Work Text:
“Mate,” Ron said, voice full of pain. “I never thought I'd say this, but will you just ask Malfoy out already?”
“Hmm?” Harry pulled his gaze away from where Draco was coming to the end of his speech on potions health and safety. “What did you say?”
“Merlin's balls, this is exactly what I'm talking about.” Ron rolled his eyes.
Draco’s hair was looking particularly good today, Harry mused, lounging against the wall as he watched this year’s batch of Auror trainees poke nervously at the selection of potion ingredients in front of them. He smirked as one of them got his hand literally smacked by Draco, who then launched into a lecture on the dangers of touching unidentified magical substances. Draco's dove grey shirt matched his eyes exactly. And the slate-coloured waistcoat set both off to perfection, accentuating his trim waist and broad shoulders.
“Did you say something?” Harry belatedly became aware of the loaded silence filling the air between him and Ron, who was slouched inelegantly beside him.
Ron sighed. “Forget it. Got any plans for the weekend?”
“No,” Harry said despondently. “Pub tonight, I s’pose. You coming?”
“I'm not sure I can take another night watching you moon over that blond git.” Ron's tone was sour, and this was out of character enough to catch Harry's attention. As the words sunk in, he tore his eyes away from Draco and met Ron's gaze.
“What? I don't — I've never…”
Ron rolled his eyes again. “Pull the other one. Look, Hermione still thinks we should give you time to work this crush out on your own, turn a blind eye and all that. But I'm your best mate, and I won't let you make an idiot out of yourself any longer.”
“What do you mean?” Harry spluttered, feeling the heat rise in his face. Across the room he could hear Draco’s deep, posh voice giving firm, precise instructions to the trainees. Unbidden, his cock started to fill. He willed it down.
Ron's expression was pitying. “It's all anyone can talk about; how you're making a fool of yourself over Malfoy and he barely seems to acknowledge you exist. I mean, we don't know if he even likes men. Rumour is he's going to be betrothed to that Greengrass girl, you know, Daphne's sister?”
Harry's stomach lurched unpleasantly. “What?” The shout was out of his mouth before he could stop it. A host of eyes turned in his direction, the silver grey pair the only ones that mattered.
“Is there a problem, Auror Potter?” Draco’s tone was steely.
Harry found himself flushing harder, squirming under that stern, focused attention. His cock throbbed inside his underwear.
“Erm, yes, I mean no, Draco, I mean, Malfoy, er Mr Malfoy, uh…”
“Then I'd appreciate it if you could refrain from interrupting my class any further. Do you think you can manage that?”
Harry nodded miserably, not trusting his voice.
“Good.” Draco turned back to the class, several of whom appeared to be sniggering.
“You see?” Ron took the opportunity to press his point. “The entire family gossiping about it over the dinner table is one thing. And it probably doesn't matter that our friends have got a sweepstake going on how many times you mention him on pub night. The record is fifty-four, by the way; Nev won that one. But people at work are starting to notice, and you know how brutal the trainees can be. Once you lose their respect, you're a goner.”
Harry scowled. “I know how to do my job, Ron.”
Ron raised his hands placatingly. “I know you do. I just thought you should know what people are saying. And if you want my advice, you should just ask him out. Find out if he's gay or not, and if he's interested. And if he's not, put it behind you.” Ron's tone made it clear his money was on Draco not being interested.
Harry scowled harder. “Are you done now?”
“Yep.” Ron pantomimed zipping his lips shut, and Harry smiled despite himself. Across the room, Draco was berating a trainee for misidentifying essence of tuberwood. Harry sighed internally. If only things were as easy as Ron made out.
What Ron didn't know was that Harry had already asked Draco out and been shot down. Like Ron, he hadn't been sure whether Draco was gay, but had been unable to keep his eyes off him since he'd returned from France and taken up the role of Potions adviser to the DMLE six months ago.
He was well aware that he was regularly making a fool of himself in front of his former childhood rival, but he couldn't seem to help it.
In the few short years since his testimony had helped exonerate Draco, Harry had joined the Aurors, progressed rapidly through the ranks, and come to many realisations about himself. Ending things with Ginny and coming out to his friends and family had been just the first step in his journey of self-acceptance.
