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“Oliver… was described as an intensely driven, competitive personality… was known to get a maniacal look in his eyes.”
-Harry Potter Wiki
“Oliver…” Draco sighed in an exasperated sort of way, running a hand through his unusually unkempt fringe.
His voice made Ollie’s stomach drop, cold flooding his limbs.
Why was it always that tone as of late?
Why was it always that timbre when they met?
Why?
He stood from the couch, replacing Draco’s hands with his own, slipping his fingers through the soft platinum strands, pulling just the way he liked until grey met brown. “Shh…”
“Ol-“
Ollie’s fingers curled into Draco’s scalp, eliciting a hiss through plush, pink lips. “Shh, it’s okay. Nothing’s changed; nothing at all… Not since that night. Ye know the one I’m talking about-” one hand released his hair, gliding down the wizard’s cheek, caressing Draco’s sharp jaw, “-when I took ye against the wall in the change room after we won the European Cup… A little celebratory fuck, remember? Ye were so tight for me, so hard for me. Just how ye are now.”
A deep groan sounded in Draco’s throat, drawing a breathy gasp from Ollie’s mouth as they fell against the staircase banister, hard chest against hard chest, bulky thigh against stiff prick.
“Fuck,” Draco croaked, his fingers wrapping around the back of Ollie’s neck, pulling him in for a short, heated kiss.
“Remember how ye begged me for it?” his Scottish brogue grew husky against Draco’s lips, hand twisting in the blond’s hair, his other dropping to the front of the wizard’s trousers, palming Draco’s cock in his large hand. When he exhaled heavily, Ollie’s lips tugged into a smirk. “Remember how ye came with my mouth on ye, my fingers in ye?” Poising his lips at Draco’s ear, he finished with a throaty, “Of course ye do. It’s yer favorite way to come, love.”
“I- fuck, Oliver,” he breathed, head hitting the railing behind him. Pulling slightly away, Ollie’s eyes dropped to Draco’s lips as he tucked one between his teeth, then drifted upwards again as his eyelids fluttered shut. Ollie’s smirk grew as he rubbed Draco’s length.
“I’m going to get down on my knees, Draco,” he stated lowly, paying special attention to the tip of the blond’s prick; it’d always been the most sensitive part of him. Ollie loved lapping his tongue along Draco’s slit until he cried out, pleading for relief. “I’m going to take yer cock in my mouth, swallow ye down until ye come down my throat…”
Draco’s eyes opened slowly, locking a dark, drunk look onto Oliver, causing his own prick to stiffen painfully. He grunted, making quick work of the clasp of Draco’s belt buckle and the button of his trousers, the zipper tab as it passed swiftly over each tooth. Ollie was frantic to touch Draco’s skin, eager to feel the smoothness beneath his own, relishing when his lover released a hot, ragged gasp when he finally – finally – wrapped his fingers around Draco’s weeping cock.
He nearly wept himself.
Swallowing hoarsely, Oliver continued, “…and then, Draco, I’m going to turn ye around and fuck ye just how ye like. A little Incarcerous to tie yer wrists to the rails while I stretch ye wide-“
“Oliv-“
“-Merlin, ye’ll feel so good, like a vice around my cock-“
There was a sudden, unexpected movement - a hard hand to his shoulder - and he was stumbling backwards, hands bracing themselves on the couch behind him as he tumbled onto its arm. Shocked, he turned wide, brown eyes onto Draco.
Ice raced through his body.
He didn’t think he’d ever seen those silver eyes so cold before.
“Draco-“
“Stop- no,” the blond demanded, running a hand through that infuriatingly unkempt fringe again. “You need to listen to me. This has got to end- No, it has ended. I ended this… weeks ago. You need to leave me alone. That’s what I came here to say.”
Oliver swallowed, panic flooding his stomach. “Don’t leave me like this! I can’t breathe when ye’re gone.”
Draco straightened his spine and pulled back his shoulders, that powerful, aristocratic man emerging from the ruins of lust. Once more, he ran his long fingers through tousled strands, sweeping them off his beautiful face. Lips thinning into a line, Draco yanked the zip tab upwards and buttoned his trousers, slipping the belt back through its buckle before, jaw clenched, he simply shook his head.
