Chapter Text
Harry was endlessly scrolling listings on eBay, of all places, when the ad popped up. He’d mentioned the auction site to Arthur in passing at the Burrow last Sunday and had been idly searching for something of interest to bid on, just to report back on how it all worked.
The popup was small, but immediately eye-catching. A young, gorgeous girl with her head thrown back in seeming ecstasy, one hand dipping between her legs, the other arm strategically covering her nipples and mashing her large breasts together at once. Harry leant a bit closer to the computer monitor.
Underneath the picture was an enticing description: “Why be alone tonight? Browse thousands of live cam girls and guys! Free webcam chat! Private cam shows and more.” A link below that, www.cumasyouare.net.
His arm seemed to move independent of free thought, his finger clicked the mouse, the site loaded. His eagerness was really to be excused: it’d been far too long since he’d been laid.
Harry and Ginny had tried to make a go of it, once the war had ended. It was what everyone expected to happen, even Harry himself. What he hadn’t expected was how unremarkable it felt.
The world was finally at peace. There was no longer a weight pressing down on the back of Harry’s neck. He could finally breathe again, or maybe, for the first time. And in the empty space that was, he felt nothing. Sure, he loved Gin, just like he loved Ron, and Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys. But laying pressed together in Ginny’s single childhood bed, it just didn’t feel right.
At first, he blamed it on the war, the fresh panic attacks, the gasping of air into his lungs as he bolted upright from another nightmare. As time stretched, as everyone began to put themselves back together, they both came to the realisation that theirs was an attraction born of desperation in the throes of war. They made better friends.
It had been awkward at first, but it had gotten better. Harry’d continued to show up for Sunday dinners, even though his cheeks burned with a shame he couldn’t quite name—other than the unfamiliar feeling of letting others down, of doing what he alone wanted.
In the two years since the war, he’d tried to date. Unfortunately, being Harry Potter meant that each and every encounter was a disaster on some level or another. His celebrity had only increased after Voldemort’s defeat, the papers rabid to report on his every move. He couldn’t take a pretty witch out to dinner without a paparazzi's flashbulb going off in his face, couldn’t even buy loo paper without an account of how many ply he preferred featuring in the Prophet the following day.
He began going out to Muggle bars, chatting up women who had no idea who stood before them. For a time that was a relief, but it grew hard, never being able to speak about a huge part of his life. He’d almost tripped up and broken the Statute of Secrecy twice in the past few months, so he’d sworn off Muggles indefinitely. Having sworn off witches before that, this relegated him to the loneliness of fucking his hand. While that took the edge off, he was definitely left wanting.
But this? Perhaps this was something that could help. Anonymity. A friendly face who had no idea who he was, a screen between them. A backspace key in the event he inevitably said the wrong thing. A plethora of shapes and sizes, of hair and skin and eye colours. And even, he thought with a sucked in breath, blokes.
His brain started to scramble, and he felt the edges of a panic attack coming on. He breathed out, breathed in more slowly, out again, just as his mind healer had taught him. He’d only gone a couple times, just after the war, but learning how to breathe properly had made such a difference.
He quickly filled out the entry portion, sparing no time to bother with a clever screen name, going with JustHarry2000. He left the credit card information section blank, skipped over the fine print, and clicked “yes” to indicate he was of age (in both the Wizarding and the Muggle worlds, thank you very much).
Profile sorted, he began to scroll, not unlike how he’d browsed eBay minutes before, cataloguing the small thumbnail shots and reading the descriptions of what was on offer. Hairy pussy! Shaved cunt! Pierced! Tattooed! Big boobies! Tiny titties! Girls who love cock! Guys who love dick!
Oh.
Harry had been noticing blokes for a while now, but he hadn’t looked too closely at it, as was kind of his way. Usually it wasn’t anything much: a nice smile, a well-muscled body kitted in exercise gear, all things that anyone would objectively find attractive. There was that shapely bum on the exercise-kit bloke, the tight spandex leaving little to the imagination. Not that he’d imagined anything, mind.
He’d thought perhaps noticing attractive men was a reaction to his extremely long dry spell. However, the half-hard length stiffening steadily in his trousers as he considered the button for “males only” said otherwise. Harry clicked, then swallowed, his gaze snagging on the words “Free show first 15 minutes! Cum on in!” The small profile thumbnail was of a slender male torso. The top of the photo cut off right under the chin, and in the bottom centre a hand wrapped around something blurred out.
Damn.
Without thinking about what he was doing, Harry’s arm moved, finger clicked. A new browser window snapped open.