It was still a bit of a work in progress, but he'd been able to get some much needed perspective and accept that things had never been as black and white as they may have seemed when he was younger. Or as he secretly wished they could be.
He'd spoken for Draco at his trial because he'd already started to realise that Draco had been a scared child with manipulative, blood supremacist parents, who'd never had the chance to make good choices. But Draco had shown that he could make the right choice — as he'd done on top of the Astronomy tower and at the Manor — and he deserved the chance to keep making them.
Once freed, Draco had left for France, and by the time he returned, Harry was comfortably friends with the other Slytherins from his year and had no reason to still hate his former rival. In the absence of hate, something else bloomed.
Draco, however, did not seem to share those feelings. Harry had determinedly resolved to think of him as Draco rather than Malfoy, joining the ranks of Pansy, Theo, Blaise, Greg and Daphne. It made especial sense given that they were going to be working together.
But Draco hadn't been interested in anything more than polite acquaintance. And to make matters worse, Harry had been left to struggle with his new appreciation of just how devastatingly handsome Draco was. Surely he hadn't been this hot at school? It must be something in France that had made Draco fill out so attractively, his pointiness rounded out into a chiselled jaw, sharp cheekbones and pouty lips under those mesmerising eyes.
Harry's month went dry whenever Draco sauntered past, somehow managing to make a three-piece suit look like the hottest thing imaginable, barking orders at trainees in a way that made Harry's jeans embarrassingly tight in the crotch area. Thank Merlin for his Auror robes!
A week ago it had all become too much, and Harry had cornered Draco in the Ministry canteen and stumblingly asked him out on a date, praying he'd read the signs right and Draco was, in fact, gay. Harry had never seen him show the slightest interest in any of the women who regularly made eyes at him in the Ministry corridors or slipped him their phone numbers at the pub.
And Draco hadn't told Harry he wasn't interested because he didn't like men, or that he was already in a relationship, or anything like that. Instead, he'd given Harry a haughty look which inexplicably sent a strange thrill through him, and said, “Don't be ridiculous, Potter,” before stalking off, leaving Harry feeling dejected and humiliated.
“George?” It was well past shop opening hours, so Harry had made his way to the living quarters on the top-most floor of Wheezes. George's owl had said he needed help with something. Though he seemed to be doing better recently, there was a time not long ago when all the Weasleys were extremely worried about the remaining twin. George had spent a long time in a very dark place, and even now that he was out the other side, it was the family's second nature to rush to his aid whenever he needed anything.
“In here.” George stuck his head out the door to the flat's cosy living room. “Thanks for coming over. You have to see this!”
Harry followed George into the room to find much of the small space taken up by a fancy-looking cabinet which definitely hadn't been there the last time he visited. The size of a large single wardrobe, it was intricately carved in a dark luxurious wood and looked incongruous against George's other more modern furnishings.
“Ta da!” George gestured to the cabinet with a flourish.
“Wow. It's, er, nice,” Harry offered dubiously.
“It's a very rare find,” George enthused. “You know what it is, right?”
“A wardrobe?” Harry guessed. “Does it have a boggart in it or something? Is that what you need help with?”
“No, nothing like that. I thought you'd recognise it given your firsthand experience, not to mention your job. It's a Vanishing Cabinet!”
“Oh.” Harry was nonplussed. He would hardly call himself a fan of Vanishing Cabinets; in fact, he could quite happily go the rest of his life without seeing another one.
“Sadly, the other one is lost,” George was saying, clearly having missed Harry's lack of enthusiasm, “but I'm hoping there's enough of the magic remaining to study. Just think of the potential uses!”
“Hmm.” George was dangerous when he had that glint in his eye. “Are you sure it's safe, though?”
“Couse! I could do with someone sweeping it for dark magic and curses though, just in case.” George slapped Harry on the back. “That's where you come in.”
“That doesn't sound like you're sure,” Harry pointed out as George steered him in the direction of the cabinet using the arm still slung around his shoulders.
