Title: The Cause and the Solution
Author: gypsyflame
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Draco; background epilogue-era pairings
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Sex under the influence
Other Warnings: Epilogue-era infidelity
Word Count: ~5,300
Summary/Description: The discovery of his wife’s infidelity – and a liberal amount of alcohol – leads Harry to do something he never expected.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to melusina_hp for the superb beta work! Anyone who recognizes the title watches too much The Simpsons.




Merlin’s balls, Harry hated these tedious charity functions. It might have sounded awful, but he could think of about eight hundred million things he’d rather be doing with his time than sitting in the ballroom of some rich wizard’s fancy mansion, listening to a bunch of other rich wizards congratulate themselves on how “compassionate” and “forward-thinking” they were.

If it were up to him, he would just write a cheque and have done with it. Charitable organizations legitimately needed money to function; what they didn’t need was for Harry to have his ear talked off for five or six hours while he got progressively drunker, to the point where flinging himself out a third-storey window felt like an excellent alternative. But Ginny insisted that they attend every ball and banquet that they were invited to – which was all of them.

Once Harry had understood how important it was to Ginny to have an active social life, he had stopped protesting about the events she dragged him to. Tolerating one night of boredom every other weekend or so was a small price to pay to see Ginny happy and fulfilled, even if he himself would rather have been home with the kids. At least she never complained about how drunk he got.

And he did get drunk. Normally, Harry wasn’t big on alcohol; he only ever drank at parties, and even then not to the point of inebriation. But the only way he could make it through these formal events was to get as smashed as humanly possible.

The one good thing that could be said about the fundraisers was that the alcohol was always top-notch. Harry usually settled himself in a seat near the bar, throwing back drink after drink while Ginny flitted around the room like a vibrant butterfly. He was forced to endure a seemingly endless line of well-wishers and sycophants wanting to speak to him in the early evening, but their numbers dwindled as the night wore on. The fact that Harry tended to make a mean drunk probably had a lot to do with it.

He couldn’t remember what that night’s benefit was for. Orphans? Animals? Something along those lines. Harry wasn’t even sure whose house they were in. All these huge, ostentatious mansions looked alike, anyway.

He glanced at his watch and sighed. How could it only be nine o’clock? He tried to recall how much he’d had to drink that night. Two glasses of wine, he thought, and a few whiskeys. Enough to make him feel pleasantly tipsy, but not quite enough to push him over the line into true drunkenness. It was time to change that.

But first, he needed the loo.

Harry got to his feet a little clumsily and wound his way through the crowded ballroom, nodding absently when he was spoken to without paying attention to either the words or the speakers. The hallway was blessedly empty, and Harry followed it down to the bathroom, which, thanks to all the alcohol, he’d already visited several times that evening.

He took as long as he could, dreading his return to the fray, but there was only so much time a person could spend washing their hands before they started feeling ridiculous. Harry dried his hands on a plush towel and opened the bathroom door.

The sound of footsteps and feminine giggling made him pause. “Really? Here?” said a woman, her voice low and breathless. “What if someone sees?”

“Who’s going to see?” a second woman said.

Not just a woman, Harry thought, and the realization was like running headlong into a brick wall. Ginny.

“Your husband, for one.”

“Please,” Ginny scoffed. “He’s drunk off his arse. At this point he wouldn’t even know me from any other ginger woman. He’ll probably try to go home with Beatrice Northwood, thinking she’s me.”

Harry sucked in a hurt breath at Ginny’s casually contemptuous tone. He came to these things for her, and that was what she thought of him?

“Beatrice looks nothing like you,” the other woman said. “Her hair’s a horrible orange, for one. Nothing like your lovely red.”

Ginny’s pleased laugh was soft, sultry, the kind of noise that was only made in a bedroom. The kind of noise that Harry had thought he was the only one to hear.

Very carefully, Harry stepped out into the hallway. He looked left and right, trying to ascertain which direction the voices had come from. A sigh and the sounds of wet kissing drew his attention to a couch set in a recess in the wall a few metres away.

Ginny had good taste; Harry had to give her that. Harry didn’t know the woman his wife was snogging, but she was stunning, with glossy chestnut hair and long, shapely legs. Perversely, Harry’s first, instinctive reaction to the sight was arousal.

