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Title: Sex, Lies, and Veritaserum
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warnings: dirty talk, fingering, anal sex, with mention/discussion of dominance, submission, felching, object insertion, food porn, exhibitionism, spanking, cross-dressing, and, I don’t know, throw in like a consensual orgy
Summary: This entire fic is one long conversation about sex.
A/N: -Thanks ever so to [livejournal.com profile] hereticalvision for the Brit pick and SPAG; all mistakes are mine

-There is potential gross-out; heed the warnings

-For me, this is a little like showing some sex toys I like. If you're here for the Schopenhauer come back next week.

Sex, Lies, and Veritaserum

Harry and Draco had been married almost a year when Draco said, “I’ve put Veritaserum in the wine.”

They’d had a nice meal. Afterwards, Draco had insisted on night flying. Back at the flat, winded and slightly reddened by the cold air, he had suggested wine. He had been distracted all evening, Harry had noticed. Slightly distant, in that Draco way, but also agitated. From time to time his eyes had come to rest on Harry and he looked almost . . . longing, but when Harry caught him looking, he’d steadfastly turned away. Probably looking forward to the great sex they were going to have, Harry had concluded. It was getting late.

Now that Harry thought about it, Draco had seemed distracted for more than just tonight. The last several weeks had seemed strange.

Harry put down his glass. He hadn’t drunk any yet. “Why . . .” he began, and stopped to watch Draco, who was taking a rather long sip from his own glass. “Why?” he settled on.

“So we can talk.”

“We can always talk.” Harry pressed a hand to his temple. “If you wanted to dose me with Veritaserum, why would you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to dose you. I want you to dose yourself.”

Harry felt like rubbing both temples now. Instead he closed his eyes, and opened them. Draco was still lounged on the couch, drinking his wine. “I’ve never lied to you, Draco.”

“I didn’t say you had.”

Harry glanced at the wine. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Sex.”

Dismayed, Harry said, “Why would I need Veritaserum to talk to you about sex?”

“In order to have an honest discussion.”

“I told you; I’ve never—”

“I have.”

Harry gaped. “You’ve lied to me about—” His eyes went to Draco’s glass. “You’ve dosed yourself?”

“Yes. I may lie, but when I lie about sex it’s because I’m ashamed. I wouldn’t—” Draco looked down at the wine. “I hate Veritaserum,” he added, and drank the rest of the glass down.

Harry felt as though the ground was being taken from under him. “Ashamed?” he repeated.

“That’s why I need the Veritaserum.”

“What are you ashamed of?”

“The things I want you to do to me.”

Harry’s palms were suddenly sweaty. He licked dry lips. “What sorts of things?”

“The things I can’t ask for. I—I’m probably going to need more.” Draco started to get up.

Harry put a hand on his shoulder, pressing him back down. He took Draco’s glass. “Only you could talk circles around Veritaserum.”

“I want to be straight forward. It’s very hard for me, Harry.”

Hearing Draco so earnestly admit to a weakness made Harry’s heart twist hard inside his chest. “Are you sure you want to do it?”

Draco held his eyes. “Yes.”

“I’ll get you more.” Harry went and poured another glass.

As soon as Harry put the glass back into his hand, Draco took another sip.

Harry very carefully tried to think of a question Draco couldn’t get around. “What things can’t you ask for, that you’re ashamed of, that made it so you wanted to take the Veritaserum?”

“I’d like to be your slut,” Draco said promptly, and just as promptly looked utterly mortified.

Harry caught his breath. “Draco . . .”

“I feel sick.”

“Shit,” said Harry, and took away Draco’s glass away. “How much Veritaserum did you put in it?” Harry tried to feel his forehead, and Draco batted away his hand.

“Not enough to make me ill.”

“But you’re—you don’t look well.”

“I told you,” Draco said, and really did not look well at all, “I’m ashamed. Give me back my glass.” Harry kept it, which made Draco roll his eyes. “I know my potions, and I’m under Veritaserum. Give it to me.”

“It’s not going to make you any less sick.”

“Yes, but too much makes me babble.”

“Too much can kill you.”

“Please give it to me, Harry. This is hard enough as it is.”

Reluctantly, Harry gave it to him. Draco took a big gulp. Harry had never seen Draco drink wine that way; usually he was such a connoisseur. “Why do you want to babble?”

“You might not ask the right questions.”

“What question do you want me to ask?”

Draco closed his eyes. Harry could see him fighting the Veritaserum, which was ridiculous, considering that he was fighting it at the same time as he was drinking it. Draco’s eyes finally popped open. They were so dark they looked almost black. “Ask me how I want to be your slut.”

“Er,” said Harry.

“I said you should have some too.”

“Why?”

“Because you want me to be your slut.”

“Er,” Harry said again. “You rather like that word.”

“I love it.” Draco took another long draught of the wine.

“I don’t . . .” Harry began, and then realized he was going to lie. That meant he would have lied twice—once about not lying, and once about not wanting Draco Malfoy to be his slut. Oh God. Draco was right; he should have some of the wine. Instead, he said, “How would you like to—how?”

“Good. Yes. Harry, I would like to be on my knees for you. I want to be wet for you. I want to be ready for you. All the time.”

“I . . .”

“Have some of the wine, Harry. You want to use me. You want to fuck me any way you please, and for me to like it. I know it. I see it in your eyes sometimes.”

“No. You don’t.”

“I do. I’m on Veritaserum, remember?”

“Then you’re not . . .” Harry trailed off again.

“Have some of the wine.”

“You . . .” Harry shook his head. “Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

“I think it’s weak. And humiliating. And debasing.” Malfoy put his head to one side. “And I think it feminizes me, even if females don’t necessarily act that way. I’m sure some do, but it’s not as if—It does make me babble. I hate myself for wanting this.”

“Then why are you telling me?”

“Because I still want it. And you’re the only one who can do it for me.”

“No.” Harry was slowly shaking his head. “No, I can’t.”

“Oh, God, Harry. You have—have—” He could not say Harry had to, because Harry didn’t have to. “I need—” Draco had to change that too. He closed his eyes. “I want you to. Very badly.”

“Draco,” Harry said gently. “Don’t you see? If you hate yourself for it—”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Veritaserum.”

“But you have no way of knowing—”

“I’ve thought about it. I have a plan.”

Malfoy’s face was tinged pink, his eyes so bright. He looked so nervous and eager and hopeful, Harry felt awful. “What?”

“We don’t speak of it,” Malfoy said rapidly. “We have a method to designate it from the rest of our lives, keeping it completely separate. Within the perimeter of that method, we can behave in certain ways that . . . suit us, but outside that perimeter, we don’t even have to consider it.”

“Do you even hear what you’re saying?”

“Utter sense?”

“You want us to do something we can’t even face.”

Draco closed his eyes again. “Not everything you desire has to survive the light of day.”

“It does. Or else I—I couldn’t live with myself.”

“Harry.” Draco’s eyes slid down. His eyelashes were silver, and the light of the lamp by the table caught in his hair. “You said you wouldn’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

Draco stood up. He was all lanky bones and pointed angles, yet somehow he moved gracefully. He came to stand in front of Harry, and then got down on his knees. They had been in this position plenty of times before, but never had it made Harry quite so uncomfortable. Draco leaned in, his voice at Harry’s ear.

“I’m saying that I want you to plug me up. All day. So that any time you like, you can simply pull it out and fuck me. I’ll be so wet and stretched and wanting you, so ready, just like a cunt. Harry, just like the cunt I am.”

Draco’s lips drifted across Harry’s throat, breath trailing until Draco moved his mouth to Harry’s other ear. “I’m saying I want a fake cock forced down my throat while you fuck me from behind, and I’ve already been fucked so hard that come is leaking down my thighs. I want you to lick me out afterwards, just like it was a pussy, and the whole time you’re not even touching my cock because it’s not worth your time.”

Then Draco’s hand was on Harry’s cock, which had been hard ever since he first said the word slut. “I want you to ram this down my throat until I choke,” Draco whispered, “and to keep fucking my throat raw with it while my arse is full of thick, long toys. I want us to pretend we’re doing it in public—I want to do it in public, Harry, just so long as I never have to admit it, in a seedy toilet, in a bar—just so I can think about how everyone is seeing how much I like it up the arse, how much I love you big thick cock, so I can think about everyone seeing I’m such a dirty, filthy fucking whore. Are you telling me you don’t want those things?”

And then Draco sat back on his heels and waited.

Harry was shaking all over. He was thinking that he had two choices at this point. One was to leave Draco right now, because now that it had been said, Harry could never forget that that was what he wanted. Harry made the other choice. “I’ll have some wine,” he whispered.

“Good,” said Draco. The words he had said had made him quite pale, but now his mouth showed the ghost of a smile.

Harry poured himself a glass, and took a sip. Then he looked at Draco, who was still kneeling on the floor, looking up at him with his odd little smile in his haunted face. Harry downed the whole glass. “Yes,” he said finally, and put down the glass. “I want it.”

The smile deepened. “I told you.”

“Oh, God. This is awful.”

Something wiped clean in Draco’s face. He stood up, turning away. Harry had known Draco long enough to know that he was pulling on a mask. Normally, anything he could say from this point on would on fall on flat features, a cool tone of voice, with eyes staring at him as though through tiny holes, revealing nothing. But this time Draco was on Veritaserum.

Harry didn’t like taking advantage of others, but he was only human. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Draco whirled around. “I’ve revealed to you something I’ve always believed to be ‘awful’. Then I began a relationship with you, and you’ve been teaching me to accept myself, and—I hate Veritaserum—”

He looked more ill than before in response to the things the serum was making him say, and Harry couldn’t stand it. He tried to take Draco’s hand, but Draco recoiled. “I’m sorry,” said Harry.

“Now I’ve finally worked up the courage to face this part of myself and you—you—”

Harry was an idiot, was what he was. He spread his hands, wanting to explain, and hoping that the Veritaserum would help him along. “You may have spent all this time accepting this part of yourself, but it’s something I . . . I’ve never faced it in myself. I never thought to face it.”

Draco sneered. “Have you thought about facing it now?”

Now Harry felt ill. “Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Shock registered in Draco’s face. “I didn’t think of that,” he said, obviously not meaning to say it.

Harry waited. “You didn’t think of what?” he asked finally.

Draco looked down. “I didn’t think you hadn’t accepted it about yourself. You’re always . . . you’re so . . .” He wasn’t fighting the Veritaserum this time, but instead searching for words. “You’re so bloody confident.”

Harry shook his head. “I’m not. Trust me, I’m not.”

Draco looked up, teeth tugging on his lower lip. “Then . . . then maybe it’s a bad idea.”

He meant the part about him being on his knees all the time and shoving dildos down his throat and being fucked in the men’s.

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea,” Harry said, without thinking about it. It wasn’t true; he thought it was a really bad idea, especially the part about the men’s. But obviously, it was true; some part of himself must think it was a really excellent idea.

“But if you’re not confident, you can’t . . . . What I want requires . . . .” Draco bit his lip and looked away again. “I don’t think I could act that way if you weren’t perfectly sure of everything.”

“Why not?”

“The moment you needed reassurance, I would tell you it wasn’t on. Even if I desperately wanted it.”

Harry thought about it a while. “You can admit to the things you want under Veritaserum.”

“But then I . . .” Draco wrapped his arms around himself, sucking in a breath. “If I had to say what I wanted on Veritaserum every time, first of all you would have to force feed me the Veritaserum. I wouldn’t take it willingly; it was hard enough to do it just this once.” At last, he looked at Harry. “I don’t think you would like that.”

Harry opened his mouth and spoke, just to check. “No.” Good old Veritaserum. “And secondly?”

“Secondly.” Draco’s eyes fixed onto a point behind Harry in the room. “Secondly, I don’t want to ask. I don’t want to hear myself asking. I don’t want to have to face the fact of what I want every time. I want to tell myself I do the things you ask because I have to obey you, and not for any other reason.”

“That means that I’m the one who has to face the fact of what I want every time,” Harry pointed out.

“Yes.” There were unhappy lines beside Draco’s mouth. “I guess I still expect you to be the strong one.”

