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Harry hated Ministry functions.
Kingsley never made him an Auror-on-security-duty. No, Harry always had to be an attendee. He was supposed to mingle and talk. He had to be A Friendly Auror Who Is A Person Just Like You. Harry could do that, but he never was one to make nice and compliment Ministry officials he didn’t like or cared nothing of.
Harry hated interdepartmental Ministry functions even more, when they were supposed to ‘mingle’ with workers from other departments to ‘create a better sense of unity and camaraderie’. At the moment, Harry and Ron were standing next to the wall, nearby the food tables.
“Mate, you’re staring again,” Ron hissed, jabbing Harry painfully in the ribs.
Harry jerked out of his reverie and forcefully pulled his eyes away from Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, tall and dressed in gold silvery robes that glittered and shined and fuck, had Harry seen heels?
“Are you sure those aren’t women’s robes?” Harry asked furtively. His eyes had drifted to Malfoy again. Harry couldn’t help it—Malfoy’s robes were so shiny.
Ron jabbed him again. “Nah, they’re just old fashioned ones.” He coughed. “Remember fourth year?”
Ahh, Harry nodded. Ron’s dress robes back then even had lace on them. But that was the past—in the present, Harry and Ron had respectable dark-coloured dress robes. They had embroidery, admittedly, but no lace at all. Even Hermione, who was off chatting with other Ministry officials, had a deep-blue robe without lace.
But Malfoy, his robes—Harry frowned. He couldn’t actually see from the distance whether or not Malfoy’s robes had any lace.
“Wait here,” Harry said absentmindedly to Ron. Harry ignored Ron’s protest, and took just a few steps closer to Malfoy.
“Ah, Harry.” Kingsley stepped into Harry’s way. “Enjoying the party?”
Harry straightened and nodded seriously to Kingsley. “I am,” he said.
Kingsley chuckled. “You don’t have to lie, Harry,” he said, smiling slightly. “I am glad that you’ve decided to mingle?”
“I suppose,” Harry frowned.
Kingsley smiled. “If you think it’s a chore, you make a chore,” he said. “Enjoy yourself, Harry. Or I’ll be forcing you to take your long accrued paid leave,” he joked good-naturedly.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Understood, Kingsley.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Kingsley patted Harry on the back and sidestepped Harry to talk to someone else.
Guilty that he felt relieved that Kingsley had stopped talking, but relieved nonetheless, Harry scanned for Malfoy’s robes. There was a glint at the corner of Harry’s eye and he turned his head. The glinting was from the shimmering of Malfoy’s robes, easily the brightest thing aside from the floating chandeliers.
The shimmering, though, made it more difficult for Harry to ascertain lace or no-lace? More wary to avoid anyone else who wanted to talk to him, Harry edged his way closer to Malfoy.
That Malfoy wore such bright robes tickled something inside Harry. At work, Harry’s red Auror robes were much brighter than Malfoy’s deep blue solicitor robes. Those robes didn’t have lace, because Harry had been close enough to Malfoy to notice—for entirely work related reasons, of course. Because, of course, as an Auror, Harry was involved in criminal cases, and criminal cases involved lawyers and solicitors, and Malfoy was a solicitor, so Harry had a lot of reason (chance) to talk to Malfoy frequently. Of course.
But right now, Malfoy was wearing very attention-seeking robes. Harry squinted. He couldn’t tell if the white ruffling at Malfoy’s throat was actually lace or not. Just a bit closer, then Harry could be certain...
“My eyes are up here, Potter,” was Malfoy’s smooth, deep voice.
Harry inexplicably flushed and jumped back. “Malfoy,” he said as evenly as he could. “I wanted to talk to you about your recent case.”
Malfoy’s mouth turned down. “Potter, are you incapable of talking to me about anything other than work?” Malfoy barely left Harry a gap to reply and continued, “The recent case is proceeding smoothly. We have been conversing with the defendant. Anything more I can tell you is confidential and not to be spoken here.”
“Right.” Harry blinked, trying to process the unwanted information. Harry’s eyes wandered down again. Somewhere in his mind he noted in disappointment that Malfoy’s robes didn't have any lace after all.
Malfoy took a half step back. “Admiring my robes? What good taste you have.” Harry caught a flash of equally shimmery heels.
Harry’s eyes snapped back to Malfoy’s face. Malfoy had that damnable smirk.
“Of course not!” Harry denied.
“No? You don’t have good taste?” Malfoy’s eyebrow arched.
“And why are you wearing heels?” Harry grumbled. “You’re so tall already.”
“I’m surprised you noticed,” he said. He tilted his head just a bit, before turning in a swirl of robes. “Follow,” Malfoy commanded.
Harry followed without a thought—too late in realising that Malfoy had led them to an empty balcony. The light was dim, the sound of the function muted, and the air was sharp and cold.
Harry berated himself inwardly. Five years—five years of working at the Ministry that Harry had avoided being alone with Malfoy. Five years in which Harry ostensibly ignored Malfoy except when he had to go down to the Ministry’s legal offices, which was only a little often.
Malfoy stepped around and behind Harry and closed the doors: the noise of the party immediately died away.
“Hey—” Harry started to turn around with the vague thought of not wanting his back to Malfoy.
“You see, heels allow me to do this—”
Harry squeaked manfully when Malfoy’s hands rested on his arms and Malfoy’s chin rested on his head. “Malfoy!”
Malfoy chuckled, rubbing his chin against Harry’s head.
Harry shivered: he could feel the vibrations of Malfoy’s laugh against his back.
“Malfoy,” Harry said again. He cleared his throat and stepped out of Malfoy’s grasp. He spun around to face Malfoy properly. Malfoy’s robes glittered and shimmered almost teasingly.