“This was a mistake, Wood,” Draco stated- No… Not Draco. This was all Malfoy now. “Leave me alone.”
There was a harrowing sort of quietness as Draco turned on his heel and stalked toward the fireplace.
A flash of green was the last thing Ollie saw.
And the terrible silence was the last thing he’d heard.
sSs
“Mr. Malfoy, what did you think of the match?”
The flash of a camera – his name – drew Oliver’s attention. He spun quickly, ale sloshing over the rim of his glass with the movement, deep-seated longing flaring as he drank him in.
Draco was wearing a dark grey suit that brought out his stunning eyes. His hair was shorter, Ollie noted, wearing it shaved at the sides, the top slicked back. His long fingers lifted to the buttons of his jacket, clasping the top as he gathered a cashmere scarf from the back of a chair. He smiled that smile as a pretty brunette witch leaned in towards him, a seductive smile of her own quirking her lips as she held up a piece of parchment and a Quick Quotes Quill.
Oliver’s stomach sank.
“Puddlemere won, as to be expected-“
“Ollie, darling,” a deep voice purred in his ear, an arm slinking around his waist. “We should go.”
It was then Draco’s eyes flipped in his direction; he was a siren and Ollie was his victim. Pulling out of his lover’s grasp, he stepped in Draco’s direction.
“As owner, I would rather hope you’d expect them to win,” the reporter continued with a flirty laugh. “What about your team this year? Some very familiar faces were playing tonight- Oh! Oliver Wood! Would you mind being interviewed alongside Mr. Malfoy? ‘Puddlemere United Owner and Star Keeper Bask in Post-Win Glory’ would make for the most perfect headline-“
“Not now, Catrina,” Draco stated firmly, eyes growing icy the closer Ollie got.
“But-“
“Not. Now. Catrina,” he snapped, wrapping his scarf around his neck as he faced the brunette once more, a placating, tight smile on his lips. “We’ll set up an interview tomorrow, I promise.”
Without another word, Draco turned sharply, pushing his way through the drunk, raucous crowd, Ollie following closely behind. Within minutes, they shoved their way out of the VIP lounge into the cool night air.
“Owner?” was the first word Ollie blurted, watching Draco’s feet freeze on the stone patio. “Ye own Puddlemere now?“
“My father owns Puddlemere.” He glanced at Ollie over his shoulder. “I was in attendance tonight on his behalf. He’ll be ecstatic to learn his team won.”
It was the hesitation in Draco’s stance, the slight quiver of his voice that made Oliver cross his arms over his chest and say, “Bollocks.”
Draco turned to fully look at him, a brow high on his forehead. “I beg your pardon?”
“Ye wanted to see me play,” he returned, a confident grin lifting his lips. “Ye wanted a repeat of our-“
"No,” the blond interrupted, face hard, “I did not attend this evening for a ‘repeat’ anything. I came because my father demanded it. I am now leaving to report-”
Ollie’s smile faded into a frown, cutting him off. “Speaking of reporters… Catrina?”
Draco’s jaw clenched. “What about her?”
Sucking in a breath, heart thumping beneath his arms, Oliver asked, “Are you fucking her?”
“That-” he replied, jaw tight, “-is none of your business, Wood. Now you’ll have to excuse me.”
He turned on the spot, disappearing into the ether, once again leaving Ollie cold.
sSs
“He’s definitely fucking her,” Basil said, placing a Muggle cigarette between his lips. Ollie watched it bob as his lover spoke. “It’s all over Witch Weekly-” he mockingly spread his hands wide above him, “’Malfoy Heir and His Portuguese Reporter Lover Spotted in Manchester.’”
Oliver’s heart stuttered painfully, and he turned to his side, propping his head on his hand. “Just because they’d been spotted together doesn’t mean they’re fucking-”
“’Inside sources state they cannot stop fucking,’” Basil continued with a snort. A faint huff of a laugh passed through Oliver’s lips.
“-plus, Witch Weekly is nothing more than a gossip rag.” Ollie smiled, slapping Basil’s hands out of the air. His breath caught when Basil turned those stunning jade eyes on him, crinkling at the corners as he grinned around his cigarette.