“Is that what you think?” Harry came closer. “You think I’m the strong one?”

“You’ve always been strong, Harry.”

Coming closer, Harry put his hand on Draco’s shoulder. “I couldn’t be the man I am without you.”

“I should have you take Veritaserum more often,” Draco said lightly. His tone was ironic, but he looked both grateful, and a little sad.

Harry was thinking hard. “There should be a way.”

“I’ll put it in your creamer,” Draco suggested.

“No.” Harry’s hand came off Draco’s shoulder. He was thinking hard, dealing with the inner resistance. This was hard for both of them, both of them disgusted with themselves in different ways. Somehow, that didn’t seem right. It was together that they were strong. That was why he’d married Draco. “If we both want to do those things you said, we should be able to,” he said. “I should be able to do it for you.”

Draco turned away, his neck angled. “Put that way, it sounds unfair.”

“You don’t want it to be unfair?”

Draco flinched. “I may want to get tossed about, and fucked hard like a whore, and be used by you as though I was nothing more than an object for your pleasure, but I—I always thought that we were equals, Harry. I know that you don’t—”

Harry closed the distance between them. “I thought that maybe you thought we weren’t,” he said. “We are. We’re equals. You’re as strong as I am. Sometimes I think stronger.”

Draco’s breath was against his skin. He subtly shifted his hips. “We could start now.”

“No.”

Draco let him go, and the disappointment was palpable. “I thought,” he began, and stopped himself.

“I said we should be able to,” Harry said, somehow less able to soften the correction under Veritaserum. “I mean, I think we can, if I just . . .” He thought about it some more. “What if you tell me what you want right now?” Harry suggested.

Draco gave him a look. “I think I’ve made it fairly clear what I want.”

“No. I mean, what if you tell me what you want—everything you want—right now. Tell me everything. Everything you’ve ever imagined, every fantasy; we’ll dose up on Veritaserum. You may not have liked having to do it, but you’ve come this far; you could just keep going, and tell me, and then later, when it wears off, I could—we could—”

Draco swallowed hard. “That might work.”

“Yeah?” said Harry, trying not to sound too eager.

“Yes, but if . . .” Draco appeared to be thinking about it. “I wouldn’t like you to remind me that I’ve told you I wanted these things. You would just do them, and act like you didn’t care if I wanted them or now.” He dropped his eyes. “I would never know what was coming.”

Harry caught his breath.

“Can you do it?” Draco’s voice was low.

“I might be able to, if . . .” Harry found himself pausing in the same way Draco had. The Veritaserum was making them answer carefully. Meanwhile Draco was starting to look dreamy. “I would like to set the guidelines first.”

“Hmm? Guidelines?”

“Yes, guidelines. You said we could have guidelines.”

“What? Oh. My brilliant plan. I don’t want this all the time.” Draco cocked his head. “Do you?”

Normally, Harry would have given it some thought. When Draco snapped into focus like that, like a bird or a lizard deciding whether it wanted to eat you up, it meant you really better think about your answers. But Harry was on Veritaserum, and couldn’t answer any other way. “No,” he said, which was a relief, because he hadn’t thought he wanted Draco as—what was it?—a personal sex slave at all times. But wanting Draco at all as a—a sex servant, that was nicer (slut, Draco’s voice whispered)—had been a bit of a surprise to him.

As he had told Draco, he had known it, but—well, everyone had crazy sex fantasies, right? Ginny had even once told him she had fantasies about getting raped, and he knew for damn well certain she didn’t want to be raped, and she knew it too. Harry had just never been as honest to her as she was to him, and he had never thought any crazy fantasies one might have could ever actually be acted upon. He had equated all of them to that kind of terrible violence, when what Draco seemed to be talking about actually wasn’t that way at all.

“Sometimes I would still like you on your knees,” Draco said, “all slicked up for me and begging for me to fuck you; I love the way you hold me when we fuck and make me feel like—Veritaserum can also be very distracting,” he finished contemplatively.

“Yeah,” said Harry, and resisted the urge to adjust the ache in his trousers. “I’ve noticed that.”

Draco nodded. “Anyway, I still want that. And I don’t want you to control my daily life or routines.” He tilted his head to one side. “Though it would be interesting if you sometimes made demands that affected my daily life and routines.”

“Okay,” said Harry. “But you mentioned . . . Draco, I just can’t do this if I don’t know when you want it. There has to be some kind of off-switch.”

“Safe word,” corrected Draco.

“What?”

“I’ve been researching.”

“Researching?”

Draco looked smug. “It’s a way I can say no or stop, without having to say no or stop. I mean, if I say no or stop, then you can keep going. But if I say the safe word, you know I really don’t want it.”

“Good,” said Harry, relieved. “I want that.”

Frowning, Draco said, “I’m just worried I’ll say it all the time because I know I can.”

Harry was beginning to get annoyed. “I’m going to be doing stuff that’s hard for me. You have to do something that’s hard for you.”

Draco looked at that spot on the wall again. “I don’t want it to be hard for you, though. I thought it wouldn’t be. I thought that you could just come in, and be so powerful and in control and confident—you know the way you sometimes get, and I would just have to do whatever you said because you’re so—when you get like that, you’re just so—”

Harry lifted his brows.

Draco took a quick breath. “You make me want to lie back and get fucked like the worst kind of whore, when you’re like that,” he muttered.

Harry wanted to lay him back right then. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest, and proceeded to draw on the armour that apparently got Draco so hot and bothered, though Harry had never known that. Draco always made fun of him, the way Harry’s voice got flat and hard, the way his face went smooth, the way that all of him went still, except for a hand that occasionally twitched by his side. It was always, “Mr. Mood” or “God, Harry, take a potion” or “Mean Old Auror,” with Draco, never, “so hot you make me want to be your whore.” God, Draco was such a little liar.

Of course, this was not power or confidence at all. This was what Harry had to do when he was afraid. He had learned it, once, when the Snitch had told him he was going to die. He had obediently walked into the forest to do so.

Harry made the decision, then. He could do this. He wanted to do this for both of them. He could do this if Draco had overcome his own fears this much, and would continue to fight against them.

He looked Draco over. Draco shuddered. “Let’s put it this way,” Harry said coldly. “You’ll never know it looks hard for me. You’ll never even suspect. You’ll think it’s all so perfectly easy.” He paused. “Is that what you want?”

Mutely, Draco nodded. His eyes slid to the floor. He trembled, just a little. “I didn’t know,” he said, because even if he hadn’t been able to read Harry when he was this way before, he knew exactly what Harry was saying now. “I thought you were just—braver than me.”

Harry laughed, strangely harsh. “I’m in Gryffindor because I’m supposed to be brave, but the things I did—they were often not about that at all. They were about survival.”

Draco looked up. “Then you should have been in Slytherin.”

“Maybe.” Harry’s voice was still flat, giving nothing. “Will it work for you, if you know that—” now that he had begun the sentence, Harry couldn’t stop; Veritaserum made it so hard. When he was in this kind of mood, he realized, he usually lied.

He wondered if this was something he should have kept from Draco, after all. Then they could have done what Draco wanted, yet a part of him was glad. He wanted it out in the open; this should be honest, at least. Here it came: “If you know that I’m afraid?”

Draco was silent for a moment. Then at last he came closer, touching Harry’s elbow. Somehow that seemed sweet, and Harry looked up. “I prefer to know,” said Draco. “I do love you, Harry.”

The world went very silent.

Draco coughed. “Veritaserum is so much fun?” he said

Harry just smirked. “Did you forget why we got married?”

“I remembered.”

Harry’s eyes got heated, looking Draco over again. “Why did you marry me?”

“I love you,” Draco said, frowning.

“What was that, again?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I love you.”

“I didn’t hear you. What did you say?”

“I love you.”

“Was there any other reason you married me?”

A flush was beginning on Draco’s cheeks. “I adore you, Harry, don’t be a ponce.”

“Were there other reasons besides those?”

“I want to be with you always, this isn’t fair.”

“And any other reasons?”

“You’re my whole world, please stop.”

“Honey,” said Harry, in that same cool, steady voice, “I can go all night.”

Draco shivered, whether in response to the tone or the threat, Harry couldn’t tell.

Harry slowly raised his brows again. “But not tonight. Tonight, you’re going to tell me every sordid way one fucks a whore.”

Draco shivered again. “God, yes.”

Harry relaxed a little, taking Draco’s wrist. “Then we’ve got to pick the safeword,” he said, in a lighter voice. “And you’ve got to promise me you’ll use it.”

Biting his lip, Draco nodded. At last, he shook himself too, sighed, and sat down. “I was thinking of something different.”

“Such as?”

“What if there was something like a signal in a room? If it was turned one way—green, for instance—then you would know you could . . . do whatever you like. If it was turned the other way, you could—well, you could do whatever you like, except for these things we’ve mentioned.”

“Why not just a safeword?”

“Because if you wanted to . . .” Draco twisted his hands, and then made himself stop doing it. “If you wanted to do something like get home from work, and order me to be on my knees for you for the rest of the night—” The blood was never, ever going to leave Harry’s crotch this way—“and I had to use my safeword, because I didn’t feel like it then, I would feel more like I could do it whenever I wanted. But if the signal was turned to green, then you would just—you would know what you could or couldn’t do.”

Harry thought about it. “And if I came home from work, and tried to do that, and you told me the safeword, it might make me self-conscious. I might not feel alright asking for something like that again.”

Draco gave him a look. “You haven’t asked for that once,” he pointed out.

“I mean in theory,” Harry said absently, still thinking.

Draco sighed. “I wouldn’t like it anyway. I would always be able to see the signal, and I would know, and I’d—I’d always be switching it to red just because leaving it to green would make me feel like—like—”

“Like you wanted it,” Harry finished for him.

“Which I do,” Draco concluded. He looked miserable.

Harry would have done just about anything to get that look off his face. “What about a spell?” he asked. “It’s a spell coded just to me, that’s difficult enough that you can’t just—just do it accidentally, but easy enough that if we’re . . . well, if we’re in the middle of something, you could cast it and I would know.”

Draco chewed on his lips. “You mean a spell that lasts as long as I want it to, but only you can feel. And you know that if I take it off, I’m—I’m fair game.”

“I was thinking the other way around. When it’s on me, I know that—that you want me to do something. When you take it off, I know you want things to be normal.”

Draco shook his head. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. “It’s easier for me to tell you to stop than to tell you to go. Besides I . . . I’d like to leave it on a lot.”

“You mean, you want us to . . .” Harry searched for a way to say it. “You want us to play the game a lot?”

Draco’s nose wrinkled at Harry’s choice of words. He was still chewing his lip, not looking at Harry. “I want the option to be open a lot. So you have to decide. So you can just—whenever you want me to. Whenever you—God.” Finally, he lifted his eyes. “Who would have thought it’d take so much manoeuvring, just to be your fuck toy?”

Had this conversation been going any other way, the idea of Draco being his fuck toy would have sent blood straight to Harry’s cock. Instead, he thought he might be getting a migraine. He looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“Harry—no.” Draco quickly took his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that. This is—this is good. It’s so good.”

Harry looked up. “Why?”

“The way you’re saying these things, helping me plan it all out. It’s going to be even better than I thought. Because we’re both going to want it, and I’ll have ways to say—to say what I want, but they’re ways that I can face. I want it so badly, but this is—I need this. It’s so good. But it’s really hard.”

“Veritaserum does make you babble.” Harry turned over Draco’s hands, running a finger along the palm, up the arm. Up to Draco’s Dark Mark. “Alright. You leave a spell on me whenever you don’t want to play the game, and you leave it on until you want to play again. Then you take it off. Whenever it’s off, I can tell you what to do, and we’re playing the game. It’s an easy spell, and one that only I can feel. Is that good?”

“Yes,” Draco breathed.

Harry traced the raised skin of the scar. “The spell is something you learn to do wandless, so that if I—if I take away your wand, you’ll always have a way to do it, either by an incantation or a motion.” Harry paused. “And there’s a back-up spell in case something goes wrong.”

Draco nodded.

