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So yes, to my own surprise, I wrote a V-Day H/D fic, the first one I remember finishing for February 14th. Um. It's all [ profile] furiosity's fault, 'cause her fic reminded me of having written another pub fic ages ago ('Fighting Dirty') and I got all nostalgic for H/D, and also I realized I've never actually written smitten!Harry as such, much to [ profile] mistful's onetime woe, hehe.

Well, I tried. Couldn't keep the sarcasm off the premises, but you can't say I didn't try! :P Anyway, um, enjoy? heh.

Disclaimer: not mine, Valentine. *snort*

Author's Note: I actually wrote this because I don't think Harry does 'mooning' well, which is why I always write Draco as the desperate hopelessly infatuated one. But I'm nothing if not adventurous.

Dedication: for Maya, who's all about the smitten!Harry and whom I've saddened many times with my beat-on-the-blond-boy ways. And for Aja, who'll always be part of the reason I write H/D, but especially when she posts 'I hate you' notes on Valentine's Day. Awww. <3. Aaaand to Furiosity, whose Valentine's fic inspired me to this madness. Um. We've got to stick together, us crazy shipper fools. And what are the odds none of them would read this? PRETTY DAMN GOOD, that's what. But hey, I like dedicating stuff to people, all right? ...Yeah, even when it sucks.

- Gagging For It

Harry had always wanted Malfoy.

Okay, that wasn't true, thankfully, but it -felt- true. Being bitter and thirty (thirty! were doomed wizarding heroes supposed to even -live- to thirty? he bloody well thought not!) was quite enough to twist his mindset enough as it was, but being pissed off his arse certainly didn't help.

All right, so let's rephrase that: Harry had wanted Malfoy for exactly twelve and a half years.

(Holy flaming shit!)

Well, it was an on and off (and off and on) type deal, but there were still most likely greater odds of the Pope having gay manbabies with Elton John.

Unfortunately for Harry, it was nothing more ridiculous than the truth.

He sighed.

If they'd told him that he'd be thirty and mooning over -Malfoy- exactly thirteen years ago, he'd have laughed. And then went to snog his girlfriend.

Harry swallowed another long swig of firewhisky, trying not to slam his head back against the wall. People might notice. As it was, he was near unrecognizable with all this itchy beard growth. Add some contact lenses and a faded scar, and poof! He might as well be John Smith. Only the people at work knew who he was anymore, and that's the way Harry liked it.

But back to Malfoy. It was Valentine's Day, which was (of course) the only time in the year Harry allowed himself to do three things: dwell, get pissed alone (thinking of Malfoy) and/or wank (thinking of Malfoy), depending on which seemed most appropriate at the time. It was something he might call a flexible sort of tradition, really (unless that was an oxymoron; nonetheless, it worked out somehow). The important thing was that there was to be no dwelling, drinking or wanking in Malfoy's honor the rest of the year, not any constraint-- or duty!-- to give it a tug for old time's sake, as it were. Because scheduling things like that would just be rather sad, wouldn't it? And Harry was nothing if not a normal bloke. Though perhaps not without a little problem on certain holidays, especially ones spent at the Weasleys watching everyone be disgustingly happy, as far as he was concerned.

The wanking used to actually be more satisfying at first, considering how much he'd restrained himself the rest of the year, but lately the shine had started to go off. Perhaps it was the fact that Harry honestly couldn't even -imagine- Malfoy with his head on Harry's lap any longer; it's been so -long-, and he hadn't seen that particular vision for seven years now. It was safe to say that the possibilities shrunk as Malfoy's heterosexual paradise grew and prospered; not that Harry was bitter or anything.

Ahh, if Harry had known that the last time Malfoy would give him head would be when they were seventeen, he'd have at least done something to commemorate the occasion. On the other hand, it was probably enough that it had been Valentine's Day when they'd 'broken up' in the first place, not that they'd been together to start with. Harry wasn't likely to forget it, regardless; it only continued his trend of shitty Valentine's that started with Cho "Buckets" Chang.

Had it really been that long since then? Had he really so utterly failed to have anything resembling a normal relationship, then or now?

Of course, Harry was always available when Malfoy had an unfortunate queer relapse; wham-bam and no-thank-you-I'll-let-myself-out right after. Most of the time, Harry thought those rare encounters, always in the dark with Malfoy smelling of firewhisky, pliant and desperate with his arse in the air, begging to be fucked-- they must either be hallucinations or nightmares. They certainly didn't feel anything like what he'd remembered from the war; he just felt dirty and used afterwards, as if Malfoy had shoved him back into the closet he'd put so much effort into breaking out of. He'd always promise himself that was it, the last time, and somehow, it was all too easy to pretend it never happened. There were certainly no -consequences-, not for Malfoy; only Harry and his pathetic clinging to the past, according to Hermione.