“You’re so beautiful when you smile,” Basil breathed, lifting a hand, running the back of his fingers down Ollie’s cheek. “I haven’t seen you smile in a month…”
Looking down, Oliver caught Basil’s hand with his. “I miss him.”
Neither said anything for a moment before Basil sighed and sat up, the silk sheet falling to pool at his nude waist. Without releasing Ollie’s hand, he leaned to the side and pulled open the bedside table drawer, fumbling for a moment before he straightened again. A mischievous glint glittered in his eye when he turned back toward Ollie, wiggling a vial between his forefinger and thumb. “Do you know what this is?”
“Potions was not my forté,” Oliver replied, eyeing the thick, muddy-looking sludge.
Basil tossed him the vial and lit his cigarette with a snap of his fingers. Sucking in a lungful of smoke, his eyes fluttered closed in pleasure, then slowly released wispy, white tendrils from between his lips. “It’s a good thing that I am, then. Polyjuice Potion.”
Oliver settled the vial in the palm of his hand and tilted an eyebrow. “Why do we need it?”
Taking another long drag of his cigarette, Basil blew the smoke into the room, then Vanished it and his cigarette with a simple flick of his wrist. Situating himself on his side, he ran his fingers up Ollie’s bare chest, twirling the pad of one finger around his nipple. “I love you, Ollie-“
Oliver flopped onto his back with a heavy sigh, throwing Basil’s hand from his chest, that explanation once again on the tip of his tongue; the one where he emphasized this was nothing more than a dalliance, a passing fancy when they both needed a fuck. A swift shake of Basil’s head stopped him from saying those words.
“No, please… Just listen. I love you. I have from the moment I saw you. I…” he paused, releasing a long breath from between pursed lips, “…I wish you felt the same, but… I want you- any part of you I can get. I’ve tried to take away the pain… I think I have, even if it’s a little…”
Pressing his forefinger and thumb into his eyes, Oliver sighed again when Basil trailed off. “What’s this got to do with Polyjuice Potion?”
When he didn’t respond for a long moment, Ollie dropped his hand and blinked his eyes open, turning his head- Gasping in shock, he scrambled into a seated position, wrestling with the blanket around his legs, eyes wide, jaw slack because where his lover used to sit, Draco had taken his place. “What in the-“
“It’s me,” Draco said, silver eyes scouring Ollie’s face.
“Draco?” he breathed.
Closing his eyes, Draco shook his head. “No, it’s Basil.”
Swallowing thickly, Ollie felt his heart racing beneath his breastbone, yet it didn’t take but another minute for his confusion to morph into understanding, and he reached out a hand, cupping Draco-Basil’s sharp jaw in his hand. “You Polyjuiced yourself into Draco Malfoy?”
Draco-Basil opened his eyes, a sad sort of smile curling his lips upwards. “You’ve been sad. I wanted to make you happy. I know you’ve been wishing I was him instead…”
Ollie shook his head. “But- How?“
Draco-Basil shrugged a shoulder. “Hair from his scarf that night he came to spectate.”
“Basil…” Oliver breathed, running his fingers down the milky column of his throat. “Draco.”
“Do I make you happy?”
Ollie blinked, dragging his gaze from the silver he’d got lost in, watching his digits slide across Draco-Basil’s collarbones, fingers whispering over the faded scars bisecting his chest. He was lean, like Draco. He was toned, like Draco. His skin puckered with every sweep of Ollie’s digits, like Draco’s did.
Swallowing again, his eyes fell to Draco-Basil’s navel and the thin line of hair trailing beneath it. Curling his fingers under the hem of the sheet, he pulled it away, sucking in a sharp breath.
Long and proud, stiff and weeping at the tip, his prick was beautiful, just like Draco’s. Oliver longed to taste him, to gather that delicious bead of pre-cum on his tongue.
“Draco…” Ollie whispered again, reaching a hand forward, stopping himself just before he grazed Draco’s cock.
“It’s okay…” he croaked, curling his hand around Ollie’s wrist, placing it on him. With a gasp, he continued, “…you can touch me.”
Hesitating only a moment longer, Oliver wrapped his fingers around his prick, his thumb swirling around the tip before gliding it downwards, relishing the second, breathy gasp that escaped Draco’s mouth.