Harry had been in a chat room before, right after he’d purchased the desktop computer and had the internet set up in his flat. He’d been curious and poked around late at night. He should have been sleeping, but the nightmares kept him up instead, glued to the screen. He’d never participated, just kept as quiet as a fly upon the wall, observing the interactions.
That was his plan now, if he even had one. He still wasn’t quite sure how he’d stumbled in here. He took stock quickly, orienting himself. The screen was cut in two, with a live video on the right-hand side and a mess of words on the left, seemingly refreshing over and over again as more and more people joined.
The computer began to ding, ding, ding, startling him each time a new user entered the chat. RandyRandy65. MrLoad4U. Steve7Dynomite. And on, and on. Harry stabbed the power button to his computer speakers, cutting the annoying sound off. He let out a breath, refocused himself.
The bloke in the video wore a pair of tiny, tight black underwear and a mesh crop top, a swath of creamy pale skin exposed between the two, stomach lean and lightly muscled. The camera was fixed on his torso, just like in the thumbnail, not showing his face. That was fine. If Harry was honest (and he wasn’t, really, but he was getting there), he hadn’t joined for a glimpse of the guy’s face.
The chat host leant over to do something just out of view. Black leather cuffs covered his lower arms from elbow to wrist. “Damion0506 (host) is typing” flashed in bold at the bottom of the scrolling chat section.
He had broad shoulders for how slim he was otherwise. Through the black mesh his chest looked hairless, so different from Harry’s own. The outline of a blue dragon tattoo could be seen over one pectoral. Okay, that was hot. And was that a wink of metal? Sweet Circe. Each nipple sported a small silver ring. Harry gulped. His dick twitched, already full and pulsing against the confines of his trousers. A moment later, a message:
Damion0506 (host): Alright my darlings, we’re about to get started!
Harry slouched in his seat, placed his hands on his thighs, tapped twice, rubbed them toward his knees, stopped. Held his breath, tried to relax. His heart was galloping.
Damion stepped back and struck a pose, his head finally coming into view. Harry’s eyebrows flew up. Hair, bleached so blond it was almost white, spiked into a tousled crown just above the man’s forehead. A black leather mask covered his eyebrows and nose, but did nothing to hide the silvery, flashing eyes that Harry would know anywhere. The lush mouth wasn’t currently set in a sneer, but Harry could imagine it without a second’s thought. The elegant face ended in a slightly pointed chin. Harry leant back, mind whirling. That was no bleach job. Merlin’s balls, what the fuck was Draco Malfoy doing on a Muggle pay-per-view site?
And when did he get so fucking fit?
Harry certainly didn’t want to examine that last thought any further, but thankfully didn’t have to, because the man’s mouth tipped up in a sexy smile and he began to move. Harry wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, staring. He knew he should close the browser window and step far, far away from this. Like, maybe finally go on holiday. Visit Neville and Luna in Scotland, or Charlie Weasley in Romania. They didn’t have the internet in a remote dragon sanctuary in Romania, right? Without access, he wouldn’t be tempted to continue watching this. Wait, was he tempted? He was certainly still watching.
Malfoy—because it was certainly Malfoy—shimmied his hips in those barely-there pants and threw his arms up above his head. Hip cocked, he slowly ran his hand down his temple, over his partially leather-covered cheek, stopping at his mouth. He licked, then sucked one digit back inside, eyes smouldering at the camera. Harry felt his face heat. He couldn’t believe he was still sitting here, observing Malfoy of all people doing this, and yet a team of Thestrals couldn’t have pulled him away.
Malfoy’s hands continued moving. One raked over his neck, trailed down and circled his pectoral, the fingers pinching through the fabric to take hold of the little metal ring and gently pull. A pale eyebrow raised above the dark leather of his mask as a slow smile spread over his sensual mouth. Lips stretching in a teasing grin, he dragged fingers over his taut belly and dipped a fingertip into the waistband of his pants. Poking the tip of his tongue to press against the side of his upper lip, he pulled the material away from his body, then let go with a snap.
Mocking a surprised expression, he twirled around and arched his back, then spanked his own arse. A zing went through Harry’s lower belly. He pressed the heel of one hand to trap his erection, his hips bucking up unbidden to meet the pressure. Damn. Okay. So, he was definitely interested in blokes. Good to know. But was he attracted to Malfoy, of all people? How could that be possible? He hated Malfoy. He always had done.
