh. “You wish, Potter.”
Malfoy makes it. Back-up arrives just in time and the Healers work their very best magic.
Malfoy makes it, the truth is out and Harry owes him.
Malfoy wastes no time at all. It is Beltane Eve and the ministry is already deserted when he corners Harry in their office at the end of shift.
“Did you mean it?” Malfoy challenges him, always has and always will.
“Which part?”
“Any of it?”
“Yeah. All of it.” Harry swallows. He’s never been this honest about his feelings for Malfoy, least of all with Malfoy himself.
“I lived.”
“I noticed.”
Malfoy licks his lips. “You made a rather daring promise,” Malfoy reminds him, needlessly. Harry has had trouble thinking of anything else since.
“Ready to collect? Here?”
“Have you fucked my wife in my bed, Potter?”
“Once.” Harry finds it hard to say. Hard to breath.
“There, then. If you’re really up for it.”
“I’m up for anything, Malfoy.”
“Promises, promises.”
The Master Suite at Malfoy Manner is exactly what Harry and his Gryffindor pals had imagined while also being so much more and so much less.
It is luxuriant. Obscene in how much it must have cost to build and maintain, but also homely and lived in. Malfoy’s hair potions and Astoria’s perfumes and skin masks on a dresser. Tea cup and a water glass on the bed-side tables. Silver serpents coil up each of the four posters and the bed itself is big enough for ten.
Malfoy and Harry tumble out of the floo, half fighting and half kissing. Malfoy is already trying to strip them both of their robes. Harry fighting to help him.
Harry ends up naked, on his hands and knees in the middle of that humongous bed.
“Does she do this to you?” Malfoy asks, as one slicked up finger penetrates Harry’s body.
“Sometimes,” Harry admits. Often in fact. He loves it. He imagines it’s more like this, actually. He always imagines Malfoy bent over him, just as he is now.
“What about this.” Malfoy’s voice runs down Harry’s spine like a hex. He crooks his finger, tearing a pleasured moan from Harry and a spasm from his body. Malfoy works Harry’s body open and works his soul open with it. He fingers him until he’s a gasping and whimpering wreck.
Harry hears himself begging. Begging for Malfoy’s cock. Begging for it to begin, begging for it to be over. Begging for it to never end.
When Malfoy finally, finally gives in his cock if perfect. It’s everything and nothing like Harry has imagined. He fucks Harry good and hard and deep. He rubs that glorious place buried in the heart of Harry’s arse over and over again. He tortures Harry with the very edge of bliss, pulling back moments before either of them can come. He drags it out until Harry is sobbing for it. Crying out for anything and everything.
At last, Malfoy wraps a slick hand around Harry’s leaking cock. The bed and the lube smell like Astoria’s perfumes. Like Astoria’s cunt. Like Malfoy. It only takes a few more tugs, a few more deep hard thrusts of Malfoy’s body, and Harry comes. He comes apart. He fractures and shatters and shouts with joy. Free-falling for a few seconds on a wave of pure lust and bliss.
He comes so hard he forgets his name. Forgets who he is and gets a utterly lost in the feeling. Malfoy fucks hims through it hard. Relentless.
Harry shivers and gasps a second time when Malfoy finally comes himself. Slamming into Harry’s body, and curling in close, holding him with greedy hand. Harry wonder’s if this is what he’s like with Astoria too. Wonders if this is how she feels after. Strung out and wrung out. Nothing but shivering pleasure whispering through his muscles.
If Malfoy is able to fuck Astoria half as good as he just fucked Harry then what’s the point of her coming to Harry at all. He can’t move. He can’t think. He can barely breathe.
“Fuck, that was good.” It’s Malfoy, not Harry who says it. He speaks into Harry’s spine. Harry can feel the wet heat of his breath on his own overheated skin.
Harry whimpers his assent. He’s got no words left.
Malfoy drops a feather light kiss to Harry’s neck. More than he deserves. More than any of them do.
Harry tries to break it off with Astoria. He blocks his floo and he stops answering her owls. Maybe that’s the real mistake.
It’s only a week before the annual Malfoy Beltane Ball. He’ll be attending, of course he will. Malfoy’s going to be there. Maybe he should have thought this through.