And fine, she didn't actually say 'pathetic' to his face, but he could tell what they were all thinking; at first, he actually had to remind Ron that no, he'd love to take Ginny back, it's just that he was "gay now", yeah? Poor sputtering long-suffering Ron; Harry knew he meant well. They all did. He still chuckled when he remembered that time Hermione offered to cut off Malfoy's balls with that intent, righteous look on her face. It was nice to have friends.

Harry groaned. Not that there had been a shortage of news about Malfoy and -his- exploits; what he might have lacked in friends, he made up for in a constant stream of lovers.

Not that Harry read Witch's Weekly or the gossip pages, but after the Malfoys had lost most of their clout during the war, Draco had decided the only solution was apparently to be as scandalous and "available" as possible. Even Harry had to chuckle, remembering all the parties Malfoy had thrown with raffles held for the dubious privilege of going out with him. Of course, it wasn't quite as funny when Harry remembered that Malfoy really had been that hot, once Harry really looked. Oh, was he. And of course-- of course!-- the way Harry's luck went, right after their brief but memorable 'thing' during the war, at the exact time Harry was starting to seriously question his sexuality-- naturally that's when Malfoy apparently jumped into blissful, enthusiastic heterosexuality. No hard feelings, Malfoy told him. After all, they didn't exactly 'get along' in the first place, did they? So no more 'hard feelings' than they'd had before. And then he'd sneered like he didn't know exactly how Harry would take that comment.

Just like the good old days, except by then Malfoy's sneers tended to make Harry hard. Not that he was going to admit that.

Harry snorted, though it turned into a cough as he tried to drink at the same time. It didn't even hurt anymore, not really. He couldn't blame Malfoy, really. If he could've, he would've gone the straight and narrow any day of the week. Hell, Ginny had even waited for him to be a hundred percent certain-- three fucking years, no less. More than any bloke could've asked for. She was more than he deserved, Harry knew that. She'd even brought up threesomes, dildos, the works; the girl was made of gold. If he hadn't been such a flaming vanilla closetcase back then, he might have taken her up on it. Ahh, who was he kidding? To this day, the thought of Ginny pegging him gave him the cold shivers. Christ.

Still, if only he could get it up, Harry wouldn't have thought long about it. He knew girlfriends didn't get much more understanding than Ginny-- or much hotter, either. God, he was such an bloody idiot.

The worst of it, though-- the worst part was what a fucking dirty git Malfoy had been back then, their few wild weeks together. He was willing to try anything. Not that they'd done anything too shocking by adult standards, but for the two of them, it was a constant, frenzied, sex-mad competition back then. Neither of them had much lasting power, but it turned out both Malfoy's stamina and curiosity were insatiable. There was nothing Harry brought up that he hadn't been willing to try. Twice.

All these years later, and hell if Malfoy hadn't remained the best fuck of Harry's life; the nastiest, the most intense, the only one who made him hard enough to cut glass. And it wasn't rational, either; Harry had slept with blokes he knew rationally were hotter than Malfoy, ones with more impressive cocks, ones who knew more tricks, even ones he could actually have a decent conversation with afterwards. It might have had something to do with the fact that Harry had never met anyone else who'd really been -gagging- for it the way Malfoy had been. No, not for -it-. For -him-, rather. All it took was a look, and as slow as Harry was about these things, his cock was certain Malfoy was dying to have it inside him right that second, and that was the single biggest turn-on ever, as far as Harry was concerned.

No matter what it was, in the end none of them were worth a second wank over. It all turned into a quiet, featureless procession of nice enough lays that he didn't remember very well afterwards. Hermione told him his love-life was unhealthy, that this was a sign of a problem. No shit. Harry knew what the problem was, and it was blond and fit and had a stupid sense of humor and a sexy sneer and wore cashmere fucking jumpers on Sundays, and....

Fuck. Think of the devil.

"Wallowing in self-pity again, Potter?"

Harry jumped. He should've noticed Malfoy come in, seeing as he was sitting in a corner across from the door, but between this and that he'd been distracted, and his eyes skimmed over the poncey bloke in the -suit-, not to mention the huge umbrella.

Delayed reaction?