“Okay,” said Harry. “Before you tell me anything, here are the things I know that I can’t do.”

Draco closed his eyes. “Please don’t say the public toilet thing. I really, really want it. Harry, I want it to be filthy.”

Harry’s hand paused, tracing the scar. “I won’t say the public toilet thing. I’m not sure about that, but there are some things . . . there are things I need to think about. There are probably things I need to work up to.”

Draco shuddered.

“And maybe there are things we can work on together.”

Draco opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head.

“I think we can,” said Harry, still tracing the Mark. “The things I’m going to tell you are the things I absolutely, positively, can never do.”

“Alright,” said Draco, and gulped.

“I can’t do anything that will permanently damage you,” said Harry. Draco ducked his head, and after a moment nodded. Harry guessed it was reasonable. It seemed bloody reasonable to him. “I can’t see you in pain for an extended period of time.”

Draco looked up, opened his mouth. He closed it. Swallowed. “What about painfully turned on for a long period of time?”

A part of Harry’s brain could not believe they were having this conversation at all. The rest of Harry’s brain was somewhere down at his cock, having a field day. Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them, letting the Veritaserum once again speak for him. “If the pain is caused just by your arousal, I could stand it. If you’re tied too tight or—” He really actually couldn’t believe the words that were going to come out of his mouth—“stretched too wide and it’s causing you physical pain—”

“What about discomfort? Can you do discomfort?”

Draco seemed vaguely eager at the idea of discomfort, which should have been more disturbing, but in light of this whole conversation, it really wasn’t. “Yes,” said Harry, having to take a deep breath again. “I can do discomfort. I can’t take—I can’t take the idea of you being tortured.”

Slowly, Draco’s mouth was being replaced by a wolfish grin. “I don’t think I like extreme pain.”

“You don’t?” said Harry, relieved.

Draco shrugged. “I must not. I’m on Veritaserum. In fact,” he cocked his head to one side, “I don’t like the idea of anything that breaks the skin, except for a very little biting, and maybe if there’s—if there’s a . . . a crop involved, but then only a finite number of lashes, and if it did break my skin, the first time it did you would put it away. And lick me,” he added, then cast his eyes ceiling-ward. “Ta, Veritaserum.”

Harry let out his breath in relief.

“What else can’t you do?” Draco asked.

Harry didn’t have to think too hard about what his objections were. As soon as he went to answer, Veritaserum made him do it honestly. “I’m never, ever going to let anything be put inside you without lube, oil, or something just as greasy and slippery.” But Harry had to say, that one sort of startled him. It seemed quite nit-picky, when you thought about it.

Draco was half smirking at him. “Really, Harry. I didn’t know that about you,” he said, coolly.

Draco was laughing because Harry had always been insistent on it. It was not as if Draco was always trying to shag without it, but it was definitely the case that he had wanted to once or twice and Harry had absolutely refused. It went both ways—he’d refused to let Draco do it to him and refused to do it to Draco. Draco hadn’t minded, saying only, “Spit is absolutely, positively not lubricant; it’s awful.” Harry knew just enough about Draco’s past lovers to know he didn’t really want to hear more about it, and after those two times, Draco had never suggested it again. And conveniently, never run out of lube.

Draco’s mouth was twitching now, on the verge of the wolfish grin again. “Tell us something we don’t know,” he told Harry.

Harry opened his mouth. He thought he was going to say things about involving other people, and he didn’t know, bondage or anyone calling him “Master” and things like that, but no sound was coming out of his mouth. He shut it again.

So, he realized, that was all he had been absolutely set against: hurting Draco. And not having lube. Harry was fairly surprised to realize that this was so. Yes, he was concerned about all the rest. In fact, he was terrified: what if he humiliated Draco—actually humiliated him, deep down, in some kind of irrevocable way; what if Harry liked it? What if Draco wanted to stop and Harry couldn’t; what if Harry wanted to stop and Draco couldn’t; what if—what if—what if? This was really petty: what if Draco laughed at him?

But Harry realized he could face all that. If he knew he would never hurt Draco, he could be careful about all the rest. He trusted Draco enough, and he trusted their relationship enough, that they could work this out. “That’s it,” said Harry.

Draco’s eyes went wide again. “Really?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “I thought there was more, but—but that’s all. There might be some I haven’t thought of. If there’s something else I think of, I’ll let you know.” He shrugged. “But what it really boils down to is I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh, Harry,” said Draco, and lunged. He was kissing Harry, and Harry had been hard on and off for so long in the past half hour that it was difficult to concentrate. Draco was the way he was when he got excited, all warm squirming happiness—sort of like a puppy. When Harry had mentioned that, once, Draco had become extremely unhappy, and rather pointy. Sort of like a porcupine. But Draco was happy now and his mouth was wet and his nose was cold and he was everywhere, hot on Harry’s skin.

Harry pushed him away. “We’ve still got to talk,” said Harry.

“Bugger talking. Let’s have lots and lots of love-making.” Stricken, Draco pulled the rest of the way away from Harry. “I’m disgusted that I just said love-making.”

“Hm,” said Harry, and looked at Draco with half-lidded eyes. “Veritaserum makes you tell the truth, you know.”

“Ugh. But honestly, Harry, now that you’ve been so brilliant and everything, I just want lots and lots of—”

“Equality?” Harry said innocently.

“I was going to say your arse,” said Draco in disappointment, “but yes, that too.”

“That’s too bad.” Harry shook back the hair from his eyes. “Because if we instate this regime, I reserve the right to dose you with Veritaserum whenever the light is green.”

Draco went pale. “Harry,” he began, and stopped.

“I won’t use it very often.” Harry was not using a gentle voice. He was using one of the tones from work, when he was dealing with a dark wizard and knew exactly what he was doing, because maybe Draco liked that too. Maybe Draco needed that just now. “Hardly ever. I told you earlier, you were right: the idea of forcing Veritaserum down you or tricking you into drinking it doesn’t appeal to me.”

“Why then?”

“Imagine this, Draco: I’ve fucked you six ways to Sunday. I’ve used you as my own personal fuck toy. I stuffed you full of fake cock and I’ve made you walk around in it all day. I’ve . . . I’ve made you lick up come I fucked into your own arse, and I’ve made you say you like it; I’ve made you—made you lie on the table while I eat dinner off your arse. And now I’m fresh out of ideas; I’ve no idea if you’ve enjoyed any of it. I’d be afraid; I’d hesitate to keep it going. Say it’s two months from now. I’d want to have a conversation just like this again, so I can know what you want, and make sure that honestly, you still want it.”

Draco’s eyes were wide and his thin chest was heaving. “I’ve never—I’ve never thought of that, of you having dinner off my arse. That’s—that’s brilliant.”

“We need to be able to talk about it from time to time.”

“Never talk about that one, Harry. Just do it. Get me naked, lie me down, make me be your table. Just use your knife and fork and eat—eat curry off of my arse, and—and—cutting lamb on my arse cheeks; do you even realize . . .” Draco usually sort of got this way when he hyperventilated, which was not often, but it did happen, sometimes.

Harry took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll do it only if you focus, Draco.”

“Yes.” Draco was completely distracted. “I’m focused. I’m perfectly focused. I’ll do anything. What’s the question?”

“Can I dose you with Veritaserum when the light is green?”

“Yes. When you eat off my arse, Harry, act like it’s the most normal thing. Like I’m just a . . . I’m your plate. And I’ll be such a good plate, Harry; I’m going to be the best plate, and afterwards you’ll . . . you’ll clean it, eat out of my arse, Harry, and then you’ll—you’ll just leave me there, because I’m just a . . . just a table for you and—” Abruptly, with what looked like a physical jolt, Draco cut himself off. He put his head in his hands. “Will you listen to me? I sound like such a mental case.”

Harry didn’t know what to do. “If you’re not a good plate, I’ll punish you,” he suggested, because it seemed to be the kind of domineering thing that Draco wanted.

“No, no no, that’s all wrong.” Draco pulled his hand through his hair and did not look up. “You can’t do it that way. Not to comfort me. You’ve got to think only of yourself.” He turned up tired looking eyes to Harry. “Maybe this won’t work.”

“Because I need to be able to talk to you?”

“Because I’m a mental case, and apparently want you to treat me like utter shite! Of course you want to talk to me about it.” Draco was really agitated. “I should want to talk about it. Instead I’m getting so side-tracked by the thought of being dishware that I don’t want to have to even think.”

“But you don’t always want to be dishware,” Harry pointed out. “Most of the time you command a lot of respect, in fact.”

“I want that too. I need it. I crave respect; I—” Draco closed his eyes desperately. “Why are there two separate parts to me that want such different things?”

Oh. Two separate parts.

Like the part of Harry that had walked into the forest to save the world.

And the part of Harry that thought the world should just fuck off and die in a fire, already.

Those two parts. Harry thought that he knew what Draco meant. “I think it’s going to work,” said Harry. “I’m going to fetch you water. You drank that wine too fast.” He stood up. “Where have you been keeping the Veritaserum?”

“In the cupboard.” Draco looked up at him. “Why do you think it will work?”

Harry didn’t really know, but the Veritaserum compelled him to make an answer: the most truthful one possible. He shrugged. “I respect you enough to treat you like a dinner plate.”

Draco just stared at him. “I’ll get it,” he said, and went with Harry to the kitchen.

Draco opened the cupboard, moving a package of biscuits, the flour, and a big jar, and brought out a slender vial from a stand of slender vials.

“I don’t think mine is worn off yet,” said Harry.

“My name is . . . Draco Malfoy.” Draco shrugged. “Mine isn’t either.”

They brought the water and vial back into the living room, where Draco seated himself on the couch, still looking a little anxious around the eyes.

Attempting to ease Draco’s nerves somewhat, Harry said, “Where did you get the Veritaserum?”

“I brewed it.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re really good with potions. And you’re very clever.”

Draco looked down. “I hid it from you.”

“That’s okay. I see now you had your reasons.”

Draco didn’t look up. “What I said about respect. I wouldn’t want you to cater to it, when the light was green.”

“I wasn’t catering to it,” Harry said in surprise. “I was . . .” He had to stop to think about it. “Saying what I think.”

“I wouldn’t want you to say what you think.”

“You’d want me to lie?”

“Yes, but only when we were . . . playing the game. I—I—” Draco struggled with the Veritaserum. “I like when you say I’m clever. When you praise me, it makes me feel . . .”

He struggled against the Veritaserum, until Harry took pity on him. “Good,” he suggested.

“Better.” Draco met his eyes. “When the light is green, I don’t want to feel . . .”

Harry didn’t know how to help him this time.

“This is very difficult,” Draco said. “I want to feel good. I want to play this game because I want to feel good, and because I think it might make you feel good too. And I don’t want to feel worthless. I don’t want you to think I’m worthless.” His voice went low. “I just want you to tell me I’m worthless.”

Harry opened his mouth to say that he couldn’t, and instead found himself saying, “That is difficult.” He looked at Draco, who looked miserable. “Do you know how much I think you’re worth?”

Draco nodded. “That’s how I’m able to ask you this.”

“How much?”

“What?”

“How much do I think you’re worth?”

“You think I’m . . .” Draco’s voice caught. “You think I’m priceless.”

“Beyond even that,” said Harry, his own voice feeling thick.

Draco’s eye lashes swept down. “Write a Celestina Warbeck single, why don’t you.”

Harry looked at him a long time. “You just want me to say that: ‘you’re worthless’? Like that?”

“I want . . .” Draco swallowed. “For instance, instead of saying that I was clever, you could have said, ‘I bet you think yourself clever’. But then you could say that I wasn’t going to get around you. That I’m a manipulative little brat, who thinks I’m always going to get what I want, just because I’m a stuck up little know it all.”

Harry’s heart was twisting. “Do you think that?”

“No.” Draco paused. “I was like that at Hogwarts.”

“Are you trying to punish yourself for back then?”

“I don’t know.” Draco seemed unable to meet his eyes again. “Perhaps I’m rewarding myself for the ways I’ve changed.”

“But you want me to say those things to you.”

“It doesn’t have to be those things in particular.”

