Chapter Text
“Potter, Malfoy, speak with me this instant.”
McGonagall’s screaming again. Apparently their little scuffle didn’t go unnoticed. The woman must have the eye of a hawk to notice the very subtle, albeit very provoked punches that were thrown eighty feet in the air.
Harry stalks over reluctantly, biting down on his tongue to stop himself from spitting utter filth in the direction of Malfoy’s smackable grin as the Slytherin saunters across, clearly amused by the entire thing. The buzz of excitement and the chants from the Slytherin’s echo around the pitch around them and Harry wants nothing more than to piss off to the showers and forget this game ever happened.
"Any more trouble from either of you two and you will both be banned from all future quidditch games!" McGonagall barks, her finger pointing harshly between the two boys. Malfoy’s obviously biting back laughter not only at how shrivelled and red her face becomes when she’s angry, but at the entire situation in general and Harry feels his fist ball up in reaction.
“Of course Potter would run to a teacher to complain when things don’t go his way. How pathetic .” Malfoy sneers.
“I didn’t complain. You’re just a cheat.” Harry argues
"It was Potter's fault. He had it in for me from the start! You saw all of those illegal moves he made on me, Professor?”
"Oh shove off, Malfoy,” Harry retorts, “You tried to knock me off more than once and you know it."
"Enough! I don't want to hear another word from either of you. I will be keeping a close eye on you both and if I see even a hint of foul play I will not hesitate to ban you from future games.” She scolds, before regaining some sort of composure and pushing her glasses up to the bridge of her nose. “Now, shower and get dressed, I expect to see you both back in the Great Hall in time for dinner, no exceptions."
She whips around on her heel and marches off back to the castle along with the final stragglers of students. Their eyes lock momentarily, and Harry wonders if smacking the smug git in front of her would be worth missing out on the rest of the quidditch season.
Holding back the urge with all his might, he barges past Malfoy, hitting him on the shoulder in the process and marches back to the shower rooms, wishing to wash away this entire shitshow of an afternoon. He doesn’t bother looking back to see whether Malfoy is following behind. He doesn’t care.
He thought that as they’d grown older, he’d come to some sort of unspoken agreement with Malfoy to be more civil at school. They argued less, Malfoy stopped pestering him and his friends and he assumed that the Slytherin had outgrown his boyish bullying days until moments like today remind him that he’s still a complete arse.
The rest of his team are already leaving with their damp hair and kit bags slung over their shoulders when Harry reaches the changing rooms. Despite losing the game, they’re laughing about something and chatting together, but Harry’s not in the mood for conversation, and heads straight for the showers.
He tosses his towel over the hook on the wall and turns the water on and as he waits for it to heat up, the sound of subtle footsteps in the far corner of the room become apparent. Malfoy strides in with nothing but a towel around his waist. He doesn’t make eye contact, but is still wearing his usual smirk of superiority that Harry wants so badly to wipe from his stupid face.
Though he would never admit it, Malfoy does look good in nothing but a towel, he wears it annoyingly well. His body slim with porcelain skin, arms and back toned every so slightly, his long legs slender, carrying him gracefully as he makes his way for the shower cubicle.
From the corner of his vision, he can see Malfoy testing the hot water with his hands first, like they usually did thanks to the terrible plumbing that had ice streaming from the showers most of the time. The water drips from his fingers and he slides them back through his hair that’s grown more careless over the last few months, short on the sides with longer strands that fall over his forehead. Admittedly, it suits him well, and Harry senses that unfamiliar flutter in his chest at the sight of the Slytherin half-naked, dropping his towel as the water crashes over his body.
The shower rooms were often packed after a match, with the teams staying together in their houses. Until now, he’d never been alone with anyone in here before, let alone Malfoy, and he can’t peel his eyes away.
"That was an illegal move and you know it." Malfoy calls from across the room, his voice echoing against the walls.
Harry drops his head back, tongue in cheek. He isn't about to start an argument now. Especially whilst naked.
Malfoy begins lathering up soap between his hands as he continues rambling on. "I get it, you're a sore loser, it's fine–"
"I'm not a sore loser." Harry grits, stealing another quick glance of the blonde, at the faint movement of his muscles flexing under his skin as he washes himself.
“Of course not,” Malfoy scoffs, “You simply weren't on form today–"
"And that move was totally legal! You're just a shit seeker." Harry cuts him off, angrily scrubbing his chest, neither of them actually looking at each other.
" I'm shit? You couldn't even see the snitch when it was right in front of you! That's rather embarrassing–"
"Piss off, Malfoy."
"Oh dear, am I winding you up?" Malfoy asks, condescening and smug as fuck.
