Rewriting What Came Before (Harry Potter, Draco/Harry)

Draco Malfoy was kissing Harry Potter. If someone had told his younger self that this was something that would happen, something that had happened multiple times and that he quite enjoyed, he probably would have hexed them. Something with boils, likely, or the Stinging Hex. But here he was, stretched out on the couch of his London flat with Harry practically melting in his lap and his tongue down Potter’s throat.

Harry was a surprisingly good kisser, and Draco had high standards. He liked to be in control and there were a lot of men, wizards in particular, who weren’t keen on that. They didn’t take well to the kind of submission that Draco craved but so far, Harry was a natural. Admittedly, they hadn’t made it much further than kissing. The fact that they’d made it to kissing at all was a miracle in and of itself given their history, but after that expose in the Daily Prophet from that guy from the Cannons, Draco had figured ‘why not?’ If Potter would date that obvious of a douche, maybe he’d give Draco a shot. And he did. And here they are, on the tail end of their fifth date.

Draco’s hands drifted south, resting on the round globes of Potter’s jeans-clad ass. He could feel Potter tense above him, just for a second, before he relaxed again. He always did that. It was weird. Draco was never sure if it was because of him or because Potter was new-ish to the whole gay thing. Whatever. If Potter wanted him to stop, he’d say so.

It was becoming hard—quite literally—to keep from going further. He really wanted to see if Potter’s ass felt anything like that Cannons guy had said. If it did, he certainly wasn’t running off to the Prophet to brag about it. No, someone like Potter—if he really was as good as rumors said—was something to be savored, kept private and protected and all for himself.