Had this been a different conversation, Harry might have thought Draco was being obtuse. Veritaserum made you answer questions, but it didn’t make you volunteer information. Draco had said a higher dose made him babble, but either it was wearing off, or this was getting into more serious territory.

Patiently, Harry thought of the next question. “Tell me which things in particular you would like me to say,” he said, “or if there is nothing in particular, give me examples of the kinds of things you want.”

Draco’s face was a strange mixture of relief and pallor. “I want you to call me names. Slut, whore. I want you to tell me I’m just . . . I’m just an object, a toy, something for you to fuck, that that’s all I’m good for. I want you to tell me I’m a cunt.”

“That’s a really horrible word.”

“I know.”

“And people use it on women,” Harry pointed out. He thought back to what Draco had said about being ashamed. “Is it because it’s a word used on women?”

“It’s . . .” Draco struggled to find words. “Because it’s used to degrade women. As if all they are is . . . that.”

Harry thought about it some more, taking into account also how abject Draco looked just now. “Do you want me to tell you you have a pussy, too?”

Draco’s head jerked up. “Yes,” he said, in a choked voice.

“And you want me to tell you you’re a dirty worthless slut, who’s only good for taking it up the arse, and getting fucked full of cock. Is that—is that right?”

“Sort of.”

“Except for the hesitation on the end there,” Harry said.

“Yes, but it’s . . .” Draco had to swallow again. “I want you to tell me I like it.”

Harry frowned. “You said you didn’t want to have to face the fact you want it.”

“It’s different if you’re telling me I want it. I can pretend I don’t agree with it, that you’re just trying to . . . debase me further.”

“You want me to tell you you’re a dirty fucked up slut, and you love taking it in the arse; you’re a cocksucker who loves having cock rammed down his throat.”

“Yes,” breathed Draco.

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. “I can’t say it right now.”

“The Veritaserum?”

“Yes.”

A small smile played at the edge of Draco’s mouth. “Well. It’s mostly true.” His eyes were getting brighter. “I do love taking it in the arse; I’ve sucked your cock. And I think I would like having your cock rammed down my throat.”

Harry licked his lips, which were suddenly dry. “Do you . . . want me to make you call me . . . something?”

“N—sometimes Daddy. Oh God.” Draco’s face went beet red. “Sorry.”

Harry just looked at him for a long second. The force of Draco’s blush made his hair seem that much brighter. “Don’t be sorry about any of it. I want you to tell me the truth.” He paused. “How long have you wanted this?”

“All of my adult life.” Draco looked mortified again, but this time didn’t apologize. “I haven’t thought that I could have it and live with myself until two months ago. I thought about it for three weeks. And then I began to brew the serum. I very much wanted to be honest with you.” The last sounded a trifle pleading.

“I understand,” Harry said, and took Draco’s hand.

“Did you . . . did you want me to call you something?” Draco said.

“Harry. Sometimes Daddy.”

“Oh God.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, and grinned. “So. Are you going to tell me the way you want me to fuck you, or are we just going to talk logistics all night?”

“I’m going to tell you the ways I want you to fuck me.”

It was so arrogant and happy, the way Draco said it. The smile was back at the corner of his mouth. “Come here,” said Harry. It felt weird to be talking about this sort of thing while sitting across from Draco on the couch, so Harry pulled him to him, until Draco was spread out all along Harry and his head was on Harry’s shoulder.

“Mmph,” said Draco.

“The fucking,” said Harry.

“Yes. You can fuck me really hard, Harry.”

“You know I’ve fucked you hard before.” Harry paused. “Or was that not . . . hard enough?”

“It’s usually wonderful.” Draco lifted his head to look at him. “Even when it’s not, it’s nice, and we have some good laughs. I said I like the ways we have sex. I just want . . . more ways.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Okay.”

Draco’s eyes searched his. Apparently content with what they found there, Draco put his head back on Harry’s shoulder. His hand skated idly down Harry’s chest, his flat stomach. “Rougher,” he said finally. “And less like you care about me.”

“I’d be doing it because I care about you,” Harry couldn’t resist pointing out. Maybe it was the Veritaserum.

“Less like you care about my orgasm,” Draco said.

Harry looked down at him, all he could see the profusion of bright hair. “Want to wear a cock ring?”

“No.” Draco was pulling up Harry’s shirt. “I want you to fuck me, and I’ll get off on it, and you don’t care. You just keep fucking me until you’re done, and if I don’t get off—you just don’t care.”

“I sound like a bastard in this scenario.”

“Some part of me likes bastards.”

There were plenty of things Harry could have said about that, about Draco’s past, about his father. He remembered what Draco had said about living with himself, and didn’t say anything. Instead, his heart beat harder. Warmth welled in his chest, because Draco could tell him this. Draco trusted him with this. “What else?” he whispered.

“Then you would fuck me again.”

“I’ve also got stamina, in this scenario.”

Draco’s mouth curved against Harry’s chest. His hand was inside Harry’s shirt, idly playing with the hair just below his navel. “I mean that in this scenario, I’m all fucked out. I’ve come and can’t come any more, and you just keep fucking me. And then after that, you fuck me with a dildo. And then after that, you fuck me again, until I’m so . . .” He sucked in a breath. “I’m so loose and wet that the things you put in me almost just . . . slip right back out.”

Harry’s cock was hard by now, and not from the way Draco’s hand had moved from inside Harry’s shirt to just below the rim of his jeans. “That’s a lot of lube,” he said, putting his hand in Draco’s hair.

Draco’s mouth curved again. “You like lube, Harry.”

“What else do you want?”

“I want to be pumped full of come.” The curve went away, and Draco pressed his forehead hard against Harry’s shoulder. The hand just inside his jeans twisted in the hair there. “I want to be full of come and lube and everything. I want to be messy and sticky and just . . . a hot mess.”

“And then you want me to eat it out of you?” Harry guessed, because he already knew Draco loved rimming.

Draco gave a full body shudder, shifting against him so that Harry could feel he was hard, too. “Yes. I want—yes.”

“You mentioned that when you said you wanted me to use your arse for a table.”

Draco went completely still at that. His forehead was still pressed in at Harry’s shoulder. “I really like that idea,” he said finally.

“I had gathered.”

“I like the idea of . . . of . . .” Draco appeared to be searching for words. “You liking the way I taste.”

“I already like the way you taste.” Harry shifted, in case Draco hadn’t already felt how hard he was.

“I know. It’s just the thought of being so . . . so hot and messy and wet for you.” Draco might just be short circuiting. His hand was still clutched tight in the short hairs below Harry’s navel.

“Want me to pump you full of honey?”

“Oh my God.” Draco choked.

“How much?” said Harry.

Draco only gradually got back his breath. When he regained it, his voice was low and rough. “Just enough for you to tongue it back out of me.”

Harry brushed the soft, fine hair back from Draco’s ear. “Sounds sweet,” he whispered. Then he brushed the hair back and said in a more normal voice, “I rather like you on Veritaserum.”

Draco pulled up to look at him, the hand finally loosening on his abdomen. “Really?”

“I like these sorts of things,” Harry said gently. Then added, “As long as it’s hygienic.” Which was a bit of a joke, since Draco was one of the most fastidious people he knew.

“The magic of cleaning spells,” said Draco.

“What else?”

“The rest you just fuck right out of me. I want it leaking down my thighs.”

“I really like you on Veritaserum.” Harry resumed stroking Draco’s hair. “What else?”

“You’d shove a dildo in my mouth to shut me up.”

“I like the sounds you make during sex,” Harry pointed out.

“In this scenario, you’d say you’re tired of me moaning like a whore.” Draco’s hands was under Harry’s shirt again, this time up Harry’s chest. A nail scratched his nipple at Draco’s words, and Harry sucked in a breath. “You like it; we both know it. But you tell me I’m such a horny slut, I just want to get filled up any way I can. And you’d ask me whether that was true. I’d just glare at you, but when you told me to open up for the big thick cock I’d do it anyway.”

“Jesus.” This time, it was Harry’s hand tightening in Draco’s hair. Then he let go, trying to keep his breathing even. “You’ve sucked the dildo before,” he pointed out.

Draco gave a minute shake of his head against Harry’s shoulder. “Not that dildo.”

“What?”

“I want one that’s big and brightly coloured.” There was a pause. “With sparkles.”

For the first time, Harry had to try in earnest not to laugh. He felt pretty bad about it. “Er,” he said, trying to turn it into a cough. “You want a pretty dildo?”

Draco’s head made that small movement again. “No.”

“Then wha—”

“I’m going to get some more Veritaserum.”

Draco got off of him, and Harry sat up. “Hey,” he said, Draco pulling loose of his attempt to grab his wrist.

Draco went over to the table and neatly poured half a vial in one of the glasses of water. Tipping his head back, he took a long, cool draught, then turned away from Harry.

Harry stood and went over to him. “I’m sorry,” said Harry. “I didn’t mean—”

“No.” Draco put down the water. Harry was full of trepidation, but when Draco turned to him, the corner of his mouth was twitching. “That has to be the most ridiculous thing I have ever said in my life. I want to play a grovelling sex slave from time to time, Harry.” The corner definitely turned up. “It doesn’t mean I’ve lost my mind.”

“So.” Harry smiled slowly. “Sparkles.”

Draco gave a quick nod. “It’s because of how fake it looks. Ours is so realistic. I want to have to be reminded about how I’m shoving a big fake-looking ridiculous toy down my throat or up my arse, that I’m getting off on—on plastic objects.” He clicked his tongue. “It doesn’t make sense. I just want it.”

“It sort of makes sense.”

“Right. Your Vertiserum’s gone off.” Draco poured the other half of the vial into the other glass.

“I was going to wait on that.”

Draco gave him a sidelong glance. “You don’t want it?”

“I’ll drink it if I’m at all tempted to hide anything,” Harry said.

“But what if . . .” Draco grimaced, realizing that under the Veritaserum, he would have to voice his fears. “What if you agree to something you don’t really want, just because I say I want it?”

“I won’t. If you think I am, I’ll drink it.”

“Here’s an easier way,” said Draco, disgruntled. “Drink it now.”

“Not yet,” said Harry, and stepped closer. “This way I can tell you you’re a dirty fucking slut.”

“Oh,” said Draco, and his eyes filled with his pupils.

“Come on and drink the rest of this,” Harry said, and gave Draco his half full glass. The other glass still stood full on the table.

Draco drank it, looking at Harry over the rim of the glass the whole time. There was something about that that made Harry’s blood quicken. When Draco was finished, he took the glass away. “Come with me to bed.”

“Okay.”

Harry pulled him closer, tilting Draco’s head so that he spoke into his ear. “You’re already hot for it, aren’t you.”

“Yes,” breathed Draco.

“Because you’re such a filthy little whore.”

Draco’s breath quickened. He laid his hands flat on Harry’s chest.

“Don’t just stand there like a horny fucking slut who can’t do anything but wait to get his cunt filled,” Harry said. “Go get on the bed. And take off your clothes.”

Draco, breathing very hard, sounded like he might cry. “Thank you,” he whispered, and then turned to do what Harry said.

In the living room, Harry looked down at the Veritaserum. He would like some of that, the long cool spill of liquid down his throat. He would like to say with the serum’s certainty that he wanted this, because he knew he did. The only problem was, he hadn’t known he’d wanted it as long as Draco. He hadn’t had time to grow used to this, to imagine every detail.

He thought of Draco, eager and excited and courageous in there, because he could finally admit that he wanted this, even if it was only with the help of Veritaserum. Harry wondered whether Draco could really be this happy if any of this was so very wrong.

He thought of Draco at Christmas time, the way he was in anticipation of presents. He thought of Draco when they had moved in together, the way he had been celebratory by wanting to christen every room by fucking. He thought of Draco again, pink and pale and no doubt waiting for him on the bed, breathless just like it was Christmas, and joyful in the way he was when he got to do new things with Harry.

Harry walked into the bedroom.

Draco was waiting naked on the bed, just as breathless as Harry had imagined. Maybe more nervous than Harry had suspected, because when he saw Harry he said in his laconic drawl, “Had trouble finding your way, did you?”