“Do I make you happy?” he croaked once more, a hand sliding through Ollie’s hair as he dipped his head, just to get a taste of him because- because maybe he tasted like Draco, too.
Oliver could have cried when he swirled his tongue around the cock in his hand, when he swallowed him, as he buried his nose in a neatly trimmed thatch of curls and breathed in him.
“Aye,” Ollie thickly replied as Draco’s cock left his lips, “Always.”
sSs
“What the fuck?” Draco twisted on his heel when the door hit the opposite wall, his Firewhisky threatening to spill over the rim of his crystal tumbler, wand held aloft in his left hand. When he recognized Ollie in front of him, he lowered his wand with an exasperated sigh.
The corner of Oliver’s lips tilted upwards and he raised his hands. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle ye.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
Shoving his fists into the pockets of his dress slacks, Ollie shrugged. “I was invited.”
Swigging a mouthful of liquor, Draco winced slightly as he swallowed, then faced the bar cart to pour himself another finger. “By whom?”
“Yer father,” he answered casually, tearing his eyes from Draco’s broad shoulders to look around the room. It was masculine, the aesthetic pleasing to the eye with dark cherry oak paneling on the walls; a rich cherry oak desk with identical bookshelves; mid-century sofas upholstered in dark brown leather. Above the fireplace was a large portrait of the Malfoys: Lucius sitting in a wingback armchair, Narcissa and Draco standing just behind him, a hand on each of his shoulders. Nothing about this room screamed Draco.
“My father invited you to a fundraising gala for war orphans?” The words were laced with disbelief, an undertone of fury emphasizing his incredulity.
A pang of pain flared in Oliver’s gut.
“Is that so hard to believe? I am Oliver Wood,” he retorted, a bite in his own voice. “Star Keeper for Puddlemere United, winner of the European Cup.”
Draco laughed, turning back to Ollie, his mercurial eyes tracing his figure as he brought his tumbler to his lips. “It is, as I gave explicit instructions that you were not to be invited.”
Oliver’s stomach knotted uncomfortably and he fished his invitation from an inside pocket, throwing it toward Draco. “My invitation, ye dobber.”
Narrowing his eyes, Draco glanced at the crumpled, folded piece of one-hundred Galleon parchment then to Oliver, swallowing his finger of Firewhisky whole. “In spite of said invitation, you are not supposed to be here. I told you to stay away from me.”
“I just…” Ollie swiped a hand through his curls and took a step toward Draco. “I miss ye, Draco-“
“Wood-“
“What went wrong?” he rushed, another step echoing in the room, “Ye’re all I wanted. I thought I had ye figured out-“
“Figured out?” Draco barked an incredulous laugh. “Just because we’ve fucked a few times does not mean you have me ‘figured out.’”
“Doesn’t it?” Ollie challenged, straightening his shoulders to reach his full height. “Poor little rich boy, caught up in daddy’s darkness. Poor little rich boy, broken and beaten under Him-“
“Enough-“
But Oliver couldn’t stop, pent-up rage bubbling under his skin. “Poor little rich boy, given a filthy Mark against his will. Poor little Draco Malfoy, bigot and bully turned repentant and apologetic. I get it; ye were raised into it, hard to think for yerself when that shite is shoved down yer throat as a wee lad-“
A glass against stone made Oliver’s tirade die on his tongue. For a moment, a tendril of fear replaced his fury when a hand grabbed a fistful of his robes, dragging him in until their chests met. “I swear to fucking god if you say one more word…”
Draco was panting heavily, hot, sweet bursts of air ghosting across Oliver’s face. Merlin, he could taste him now. Taste the Firewhisky on his breath. Taste the anger- the desire. Ollie raised a shaky hand, but just as he was about to cup Draco’s cheek, he was shoved away, catching himself before he fell over the coffee table.
“No, god… Leave me alone.”
“For Merlin’s sake, Draco, I can’t turn back now! Ye’re haunting me-“
Giving Oliver a nasty look, he spat, “I’m haunting you? Please.”
Another wave of jealousy-fueled anger flooded Ollie’s veins. “This is because of that hoor, isn’t it?”
“What-“
“That Portuguese bitch ye left me for!”