Harry doesn't respond. The best way to deal with Malfoy’s insults nowadays is to simply rise above it. Instead, he forces himself to focus on the water crashing over his chest, the zesty scent of mango body wash that’s foaming over his skin.
"Just admit it, Potter. You're nothing special anymore. You're getting soft ."
"As if.” Harry spits, “I nearly beat you off your broom, didn't I?"
"Barely." Malfoy laughs, "You’ve no drive or determination, I’m surprised they still want you on the team given how many games you lost of late. Using you purely for your status, unlike the rest of us who actually have talent and skill."
If Harry bites the inside of his cheek any harder, it’ll bleed. His jaw stuck out and fists clenched around the soap so hard it’s seconds away from slipping from his grasp. He controls himself with slow breath and musters every nerve in his body to stop from snapping. Of all places to wind him up, Malfoy had to do it in the sodding showers, didn’t he?
He steps under the showerhead fully and allows the heavy flow of water to cascade over him, which thankfully drowns out the noise of Malfoy and the sight of him too. It should’ve been the distraction he needed, only Malfoy’s words are still ringing in his ears, piercing his ego.
He’s not a shit seeker. He’s a brilliant seeker. Sure, he’s not as brazen as Malfoy, and certainly not as confident, but that doesn’t make him weak . Years of this pettiness should have left him immune to Malfoy’s insults and yet it still bothers him. Fuck Malfoy for managing to get under his skin, again . Fuck Malfoy.
When he finally builds up the courage to argue back, he falters at the sight of Malfoy naked from behind, at those goddamn legs and, jesus fuck – that arse . Two plump cheeks worthy of a bite or two. Malfoy’s shoulder blades protrude from his pale flesh, the water crashing over his back. Harry’s breath catches and he can’t pull his gaze away. Heat pools in his chest. It must be from the steam.
"Are you perving on me, Potter?" Malfoy breaks the silence, peering over his shoulder. Harry darts back to the wall so fast his neck twinges. It’s definitely the steam because his cheeks are flushed red now too. "Always knew you couldn't resist me."
"Christ, will you just shut up for once in your miserable life?" Harry groans.
“I didn’t hear a no .”
“I said fuck off.”
“You said shut up , actually.”
“Fucking hell, you know what—”
Harry stops. Forcing a steady breath, he scrunches his eyes shut to rid himself of the agitation, yet the darkness of his vision only provides that wonderful mental image of Malfoy’s arse.
“Oh, poor thing,” Malfoy chimes in, “Made you speechless, did I?”
It takes every ounce of strength not to slam his fist into the tiles ahead. He waits, breathing heavily under the water, that heat from his chest draining to his cock which twitches and to his horror, juts out into the air. Of all the times to get a sodding boner, this had to be the worst. If Malfoy catches on he’ll never live this down, but quite frankly, he’s done giving Malfoy the upper hand.
Enough is enough.
He allows himself a stroke over the tip, biting down to stifle the moan that crawls up his throat. Then, fuelled by some invisible feat of ridiculous confidence, he turns to Malfoy, and steps from his cubicle, steam rising from his skin as he meets the cold air.
Malfoy's face is a picture. His ugly smirk vanishes the moment he’s met with the sight of Harry – naked Harry, marching over to him. His jaw drops, and the soap jumps from his hand, crashing at his feet.
“Potter? What the fuck—”
“Shut up.”
Harry’s heart slams against his ribcage, speeding with every footstep and it’s likely he’s going to pass out or vomit or embarrass himself entirely because of course that would happen in front of Malfoy, but still, he persists. Feigning confidence yet simultaneously not giving a single fuck. He’s done with Malfoy running his stupid mouth.
"P-Potter?"
Malfoy, now paralysed where he stands, doesn’t even look away. His wide eyes flick down to Harry’s cock and linger, just for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough to make Harry swell with another wave of hardness. Just the thought of Malfoy eyeing his cock like that leaves him weak.
As Harry closes the gap between them, Malfoy backs up against the wall, wincing slightly from the cold tiles touching him. Harry stops only inches away. The heat radiates from Malfoy’s body against his own. Steam lingers around them. Droplets of water cling to their flushed skin.
A whimper escapes Malfoy, his cheeks flaming gorgeously pink. At first, he appears to have tensed up, most likely bracing for the impact of Harry’s fist, but when it doesn’t come, he opens his eyes, meeting the hunger in Harry’s.
Harry steps in, until their bodies almost brush and Malfoy stands frozen as Harry leans closer, his breath soft against Malfoy’s ear. “You have something you wanna say to me?”
The lack of response clearly says it all, and from the mortified look on Malfoy’s face, his sudden erection says it too.
Harry looks down at the sight that is Malfoy’s cock, hard and heavy, jutting out from a nest of soft blonde curls. Pink at the head, the same shade as Malfoy’s lips, glistening with a tiny bead of precome. Harry’s not often one for smirking, but this truly is delicious.