Then the reality hit home. His wife was cheating on him. Cheating on him with a woman.

Harry clenched his jaw to keep back the noise of anger and betrayal that threatened to escape him. He couldn’t confront Ginny now. They would be certain to attract notice from the people gathered in the ballroom, and besides, he was too tipsy to be able to hold his own against her just then.

Instead, he turned and walked quietly back to the ballroom, which fortunately lay in the opposite direction. Once there, he made a beeline for the bar, ordered another whisky, and collapsed onto a nearby chair, throwing the drink back in a single gulp. It burned his throat, but the burn of threatening tears hurt more. Harry closed his eyes and pressed his thumb and middle finger against them. He couldn’t break down in a room full of people. Especially not these people.

The clunk of a full glass being set on the table made him open his eyes, and he stared in astonishment as Draco Malfoy sat in the chair next to him.

“You look like hell, Potter.”

Harry saw Malfoy quite often – they seemed to attend all the same social functions – but he hadn’t actually spoken to the man in years. His eyes flicked uncertainly to the fresh glass of whisky Malfoy had brought him, but his need to dull the pain of Ginny’s infidelity overcame his suspicion. He tossed the second drink back as quickly as the first.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

Malfoy leaned in close, his neutral expression at odds with the strangely intense tone of his voice. “I mean you look like you’re about to burst into tears any moment. So keep it together, because there are dozens of vultures here who would just love to sell that story to the Prophet.” He leaned back again and took a small sip of his drink, which was something clear – gin, perhaps.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Including you?”

“Maybe ten years ago,” Malfoy said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But I’ve been watching you, and I think you may actually hate these things even more than I do. That’s quite impressive, I can assure you.”

“I would have thought you’d love this kind of thing.”

Malfoy made a face. “Hardly. I can think of better uses for my time than being bored to death.”

His words echoed Harry’s own thoughts so closely that Harry was a little taken aback. “Then why do you come?” he asked.

“My wife loves them.”

Harry’s stomach clenched. “Mine, too,” he muttered.

“So what’s with the mood? I can tell it’s more than simple boredom.”

Harry was well on his way to being drunk, but he wasn’t stupid. There was no way he was going to trust Malfoy with what he’d just discovered. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Malfoy shrugged. “Suit yourself. Do you want another drink?”

“Er, sure. Thanks.”

It only took a couple minutes for Malfoy to fetch them both refills and return to his seat. Harry wondered why Malfoy was acting like they were friends, but his brain was too muddled to think through it properly.

“Thanks,” he said again when Malfoy handed him his drink. Feeling suddenly awkward, Harry cast about for a non-incendiary topic of conversation. “I hope at least your wife is having fun tonight.”

“Astoria? I’m sure she is; I haven’t seen her in hours. She’s off somewhere with Raul.”

“Raul?”

“Her lover.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Her what?”

“Raul is her lover.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said automatically.

Malfoy frowned. “For what?”

“For… you know. Your wife.”

Malfoy’s brow smoothed out and, to Harry’s surprise, he laughed aloud. “Oh, Potter. Sometimes I forget you were raised by Muggles. Why shouldn’t Astoria have lovers? I do.”

“But – but you’re married!”

“So?”

Malfoy’s casual attitude towards the situation baffled Harry. He downed his drink and shook his head. “Don’t you ever get jealous?”

“No. But to be fair, Astoria and I don’t have that kind of relationship.”

“What kind of relationship?”

“We don’t have sex.”

Harry almost dropped his glass. “You don’t have sex with your own wife?”

“Never.”

“You have a kid!”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Do you think sex between a man and a woman is the only way to conceive a child? Honestly, Potter, even Muggles have found ways around that.”

Harry’s head was starting to hurt. Malfoy’s entire mindset was so completely alien to him that he couldn’t begin to understand it. Why on earth would you marry someone you didn’t even want to have sex with?

“I need another drink,” he said, lurching unsteadily to his feet.

“Get me one while you’re up,” Malfoy said, handing Harry his empty glass.

