Disclaimer: Obviously none of this belongs to me.

AN: The phrases and sentences in italics are Harry's thoughts, and italicised words are done so for emphasis. I apologize for any mistakes, and please notify me if I made any major errors. To anyone who doesn't know this, when I use the word pants in this fic, it actually means underwear, and not trousers. I hope everyone enjoys this silly fic, and do let me know what you think.

Summary: A shirt-less Draco distracts Harry.

Warning: Mature content with m/m action.

Harry felt his whole body heating up, because there was no way that it wouldn't. How could he possibly stop it when he was met with a sight like that? Because there was Draco Malfoy wearing nothing but boots and low-slung jeans that allowed his hipbones to peak out whenever he moved. And he knew that Malfoy wasn't wearing anything else, since during the whole course of his staring, he hadn't even seen a hint of a waistband that could belong to any sort of underwear, unless Malfoy liked wearing invisible pants. And if that wasn't distracting enough, his toned and slender torso was shinning with sweat, the hard planes and angles accentuated by the light playing off of them

Harry did try to avert his eyes, knowing that Malfoy would catch on to his perversions if he didn't stop soon. But his gaze always strayed back to the attractive blonde; he just couldn't help it. And after covertly glancing at Malfoy's face intermittently, he deemed it safe to ogle some more, since it appeared that the blonde was totally absorbed in his task, so Harry happily gave up his pretence of not being interested. Besides, there was nothing else to occupy his time with; the room was empty, except for a threadbare sofa. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, the Slytherin was the focal point of the room.

They were alone in the Room of Requirement, since they were practising their duelling skills in preparation for the imminent war. Malfoy especially, needed to hone his techniques and strengths, because he was going to be a likely target of all the Death Eaters, following his defection from the Dark Side.

Harry was happy to help Malfoy, and didn't mind spending time with him; they were well on their way to friendship after all. But he had never foreseen a predicament such as this. Things were going well when they had met up, both of them trying to infiltrate through the other's defences, and events following a sequitur for ex-rivals, their latent competitiveness had ignited, and soon their friendly duel had transpired to a fast and furious pace, spells and hexes flying about, until they grudgingly called it a draw. They were simply too well matched in their fighting.

Harry had enjoyed that very much, but then the air around Harry became stifling and suffocating when Malfoy took off his shirt, claiming that the duel had worn him out and that the room was too hot to concentrate in. And then Harry was the one who couldn't concentrate, but thankfully they weren't duelling anymore; instead Draco was attempting the Patronus charm, while Harry helped. Not that Harry was really helping, offering non-committal grunts and "uh huhs" to appease the blonde whenever he demanded for Harry's opinion.

His mind however, was filled by a litany of "just a little lower" and "drop, damn it, fucking drop", all of them pertaining to the desperately clinging jeans. Really, Harry thought, it was a miracle that they stayed on at all. If it weren't so ludicrous, he would have suspected that Malfoy must have spelled them to stay on.

Dear Merlin, was that a tattoo of a snitch Harry had just glimpsed flitting about on an exposed hipbone?

He should have really been horrified when his flaccid cock twitched because of that, but if he knew one thing, it was that Malfoy could make a gay man out of any male with a healthy libido. What with his perfect body and angelic face, anyone with eyes could fall hard for the blonde. So he wasn't too distressed. As long as his bodily functions remained a secret, no one could get hurt. Oh, there it is again.

"Potter, did you just whimper?" Draco asked, his tone dripping with amusement.

"What, of course not Malfoy. I was just clearing my throat," Harry said decisively, so that he could convince himself just as much as Malfoy. If Harry had actually torn his gaze from Malfoy's nether regions—with it's oh-so-lovely trail of blonde hair leading right to the mouth watering prize—and glanced at his face, he would have seen the wicked gleam in those grey eyes, but he was blessedly saved from any blushing or spluttering.

Draco had moved on to other complex spells and charms, giving up on trying to produce a successful Patronus for the day. But Harry wasn't paying attention to the impressive wand works; instead he was avidly watching the moving hips, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive and enticing tattoo again. His mind was filled with begs for the stubborn denims to just drop already.

Draco shivered when he felt Harry's magic wash over him. And then, his jeans disappeared.

Sweet fuck!