“No,” said Harry, and shucked his shoes. He got onto the bed.

“Aren’t you going to take your clothes off?”

“No,” Harry said again. “Come here.” He pulled Draco against him again, pushing Draco’s head down so that it fit into the crook of his neck against his shoulder, like before.

“That’s not fair,” said Draco.

Harry thought about that. “Is this the way you would act?” he asked. “And then I would tell you you were being a brat, and shut up and do what I told you, because I make the rules?”

Draco lifted his head to look at him, smiling. “Yes. Something like that. Even then I wouldn’t necessarily do what you said.”

“Ah.” Harry pulled him back down, and Draco settled with a contented little boneless slump. “And then what would I do?”

“Spank me,” Draco said immediately.

“I see,” said Harry, and began playing with Draco’s hair again. “With my hand?”

“Yes. Usually.”

“Except for that time with the riding crop.”

“There could be several times,” Draco said. His hand crawled back inside Harry’s shirt. “Just infrequent.”

“And that one time I break the skin, and lick it afterwards.”

A shiver started from the base of Draco’s spine and went delicately through him. “Yes, there would be that time.”

“But only once,” said Harry.

“Or maybe five or six times.”

“We’ll see.”

Draco went back to doodling things on Harry’s chest inside his shirt.

“My hand could really start to hurt, if you want me to spank you every time you talk back.”

“I suppose you could change it up.”

“Oh really?” said Harry, his tone flat. “May I?”

“Yes. You could tie me down as punishment instead.”

Harry’s hand paused in Draco’s hair, then slid down to his bare, vulnerable nape. “I might,” he said. “As long as the bonds don’t hurt too much.”

“You could use silk.”

“No,” said Harry. “I like rope.”

Draco shivered again. “Sweet Merlin.”

“I could gag you, too,” Harry suggested. His hand walked down the vertebra on Draco’s naked back. “But then, you seem to prefer having blue sparkled cock down your throat.”

Draco’s breath puffed so fast and hard that one spot on Harry’s t-shirt was starting to feel warm and damp. “I wish I could lie to you right now,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Don’t sound like that, Harry. I would tell you I didn’t want a blue sparkly dildo, and you would tell me I did. I’d glare at you and you’d—you’d say—you’d tell me to open my mouth and I would, but I’d still roll my eyes, and then just to serve me right you’d fuck my throat with it, until I moaned like a . . . a . . .”

“Bitch in heat?”

Draco tried to muffle his answer by burying his head against Harry’s shoulder with a sound like, “Mrph,” but Harry pulled him off, turning them so that Draco was on his back, and Harry was on his side beside him. “Yes,” said Draco, in an agonized, longing voice.

“And what would I say in order to get you to open your mouth?”

“I—I don’t know.”

Looking down at Draco, Harry put his thumb on the pink flesh of Draco’s bottom lip. “Could I say, ‘Open up, baby’? Could I tell you this pretty little mouth is going to look so good wrapped around that big, thick toy? Would you like that, since you’re nothing but a cocksucking little whore anyway?”

“Yes,” Draco hissed again.

“Good,” said Harry. “Your mouth was just made for it, didn’t you know? It’s made for cocksucking, and this throat, too.” His hand moved down the milky expanse of Draco’s soft throat. “This is all just another nice, tight wet hole to put cocks in, because that’s what you’re good for, isn’t it? You’re so good for it. Open up.”

Draco’s mouth opened, making a strangled sound, and Harry kissed him.

He kissed him long and soft and sweet, with Draco making whimpering sounds under him. Draco tried to put his arms around him, but Harry pushed them back down. He tried to deepen the kiss, but Harry went stubbornly slow. He made Draco lie back and take it, that loving, worshipping kiss.

Then he kissed a line down Draco’s jaw to his ear. “Now moan for it,” Harry whispered. “Just like the bitch you are.”

Draco moaned, his hips almost coming off the mattress.

“There’s a good boy,” said Harry.

Draco’s eyes were so dark they looked practically drugged. “You were made for this too,” he croaked.

If Harry had taken another dose of Veritaserum, he would have told him that he wasn’t. Instead, he kissed Draco again, and this time let Draco kiss him back. When he pulled away, Harry said, “What else?”

“What?” said Draco, still looking rather dreamy.

“How else do you want me to punish you?”

Blinking, Draco swallowed hard. “I didn’t really . . . those were my two big ideas for punishment. I told you, I don’t really like pain all that much. I would . . . after you spanked me, and my bum was all red, I’d want you to fuck me really hard. Or not as hard. If that was when you filled me up with honey and—and licked it out of my hole.”

“You really like that one.”

Despite the veritable shamelessness of this entire conversation for the last half hour or so, Draco flushed pink. “I like the ones I haven’t thought of a million times before.”

“So, it’s better if I think of new things.”

Draco’s eyelashes drifted down in a way that made him seem almost coy. “I like to anticipate things too, Harry.”

Harry glanced down as well. Draco’s hard, red prick curved against his belly, the angle it had been tending since fairly early in this discussion. Yes, Draco liked to wait.

“You mean you like to anticipate the time when I’m going to make you call me Daddy?”

The reaction to that started in Draco’s face, which went very still, and travelled through his body. His hips twisted minutely; his toes honest-to-god curled. “Yes,” he said.

“You’re waiting for the time when I’m going to tell you to suck Daddy’s prick, and you’ll suck it,” Harry said. “You’re anticipating that?”

“Yes,” Draco whispered.

“You’re anticipating sucking on Daddy’s big, thick prick, aren’t you,” said Harry. “You’re anticipating taking down as much as you can, and gagging on the rest. Just like a whore, aren’t you.” His hand travelled down Draco’s chest. “Do you anticipate pleasing me?”

“Yes,” said Draco strained.

“You’d spread your legs.” Harry opened Draco’s legs, his fingers brushing Draco’s balls, then moving to cup them gently. “You’d hold yourself open for Daddy, just hoping he fills you up. Hoping he fucks you, just like the slut you are.” Draco’s skin was tight in his hands. Harry only softly squeezed. “You’re such a good boy.”

“Oh God.” Draco writhed, hips lifting.

“That’s what you like,” Harry said, squeezing harder. “You want to be a good boy for your daddy. You love being a filthy comeslut; you love spreading open on a moment’s notice; you love lying back and taking anything I put in you because you’re such a good boy. Are you a good boy?”

Draco whimpered. “No.”

Harry remembered the Veritaserum. “Do you want to be a good boy?”

“No. Harry,” Draco said. “The serum.”

Harry found the right question. “Do you want me to tell you you’re a good boy while you’re on your knees with my cock down your throat?”

“Yes,” Draco gasped. “Yes. And,” he panted.

“And what?”

“And your hand in my hair, and you’re acting so calm, and I’d pretend I was such a good boy.”

Harry gently let him go. Draco, still hard, struggled to get his breath back. The silence stretched so long that Draco turned to him and put his hand over Harry’s heart. “Could you do that?” he said quietly.

“Yes.”

There was another silence. “Will you take the Veritaserum now?” Draco said.

Harry shook his head, trying to clear it. “I meant it. It’s just, you’re so . . . I never thought you’d like it this way.”

Draco twisted around further, so that he could look straight into Harry’s eyes. “Do you like it this way?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me something you want.”

“I just told you.”

“You can check if I want what you want, because I’ll have to tell the truth.” Draco looked at his hand, still covering Harry’s chest. “Tell me. I’ve been telling you.”

“But,” said Harry, and stopped when he realized he was about to say, you started it. When he thought about how difficult it had been for Draco to start it, how long he had planned it and how desperately he would have liked to have been honest, Harry decided it was only fair. “You know I haven’t thought about it as much as you have.”

“That’s okay,” said Draco. “Just say something. Anything.”

“I’ll get the Veritaserum,” he said, and got up to go to the kitchen.

Getting the other glass of Veritaserum, Harry tried to think of something he wanted. Hearing Draco speak all his fantasies definitely made it easier to understand the kind of thing he wanted, besides it being hot. He understood where it would be reassuring for Draco to hear something from him. But Harry hadn’t dwelt on fantasy in the way that Draco seemed to. Facing the fact that apparently he wanted to dominate Draco and call him dirty names was difficult enough. Trying to think of some buried deep desire he wasn’t even sure he had was even harder.

To hear the majority of the Weasleys tell it (even Ginny), men fantasized about having big cocks. Harry guessed that was true for him, too, when he thought about the things he had just said to Draco. But going in there and telling Draco he wanted him to tell him he had a big cock was sort of embarrassing. The whole thing was embarrassing, really. Draco was braver than he was.

Draco had been embarrassed of course, but he was the one naked in the bedroom, and Harry was the one dithering in the kitchen. When Harry thought of the way Draco had got worked up about Harry eating off his arse, getting called a cunt, dildos with sparkles, being generally being humiliated . . . .

Harry thought of something then, something he almost immediately dismissed. He’d dismissed it other times, he realized, thinking it wasn’t relevant. Now, he let himself dwell on it, playing out the fantasy. Then he picked up the glass of water and went back to the bedroom.

Draco was sitting uneasily on the bed, still naked. Harry leaned against the doorframe and watched him, drinking the water mixed with serum. “Well?” said Draco, looking over.

“Would you wear knickers, Draco?” Harry asked him.

Draco’s mouth opened, his eyes gone wide with surprise. “I—yes.”

“Good,” said Harry, and took a sip. “Would you like it?”

“I don’t . . .” There was a long pause in which Draco appeared to be surprised into thinking through something quite rapidly. “Yes,” he said, his voice rougher.

“That’s nice. You hadn’t thought of that before?”

“I had,” said Draco. “I just assumed I didn’t want it.”

“What changed your mind?”

“You said it. Then I imagined it.”

Harry positioned a chair near the foot of the bed, oriented so that he was watching Draco. He sat down, and put his empty glass on the floor. “What did you imagine?” he said.

“You telling me to wear them, and me wearing them even though I would pretend I didn’t want to. And then you looking at me while I was wearing them. You looking at me like you are right now.”

“That’s very nice,” said Harry, because it was. “Lie back.”

Draco looked at him.

“Lie back.” Harry put a loose hand around Draco’s ankle, and dragged down. Draco slipped an inch, then wiggled farther down on the bed. Harry stood up and arranged all the pillows behind Draco’s head, and then lay him back. His hand trailed down Draco’s heated chest. “There,” he said. “You look like a little lord.”

Draco snorted. “I’m not little.”

Harry sat back down, putting his hand around Draco’s ankle again. “What did they look like, when you imagined them? The knickers,” Harry said.

“I don’t think they had a colour.” Seeing Harry’s eyes narrow, he added, “But they could be pink. Or red.”

“Details,” said Harry.

“Satin, I suppose. Or some type of chinzy fabric. And . . .” Draco thought about it. “Ruffles.” Two points of color were high in his face. When he spoke, his voice was a murmur. “What kind did you imagine?”

The question took Harry by surprise. “White,” he said. “Lace.”

Draco lifted hot eyes to him. “Have you thought about it a lot?”

“No.” Harry’s had moved down to Draco’s foot, stroking his arch with his thumb. “I’ve thought of it before. I just assumed you wouldn’t go for it, and I didn’t need it.”

“It’s not always about what you need,” Draco said.

“Ask me what I want.” Harry’s voice was also rough.

Draco smiled. “What do you want, Harry?”

Harry relaxed, speaking lazily. “I want you to touch yourself while I tell you what I’d do to you.” Draco’s eyes widened, and then his hand started going down. “Wait. Accio oil.” The oil came out of the drawer into Harry’s hand, and Harry tossed it on the bed. “Use that.”

Draco huffed a laugh, probably due to Harry’s fondness for lubrication and sundry, He spread it on his hand.

“I want to see your cock in them,” Harry said. “Like the knickers were almost transparent, so I can see your cock trapped in them, where it’s not supposed to go. Lacy and delicate and nothing at all like you.”

Draco wrapped his hand around his cock.

“No,” said Harry. “Finger yourself. Just one finger first. I want you so hot you’re leaking. I’d want you to leak through them. Get your knickers wet.”