“Come on, Harry. It's been sitting in the corner of some pureblood’s drawing room for years, probably centuries. It's harmless. Without its pair, it's just a cupboard. It leads nowhere. I'll show you.” George opened the door, stepped inside, and pulled it closed behind him. “See? I'm still here.” His muffled voice was clearly audible to Harry.
“Alright, I believe you, you can come out.”
“Brilliant!” George bounded out of the cabinet. “So you'll do it then? I just need an expert to check before I start pulling it apart. Mum would kill me, otherwise.”
“You're right about that,” Harry sympathised, having regularly been on the wrong end of Molly's sharp tongue when it came to the almost daily risks of his job as an Auror.
“In you go, then.” George held the door open expectantly.
Harry hesitated. He hadn't shared the details of his childhood with the Dursleys with anyone except Ron and Hermione, so George couldn't be expected to know that he still harboured an occasional fear of enclosed spaces. Cupboard-like spaces, to be exact. He felt a vague shame; he'd defeated the greatest dark wizard of all time, so it was pathetic that the idea of stepping into an antique cupboard was making his heart race and his palms sweat. He was here to help George, who had suffered the terrible loss of his twin. It was selfish of him to hesitate on this.
With a heroic effort, he pulled himself together. “Okey dokey!” he declared with false joviality. “Here I go.” He stepped into the cabinet.
He could immediately tell it was magical; the inside was at least twice the size of the external dimensions, although still unpleasantly small. It was musty and smelled faintly of moth-deterrent spells. He couldn't sense anything but a slight residual magic; George's assertion that the cabinet was no longer active must be right.
“This shouldn't take long,” he declared, drawing his wand. “In fact, you don't even need to shut the —”
“Accio Harry's wand!” George yelled. Taken by surprise, Harry felt his wand fly from his hand, and an instant later the door slammed shut, sealing him in gloomy half darkness.
“Fuck!” Harry cursed out loud, dismayed and humiliated at being tricked and disarmed so easily. What kind of Auror was he? One who had trusted the wrong Weasley, obviously. He absolutely should have known better.
“George!” he yelled, angrily rattling the doorknob, which, as expected, failed to open. “What the hell are you playing at? Let me out!”
“Sorry, Harry, but you asked for it, you really did.” George's muffled voice came through the cracks in the door.
“What? What does that mean? George, open the door!”
His demand was met with silence; George was either no longer there or was keeping stubbornly quiet. Harry shouted for a bit, rattled the door a bit more and kicked it for good measure, but after ten minutes had passed he was no closer to escape.
He was just contemplating what his next move should be — and what possible motive George could have for shutting him in the cabinet in the first place — when he felt the hum of the cabinet's magic change. What had been an underlying buzz of residual power suddenly increased exponentially.
Harry closed his eyes and concentrated, wishing fervently that he had his wand and could run a diagnostic. But he'd always been gifted at sensing magic — or at least ever since he'd died and found out that he'd been host to a part of Voldemort's soul the entire time he'd been growing up. It had given him a kind of hypervigilance that he found hard to describe, but which had been invaluable in his chosen career.
So as the magic intensified, he was able to tell that it remained passive; the cabinet wasn't creating the magic, it was receiving it, the way a Floo did when you stepped out of it, or like —
Fuck. He realised what was happening at the exact same time that the magic reached a crescendo and something solid and pointy and reallyfuckingheavy landed on top of him, knocking the breath from his body.
“Salazar’s balls,” the something said, in a horribly familiar posh drawl. Crushed and winded, Harry only managed a pained groan.
“Hello? Who is that? Are you alright?” Draco Malfoy enquired solicitously. “I'm most terribly sorry. I was helping a friend with his Vanishing Cabinet, which he swore was broken, and I somehow got shut in, and the next moment I was transported here. I do apologise for landing on you. It sounds like you're hurt?”
Harry, whose pained groan had been less from actual pain and more from the fact that Draco Malfoy of all people had just landed on him, managed a muttered, “M'fine.”
There was a pregnant pause, then, “Potter? Is that you?”
“Yes,” Harry said shortly.