Had Harry been in his right mind, he would have been alarmed by this occurrence. After all it wasn't often that people's clothes disappeared haphazardly. But it seemed that his ability to form coherent thought had disappeared along with Malfoy's trousers. Not that he could be blamed, because the sight of a semi-erect, nude Draco save for the leather boots, could have short-circuited anyone's brain.

But perhaps, it was a good thing that he couldn't question it, because if he could, he would have been mortified to realize that it was his Wandless burst of magic that had vanished Malfoy's jeans. Wizards and witches were susceptible to letting their magic run wild in the course of very strong emotions, and crazier things had happened to unsuspecting individuals.

Harry gulped when Malfoy turned, getting the whole frontal view, and was equally terrified and aroused when he saw Malfoy getting harder by every step he took towards Harry, his boots clicking ominously on the stone floor.

Each step brought him closer, until he was close enough for Harry to reach out and touch. He could see the moving tattoo clearly now, and a vague thought passed in his mind that it was indeed a snitch. But he couldn't really focus on that, not when Draco's cock was right there, proudly jutting out of its nest of blonde hair. His fingers itched to touch, to do something, anything. But it seemed that his body was no longer connected to his brain, because even though it was screaming for some kind of action, Harry just couldn't move. He stood, stock-still, and averted his eyes to a less dangerous view of Draco's chest, lest he run the risk of drying up his eyes, since he was too reluctant to blink and miss the riveting sight.

His eyes followed Malfoy's muscles shifting when he bent down to tuck his wand into a holster in one of his boots, and he was saved from having to move because Malfoy closed the gap between them once he stood up. He pressed his naked body to Harry's, and just like that, Harry went from half-hard to rock hard. This would have certainly embarrassed him, if he couldn't feel and see an answering hardness that was now rubbing against him.

He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the flood of sensations wracking through his trembling body. Malfoy lifted his chin with his thumb and forefinger, and Harry was forced to open his eyes when he felt Malfoy breathing on his parted lips.

He only had a moment to see Malfoy's feral grin and utter a rather girlish squeak, before Malfoy well, attacked his lips, nipping and biting his bottom lip, between licks and kisses. He had no choice but to open his mouth, only so that Malfoy would cease his assault on his poor lips. But he didn't get any reprieve from Malfoy's aggression, because he was thrusting and flicking his tongue in a brutal manner, practically devouring him, while his hands tugged at Harry's hair

Malfoy started pushing against him, until he had to move backwards, or else risk them both falling on the unforgiving floor. They walked/stumbled before Harry fell on the tattered sofa the Room had provided them with, it's springs protesting when Malfoy followed him.

He crawled onto his lap, sitting astride him, and shoved his tongue back into Harry's mouth, while his hands crept under Harry's shirt, caressing his sides and stomach and leaving a trail of goose flesh in their wake.

Harry's own hands were below Malfoy's arm pits, afraid to move them anywhere else, since the skin contact seemed to burn him, but unable to stop his thumbs from flicking the hardened nubs of Malfoy's nipples. Malfoy must have liked that, judging by the way he moaned and thrusted his hips and ground down on Harry's straining erection.

Harry could acutely feel the blonde's cock rubbing on his shirt, leaving a damp trail, and making it stick to his already sweaty skin. He should have been repulsed, or run away screaming, or at the very least push Malfoy away. But he didn't do any of that, the thought of resisting didn't even enter his feverish mind, especially not while Malfoy was hurriedly unzipping his trousers, and delving his hand into his pants, gripping his cock in a firm hold, pumping and caressing the heated skin.

Fucking hell!

Harry used all of his almost non-existent restraint to stop from thrusting into Malfoy's hand, and coming right then and there. Instead, he whimpered and squirmed, tightening his hold on Malfoy, grateful for the tongue in his mouth that drowned all the pathetic sounds he made.

He figured that he should reciprocate, it wasn't fair that Malfoy was the only one pleasuring, but just when Harry was dredging up his courage to follow through on that conviction, Malfoy slithered down—there really was no other way to describe his feline motions—and knelt between his parted legs, looking up through his fringe with a smirk.

He lowered Harry's pants, and took out his leaking cock, before licking a stripe up the length. Harry could feel the blood filled in his cock throbbing, as if his very heart had travelled southwards, and hissed when Malfoy mouthed the wet head, licking the slit and lapping up the pre-come.