“Oh God,” said Draco. His hand moved down over his balls, reaching beneath them.

“Spread your legs. Lift your hips.” Harry stood, and wedged another pillow under Draco’s hips, lifting him up so Harry could see. Then he sat back down, and Draco was strewn out among pillows, skin looking transparent and like silk. “I’d tell you you were so dirty,” he said, “that you were such a slut. I’d tell you you loved soaking through your knickers, so you could show me what a whore you are.”

“Harry,” said Draco. He was straining against the odd position, the awkward arrangement of pillows.

“Put another in,” said Harry. “Get your hole as dripping wet as your cock.”

Shuddering, Draco pushed another finger in.

“I think I’d fuck you in the morning,” Harry said. “I’d fuck you full of spunk, and then I’d put a plug it, so you could have me inside you all day. Then I’d have you put your pretty knickers on over it. You’d put on your suit, your linen slacks, those silk shirts you like. You’d look very posh and proper, the way you always do. But underneath, you’d be wearing slutty knickers for me, and you’d be stuff full of my come.”

Draco moaned, pushing fingers in.

“That looks very nice,” Harry told him. “You can use another one.” Draco pushed another finger in. “I can just imagine you at work,” Harry said. “Ordering everyone around like you always do. The way everyone’s either in love or afraid of you. You’re always so stern. So in charge. But underneath, you’d be wearing the knickers, and I would know that really—” Harry ran up a wall of Veritaserum. “Really, you want to be such a slut. Underneath, you’d be full of thick, fake cock, and just waiting for the moment when I would take it out and fuck your brains out.”

Draco’s other hand came up.

“I didn’t tell you you could touch your cock,” Harry said, laconic.

The hand hesitated.

Draco obviously wanted to do what Harry said, and at the same time wanted to lie and say he didn’t have to obey. Harry tried to think of a way to do it with the Veritaserum. “Are you going to touch that cock before I tell you to?”

Draco had been tense and strained before, but now his whole body went taut.

“Say you won’t touch your cock until I tell you to,” Harry said.

Draco released a long, panting breath. “I won’t touch my cock until you tell me to.” The Veritaserum would hold him to it.

“Good boy,” said Harry. He watched as another spasm moved through Draco, making his hips snap with his fingers still inside of him. “Fuck yourself on those fingers.”

Draco made a muffled sound, and fucked himself.

Harry still just watched, his own cock still hard and thick inside his jeans. He let the Veritaserum speak things, dirty, dirty things that he had never thought of until this moment. “What if in the morning, after fucking you, I put that honey you seem to like so much inside you too. Then you’d be nice and full and sticky, and I’d keep it all in you with that nice fake cock. Then you could wear your pretty knickers over it all, just knowing you had a treat you were keeping hot for me inside you all day.”

Draco cried out, his body jerking. “Please,” he whined. “Please.”

“You can touch your cock,” Harry told him. “Just don’t come.”

“Thank you.” Draco’s other hand came and wrapped around the base of his cock. “Thank you.”

“Do you like the thought of that? Me eating all that honey and cream out of you?”

“Yes.” Draco pushed his fingers harder inside of himself. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Harry didn’t ask whether he should do it, because he honestly didn’t know if he wanted to, and he didn’t know if Draco would want him to. He thought that Draco might say yes anyway, but all of it sounded rather unhygienic, even if the filthiness of it was what made it hot. Draco hadn’t seemed to notice he hadn’t spoken as if it would be a reality.

By then, Harry had already thought of something else. “So, you’d wear knickers.” Stretching out, he crossed his legs. His hand returned to Draco’s foot, thumb again on the arch. “Would you wear a skirt?”

Draco jerked against his touch, then that same hesitation. “I—I would if you told me to.”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes, if you—” Draco took several deep breaths. The Veritaserum was making him answer in full, but he currently had a fist wrapped around his cock and three fingers inside of him, and apparently was having trouble thinking. He eased his fingers out, sliding two back in in a much slower, leisurely way. When he looked at Harry, his jaw was slack, his pupils dilated.

“If I what?” said Harry, calmly.

Draco swallowed. “I suppose if you told me what a pretty toy I was.”

“You want me to tell you you’re a gorgeous little toy for fucking? That would make you happy?”

“Yes, but—” Draco bit his lower lip, easing fingers out of him. He was fucking himself slowly now. “I wouldn’t act happy.”

“You would act like a little brat, wouldn’t you.”

“Yes.”

“What if I told you I’d like you to take care of your pretty present? I’d get you a fluffy one, with lots of lace, and I would want you not to wreck it. You’d have to lift your skirts when we fucked, Draco. You’d have to worry about getting them dirty.”

“Oh.” Draco’s hand tightened on his cock. His fingers twisted inside of him.

“And if I wanted to suck that greedy little fuck hole you’ve got, you’d have to hold it up for me.”

“Yes,” said Draco, his hand moving harder now.

“I’d like to get you a schoolgirl one too,” Harry said. “You know, with the . . .” He waved a lazy hand. “Folds.”

“Pleats,” panted Draco.

“One of those.” Draco was spread out on the pile of pillows, legs spread wide. His head was lolling back, but the pillows propped it up so he could look at Harry, open-mouthed. He was the picture of wanton debasement.

Slut, Harry thought, and despite the things he had been saying, it was the first time he truly thought it of Draco. It almost seemed like a different word now, something private between just them. It didn’t seem to mean the other thousand things it was supposed to mean or could have meant; instead it meant just this, Draco open and wet and wanting him.

Harry adjusted his crotch, and made sure Draco could see him do it. “I’d get you a skirt like that, and knee socks. Then I would make you come to my desk, and bend over it. Hold on tight.”

“God. Are you really going to do it?”

“Then I’d lift up your skirt, so it was all just bunched up on your back. I’d look at your knickers, those pretty knickers I think you’ll love so much, pink and soft and slutty, just like you.”

Draco made a noise. “Please don’t stop.”

“I’d slide them off your arse,” said Harry, “dragging them all the way down between your thighs. And then I’d spank you. I’d spank those firm round cheeks of yours hard, for being such a slut.”

“You’re so good.” Draco was arched up, trying to finger himself and trying not to come. “It’s so good.”

“I’d tell you how filthy you are, dressing up like that. I’d tell you only little comeslut whores dress like slutty schoolgirls, and I’d ask you whether you were a filthy comeslut whore. It wouldn’t matter what you said, because I would know you were. And by then, you could be moaning just like a whore, anyway. Moan just like a whore,” Harry added, off-handed.

Draco did.

“And you remember what I do when I say all that noise annoys me. I put that big thick fake cock down your throat, and you take it like a bitch, don’t you. You just suck it down like a filthy slut.”

“Please do it,” Draco said.

“And then once that arse is hot and glowing red, I’d come all over it. Wouldn’t that look nice? That white spunk all over that red hot arse? Would you like it, Draco?”

“Yes. I like it; I love it; I want—”

“What do you want?”

“I want to come,” said Draco.

“Not yet.”

“Please.”

“No. I want to smear that hot come all over your arse. I’d rub it in like cream, and you’d be moaning and drooling around that fake cock in your mouth. I know you would. You’d want to just keep fucking your mouth with it while I rub come all over your arse, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, please, Harry.”

“Good,” said Harry. “That’s really good. And that’s when I’d eat you out. Right after that come had been rubbed right into you, and I’d tell you you taste so sweet. And you could pull your skirt down over my head, and it would just be me and your hot cunt, fucking you with my tongue. It would be your reward, for being such a good slut, taking that fake cock down your throat, and putting on pretty things for me. I’d tell you I loved it when you put on pretty things; I’d whisper it right into your lovely little cunt. You’d love that, wouldn’t you, darling?”

Draco looked at him with desperate eyes and came, his hips wild and unsteady. The mess was on his belly, on the bed.

Harry waited until Draco was a shivering mass in the mound of pillows, trying unsteadily to breathe. Then he stood up and licked it all off of Draco’s hot body, licking while Draco clumsily gripped his hair. He didn’t push down or pull up, just held on, as if to connect to reality.

“S-sorry,” said Draco.

“That was so hot,” Harry whispered, and kissed him. Shaking, Draco kissed him back. Then, tasting his own come, he moaned and kissed Harry deeper, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck.

Harry had tasted it plenty of times before, and Draco had tasted himself on Harry too. But never had he so bonelessly wrapped himself around Harry, trying to get more of it, his tongue licking out every part of Harry’s mouth. He was all hot and pliant like butter, and Harry was still hard.

“Let’s take care of this, shall we?” said Draco, when he at last pulled away, lips soft and melting down Harry’s cheek, his jaw. He reached for Harry’s prick.

“No,” said Harry, and took Draco’s hand away.

“But,” said Draco.

“In a bit. We haven’t got through everything.”

“Oh God. Hasn’t it gone on long enough?”

Harry pulled back. “Do you want this to end?”

Draco hesitated. Shaking back the hair that had fallen into his eyes, Draco said, “I sort of feel we’ve reached the denouement, having come.” But the Veritaserum made him add, “But I really liked you telling me your fantasies.”

“Yours too,” Harry pointed out.

“You made them mine.”

Harry smirked. “That’s what happens when you share,” he said, running a knuckle down Draco’s rather pointed nose.

Draco batted his hand away. “I admit there’s something liberating in . . . being perfectly honest.”

“Letting it all hang out,” Harry said.

Draco’s nose wrinkled. Then his features softened as he looked at Harry. “I couldn’t do it with just anyone,” he said, and then looked surprised he’d said it.

“There you go being soppy again.”

Draco pulled on him, so that Harry lay beside him, in his arms. “I’m not being soppy. I’m saying I can do this with you because I love you and trust you.” He rolled his eyes. “Dammit, Veritaserum.”

“That’s so sweet.” Harry smirked again. “You know I think everyone should be more open about things.”

“You’re the one who didn’t want to do this.”

“Yes, but I think people should just . . . face it. Own up to it. That sort of thing.”

Draco rolled his eyes again. “Share it with the world? I don’t think anyone would appreciate you standing on roof tops and telling everyone you want me in naughty schoolgirl outfits so that you can rub come onto my arse.”

Harry blushed hotly. “Well, no. But maybe if people were a little more open, I wouldn’t have buried this—whatever it is. And maybe you wouldn’t be ashamed.”

“Ah,” said Draco, and began to pull away.

Harry reached up to grab his chin. Pulling him down, he kissed him. “Don’t you act that way. This is going to work. It’s going to be brilliant.”

“It is,” the Veritaserum made Draco say, but he still looked unhappy.

“I’ll eat dinner off your arse,” Harry said. “I want to know about the men’s toilet.”

“Well,” said Draco, “ask me.” It was easier to answer questions than volunteer information under Veritaserum.

“Okay,” said Harry. “Would you want other people to see you?”

“I don’t know.”

Harry, surprised into silence, just looked up at him. Draco was biting his lower lip, eyes cast down. When Draco looked like that, open and vulnerable, all the sharp points gone away, Harry didn’t like to push. Harry pushed. “Why don’t you know?”

“Because I think it’s so hot,” Draco burst out, “but I would be so ashamed and embarrassed, and I’m sure there’s something about morality involved that I don’t understand, like not subjecting other people to your sexual fantasies. I like my plan because it’s just you and me. I don’t want—” he stopped. Whereas before he had looked perturbed, now he looked horrified.

“You don’t want what?”

“I don’t want,” Draco said again, “to,” he tried.

Suddenly, Harry knew what was going on. “What won’t the Veritaserum let you say?”

Draco looked ghastly. “Something I want to say.”

Harry felt his heart beat harder. “What won’t the Veritaserum let you say, that you want to say anyway?”

“I want to say that I don’t want to involve other people.”

Harry lay back, trying to process this. “You don’t want to involve other people, but you do.”

“I don’t know,” Draco said, and put his head in his hands. “I think I don’t. There’s just enough doubt. I didn’t know; I don’t want to—”

“Hey,” said Harry, and pulled on one of Draco’s wrists. “So you think you might want people watching us fuck. Why are you so upset?”