The walk to and from the bar did nothing to clear Harry’s mind; if anything, he was more confused by the time he’d sat back down. “Look,” he said to Malfoy, determined to make sense of the whole thing, “why don’t you sleep with your wife? She’s hot.”

Malfoy snorted. “Yes, she is. And if I were at all attracted to women, I’m sure I’d be more than thrilled to spend time in her bed.”

Oh. “You’re gay?” Harry asked.

There was a short pause. “I don’t understand what you mean by that,” Malfoy said, sounding puzzled.

Fuck. Harry was always forgetting that pureblood wizards had no terms for – or even a concept of – sexual orientation. “It means you only have sex with men,” he said.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. “Does it? Then yes, I suppose I am.”

Harry looked down at his empty glass – wait, empty? When had that happened?

“I’ve never had sex with a man,” he said, his words a little slurred.

“Really?”

“I’ve only ever had sex with Ginny.”

“Are you serious? You need to get out more, Potter.”

“She’s cheating on me,” he blurted, looking back up at Malfoy. “I just found out.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened.

Harry dropped his head again. “I think I’m a little drunk.”

“A little? Come on, Potter, let’s go outside. The fresh air will do you some good.”

They both stood, Malfoy reaching out to steady Harry when he nearly fell over.

“Gods, you are drunk,” said Malfoy. “This way.”

They walked out onto a terrace and down into one of the mansion’s formal gardens, Harry clinging to Malfoy’s arm every step of the way. He shouldn’t have drunk all that whiskey so quickly. He usually paced himself better than that, but given the circumstances…

“Here,” Malfoy said, urging Harry to sit on a stone bench. “If you’re going to vomit, don’t do it anywhere near me.”

“I’m not drunk enough to throw up,” Harry snapped, then immediately felt guilty. Malfoy was trying to help him, after all. He tried for a conciliatory tone. “Though apparently I’m drunk enough to spill my dark secrets to anyone who’ll listen.”

Malfoy sat next to him. “Weasley getting a bit on the side is hardly a dark secret.”

“Maybe not to you. But we’re supposed to be monog– mononaga–”

“Monogamous?”

“Yeah.”

“The Weasleys may be Muggle-loving blood traitors, but they’re still purebloods,” Malfoy said. “Monogamy doesn’t come naturally to us.”

“But she didn’t say anything! She’s been going behind my back. I only know because I caught her at it.”

“Just now?”

Harry nodded.

“Well, that explains a lot.”

“And you should see the woman she’s sleeping with,” Harry said wretchedly. “She’s fucking gorgeous, the stupid bitch.”

“A woman, is it? Well, maybe that’s why Weasley’s cheating. She just wants to experience the other side of the coin.”

“She should have talked to me about it first. We could have… we might have worked something out.”

Malfoy was looking at him intently. “Are you going to leave her?”

The thought brought Harry up short. Was he? “I don’t know. Our kids are so young.”

“You don’t have to, you know. A spot of infidelity is no reason to throw away a good marriage.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not. Instead of kicking her out, you could just… get back at her.”

“How?”

“Sleep with someone else yourself.”

“I couldn’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“It would be wrong.” Harry suddenly grew very aware of how closely Malfoy was sitting to him – so closely that their thighs were pressed together and he could feel Malfoy’s breath on his cheek. He jumped to his feet, swaying but managing to stay upright, and pointed an accusing finger at Malfoy. “You got me drunk on purpose.”

“Yes,” Malfoy said, a smile playing around the edges of his mouth. “But in my defense, you’d got most of the way there yourself.”

“You brought me out here so you could – could force yourself on me!”

Malfoy laughed outright. “Force myself on you? Not at all. I’d much rather you do the forcing, if you catch my meaning.”

Drunk as he was, it took Harry a moment to work through that. Malfoy wanted Harry to fuck him? An image sprang to Harry’s mind – Malfoy bent over the bench, arse in the air, crying out in pleasure as Harry gave him a good hard pounding.

He shook his head to dispel the thought, but his cock had already taken an interest. “Why me?”

“I’ve always wanted to know what you would be like in bed.”

Harry gaped at him, trying for a sense of outrage but only managing a sort of reluctant amusement. “You – you’re so… so… Malfoy.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment! And I’m not going to have sex with you.”