And suddenly it was all too much for Harry; the dizzying view, Malfoy's hands on his hips, the obscene slurping sounds that felt like a thousand ghostly fingers caressing him overwhelmed him.

He tugged at Malfoy's hair, gripping it in handfuls, as he pulled the busy mouth away from his too-excited cock, while choking out, "Stop…don't." He hauled Malfoy up, despite how good the tongue felt.

He couldn't explain why he did it. Perhaps it was the fear of losing it too bloody quickly, or maybe it was his adamant resolve to always be on equal footing with the Slytherin. He knew that Malfoy sorely eclipsed him in this regard. He could have never returned the favour, and sucked off Malfoy.

"What's the matter Potter? Too much to handle?"

It galled Harry that Malfoy could form full sentences when he could barely form one in his head. But it did soothe his pride that the Slytherin had more or less panted out those words. He retaliated by snogging him, putting his all to render the snarky git speechless, and Draco hummed in appreciation.

Malfoy assumed their previous positions, and once again brought his hand to Harry's dick. Trusting himself to not mess up too much, Harry slowly brought one of his hands downwards, touching the sternum, tracing the ribs and feeling the muscles clench under his exploring fingers, until he followed the snail trail of hair, smoothening it, and travelling up and down it, always stopping just short of his pubic hair. He splayed his hand on Draco's flat stomach, hesitant to go lower, but determined to eventually do so. He hoped that Malfoy would be patient with him, just this once.

But the blonde seemed to be going crazy, because he squeezed Harry's cock viciously, and grabbed Harry's hand, placing it on his cock, and shivering as Harry loosely gripped him.

"It won't hurt you Harry," the name ending in a purr when he tentatively caressed the whole length. Encouraged by the reaction, Harry concentrated on his task to garner more of those delicious sounds that left his skin tingling, and bit Draco's neck to stifle his own vocalizations when the blonde sped up his motions. But he slowed down his own frenzied and clumsy hand, wanting to draw out the process, and wring out as much of those delightful shivers and ruts as he possibly could, knowing that this was most certainly a one-off.

He could feel his orgasm fast approaching, his balls tightening and gut plunging, as it finally rushed through him with the force of a bludger, and he was unable to stop himself from keening and giving a jerked thrash.

His come splattered on his damp shirt, but that didn't bother him, because Draco was staring at him with hunger, and more importantly, he was still hard. Redoubling his efforts—although it was difficult to wade through the murky waters of post-coitus—he licked and bit any available skin.

Harry felt Draco stiffen and give a hoarse cry, and wrenched himself off Draco's addictive skin to gaze at the spectacle of Draco Malfoy climaxing. And Harry was glad that he did, because watching Draco arch his back, spread his legs wider and thrust into his hand, he could honestly saw that it was one of the most beautiful displays he had ever witnessed.

Draco slumped onto Harry, limp and panting, and Harry was amused to find out that lethargy kicked in pretty quickly for the blonde, which quickly turned bitterness, because he would never be able to discover more of such intimate details about the Slytherin. He knew that the blonde would avoid him as much as possible, and couldn't foresee this ending in anything but awkwardness.

He idly followed the contours of Draco's spine, vaguely reflecting that Draco wasn't in the least bit uncomfortable with being nude in front of an ex-rival, but then he realized that even though his own cock was hanging out of his open fly, he wasn't either. In light of the recent events, they could hardly be modest. He wondered when Draco would jump off of him, and deny everything that had happened.

He was startled out his abstraction when he felt Draco's very talented tongue lick the shell of his ear, mouthing his jaw, before capturing his lips in a slow, long kiss. "Vanishing clothes is so uncouth. There is such a thing called finesse, Potter. I think I'll stick with you until you can unbutton my shirt and unzip my trousers Wandlessly. You need me for motivation, after all."

"It was you who vanished my jeans, you know," he added when he saw Harry's nonplussed expression.

It was then that Harry remembered the event that had actually triggered everything. "But that might take years to accomplish."

"Your point?" Draco asked, with an innocent half-smile.

And Harry couldn't be arsed to be mortified about his accidental magic, not when it had resulted him a lapful of a naked Draco, and certainly not when he could look forward to more of the seductive Slytherin for the foreseeable future. He would bloody well make sure that he stuck to vanishing clothes, and learn nothing about finesse.