Malfoy’s smirk widened. “Do you really love my robes that much?” he murmured, doing a little spin.
Harry bit his lip. “That’s so gay.”
Malfoy leaned in, forcing Harry to tilt his head up. “No, I’m pansexual,” Malfoy said, practically purring the word sex. Malfoy’s finger pressed a line down Harry’s chest. “Now you’re the most straight-acting gay man I’ve every met.”
Harry straightened and glared. “Is that an insult?” he said sharply.
“I think we’re past insults, don’t you? You can take it as a compliment.” Both of Malfoy’s hands rose, smoothing the fall of the robes across Harry’s chest.
Harry tried not to let his eyes flutter close under the sensation.
“Every time I see you, I feel the pain, the necessity of buying you a new wardrobe”—Malfoy’s hands reached up to massage Harry’s hair, and Harry almost closed his eyes—“and to make you look after your atrocious hair”—and then Malfoy’s hands hovered by the sides of Harry’s face. Harry could feel the warmth emanating from them, sense Malfoy’s magic—“and I feel the urge to remove your glasses and give you a new pair.”
Harry exhaled slowly. “Then what?” he breathed.
Malfoy’s gaze was dark. “May I?” he said softly.
Harry bit his lip. “Yes.”
Then Malfoy gently pulled Harry’s glasses off his face and slipped them into Harry’s robe pocket. Then, he placed a warm hand in the small of Harry’s back, and an even warmer hand at the back of Harry’s neck.
Harry’s breath stuttered; his own hands crept up onto Malfoy’s arms.
Malfoy leaned in even closer. His breath was warm against Harry’s lips. “May I?”
“Yes.” Harry’s eyes fluttered closed as Malfoy finally kissed him.
Draco was kissing him. Harry’s mind nearly blanked.
At first, it was a brush of lips, soft and tingly. Then, Draco’s arms tightened around Harry and their lips pressed together.
Harry whimpered when Draco started to massage the back of his neck. Draco’s lips parted and tugged on Harry’s bottom lip, kissing and rough sliding and hot. Harry had to, very unwillingly, turn his head away to take gasping breaths.
“Merlin, the things I want to do to you,” Draco’s voice was husky and rough.
Harry felt a spark of alarm: the muted sound of the party suddenly re-appeared in his ears. “You don’t mean now, do you?”
Draco had a rather rueful smile and blush Harry could just see in the dim light. “Of course not.” Suddenly, Draco smirked. He leaned in closer and nibbled at Harry’s ear. “Doesn’t stop me fantasising though.”
“Yeah?” Harry shivered.
Draco hummed, making Harry’s skin buzz. “I would tie you up. Would you like that? Your arms above your head, your legs forced apart?”
“Fuck.” Something else was happening between Harry’s legs.
“On your stomach, naked.” Draco pressed in closer. The hand that had been resting on Harry’s back slowly slid down. “Your arse on display.”
“I—I shave down there,” Harry admitted. He immediately flushed, though he couldn’t help but be pleased when Draco’s breath hitched.
“I think I might rim you, then.” Draco’s tongue was suddenly swirling across Harry’s ear lobe.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut. “I want you to tongue-fuck me. I’d be—I’d be so close but just not enough.” Harry widened his stance, and their groins met.
“Do you beg, Harry?” Draco placed light kisses on Harry’s forehead, his eyes, the side of his mouth. “Or do you demand one finger, two fingers, three?” Draco’s hands groped and squeezed Harry’s arse cheeks, and fucking Merlin, Harry suddenly felt too empty.
Harry started to rub against Draco, anything to relieve the pressure. “D-depends—” he gasped.
Draco’s breaths harshened as he rutted back. “How many fingers, Harry? How many fingers before you want my cock? Do you want to push in tortuously slow? Or should I fuck you hard and fast until the entire bed is shaking?”
Harry’s head tilted back, he couldn’t speak. Draco's hand found its way to the front of Harry's pants, rubbing and groping. The pressure built up and up and suddenly—suddenly—he was coming in his pants. Draco’s entire body trembled as he followed Harry.
"Oh fuck." Harry’s entire body felt weak. He leaned into Draco.
“Your arse would be pink and stretched wide open,” Draco murmured. “I couldn’t help but slip my fingers in, fucking my come back inside.” Draco’s voice lowered. “Round two?”
Harry laughed shakily. “Fucking hell.” He cast a cleaning spell over them both.
Draco pulled back. “Wandless magic? I so do love that in a man.”
“Good. Good,” Harry repeated, more firmly. “Because we’re definitely going to repeat this.”
“You mean have sex at Ministry functions?” Draco drawled.
Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re coming back to my place after this.”
Draco’s grin turned predatory. “You want me to fuck you in the very bed you sleep and wank on?”
“You can’t tease a man and leave him hanging like that, Malfoy.” Harry nudged Draco’s chest with his shoulder, to disguise the twitch of his interest in his cock.
Draco had a sly look. “I hadn't expected this to happen.”
“Really?” Harry shot back. “You were the one who wore such shiny robes. And heels!”
“A magpie, are you?” Draco smirked. “We should get back before they send a search party.”
“Or we can just head over to my place now,” Harry said slowly.
Draco’s smirk widened. “Shall we?”
Harry smirked back. “We shall. I’m sure we’ve fulfilled our obligations to be here.”
“Let this rest on your head, Potter.” Draco turned around in a swirl of his shiny, shiny robes and headed back inside.
Harry’s stomach felt wonderfully bubbly as he followed Draco through the hall—waving jauntily to Ron and Hermione—and out into the foyer, where the floos were. The noise had swelled behind them in their wake, but Harry was now solely focused on Draco.
Harry may have hated Ministry functions in general, but this particular one wasn’t quite so bad.
End.