“I left because you’re mad!” Draco snarled, propelling his palm against the side of his head. “Obsessive and controlling, wanting to know where I was every minute of every day-“
“I love ye! I just wanted-“
Draco shook his head and backed away. “You wanted to control me and I’m no one’s to control. Leave. Me. Alone.”
sSs
“Oh, Draco… Ye feel so good,” Ollie moaned, sliding his hand through silky platinum locks, digging his fingernails into his lover’s scalp. “Ye’re always so tight for me.”
“Merlin, Ollie, harder,” Draco breathed, extending his long arms in front of him, gripping the edge of the mattress for purchase. The movement made his back muscles roll beneath perfect, milky skin. It was delicious.
Oliver panted, pressing bruises into Draco’s hip as he sped up, dragging his cock from the blond’s hole before pressing back in, relishing the tiny cries he made each time Ollie grazed that spot inside him. The sound of sticky skin on sticky skin drove him faster, wilder, feeling his bollocks tighten as he pulled Draco’s head back.
“Open yer eyes. I want to watch ye come for me.”
It took a moment, but Draco’s lids peeled apart, a haziness glazing over his jade eyes-
Ollie’s hips stuttered.
Jade eyes.
Draco.
Basil.
“Harder, harder, harder! I- right there, darling, right there! I’m-“ Basil choked, his eyes slamming shut again as his body tensed, a long whine vibrating in his throat.
Closing his own eyes – and feeling his stomach sink - he released Basil’s wiry, auburn hair, gripping his other hip with his hand as he withdrew then pushed forward, caring about nothing but the Draco beneath his eyelids and reaching… his… own…
A roar soared out of his mouth as his cock impossibly hardened, as his thrusts grew erratic, as he came, imagining Draco clenching around his prick instead of Basil.
They took their time separating, Ollie rolling onto his back as Basil fell to his front, both panting and sated. But as Basil planted butterfly kisses to Oliver’s sweat-soaked skin, as he placed a cigarette between his lips, as he stood, his still half-hard cock and perky arse on display when he walked into the kitchen to get them a drink, Oliver allowed a lone tear to escape the corner of his eye.
sSs
DRACO MALFOY: ENGAGED?
Ollie’s lips thinned, tossing The Daily Prophet to the side.
MALFOY SCION TO BE WED
His jaw tightened, folding The Quibbler in half.
DRACO MALFOY AND HIS PARAMOURS: LEARN ABOUT THE MALFOY HEIR’S PREVIOUS DALLIANCES ON THE EVE OF ENGAGEMENT ANNOUNCEMENT
“Ollie, darling, you’ve been staring at those headlines for an hour.”
“’…Malfoy heir’s previous dalliances on the eve of engagement announcement,’” Oliver recited, eyes narrowing as he flipped open Witch Weekly. “Ridiculous. Just how is there an eve of one’s engagement announcement? Isn’t that the announcement?”
Ignoring Ollie’s bitter questioning, Basil stated flatly, “You’re in there, if you were curious.”
Ollie quickly looked up at him, watching as Basil poured hot water over his tea strainer. Unraveling his fingers from the silky edges of the magazine, Oliver grittily replied, “Am I?”
Basil released a sardonic huff through his nose, setting the strainer to the side and shifted in his seat. “Of course. The Malfoy Dynasty’s prince and Britain’s most famous Keeper? You two weren’t exactly a secret.”
Oliver didn’t respond, knowing Basil was right; Draco and Ollie didn’t hide their romance, often spotted snogging outside Blaise Zabini’s new nightclub in Diagon Alley. He missed that. He missed Draco pushing him against the brick wall, pressing their hard bodies together. He missed sliding his hands through Draco’s silky hair; he missed pulling it and the little noises Draco made when he did so. And while Basil did his best, often reverting to Polyjuice as soon as he stuck his hand down Ollie’s trousers, it still wasn’t… exact.
Authentic.