“What the fuck are you doing in Blaise’s vanishing cabinet?” Draco sounded confused and had not yet reverted to the standoffish tone he normally took with Harry. Harry however, though also confused, was swiftly coming to the conclusion that the one thing this could not be was a coincidence.
“It’s not Blaise's vanishing cabinet,” he snapped. “It's George's. Or at least this side is. Now would you get the fuck off me? Your foot's in my face.”
There were several moments of undignified squirming before they managed to extricate themselves and scramble to their feet. During that time, Harry came into direct contact with several parts of Draco's anatomy that he'd never expected to get the chance to be up close and personal with, especially after that humiliating rejection.
Once they were standing face to face, Harry realised just how little room there was in the cabinet when it was housing two people instead of just one. He was literally face to face with Draco, so close he could feel the waft of Draco's breath against his cheek. It smelt faintly of peppermint.
“What the fuck is going on, Potter?”
“Damned if I know.” Actually, Harry had a fairly good idea. He clearly remembered Ron’s comment that his embarrassing crush on Draco had been a hot topic at the Weasley family dinner table, and his adoptive family were all blissfully unaware that Draco had already made his disinterest blisteringly clear to Harry. It would be just like George to decide to take matters into his own hands, and to do it in a way that involved playing some kind of elaborate prank. The only thing Harry couldn't work out was how Blaise Zabini fitted into all this.
Luckily, Draco appeared to be able to fill in the gaps.
“Fucking Blaise!” he expostulated after a pause during which he had apparently been working things out the same way Harry had. “I can’t believe he would do this to me. I knew him drinking with Weasley would lead to something like this.”
Harry hadn't been aware that George was acquainted with Blaise, but it made a sick kind of sense. “Like locking you in a small space with your least favourite person?” he questioned, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone. “What did you do to piss him off so much?”
“That's not — hang on, did you say locked? Will the door not open?”
“No, I was just standing inside a small cupboard for no reason at all,” Harry snapped, feeling his temper fray. With Draco here, he was pressed into the wall behind him, and anxiously more aware of the cabinet's lack of space. “We’ll just have to leave via the other cabinet, the way you came in.”
“We can’t,” Draco informed him shortly. “This is a one way only cabinet.”
“What? Are you sure?” Harry felt his breathing speed up as a possible escape option was taken from him.
“Believe me, I’m sure.” Draco's tone was final. “We need to exit from this one. I take it you’ve tried all the usual spells?”
“Er, about that,” Harry felt his cheeks heating. “I don't actually have my wand. George took it before he locked me in here.”
“Harry Potter let himself get disarmed by a joke shop proprietor?" Draco questioned incredulously.
Godric, this was embarrassing. “Yes,” Harry mumbled. “But now you're here, you can try the spells.”
There was a short silence, then, “I don't have my wand either,” Draco admitted, sounding more discombobulated than Harry had ever heard him. “Blaise asked me to leave it on the mantle when I looked at the cabinet for him, he said that there was a misalignment with the charm work that might be affected by the proximity of unicorn hair, given its notorious instability.”
“And you believed him?” It was Harry’s turn to be incredulous. “Aren't you supposed to be an expert in magical ingredients?”
“Alright Potter, I realise what this looks like. But we — hang on, are you laughing at me?”
Harry was, but his snorts of laughter soon turned to gasps of panic as he realised they truly had no way out.
“Potter?” Draco sounded concerned. “What’s the matter with you?”
Oh fantastic, as if he'd not been humiliated enough in front of Draco already, now he was going to have a full-blown panic attack.
“Claustrophobia,” he managed to gasp out.
“Alright, look at me.” He felt Draco grab his hands and met the pale eyes in the dim light of the cabinet's interior. “Try and match your breathing to mine, deep breath in, and then out. You can do it, Harry.”
Harry listened to Draco's posh, attractive voice talking him through what he needed to do, and immediately felt his pulse slowing. He didn't know how long they stood there, Draco calmly talking to him and Harry following the instructions gladly, matching his breaths to Draco’s, but the panic eventually receded enough to give him control over his own breathing again.