“Oh dear, did I make you hard?” Harry asks, brow ached. Malfoy pants softly under his breath, unable to even look Harry in the eye from the utter shame of his reaction. His lower lips part to spit some sharp comeback, but it never happens. Instead, his eyes are glued to the floor, and Harry can see the heavy rise and fall of his hot, steamy chest, the flutter of half-lidded lashes. “Looks like you’re the weak one here, Malfoy.”
Harry shifts on his feet and in doing so, his cock brushes against Malfoy’s thigh, choking out a gorgeous mewl from the blonde, who drops his head back against the wall in defeat. Harry’s eyes spark, and his teeth sink into his lower lip as he studies this newfound, trembling, vulnerable Malfoy.
The smug grin is wiped clean from Malfoy’s face, and Harry’s savouring every moment of it.
Eventually, Malfoy swallows hard and steadies himself against the wall, the courage plucked from somewhere in his squirming state. “I-I’m weak, am I? That’s rich coming from you .”
With some insane driving force, Harry grabs Malfoy’s wrists and pins them above his head. Malfoy gasps at the sudden movement, but has little chance to react as Harry closes the gap, bringing them chest to chest.
“ Merlin-fuck! ” Malfoy cries. The intrusion of Harry’s cock pushing against his hip has the blonde on the brink of sobbing. He bows his head, and in doing so ends up resting it on Harry’s shoulder, his panting breaths teasing over the skin of Harry’s chest.
Harry seizes the moment of closeness to nestle into Malfoy’s ear and whisper, “If I was weak, would I be touching you like this?” He takes both of Malfoy’s wrists into one hand, which allows the other to stroke down Malfoy’s torso. Malfoy mutters something incoherent and moans, bucking his hips against Harry’s groin.
At this rate, Harry’s clueless as to how he’s even managed to get this far. He only wanted to shut Malfoy up, then was flooded with a surprising wave of arousal that drove him to, well… this . Now he’s grinding into Malfoy against the shower wall and feeding off the needy little whimpers that tumble from Malfoy’s wasted breaths. Worst of all, he wants it. They both do.
Harry tilts his head a little, admiring the quivering lower lip of Malfoy as he tries and fails to steady his breathing. “If I was weak, would I be touching you like this?”
Malfoy shudders at the stroke of Harry’s fingers mapping over the curves and dents of his body. They settle into Malfoy’s nape, where Harry slides his fingers up through sodden strands of blonde. He tugs slightly, exposing Malfoy’s neck, untouched flesh in need of claiming.
“Would I be breathing down your neck like this?” Harry asks, innocent as possible. His words melt like butter in the heat around them and must be pooling into Malfoy’s brain, if the flutter of his eyelids is anything to go by.
Harry draws back, pads two fingers under Malfoy’s chin and guides him back. Look at me, Malfoy. Look at what I do to you.
“If I was weak, Malfoy, would I kiss you like this?”
Their lips meet, Harry pressing his kiss against Malfoy’s stuttering, helpless, oblivious mouth and Malfoy… melts into it. Deepening it, their tongues meet, pulling a moan from the back of Malfoy’s throat. Harry releases the grip on Malfoy’s wrists and brings his hands to Malfoy’s neck, pinning him to the wall.
Slick and wet, their bodies press, steaming rising around them. Harry’s heart hammers against his chest, and he’s certain he can feel Malfoy’s doing the same. Their cocks meet somewhere in the heat of their embrace, hard and desperate. It takes all Harry’s strength not to throw Malfoy to his knees, push his cock down his throat, pin him with it, make him squirm and humiliate himself. The bratty bastard deserves to choke on it for all Harry cares.
If he did care. Which he doesn’t .
Harry breaks the kiss, wiping his lips on his hand whilst taking in the sight of Malfoy speechless, for once. If this is what it takes to shut him up then he’d happily do it again. But the kiss felt good, annoyingly good, and now he's pulled away he can feel Malfoy’s touch etched into his skin and the taste of him lingers on his lips.
Malfoy stares at him, grey eyes almost depleted of colour.
“I think you’re the weak one here, Malfoy, wouldn’t you agree?”
Malfoy says nothing. Rendered stiff in more ways than one. There’s a tightness in his jaw, the same look he gets when he’s about to spit his venom. But it doesn’t arrive. He simply watches Harry, frailer than before, stripped of malice. Ashamed.
“Impressive.” Harry says, eyeing down at Malfoy’s aching hard-on. With that, he turns on his heel, swipes the towel from the hook and walks off toward the changing rooms, brimming with pride.
Malfoy watches him go. He slumps back against the shower wall, and turns the water setting to cold.