Harry took in the pictures in the mag with fresh eyes. He saw Draco's eyes lingering on Harry as the makeup artist swept her brush over his cheekbones. Draco biting his lip as he flitted through the clothes ensemble. Draco stroking his brush through Harry's wet hair, his face all consumed with something strong, something tense.

Harry blinked and shook his head. "I don't get it?" he said, too scared to voice his suspicions.

Draco though plonked his mug down again and sat up, so he and Harry were knee to knee. "I know Turpin has me on call as your only stylist, that you won't work with anyone else."

"Because you're the only one to treat me like a real person," Harry replied immediately. "The only one not to take my crap."

"Right," said Draco. "Yeah, no, that's true. But I think it's something else too."

Without warning he reached his hand up and slid it through Harry's hair, thick still with sleep. It was like Harry had no control, his eyes closed and he leaned in to the touch, his lips parting as he exhaled. "I don't think you realise the little noises you make when my fingers are on you."

Harry's brain stuttered, and he forced his eyes open fearfully as Draco retracted. "You relax me, that's...that's your job?"

Draco had something feral in his look though, and he moved closer, forcing Harry to move back into the sofa arm. "I don't get that from anyone else though?" Draco challenged, and Harry's heart crashed against his ribcage in panic. "Just you, these little murmurs and sighs when my hands are in your hair."

It wasn't fair, was Draco just doing this to torment him? He literally didn't know what to do as he stared into those silvery grey eyes that were apparently trying to devour him. Did he still think this was funny? a small, pitiful part of him wondered.

"Close your eyes," Draco whispered. The bright morning sunshine spilling though the windows seemed to undermine the seriousness of the situation, and Harry just shook his head, thinking how he could get his wand in time. What did Draco intend to do to him?

"No," he rasped.

Draco, unnervingly, pressed even closer. "Close your eye Potter. You make the best noises when your eyes are closed."

Harry was a trained Auror, he knew how to assess the situation and take care of himself in almost any given situation. And yet, he found his eyelids dropping down, despite his trembling hands gripping the edges of the sofa.

"I always wondered," Draco said softly, and Harry gasped as he felt fingertips gracing over his knees, up onto his thighs. "What other sounds you might make. If I was allowed to touch other parts of your body?"

Harry wanted to open his eyes, wanted to ask what the hell was going on, but Draco had told him to shut them. So he kept them shut.

"That was a good one," Draco said, running his hands higher, his cool fingers skimming across the gap between Harry's jeans and the jumper he'd hastily thrown on when he'd got out of bed earlier. "How about this one?"

His inched up against Harry's stomach, and Harry twitched, a kind of squeak escaping his lips as Draco caressed up and down his sides. "Ah yes," he purred, "I like that one."

And finally, finally, it hit Harry what was happening.

Draco was seducing him.

He let out a guttural moan he wasn't even ashamed of, and slid a little further down the couch, draping his arm over his eyes to make sure he didn't open them. "Yes," he barely breathed.

He felt Draco move over him, slipping his right hand further up his jumper, and his left along his collarbones over the wool. "Fuck, Harry," he whispered, his breath ghosting over his face. "Don't stop."

Obediently, Harry kept his eyes shut as suddenly the jumper was hauled over his head, and he moaned closed mouthed, a guttural sound he felt all the way down his spine. "Oh fucking hell, yes," Draco uttered, and Harry heard the jumper drop to the wooden floor. Two hands skirted up the side of his ribs, and he couldn't help but give a reactionary giggle which he clamped down on as soon as he realised, horrified. Draco did it again, purposely, and Harry jerked involuntarily. "Oh he's ticklish," Draco moaned in a tone that shot straight to Harry's groin.

Draco took to Harry's sides again, this time with light, fluttery brushes of his fingers that had him making a squeaking noise and trying to squirm further into the sofa cushions.

"Oh no you don't, shh-shh-shh-shhhh," Draco purred, falling more onto Harry and pinning both his hands above his head, his lags wrapped around Harry's hips. Harry whimpered, loudly, but his smirk probably gave him away. He was in some sort of heaven.

"Hold still," Draco instructed as he let Harry's hands go, but Harry kept them above his head like he'd been told. "Good boy," he rumbled, and Harry shivered, letting out a gasp of air that by now he understood was appreciated. "Good boy."

The kiss started at the dip in his hip, where his jeans ended. Draco's mouth licked and sucked, dragging his lips across Harry's flesh, moving from oblique to bellybutton along his left hand ribs, until finally-

"Oh, fuck oh!" Harry cried, his body convulsing against his will as Draco locked his hot lips and tongue around his nipple, and started to play.

Harry had been too scared to ever try and go this far with anyone before, because they'd either been a girl, or they'd been a drunken Muggle fumble. His brain was on overload as Draco continued to suck and lick, and his hand, his hand-

Harry couldn't help it, his own hands jerk down and grabbed the back of Draco's neck and his shoulder blade respectively as Draco's hand found it way between his legs, massaging with such tender care as he always showed Harry's hair.

There was other hair down there too, Harry's traitorous brain informed him, and his whinnied like a fucking pony.

Draco laughed and let his nipple go, fluttering kisses up his chest and along his neck. "Oh Potter," he growled. "Don't stop making those little noises, please, please."

Harry moaned and whimpered, he gasped and stuttered as Draco's mouth worked along his jaw and eventually – oh!

Harry kissed Draco like a drowning man. He simpered and mewled like a little kitten, desperate as he was to give everything he could to this man he though he been so out of his reach.

But then Draco pulled back, his body flush against Harry's as he stroked his hair and took in his face. Harry, though, probably looked like a scrunched up potato as he finally snapped open his eyes. "What's wrong?" he exhaled.

Draco's smile broadened, and he carded his fingered through Harry's hair. "Nothing," he whispered. "Absolutely nothing, everything's perfect."

"Then why have you stopped?" Harry asked, aware of how pathetic he sounded.

Draco though smiled kindly, and gave him a brief but tender kiss. "Because I've been imagining those sounds for the past couple of years, and now they're happening, right underneath me."

Harry stared up in wonder, glad Draco was so close, otherwise without his glasses he'd never be able to make out the subtle shifts of worry underneath all that bravado. "The last-" he murmured, not able to believe his ears. "I-you?"

"Yes," said Draco, looking directly into Harry's eyes with those pools of silver, but for the first time ever Harry could seen vulnerability in them.

"Me too," he said before he could change his mind. "Me – I – I want this. So badly. I was upset because those photos showed the truth, not because they lied."

Draco's beautiful silver eyes pooled with tears, and he beamed down at Harry, tangled and wrapped up under him. "That's what made me happy," he said, stoking the hair he'd berated for the past few years. "They finally showed the truth. I want the truth now Harry, I want everything."

His ensuing kiss showed just how much he meant it.

The End

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