Sighing, Ollie sat heavily in his chair, dragging his eyes to Basil’s face, studying the wizard with a tilt of his head. He couldn’t be more opposite Draco if he tried; his jade-colored eyes were staring down into his tea, his auburn hair covering his forehead. An olive hand rose, a stubby finger wrapping around the handle as he brought the steaming mug to his pink lips. He was built slightly broader than Draco, more weight lending to a thicker waist, but Oliver preferred Draco’s leaner, taller frame. He loved digging his nails into that porcelain skin, watching bruises bloom beneath his fingertips. He loved staring into those mesmerizing mercurial eyes. He loved his sarcasm and wit, the bite of his sharp tongue… until he turned it on Oliver those many months ago.
A lick of fury swept up his spine, his lips falling into a severe frown as he threw that week’s edition of Witch Weekly over his shoulder and stood, his chair screeching across the tiled floor with the movement. Basil looked up at him, brow dipped in question.
“I need to think,” Ollie managed gruffly. “Don’t wait up.”
sSs
“Congratulations on another win, Wood…” It was a deep, rich, familiar voice that created an instantaneous heated pool in his gut. Twirling on his heel, Oliver’s eyes dropped to the impeccable Italian loafers, skimming up a pair of black dress slacks, across an unclasped matching suit jacket with a light blue button up beneath it, lingering on plush lips curled into a smirk, before finally landing on grey eyes.
“Thanks, Malfoy,” he responded, straightening as a pair of his boisterous team members clapped him heavily on the shoulder. He smiled languidly at them, nodding as they passed. When he felt heat envelope his front, Ollie immediately returned his attention forward.
“Want to get out of here, Oliver?” Draco whispered huskily, stealthily slipping a hand under the hem of Ollie’s shirt, fingers skimming his golden skin. “Perhaps replay a few of our favorite positions?”
Violently pushing the memory away, Oliver ran a hand through his ragged hair before stuffing it back into his peacoat pocket as he stalked down an unlit London street. How dare Draco approach him the way he did, full of promises?
Dark promises?
“On yer back,” Oliver growled, pushing on Draco’s flank until he rolled from his hands and knees to his back, pleasure glossing his gorgeous silver eyes. Ollie’s teeth grit as something primal flared in his belly; it didn’t matter how many times he’d seen that look cross Draco’s face, the response was always the same: claim, claim, claim.
Tightly wrapping his hands around Draco’s legs, he pulled him until the backs of his thighs settled against Ollie’s front and lined his cock up with Draco’s hole, plunging into his heat with another throaty growl. “Ye always feel so good.”
Draco’s fingers curled into the sheet, heels digging into the mattress for purchase as he met every single one of Ollie’s thrusts, his own prick painfully stiff against his stomach, positively weeping for attention.
“God, Oliver…” Draco moaned, eyes fluttering shut, his hand encasing his cock, giving it a rough tug.
“Tell me ye’re mine,” Oliver demanded with another hard thrust, fingers digging into the globes of Draco’s arse.
“Harder,” he panted in response, hand moving faster now. “I’m almost there-“
“Tell! Me!”
“Fine- Fuck, I’m yours!”
Heat washed through Oliver, a jolt racing up his spine with Draco’s proclamation and he snapped his hips faster, driving his cock deeper and harder. A roar climbed up his throat as Draco stiffened beneath him, his gorgeous prick painting spurts of cum across his belly, and it took mere seconds after for Oliver to peak, burying himself so far in Draco, it brought a tear to his eye.
“Mine,” Oliver panted breathlessly, watching Draco’s chest heave. He lifted his fingers, running them across the blond’s belly and through his seed. “Mine.”
Heart thrumming, his loafers froze to the pavement, curling his fingers into his hair. Draco Malfoy was fucking his. He promised, he swore- every single time, he promised and swore… only to leave Oliver behind in the end.
“Ye blocked yer Floo?”
Ollie watched Draco straighten and turn from his secretary’s desk – a stunning blonde in tight, red robes with large doe eyes, Oliver noted with a flare of irritation (and something akin to fear) – his lips set in a thin line.
“Oliver, what are you doing here?”
“I tried yer Floo last night,” Oliver replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “And ye didn’t respond to my owl-“
“Meet me in my office,” Draco interrupted, buttoning the top button of his jacket before facing the blonde twit. “I’ll be with you shortly.”