“Thanks,” he muttered. It hadn't escaped him that Draco had called him Harry for the first time ever, and the realisation made him feel warm and squirmy inside.
“I didn’t expect you to have an issue with confined spaces,” Draco commented, oblivious.
Harry answered without thinking. “My Muggle relatives who brought me up used to lock me in the cupboard under the stairs. I’ve never been keen on them since.”
“You must be joking. They shut you in a cupboard? How long for?” Draco sounded incensed.
“Well, it was actually where I slept, until they gave me Dudley's second bedroom. Look, I don't really want to talk about it,” Harry added, belatedly regretting his unintended honesty. “I’ll be fine as long as we can get out of here. How long do you think they intend to leave us locked in together?”
“I expect that depends on how long they think it will take to achieve their aim.” Draco still sounded angry, but to Harry’s relief, he appeared to be prepared to drop the topic.
“I’m sorry,” Harry felt he needed to get this out. “This is all my fault. You made it very clear that you're not interested in me, but George doesn't know that. Hence why he presumably decided to take things into his own hands and shut us in together. I suppose he must have convinced Blaise to help.”
There was another one of those short silences. “I don’t think that’s exactly what happened,” Draco said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I don't think Blaise would have needed much convincing; in fact, it may even have been his idea. He always thinks he knows what’s best for me.”
“And he thinks being shut in a cupboard with me is what's best for you?” Harry asked dubiously. “Why?”
“Salazar, and they actually let you into the Aurors?” In the darkness of the cabinet’s interior, Harry could practically hear Draco rolling his eyes.
Harry scowled “Shut up.”
“Fine, I obviously need to spell it out for you. And you've been honest with me, so…” He felt Draco shrug. “Blaise thinks what's best for me is to get together with you. He thinks I'm an idiot for turning you down, given my not very well-hidden feelings about you.”
Harry felt a headache forming. “But if…why did you…” He wished he could get some fresh air so he could actually think straight.
“Do you know why I’m so sure this is a one way set of cabinets?” Draco’s smooth voice continued as if Harry hadn't spoken. “Because I studied them during the holidays during sixth year, in Blaise’s house. They’ve been in his mother’s family for generations. We used to use them as a shortcut to get from the top floor to the drawing room when we were called for dinner. They’re what gave me the idea of using a Vanishing Cabinet to get the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, only I had to find a two way pair. I studied this set when I was trying to repair the one in the Room of Requirement.”
“Oh,” Harry said weakly, wondering why Draco was telling him all this.
“So you see, Potter, while you may have forgotten all about what I did, I can assure you that I haven’t.”
Harry blinked in surprise. “Wait, that’s why you turned me down? Because you think you don’t deserve me or something?”
Draco sniffed. “That’s not exactly how I’d put it; more that you deserve something better. You clearly aren't capable of making the right decision yourself.”
Harry couldn't stop himself from letting out an incredulous bark of laughter. “Merlin, Draco, don’t you think I’m old enough to decide for myself whether or not I think your past is a problem?”
“I don't know,” Draco shot back snippily. “You seem to struggle to dress yourself properly most days, so it’s a reasonable assumption to make.”
“I - hey! What’s wrong with my clothes?” Harry ran a hand over his crumpled band t-shirt. “I can dress smart. Take me up on the offer of that date and I’ll prove it to you.”
Draco’s sigh was warm on his face. “Alright then, Potter, if you still want to take me out after we’ve been shut in here for several hours, then I accept.”
Harry’s grin of triumph only lasted till the rest of Draco’s words sank in; could they really be trapped here for hours? He felt his breath speeding up again and swayed slightly on his feet.
“Potter, stay with me. Here, let me give you something to focus on.”
Then Draco’s lips were on his, warm and soft and pliant. Harry was too surprised to move for a moment, and then he was kissing Draco back eagerly, pressing into him, lips opening on a groan. Draco took advantage, slipping his tongue into Harry’s mouth, deepening the kiss as his hand snuck around Harry’s neck, fingers winding in his hair.