"Fuck!" he blurted, putting his drink down to see Malfoy leaning over the table with a mocking glint in his eye.

As flustered as Harry was, naturally the first thought that came to mind was how painfully fit (not to mention sober) Malfoy looked in that white suit. White Muggle suit, no less. "Am not!" he said after a beat, blushing immediately. Dammit, why did he have to sound like this much of a fuck-wit straight off the bat?

Unbelievably Malfoy laughed, drawing up a chair. "Riiiight." He looked at Harry a moment through lowered lashes. Coy bastard. "So. What's up?"

"Come just to taunt the poor single poof on Valentine's Day, have you?"

"Easy there, Potter. No need to do my mocking for me. I'm only here for a pint, but clearly I came at a bad time. I'll leave you to your dark and lonely poofdom, then." He started to get up, and Harry couldn't help it. He panicked.

"No!" Harry coughed. "I mean... stay. I... er." He blushed some more, up to his ears now. "I mean, what are you doing here? Not your sort of... um." Malfoy was -looking- at him. It was hard to talk through all the blood rushing to his poor neglected prick (seeing as he hadn't done the Valentine's Day Wank yet). He really had drunk quite a bit tonight, hadn't he. Oh dear.

There was a dramatic pause. "Right then. I see it falls to me to move things along, as per usual." He gave Harry what was probably meant to be a 'meaningful look', but it only made Harry paranoid. "Fancy a dipped strawberry?" Malfoy waggled his eyebrows, and Harry finally noticed the flowery cup plate by his elbow with a generous dollop of chocolate sauce smack in its center. "And no, I'm not stalking you, if that's what you're asking. There are only so many pubs you'd go to for the occasion, and just because I happened to feel like walking into this one too-- pure coincidence."

"Coincidence," Harry said skeptically.

Malfoy produced the strawberry seemingly out of nowhere, dangling it front of Harry like a carrot. "Yes. So what'll it be, Potter?"

Harry sputtered. "W-what--" He swallowed and frowned, glancing about surreptiously for Daily Prophet reporters. "Are you... coming on to me? Very funny."

Malfoy threw his head back, whooping with laughter. "Oh, good one, Potter. And here I thought we had an understanding about this. Still like playing the innocent virgin game after all this time doesn't become you."

"I'm not playing!" Harry huffed, indignant. "And I don't understand a bloody thing at the moment, anyway. Feeling kind of dizzy, come to think of it. Hmm...." Harry's eyes were losing their focus, and he squinted, thinking Malfoy looked rather funny scowling like that, all blurry and everything.

"Don't tell me you don't show up in the exact same three of four pubs every year hoping I'll keep up our cheery little tradition. No, not hoping, -knowing- I'll probably end up here against my better judgment and-- quite frankly-- much better offers elsewhere."

"There you go, then. You're the super-straight playboy here. What am I supposed to do, leap for that strawberry like a trained puppy for your amusement?"

"Oh Potter." Malfoy sighed and started to twirl the poor strawberry in the chocolate in little circles; round and round it went. "You'll never get it, will you." He popped the butt end of the strawberry into his mouth, sucking at the chocolate sauce thoughtfully. Harry tried not to eep.

"Get what," he grumbled.

"Has it never occurred to you to oh, I don't know--" Malfoy may or may not have blushed at this point. It was dark. Harry was distracted by the -tongue-, thank you. "Woo me?" He coughed, swallowing the rest of the fruit.

Harry all but choked. "Woo you?" Not knowing what else to do, he took another healthy gulp of firewhisky, his head starting to buzz, almost but not quite enough to make tackling Malfoy to the floor right -now- seem like a brilliant plan. "I... don't really woo. Much. That is...." He stared at Malfoy's mouth some more. Was he saying something?

"Potter, you utter -twat-!"

He snapped to attention. "Yesh? I mean, yes?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Malfoy produced a wand, pointing the business end at Harry casually, and Harry's last thought was that he was startled Malfoy cared, after all this time. And also damn, this was a stupid way to go.

And then Harry was sober, albeit with a nagging headache and a faint caffeine-like buzz now. Maybe he should have tried harder to recruit Malfoy as an Auror. On the other hand, they'd have driven each other mad within a week, so perhaps it was best this way.

He blinked.

"Oh. You're not bad with a wand, Malfoy."