“Because I have other fantasies. Harry,” Draco said quickly, desperately. “I love you so much. I want you for the rest of my life; I want you—you’re mine. You belong to me, and I’m yours. I only want to be yours; I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Okay,” said Harry. “That’s definitely something I’m going to make a big deal about later.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“No, twice in one night, saying I love you. I’ll probably Penseive it so I can watch it over and over and over. Though this time isn’t as good because you’ve got your hands over your face, and you’re so upset.”

“You . . .” Draco took his hand away from his face and looked at him. “You’re not upset.”

“We all have fantasies, Draco.”

His eyes narrowed. “Have you had fantasies like that?”

Harry shrugged. “I told you, I haven’t thought about them much. I’ve just . . . done what I want with you, and done the things I think you want. It’s been pretty nice. That doesn’t mean we can’t do new things. And it doesn’t mean we can’t talk about other things that maybe we won’t do.”

“Why do you choose now to grow philosophical?” Draco’s voice would have been cutting, ordinarily, but he sounded so worried.

Harry shrugged again. “Because you need it? Maybe it’s the Veritaserum.”

“Well,” said Draco, a little more calmly. “It’s very quaint, but did you know some things can break a marriage?”

“Not our—” Harry stoutly began, and then found he could not finish.

“Even ours,” said Draco, sadly.

“Okay.” Harry thought about it. “Maybe anything can be broken, if you try hard enough. But we’re not trying.”

“This would . . .” Draco couldn’t seem to finish that either. “It feels like I would be trying.”

Sitting up, Harry put his hands on Draco’s shoulders, and looked him right in the eyes. “I don’t mind if you have fantasies of sleeping around with other men. There. I said it.”

Draco recoiled from his hands. “I don’t have fantasies of sleeping around with other men!”

Harry blinked. “Er. I thought that’s what we were talking about.”

“We’re talking about other men putting their cocks in me while you tell them where to put them, and coming all over me when you tell them to come.” Draco scrambled off the bed.

Harry felt like he was approaching a wild animal. “Maybe you should have more water,” he suggested, after a while of Draco making crazy eyes.

“You . . .” Draco said again. “You’re not upset.”

“No.”

Draco’s eyes went narrow in suspicion. “Have you had fantasies of sleeping around with other men?”

“Not really.”

“Really,” said Draco, icily.

“I told you, I haven’t thought about it much. I haven’t thought much about anyone but you since we got married.”

“Really.”

“I notice some blokes are attractive. Maybe some part of me thinks about what it would be like. I don’t ever dream about fucking anyone but you.”

“I’m a bloody hypocrite,” said Draco.

“Yes, you are.” Harry went to him and kissed him.

For almost a whole minute, Draco just stood there in surprise. Then he was kissing him back, warm and naked and eager, the way Harry loved Draco best. Then he was pushing Harry back, crowding him against the wall, and Harry loved that too.

Pulling back his mouth, Draco still held him pinned to the wall. “I still don’t know how the fuck I ever caught you.”

Harry kissed him again. “Ordinarily I would say luck, but the Veritaserum is making me say hard work and determination.”

“Mm,” said Draco, and put his knee between Harry’s.

“Draco,” said Harry.

“Mm?”

“I want to ask you something.”

“Harry . . .” Draco sighed.

“That stuff, like calling you a slut, and making you wear things, all of that, can we ever . . . would you ever do that to me?”

Draco looked so surprised it was almost comical. “I can’t . . . imagine you in a skirt,” he said at last, with effort.

“It’d be weird,” agreed Harry. “I’ve very hairy legs.”

“Harry,” Draco said again, and hesitated. He kissed him again, quickly. When he pulled away, he stayed close, so he didn’t have to look at him. “I’m not sure I could do it.”

“You wouldn’t have to be so very tough,” whispered Harry. “I’d say yes to anything you told me to do.”

At last, Draco pulled back. “You want to be a slut.”

“I want to be your slut.”

Then Draco started smirking. “There’s a problem, Harry. You already kind of are.”

“What?”

“Oh yes.” Draco’s voice was silky as he leaned back in. “You should hear the way you beg sometimes. You’ve always acted like such a shameless whore for it in bed.”

“God,” said Harry. “I love your cock.”

“Mm,” Draco said again. “You love it in you. Pounding you. Making you almost forget who you even are.”

“That’s—that’s—very distracting.” Draco was pressing his hardening cock against Harry’s hip.

“I think we’re right on task,” whispered Draco.

“No,” said Harry. “I want you to tell me about the men’s. Then I want you to tell me about all those men coming all over you.”

Draco slumped. “Somehow I knew you were going to say that. This really isn’t going to end, is it?”

“Not until it’s all out.”

“Give me a quill, why don’t you. We could write it down so we could share it with the world.”

“Does that have anything to do with wanting everyone to see you get fucked in the men’s?”

Draco shrugged. “Maybe all this sharing is just your form of exhibitionism.”

“I guess that’s true. It’s been pretty hot.”

“We could post it to the internet,” Draco said brightly.

Harry took off his shirt. “Do you need more Veritaserum?”

Apparently distracted by Harry’s chest, Draco said, “No.”

Then Harry started taking off his jeans. “Are you going to tell me those fantasies?”

After Harry had pulled his jeans and pants all the way off, Draco looked up. “If you really want me to.”

“I want you to,” said Harry.

“Oh goody.” Draco frowned. “Do I get the chair?”

“Okay.” Harry went and got on the bed, while Draco arranged himself in the chair. He put his legs on the bed, leisurely-like, looking even more like a lord than he had when he’d been on the bed. Harry just watched him. When Draco finally seemed to have arranged himself, and turned cool grey eyes back to him, Harry asked, “What about the men’s room?”

“It’s filthy,” Draco said succinctly. “Here, have some oil.” He tossed the little bottle on the bed.

Harry coated his hands. “What else?”

“Oh, we’re in a bar,” Draco said carelessly. “I’d be teasing you, making you so hot. Fondle your balls, Harry. No, I’m not so cruel as to make you finger yourself all night, not like some people. Anyway, you’re telling me to stop, but I won’t; I’m impossible. Irresistible. You can’t get over what a slut I am; I’m trying to feel you up right in the bar.”

“You really are such a slut,” said Harry. “A dirty little whore.”

Draco froze for a moment, then relaxed. “When did your Veritaserum go off?”

“It must have just done. I haven’t had as much as you. Yours isn’t?”

Draco shook his head the slightest fraction. “I couldn’t do this, without it.”

“Pity,” said Harry. “Keep going.”

“Harry . . .”

“You’re such a fucking slut, Draco, feeling me up in the bar like that.”

“Right.” Draco swallowed. “So, acting like you’re not going to give me anything, I flirt with the other boys at the bar. Just to make you notice,” he adds quickly.

“When really it’s because you’re such a little whore,” said Harry. “You’ll put out for anyone who looks your way; you just want to get that pussy so full of spunk.” Draco was frowning slightly, his eyes half-lidded. “Is that alright to say?”

“I want you to say it,” said Draco. “It’s not true.”

“I know.” Harry’s voice was gentle. “Don’t you think I know that? It’s okay.” Draco just looked so uncertain. “I love you too, you know.”

“I know,” said Draco. He took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“We can stop,” said Harry.

“Touch your cock,” Draco said instead. Harry touched his cock, and Draco went on. “I keep flirting with these other men, and finally, you grab my wrist, and drag me to the men’s.”

“You’re mine.” Harry’s hand, slick and greasy, slid up his cock.

“Yes, because in this fantasy, I’m playing your fucktoy, and you don’t like other people touching your things, or so you say, once you get the men’s cleared out. Or maybe you don’t clear it. You just take me inside a filthy stall. Or maybe no one’s there, and you’ve got me on my knees in that horribly dirty place.”

“Just like you deserve.”

“Put a finger inside yourself, Harry,” said Draco, idly.

Harry left off stroking his cock to do what Draco said, taking it slow, stroking the tight ring with his finger tip before pressing deeper. He wanted this to last, because he could already tell Draco was going to make it good.

“In this fantasy, you’d tell me what a whore I was,” Draco said. “You’d tell me if all I wanted was cock down my throat, you could give it to me. You tell me if I want to lick come off pricks, I’m going to do it off yours. Then you open up your jeans and put that big thing in my face.”

“Yes,” hissed Harry, and pushed his finger all the way in.

“You tell me how much I love it.” Draco’s eyes were hot and bright, but the rest of him seemed very calm and still. This was a test of courage. “You tell me how I’m such a fucking whore, and you can hear me slurping and sucking like I’m having the time of my life, which—it might be very close to that, if I could bear it. I’d be so hard, but not touching myself, just to prove to you how much I love your enormous prick; I love it down my throat, I love trying to breathe with it, I love swallowing around it, choking on it. God, Harry. I do love gagging on your cock.”

Harry arched, pushing his finger in.

“You can put another one in,” Draco said. “And you’d tell me I have to swallow every drop of your come. You’d tell me how if any gets on the floor—that filthy, disgusting floor, I’m going to have to lick it up. And that thought . . . I’m so excited, I’m like a mindless . . . I want to be like a mindless slut that can’t think about anything but drinking all your come, and how I might have to lick it off the floor . . .”

Harry had two fingers inside of him now, and he saw what Draco meant about torture. He desperately wanted to touch his cock. He was so full, and aching with hardness. “What happens next?” he said roughly.

“You come in my mouth,” said Draco. “But sometimes it’s different. Sometimes, you pull out and come on my face, and I love it so much; I nee—want it desperately, but some gets on the floor. And then I have to figure out whether I actually want to lick . . .”

“Other times?” Harry said.

Draco seemed riveted to the long, slick movement of Harry’s fingers moving in and out. He swallowed. “Other times, someone walks in. We’re in a stall, and he hears the filthy things you’re saying to me. He goes out, and brings his friends in, so they’re all listening to you telling me what a filthy whore I am, and they can hear me slurping and moaning around your cock. They remember me because I acted so slutty with all of them, and now they know who I belong to.”

“Please,” said Harry. “Please. I need to touch my cock.”

“Not yet,” said Draco, probably just to torture him because Harry had done the same thing. “Put another finger in. And then there’s the times when you don’t come at all,” he went on.

“What?” said Harry, distracted by the slow process of easing another finger in.

“You bend me over one the of the sinks.” Draco was still naked, and his hand came down at last to his hard prick. “Or maybe over one of the dirty toilets. And you fuck me, hard.”

“Reminding you who you belong to.”

“Yes,” said Draco, holding to the base of his cock. “But sometimes that bloke comes in, while you’re fucking me. And you let this bloke know about the way I moan just like a whore.”

“He could hear you doing it.”

“Yes, but he doesn’t know how much it annoys you. He’s a perfect stranger, you see.”

“I see,” said Harry. “Draco, I want—”

“You can touch your cock,” said Draco. “You’re fucking me raw in that toilet right now; you may need to touch it.”

“Fuck.” Harry wrapped his hand around his cock, pretending he was fucking Draco in that toilet right now, with the stranger just coming in, and Harry telling the stranger that Draco moaned like a bitch in heat.

“And then you ask that stranger if he wants to shut me up,” said Draco.

“He’d say yes,” said Harry, pumping his cock now, his fingers inside him. “Who wouldn’t want to stuff those pretty lips full of big thick cock? He’d take one look at your mouth and know it was made for fucking. He’d look at that throat and just want to fill it up with his prick.”

“You’d let him.”

“In this fantasy, I’m letting him.”

“Harry,” Draco whispered. “I want to fuck you.”

“Fuck me,” Harry said.

Slowly, Draco stood, then got on the bed. Harry pulled his fingers free with a release of breath. Draco gripped his thighs, positioning Harry’s legs so the knees were bent; he was open wide. Then Draco pushed inside him, and Harry let go of another breath. Draco leaned in to Harry’s ear. “Tell me how you’d watch him fuck my mouth.”

Harry couldn’t believe that Draco expected him to think right now. “I’d watch him fuck your mouth,” he said obediently.