Harry pressed enthusiastically into Draco, feeling the exciting bulge of Draco’s hard cock against his leg, barely resisting the urge to grind his own aching erection against it. He mustn’t get carried away. But then Draco’s hand was between them, rubbing at Harry’s cloth-covered cock, causing him to moan embarrassingly loudly into Draco’s mouth.
“Is this sufficiently distracting?” Draco murmured, removing his lips from Harry’s and applying them to his neck.
“Ngh, I mean, yeah,” Harry gasped, thrusting helplessly into Draco’s hand and feeling like he was about to explode.
“Tell me what you want.” Draco’s voice was hypnotic as he continued to stroke and squeeze Harry’s weeping erection. It felt so good his vision was whiting out.
“Whatever you want. I mean, you choose,” he gasped out. “I want you to decide.”
“Is that what you’re into?” Draco all but purred in his ear. “I must say, Potter, that’s a pleasant surprise.” His hand slipped into Harry jeans and slid past the waistband of his boxers to grasp his bare cock. Harry could only manage a strangled gasp. He sagged against the wall, suddenly grateful for the cabinet’s confines.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes.” Draco’s hands were on his t-shirt, pulling it up and over his head. Harry let himself be manhandled. It was a relief to let Draco take the lead, which he seemed more than happy to do. Harry needed to think about nothing more than how to avoid bashing his elbow into the wall as they manoeuvred in the tight space.
Draco’s hands moved to the buttons of Harry’s jeans. He started to unfasten them, every movement causing him to brush against Harry’s straining cock. Harry bit back a groan.
It was a struggle to get the jeans off, given the lack of space. Harry stumbled as he stepped out of them. Draco had pulled his boxers down too, so Harry was completely bare once he had toed off his shoes and socks. He blushed, glad for the darkness. Pressed against Draco as he was, he could feel the rasp of stiff fabric against the bare skin of his chest.
He realised he had no idea what Draco was wearing; something posh and fashionable if he had to take a guess. He reached out a tentative hand, running his fingers up Draco's torso and feeling the buttons and embellished pattern of one of his signature waistcoats. He hoped it was the dove grey one, his favourite because it really brought out the silver in Draco’s eyes.
Draco sucked in a breath. “Impatient, Potter?”
“A bit,” Harry admitted. He saw no reason to lie now.
“Don't worry, I'll take care of you.” Draco’s hand was surprisingly gentle against his cheek as he cupped Harry’s face for a moment. “Undress me.”
Although his tone was soft, it was a clear instruction, and Harry hastened to obey. His fingers scrabbled at the minute buttons on Draco’s waistcoat. He was having to go almost completely by touch alone, and it would have been frustrating if it weren't for the sound of Draco’s slow breathing and his calm words of encouragement.
Harry worked the waistcoat free and grimaced as he dropped the fine garment on the floor, where he knew they were already stepping on his own discarded clothes. He started on Draco’s shirt, thinking that he’d have had enough of buttons after this to last him a lifetime.
But soon he had the reward of Draco’s exposed skin, soft and smooth to his touch, dusted with only a spattering of fine hair over surprisingly defined muscles. Harry couldn't help himself, he leaned forward and ran his tongue along the sleek planes of Draco’s chest, hearing him gasp at the touch. He risked a lick at a hard nipple and was gratified to hear Draco moan.
“Turn around.” There was a delicious rasp to Draco’s voice now, and Harry could be in no doubt that he was affected too. Draco really wanted him. Feeling like he would burst with joy and relief, he spun, resting his flushed cheek against the dusty wood in front of him.
He felt Draco trail a cool hand over his arse and shifted his feet obligingly apart. Behind him, Draco’s breathing sped up.
“Tell me you want this, Potter, and then I’m going to give you the fucking of your life. I’ll ruin you for anyone else, do you understand?”
“Yes. I want it. Please!” Harry had been waiting what felt like half a lifetime for this. If Draco Malfoy wanted to rail him to within an inch of his life inside a cabinet, then there was no way he was going to object. He felt a finger caress his hole, and then the slick wetness of a muttered lube spell. He wanted to point out that it would be more useful if Draco could have applied wandless magic to getting them out, but he couldn't make his mouth work. Besides, it would have been a lie.