Being clearly dismissed didn’t sit right with Oliver, but he bit his tongue and maneuvered through the halls of Malfoy Enterprises, letting himself into Draco’s handsomely decorated office. As his eyes began to trace the familiar crown molding sitting flush against a cream-colored ceiling, the door opened, then slammed shut, a pair of heavy footsteps sounding toward the desk at the far wall.
“Oliver-“
“Are ye going to give me a reason-“
“I thought I was clear three weeks ago.“
He spun toward Draco, a brow high on his forehead. “Exactly when three weeks ago were ye supposed to be ‘clear’? During our after-match fuck in the showers or when ye screamed my name against the staircase banister?” Draco’s soft groan sounded strangled, which made Oliver’s lips twitch upwards as he continued, “It’s kind of hard to be ‘clear’ with my cock in yer mouth, Draco.“
“Fuck- Stop,” he said, gliding his fingers down the lapel of his suit jacket. “When I told you this-“ he gestured between them, “-couldn’t happen anymore. Oliver… you won’t stop owling me, even when I’ve told you work hours need to remain strictly work hours-”
Both brows then creased, and he took a step towards Draco. “I apologized-“
“-you were in my flat when I got home the other night-“
“I’m always in yer flat-“
“Not without me, and not without invitation! I’ve tried setting boundaries, but-“
Panic flared in Oliver’s gut. He closed the short distance between them, cupping Draco’s jaw in his palms. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just… wanted to be with ye. Is that so hard to believe? We have such a good thing-“
“Had a good thing. Until you started stalking me!” Draco ripped his face from Ollie’s hands and stepped backwards.
“Stalking- Draco! I don’t stalk ye!”
Draco held up a finger. “I get three, sometimes four owls from you every day-“ he held up a second, “-you show up at my place of business, even when I’m not here... Catherine told me-“
“Catherine? Who-“
“You’ve let yourself into my flat and have taken my personal belongings-“
“Only so ye can have them at my place! Ye’re there more often than ye’re not, I just thought-“
Draco shook his head and waved a hand to quiet him. “No, you’ve not been thinking … Pansy told me you were at the pub last Monday-“
“A bloke can’t have a drink?“
“-looking for me!” he shouted, pointing to himself, “I have my own life, Oliver. I have my own friends, my own career, my own flat… You’ve crossed lines-“
“I won’t, love,” Oliver crooned, reaching out a hand to palm Draco’s cheek once more. “I won’t, I promise. I care so very much. I want to be with ye… Remember how good we are together? How we fit just right-“ a swirl of hope twirled in his stomach when Draco’s breath stuttered from his mouth, then placed his other hand on the column of Draco’s neck, “-almost as if ye were made for me- how we were made for each other.”
A moan vibrated in his throat and Oliver stepped into him, elation soaring through his veins when he felt Draco’s stiff cock against his thigh. “How I take that tight arse of yers as mine… Mine, Draco. Ye’re mine-”
“I fucked Catherine…” The words were so faint, so hoarse with lust that Ollie almost didn’t hear them.
“What?”
Draco’s gaze bounced between his. “I fucked Catherine.”
His eyes rounded slightly, fingers tightening on Draco’s jaw. “Who is Catherine?”
“My secretary.”
Oliver’s head fell to the nape of his neck, and he let out a throaty, skeptical laugh. “That’s original… I bet she didn’t feel as good as I do. I bet she doesn’t take yer cock in her mouth the way I do or know just how many fingers yer arse needs. Tell me, did yer toes curl when ye sunk yer cock into her quim or were ye thinking of me the whole time?”
Ollie didn’t see where it came from, but suddenly Draco’s hand twisted in his shirt, dragging him in for a kiss. Ollie blinked, then again, stomach blooming as their chests met, as Draco’s hands dropped to Oliver’s trousers, fingers frantic on his belt buckle. Parting Draco’s lips with his, Oliver swept his tongue into the blond’s mouth, barely keeping a smile away when Draco quickly turned him and bent him over his desk, yanking his jeans to his knees.
“Isn’t this usually yer position?” Ollie tried hard to disguise the arousal in his voice, but failed, eyes falling shut at the familiar cool sensation of a Cleansing Charm. His prick stiffened when the clink of Draco’s belt buckle echoed in the room, the sound of the zip reverberating in his ears. With a snap of Draco’s fingers, Ollie’s hole was lubricated.