Images of Malfoy during sixth year suddenly crowded his mind: sneaking suspiciously from the Great Hall or from classrooms, darting into hallways and disappearing. Memories of watching his dot on the Marauder's map, wondering where he vanished to when his name mysteriously evaporated from the parchment, of Ron and Hermione’s exasperated faces when he speculated for the thousandth time what Malfoy might be up to. Malfoy had been up to something, after all. Harry was vindicated in his accusations in the end.
That’s all it was back then, surely, and his interest now was unquestionably only because he was so shocked to find Malfoy here. Clearly he was up to something again. Wasn’t he? Why else would he be here, doing this?
On screen, Malfoy was twirling, shaking his shapely arse. Gods, he was attractive. There was no denying it, now that Harry was looking. Malfoy snapped back up and away, spun around once more, cupped his bulge and winked slowly into the camera. The chat section was going mad.
BigWoody44: that is one fine ass!!!
Lemon_Dreamz: drop those, come on now
PieInTheSky: ohhh, yeahhhhh!
SixtyNine_DoingFine: take it off, baby!
FoxyLayDeeDi: I’d like to bite that arse
Malfoy smirked. There it was. No refuting it was him, no way. Leaning toward the camera again, he started typing.
Damion0506 (host): Did you want something, my darlings?
The camera angle was different this time, just a close-up shot of his shapely shoulders, the angular chin, the leering mouth. Harry noticed that his upper lip was slightly fuller than the bottom, which really did nothing to take away from the perfection of his face. Malfoy tilted the camera down slowly, creating a brand new visual experience, journeying over his chest and midsection to rest squarely upon his black-pants-encased package.
With barely a thought spared for what he was doing, Harry popped the top button on his jeans, breathing out shakily. Malfoy hooked his thumbs into his waistband on either side of his slender hips and slowly began to ease the fabric down. Harry popped two more buttons, snaked his hand inside his boxers and squeezed his cock. He was rock hard. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so turned on. Certainly not with the last Muggle girl he’d shagged after a drunken pub night, slinking out of her flat while she was sleeping. He shoved away the momentary stab of guilt—she hadn’t deserved that—and focused instead on the beautiful body that was being revealed, inch by pain-staking inch.
Harry was drooling, his mouth pooling with saliva. The man was a masterful teaser and he was fucking gorgeous. Harry could admit it. Gone was the waifish physique and gaunt, hollow-eyed visage from the end of the war. The last time Harry’d seen him was at his hearing, quiet and sullen and drawn into himself. He was currently almost unrecognisable from the boy he’d been, all supple movements and sexy confidence. But Harry would know Malfoy anywhere, in any setting. He really wasn’t sure what that meant, nor did he want to take the time to puzzle it out. Not right now.
As the tiny black pants slipped all the way down, a huge pink cockhead sprang out. Merlin, he was enormous! How did such a thin bloke have such a massive cock? Harry would never have imagined Malfoy was packing all that down there.
Harry was wanking in earnest now, squeezing tightly as his hand stroked down his length, twisting a bit on the slide up just the way he liked it.
He felt his bollocks draw up tight against his body, felt his arse muscles clench. He blinked, breathing heavily, overwhelmed by the sensation, the dawning realisation of what this all meant. Blokes. Malfoy. Ugh.
As his hand sped faster, he returned his gaze to the screen and his mouth dropped open. The videofeed had frozen on a frame of Malfoy taking himself in hand, a bar popped up to block out most of the view, a message stating “Free 15-minute show over. Only paid users admitted. Enter credit card details now to join again. £1.99 per minute. Click here!”
A momentary jolt of dismay lanced through him, yet his hand did not slow. The chat was going absolutely feral now, messages rolling as they all typed at the same time. How were they typing at the same time…? Maybe they weren’t touching themselves… Harry couldn’t imagine not touching himself right this minute. This was singularly the most erotic moment of his life. Which was completely fucking barmy because he was alone, in his cold empty flat, wanking like a teenager with a crush.
He wished he could see what Malfoy was doing right now. If the other chatters were to be believed, Malfoy was putting on an incredible show. Harry’s mind stuttered. Should he Accio his wallet and upgrade his account? However, the decision was made for him, because with a shout of surprise, he pumped once, twice more and shot come all over his keyboard.
Harry saw stars. His teeth gritted together, his jaw close to aching. Pleasure flowed through him, warm and tingling. Gods, that had felt amazing. Fuck. It really had been a while since he’d been with anyone else, and apparently wanking to live-action Malfoy was much hotter than simply fucking his own hand. His cheeks burned as he caught sight of the spunk cooling on the keys. He cast a quick Scourgify and stood, buttoning up his trousers.