Harry didn't think he’d even care if George were to throw open the door right now. He'd just reach out and slam it shut again. All he wanted was the feeling of that long, smooth finger working itself inside him, twisting slightly so that it rubbed deliciously against his sensitive walls. Moaning, he pushed back for more.
“You are impatient,” Draco chided, but he gave Harry another finger anyway. He felt himself stretching around them as Draco expertly worked him open. He closed his eyes and concentrated on not coming before Draco had even managed to fuck him. He was almost relieved when Draco’s fingers withdrew and he felt him wrestling his trousers open. Draco’s movements were quick and jerky with need, but when he returned his attention to Harry’s arsehole, sliding three fingers in this time, he was as controlled and precise as always.
“That’s it, sweetheart.” The endearment rolled off Draco’s tongue and through Harry’s very soul. “You’re so nearly ready for my cock.”
Harry heard himself make an undignified whimper. He cleared his throat and forced the words out. “I am ready. Please, just fuck me now.”
“We have to make sure you won't hurt yourself.” Draco thrust his fingers into Harry at a steady pace, the movement mimicking the fucking Harry was increasingly desperate for. “You’ll be ready when I say.”
Fuck, but that was hot. Harry breathed deeply and accepted his fate. Luckily for him it wasn't long before Draco was lining up and working what felt like a very generous length inside of him. Harry gasped when the head of Draco's cock first breached him, stretching him exquisitely as it slid into his well-lubed passage. Draco had done an unsurprisingly expert job at prepping him, and there was no discomfort, only a feeling of delicious fullness as Draco slid into him.
Trying to manoeuvre within the cabinet was cramped and slightly awkward, but Harry didn't care. All he could focus on was the feeling of Draco’s cock siding inside him, inch by glorious inch, until finally he bottomed out.
Harry couldn't remember ever feeling so full. He wiggled his hips, trying to encourage Draco to move, but he should have known that Draco would only do things in his own time. He stroked Harry’s side as he gently circled his hips, testing that Harry was comfortable, and driving him crazy in the process until he was almost begging.
“Just fuck me, Draco, please, for Merlin’s sake!” Okay, maybe he was actually begging.
“You want it hard?” Draco drew out a few precious inches before sliding back in, cock dragging deliciously against Harry’s prostate as he did so. He might have known Draco would get the angle spot on. “I hate to inform you, but I’m not going to last. Your arse is positively delightfully. If you insist on a good hard fucking, I’m going to be filling you up with my come before too long.”
“I don’t care,” Harry panted, almost out of his mind with lust.
Draco chuckled. “You asked for it, Potter.”
And then he was slamming into Harry, who could do nothing but brace himself against the wall in front of him and take it.
It turned out Draco had lied. The thorough pounding went on and on, to the point where the relentless pressure against his prostate turned Harry’s legs to jelly, Draco's strong arm around his waist the only thing holding him up. The small space was filled with the obscene sounds of frenzied fucking; the rhythmic slapping of flesh, the squelch of lube, Harry’s gasps and Draco’s panting breaths. He was drilling into Harry like a machine, muscles tense as he kept up a furious pace.
Harry didn't stand a chance. He felt his entire body go into spasm as his orgasm built, and he knew he was going to come without either of them touching his cock. His balls drew up, everything tightening as he reached the point of no return and tipped over into ecstasy, cock spurting helplessly into the air.
The white hot pleasure seemed to go on forever, and he was only vaguely aware of Draco crying out and the hot slide of come inside his arsehole smoothing the way for Draco’s continued thrusts.
Harry rested his head on the wall again, spent, feeling Darco’s cock slip from his abused body. Draco’s arm was still firmly wrapped around him, and he didn't speak for a moment, just leaned his head against Harry's shoulder as their breathing returned to normal.
In the relative quiet, Harry thought he heard movement in the room outside the cabinet and vaguely thought that they should probably get dressed before George opened the door and found them naked and covered in come. He couldn't be bothered to move, though.
Instead he took a deep breath, squeezed Draco’s arm and said, “So, it looks like we've both survived being locked in the cabinet. What about that date then?”