"Yes, -oh-. Though I'd rather you said thank you, I suppose that's too much to expect from a brute like--"

"Thanks, Malfoy." Harry leaned back, desperately trying to remember exactly how he came to be sitting across from Draco Malfoy in a half-lit pub looking rather chummy. He thought vaguely it had something to do with chocolate and strawberries and things, but the evidence had clearly been confiscated and he was rather lost, all in all. Not that this was anything new. "Er... mind reminding me what are we doing here?"

Malfoy shook his head, chuckling softly. "You really are only good for one thing, aren't you."


"Oh well. It will do, I suppose. Good thing I'm gagging for it, isn't it?"

Harry would've prevaricated further, but then Malfoy got that old determined glint in his eye and came around the table to settle himself on Harry's lap, finding a nice home atop Harry's now painful erection. While Harry gasped and stared, Draco wound his arms around Harry's neck, exhaling.

"I should hope -now- you know what to do, or do I need to Apparate us as well?"

And much as Harry's favorite extremities were cursing him at this point, he -still- couldn't accept this at face value, not least because he didn't have a clue what in the flying fuck was going on. He remembered hearing something about the Fiji islands and a fiancée.... Plus, Malfoy's arse wedged on top of his cock was really rather disorienting, though at least his headache seemed to recede.

"So is all this another experiment? Gotten bored with the heaps of girls throwing themselves at you or something?"

"Is it too much to hope for that you know what it's like to want a simple shag, Potter? Or must everything be a grandiose morality play for you Gryffindors?"

Harry would've jumped up in outrage at this point, and fists might even have been involved, except that Malfoy was on top of him, and really, that's the sort of thing that makes a bloke mellow. Somewhat defeated before he began, Harry dug his nose into the crook of Malfoy's neck. "Well, the last time we shagged was months ago, and you told me it had never happened, and the time before you'd nearly Obliviated me, and then there was that Valentine's you showed up with your girlfriend since apparently she wanted to watch, so what am I supposed to--"

Draco curled his fingers in Harry's hair, murmuring something inarticulate, and then he -pulled-. Harry's head snapped back and for the first time, he met Draco's eyes directly.

If he thought he was turned on before, well, that sort of delusion may be excused for various reasons. Because -damn-.

Draco took his breath away.

He suspected both their eyes were wide as saucers now, and they were panting in unison. Draco's mouth was parted and glistening darkish red and looked tastier than any strawberry had a right to.

"Would you go out with me?"

Somehow-- finally-- saying that had seemed to be the easiest, most obvious thing in the world.

There wasn't even hesitation. "I thought you'd never ask," Draco all but crooned, and licked Harry's mouth. "Now are we going to get out of here or would you rather I put on a little show right here?"

Harry grabbed Malfoy by the back of the head and tugged him forward roughly, shoving his tongue in his dirty little mouth to shut him up.

So this was why Draco always came on Valentine's day (unless he was busy).

He broke away in a sudden burst of paranoia. "You haven't--" He swallowed. "You didn't actually give me an answer."

He thought he saw Draco roll his eyes, if one could do such a thing while panting with your mouth open and grinding rhythmically against someone. Someone who it was probably (maybe?) safe to say was your boyfriend. But. Harry wanted to hear it. He bit his lip, then thrust a hand into Malfoy's nicely stretched out trousers for some encouragement. "Well?"

Malfoy's gasp was rather satisfying, all things considered. "Berk."

"Wow, that one hurt." Harry grinned and licked at Malfoy's cheek.

"Eeew!" But Malfoy's dick jumped in his fist a little. Heh. He was so easy, it would be sad if Harry wasn't that much easier.

Harry squeezed harder, though this probably didn't have the intended effect, seeing as Draco moaned quite loudly and bucked up against him, drawing the eyes of some burly balding drunk, who leered at them and gave a thumbs up. Well, good thing Draco had his back to the man, or Harry would've had a situation on his hands.

"Fine!" Malfoy gasped, pumping his hips up constantly now, silently begging. That was how Harry liked it, yes. "Fine, yes, I'll be your sodding official boyfriend, so can we maybe get on with it?"

Harry just had to milk this for all it was worth. He rubbed his thumb over the head of Malfoy's cock, whispering softly to him. "Your lover? Your -only- lover, baby?" Harry beamed.

Malfoy glared murderously at him and bit at his lower lip savagely. Well, lust could be savage.

"That fucking goes for you double, you two-timing arsehole! And if you don't fuck me right now, I'll cut off your balls and feed them to Dobby, Potter."

Ahhh, who said romance was dead?

All in all, Harry really fucking loved Valentine's Day.


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the artist formerly known as lunacy

October 2012

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