spellbound heart

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬 (𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐄𝐧𝐝)

Author: apathaestetic

Summary:
Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are fuck buddies. With some feelings.

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It starts with one look.

One simple passing of the eyes, regardless of the rifts and obstacles that may come between--when gray meets green, no words are needed because the real communication happens with every touch of skin on skin, shuddering breaths, and unbidden noises of pleasure.

That is the usual between Harry Potter and his once sworn enemy, Draco Malfoy. These days he doesn't know what to call the two of them. Drinking buddies that more often than not find their company under the sheets? Or does the title work acquaintances that have mutual agreement when it comes to sexual preferences seem less obscene?

Whichever of the other hundred variations of these "labels" Harry comes up with, it all falls down to that one common denominator: sex.

Maybe, in much simpler and less drama-inducing terms, what they can call each other are fuck-buddies. And rightfully so with how spectacular their performance is in bed, leaving the other almost completely mindless with pleasure. That was what they are: strictly people with a bottomless need for the other's body.

At least that is what Harry thinks when Draco is inside him.

This is nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, he repeats. But then in some quiet, ignored moments between those weak claims, he sees something that makes him think otherwise. Like how gentle Malfoy is when pushing himself inside Harry, inch by inch while his arms quiver a little as they trap Harry's head, his breath hot but soothing as he whispers so good Potter, nothing else is as good as you, want to feel this forever, Potter, Potter, Ha -- onto the skin between Harry's neck and clavicle.

He doubts the promises they shakenly agreed to during that first night; the promise of "This will only be about sex, Potter," and "I wouldn't have you any other way, Malfoy." Because when they move together, their eyes never shut even between sudden outbursts of pleasure.

And between those moments they blink, there exist words that Harry is not sure Malfoy can see and comprehend in his eyes. Hell, even he himself doesn't know what sentences and meaning will come out of those unknown words. All he knows that from just having sex, they continue to cross a line that they can never return to.

It doesn't help that they have reached a point where Harry starts to sort the kinds of sex they have. That's probably normal for sex-mates, or fuck-buddies, or whatever the fuck they are. They will not keep up with the sex if they find themselves doing the same thing over and over again. Where's the excitement in there? Still, it unsettles Harry that what they have is not even the kind of classification of sex that people of such a relationship like them should have.

Instead of bracketing their sex lives into experimenting and trying out stuff, the kind of sex they have falls on quite peculiar categories. For one, they have the I'm Frustrated at that Fucking Bitch of A Secretary sex. With Draco's job as a crime and law consultant for the Aurors, paperwork and intensive immersion to cases are musts. It is not a one man job, which evidently results to him hiring a secretary.

Which is the cause of 90% of Draco's head aches with how efficient the secretary is at being inefficient. And when Draco is frustrated, he needs release. That release is found between Harry's legs, most of the time.