Draco pulled back slowly, then came in again, one hand still pushing Harry’s thigh below the knee. “Tell me how you’d fuck me from behind, all the while telling him what a slut I am, that I’ll just take anything anyone will put in me; I’ll take any cock.”

“You’ll take any cock,” said Harry, arching helplessly.

Draco’s other hand dragged long and hot down Harry’s chest as he thrust again. “Tell him I’m just a fuck toy, and slutty little fuck who likes to get used down and dirty, who needs to learn his place from time to time.” He leaned in again. “Tell him he can bring his friends.”

“He can bring his friends,” whispered Harry.

Draco shuddered, thrusting in again. “He’d come down my throat. Then he’d leave, and get his friends.”

“I’d tell you what a whore you are.” Harry was panting. “I’d tell you you’re such a whore, letting your throat get fucked like that. By a total stranger. And you’d tell me that you were, that you love it; you love getting fucked on your knees on that dirty floor.”

Groaning, Draco pushed in harder. “I love the thought of that. And the rest of the men come in the door, and see me there. They know I’m just your toy. Just something you own. And if you’re feeling generous—”

“I’m going to let them play.” Harry arched, dragging Draco in deeper. “I’m going to tell you to open up your mouth for whatever gets put in front of your face, and you’ll be sucking on another cock.”

“They’re all going to be talking about what a dirty whore I am.” Draco’s breath was catching.

This was better than doing it, Harry thought. Doing it, there would be so many complications: safety, shame, jealousy, the ugliness of it, the danger of strangers. But speaking of it—this was something they would do again, Harry thought. Again and again.

And maybe even, if they found someone they trusted . . . they could cross that bridge when they came to it. In the meantime, there was always Polyjuice . . .

“Yes,” said Harry. “They’re going to be impressed that you’re such a willing cocksucker. At the way you just swallow all of them down like you can never have enough pricks leaking down your throat, like the only thing that could ever feed you is more come. They’re going to think you’re such a nasty, dirty cunt.”

“God,” said Draco. His hips were snapping hard now. He wrapped a hand around Harry’s cock.

Harry arched again. “Yes. And when I’m through with your arse, another prick is going to come and fill up that nasty, greedy hole. You’ll just suck that cock in, won’t you, with that tight little fuck hole. Whoever’s cock it is.”

“Harry.” The pressure Draco was putting on Harry’s thigh was bending him almost in half.

“You’re going to be so dirty and tired and full of spunk when it’s all over,” Harry said. “So well used. Just a dirty, nasty thing.”

“Harry,” Draco said. “Harry.”

“Tell me I can come,” said Harry.

“Come. Oh God, please come. Come, Harry, I—”

Harry came, and Draco came after him, pumping hard, their bodies jerking. Draco made the most animal sounds when he did that, and never admitted to it afterwards.

The both shuddered against each other. Draco groaned, dragging himself up Harry’s body. Harry put his aching legs down. Draco hid his face in Harry’s shoulder.

At last, Harry put his hand in Draco’s hair. “That was bloody spectacular.”

“You don’t . . .” Draco’s fingers traced patterns on Harry’s chest, patterns of doubt in his voice.

“Spectacular,” said Harry.

“I think it’s awful,” said Draco.

“Well.” Harry huffed a tired laugh. “That was what I said in the beginning. There’s nothing wrong with having an imagination, Draco.”

“You know, sex scenes don’t last this long in real life.”

Harry glanced at the window over Draco’s shoulder. It looked like almost dawn. He brought his eyes back to Draco. “They do in porn.”

“Foreplay doesn’t last that long in porn.” Draco frowned against his chest.

“What, we have to be realistic now?” Harry smirked.

Draco pulled up to look at him. Messy blond hair brushed his eyebrows; he still wore a slight frown. “No,” he said slowly. “I don’t suppose we do.” He glanced down at his hand on Harry’s chest. “Those things would be very unsafe in real life.” He grimaced. “Not to mention unhygienic.”

“We don’t have to do them,” said Harry.

Slowly, Draco began to smirk. “You mean they don’t have to bear the light of day?”

Morning sunlight streamed through the window. Harry smiled too. “Not unless we want them to.”

Draco looked at him thoughtfully. “I really did marry the best man.” He settled against Harry again. “Goddamn Veritaserum.”

(no subject)

Date: 2011-02-11 10:21 pm (UTC)
synecdochic: torso of a man wearing jeans, hands bound with belt (Default)
From: [personal profile] synecdochic
OH MY GOD THIS IS NRRRGH.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-02-12 05:00 pm (UTC)
synecdochic: torso of a man wearing jeans, hands bound with belt (Default)
From: [personal profile] synecdochic
I APPROVE OF YOUR KNICKERS.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-02-12 01:16 pm (UTC)
japanimecrazed: Yukina, totally clueless. (Default)
From: [personal profile] japanimecrazed
Guh. Daddy. And an orgy. And also complete-honesty-by-Veritaserum.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-03-10 11:57 pm (UTC)
stultiloquentia: Campbells condensed primordial soup (Default)
From: [personal profile] stultiloquentia
surprise!feedback! :P

The day you write something boring, that I can't find reasons to ramble about for paragraphs on end, is the day I stock up on beans and start waiting for the apocalypse. Watch out, here goes.

I LOVE the way the whole initial conversation about the veritaserum plays out. The first lines are so sneaky -- the announcement that the wine is drugged followed by the reveal that Harry hasn't had any, but Draco's chugging like a bath drain. It's a beautiful hook. And after, there are so many places you could have misstepped and hit a squick or made me dislike them, and you never once did. God, if I'd written this, I'd have got so tangled up in all those conversational zig-zags I would have given up, but you just blast through and get everything necessary onto the page. Did you write it in one sitting?

Draco's concerns about hygiene are hilarious. They hook up, in my brain, with the meta-laden section about it being easier to write things down and show someone a text than to say or enact them. Clean, white pages with erotica written on them take the mess/danger/uncertainty out of the picture. It's a way [I'm totally babbling out loud now; can you tell?] to air desires, pop the lid off and stop suppressing, a way to test and poke at and validate and share in a safe way, harming nobody (assuming you keep your passwords close) and potentially helping some.

In terms of actual sex acts/the characters' emotional needs and what have you, we have different buttons, but I knew that already. It's an entertaining Venn diagram. Sometimes I was all, "Oh holy yes," and then I was all, "Wat. Wat?! Ahaha!" —but in a way, the parts I found goofiest were also the most touching, because sometimes, especially for a character like Draco, it takes as much courage to be laughed at as it does to be disdained. I'm glad those parts were there; it wouldn't have been the same story without them. What I DO go for personally, times eleventy, is the trust and vulnerability they share. The revelations kept coming, and they kept checking in with each other, so carefully, taking care. Harry, darling, you're going to be fine.

I love the humour you weave through the story; it keeps it so grounded.

This reminds me of some of Aspen's Harry/Draco; do you remember her? Her characters are teenagers, though, thoroughly fucked up, and winging it for their lives. It's the opposite of yours in that it's all action and no conversation. Most, if not all, of the HP D/s I've read falls into that category, actually: "The Dark Lord beat me up, and now I'm kinky!" accompanied by gloom, angst and edginess of various flavours. Making your H and D committed adults, whose top priority is talking it out and making it good, is a really cool choice simply because it's fresh. Well, to me, anyway. I know there's lots (well, relatively) of talky BDSM in Sherlock BBC fandom, and it wouldn't surprise me to find some in, oh, White Collar or SGA, but I'm out of touch with HP.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-03-11 11:19 pm (UTC)
stultiloquentia: Campbells condensed primordial soup (Default)
From: [personal profile] stultiloquentia
in that version Draco tricks Harry into dosing him with Veritaserum. Convinced Harry wants it too and would have no problem admitting it, Draco relates all his desires. Then Harry flips out because he's terrified of being controlling and turning into Voldemort.

I'm happy you mentioned this, because I was curious about what you said elsewhere about "taking out all the parts that made me uncomfortable", and wanted to know what those parts were -- especially whether they were consent-related, since I was typing my praise for the veritaserum section at the time. But it seemed like a nosy question.

back story which I later disassociated from this idea and named The Way Down.

Yup, I remember this.

I wanted to write something where people trusted each other and were honest and were trying and everything was still difficult but not insurmountable.

That's my favourite. I've recently developed a yen for reading about effort. Perhaps it's due to one too many people on my television valorizing 'natural' talent and not even seeming to notice hard work. I...whoa, apparently I have a big rant about that bottled up, which I shall NOT spill onto your comment page, since it's quite tangential. But I think I have a blog post coming up. Anyway. Working at relationships. Yes please.

When you edited Girls Are Great for me you pointed out a section that had too many . . . I forgot what the phrase you used was, but basically too many little climaxes? and different points. I've thought about that a lot since, because I definitely have a hard time keeping my characters on track and making conversations about something. But for this I supposed it was really okay, since the whole getting lost in, "but what if?"s is part of the point.

It definitely depends on the story you're telling. Your loop-de-loops work here for just the reason you said. For most things, though, you're right -- I'm a stickler for knowing the "spine" of a scene, or the melodic phrase, or however you want to envision it. One of my own touchstone writing tips is from a dvd commentary of [personal profile] mirabella's: "I was taught that each scene needs to come on, land one punch, then get the fuck off. If I can't find the punch, the scene has to go." There are places to break that rule -- she's talking about novels, for starters -- but I find her pithiness nice and memorable when I'm trying to keep myself in check.

Did that paragraph make any sense? I don't think so.

It did! Or else we're both on the same nonsensical wavelength....

(I don't mean to make you at all paranoid about taking every little comment you make and looking at it every which way. But I kind of do, because you always do say thoughtful things, and yes, the ways in which our kinks/interests differ intrigues me and helps me learn about what I like.)

But...but I'm just a big dork! Nah, I'm not paranoid, I'm flattered. I've had (or just lurked near) tons of conversations I remember and draw from -- including yours -- that I'm sure the participants would be quite startled to learn I think about so much. And yay, I'm glad our differences are as interesting to you as they are to me. One of my Key Moments in Fandom was that enormous email conversation we had about Spuffy vs. Bangel, way back in, what, 2005 or something.

But for some reason every time I tried to do it for H/D I just couldn't, and instead started thinking about their backstory.

I have this problem. If it's a problem. Of course I need to know who my characters are and where they came from before I know how they fuck. Even if I post something with a regrettable header like, "These characterizations are way too fluffy, but I needed to let off some steam. Unbetaed!" what that really means is, "Even if it's AU as all hell, I could tell you exactly how these characters got to their fluffy place. I'm just too lazy to write said novel."

interesting. I kind of want to look into that, and yet I don't think that dynamic for Sherlock/John at least interests me at all. Huh.

Or talky ace!Sherlock. Or talky polyamorous Vorkosigans (have you read [personal profile] dira's 'verse that's been recced hither and yon?). Basically, negotiation interests me.

Sorry this comment is so long. Thanks so much for all your thoughts and kind words. I guess I try to show appreciation by babbling back. :o)

You're always so thoughtful and generous with your replies. What happens too often is I'll get a burst of energy or a weekend and babble at you, and then you'll babble back at me, but by then I'll have been stunned stupid by a Monday and be unable to string two words together, so I leave you hanging. It's bad manners, and bad friendship, and I'm sorry for it, because I love your conversation.

(no subject)

Date: 2011-03-12 12:13 am (UTC)
stultiloquentia: Campbells condensed primordial soup (Default)
From: [personal profile] stultiloquentia
Heh. It's a deal.

I read the first part of Freece's Q&A yesterday, but I haven't been back to see the rest. Glad you reminded me. I love her dvd commentaries, too. I love dvd commentaries in general; they're one of my favourite fannish memes. I've gotten a whole bunch of my best tips from them.

I was halfway through "Sick of Shadows" when I got your email notification. Back I go!

(no subject)

Date: 2012-06-16 12:02 pm (UTC)
capitu: (Default)
From: [personal profile] capitu
I just read it again. God.

I love how much they reveal about each other. I've always thought this is some sort of sexual character study. And it's so damn hot! I love the pushing each other. No, I love everything about it.


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