Fuck, he couldn’t wait.
It’d been way too long.
“Don’t care…” Draco finally managed as the tip of his cock breached that first ring of muscle, then slammed into him, the pain blinding for a moment before it gave way to pleasure.
It was rough and raw, both begging with every push, both groaning with each pull, and when Draco came in Oliver only minutes later, his legs trembling and sweat dripping down the side of Ollie’s neck, he finally replied in a coarse voice, “Her cunt was otherworldly. She took me so well, milking me as I came inside her… But you’re right. I was thinking of you. Do you want to know what I thought?”
Ollie lifted himself to his elbows, peering over his shoulder, watching as Draco withdrew from him, cock bouncing with the movement. He dragged his eyes to Draco’s, and with an arrogant smile tilting his lips, he nodded.
“I thought about how manipulative you are…”
Oliver opened his eyes, a wild scream on the tip of his tongue.
Manipulative?
Stalking?
No. He just… Why couldn’t Draco understand that he was all Ollie ever wanted? A life with him. A home. Perhaps a family someday. Instead, he’d left him behind and all it took was a measly handful of months before he was engaged to some journalist bitch.
No.
No!
Draco Malfoy was his.
Oliver turned on his heel, watching particulates swirl among the ether before he materialized inside a lavish sitting room.
“What the- Wood?”
Turning to his voice, longing flared as his eyes quickly flicked over him sitting on an antique leather sofa; he was so stunning, his heart ached. Draco’s hair was roguishly disheveled, his perfect skin on display as he’d only had a pair of grey joggers covering his bottom half. In front of him, two crystal tumblers on the coffee table, one with half a finger of liquor left in it. Ollie’s stomach knotted painfully, drinking in the rest of the scene: a set of heavy dragonskin robes draped haphazardly across the armchair, a matching pair of boots on the floor…
Pointing at the robes, the boots, an accusation was on Ollie’s tongue, but Draco quickly recovered from his shock, his astonishment morphing into rage. Standing, he pushed Oliver toward the Floo. “How did you get in here? I have wards-“
Swiping his hand harshly through the air, Ollie jammed his wand into Draco’s stomach and spat, “Petrificus Totalus!”
It hurt to watch Draco’s gorgeous eyes widen in surprise as his limbs snapped together, falling backwards onto the sofa. Oliver crouched next to Draco’s body and lifted a hand, running his fingers down the blond’s soft cheek. “Whose robes and boots are those?”
Draco’s gaze narrowed at him.
Oliver felt tears in his eyes, anger gritting his teeth. “I thought ye were engaged. The headlines have painted such a picture, Draco… But those boots aren’t a witch’s-” he inhaled deeply, a foreign masculine musk meeting his nose, “Ye don’t smell like a witch has lain with ye-” he curled his fingers around the base of Draco’s throat, continuing, “Witch or wizard, it doesn’t matter though, does it? …I’m not manipulative. I’m not a stalker. I…” he swallowed thickly, “Can’t ye see that I just wanted ye? Ye approached me that first night. That was ye. Ye! And now ye won’t finish what ye started!”
His heartbeat pounded in his ears, heat rushing through his body the longer he stared at the wizard beneath his hand. A creak of wood under weighty footsteps should have drew his attention, but he was too… too furious to look away, to focus on anything but Draco’s betrayal.
Ollie’s wand replaced his hand, finding its place beneath Draco’s jaw, a thrill shooting up his spine, relishing the fear that made Draco’s eyes go round. “I know… I know we’ve always walked a fragile line, but… this? Fucking witches and… and some random prick? Why?” Ollie barked a wet, bitter laugh, and pressed his wand deeper into Draco’s skin, “To make me jealous? Irate?” His wrath creased his brow and he stood slowly, aiming his wand directly between Draco’s eyes.
Was his name being called? Maybe, he thought, a familiar booming tenor making the hair on his arms stand on end.
No…
This- this was all that mattered.
Ollie shook his head, a hand swiping at the tears on his cheek. “Because it worked! Ye’re mine, Draco! Ye’ve said it over and over and over again… But- but if I can’t have ye... Avada-“
A flash of green was the last thing Ollie saw.
And the terrible silence was the last thing he’d heard.