Malfoy stood up and Harry backed away a few paces, hand hovering over his wand holster just in case. But instead of going for his own wand, Malfoy started unbuttoning his robes.

“What are you doing?” Harry said, alarmed.

“Look at me,” said Malfoy, hands never pausing. “Look at me, and then tell me you don’t want to fuck me.”

As if rooted to the spot, Harry watched Malfoy undress. His robes were fussy, buttoned tightly from throat to waist, but Malfoy undid them swiftly and tossed them aside with no apparent regard for their obvious expense. He wore a simple white dress shirt and black trousers underneath. The shirt came off as quickly as the robes.

The moonlight and the lanterns scattered about the garden were extremely flattering to Malfoy’s pale skin and lean form. Harry swallowed hard. He’d given passing thought to what it might be like to have sex with a man, but he’d never had any serious fantasies. Now his imagination was being flooded with them.

Malfoy sat back down on the bench to remove his shoes and socks, then stood up to rid himself of trousers and pants. Finally he was standing naked and confident in front of Harry, long, slender cock rising proudly from soft blond curls. His hands were on his hips, head lifted at an arrogant angle, and his grey eyes were luminous in the dim light. He looked like an alabaster statue.

“How about it, Potter?” he asked, voice gone husky with arousal.

Harry shook his head, but his eyes were glued to Malfoy’s cock. That was… that was a nice cock. It was okay for him to look at it, right? He hadn’t asked Malfoy to take off his clothes, after all.

Malfoy smirked and ran a hand down his own chest to grasp the base of his cock, giving it a couple of slow, teasing strokes. The stimulation made a bit of precome well at the tip. Malfoy slid his thumb through it and lifted the finger to his lips, Harry’s eyes following him all the way.

When Malfoy sucked his thumb into his mouth, tasting himself, Harry groaned aloud and took an unconscious step towards him. Maybe it was the whiskey talking, but Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so naturally sensual, so comfortable in their own skin.

Malfoy released his thumb with a wet pop and circled it around one of his nipples, making the little pink nub even harder. “Come taste me,” he whispered.

“I can’t,” Harry said, but he was within touching distance of Malfoy now and he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there. “Ginny –”

“Is probably in bed with her tart right now.”

Harry flinched. “Don’t.”

“It’s true, and you have to face it sometime,” Malfoy said firmly. “If she’s fucking someone else, she has no right to expect you not to do the same. I’m not asking you to date me, Potter. I just want to feel your cock inside me.”

All of Harry’s breath left him in a rush, and his cock – now fully hard – gave a little jump inside his trousers. He put his hands on Malfoy’s hips and noticed they were trembling. “You have a dirty mouth.”

“Mmm. Do you like that?”

“Yeah.”

Harry almost regretted his admission when he saw the calculating look that came into Malfoy’s eyes, but any potential regret was washed away in a tide of lust when Malfoy wound his arms around Harry’s neck and pressed their bodies together, whispering filthy things into Harry’s ear.

“I want to ride you, Potter. I want you to sit on that bench and let me take your big, hard cock up my arse, let me fuck myself on it until I can’t breathe. Want to feel you split me open, fill me up.”

Harry knew his mouth was hanging open and he probably looked like an idiot, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never heard anyone talk like that.

Malfoy moved Harry’s hands from his hips down to his arse, which was round and firm and utterly perfect. Harry squeezed it instinctively, and Malfoy let out a moan.

“I’m aching for it,” he said. “I’ll let you be as rough as you want; that’s how I like it. You can bruise me, make me scream –”

“Shut up,” Harry said hoarsely. “God, just – just shut up –”

He kissed Malfoy hard, forcing his tongue into Malfoy’s mouth and using his grip on the man’s arse to pull him as close as possible. Malfoy melted into him, body moving sinuously against Harry, rubbing their cocks together through Harry’s clothes. He tasted like gin.

Harry’s robes were fastened with clasps instead of buttons, so it only took a few seconds before he was shrugging them off, letting them drop to the grass. He sucked on Malfoy’s neck while Malfoy tore at the buttons of his shirt, moaning when Malfoy’s hands slid over the bare skin of his chest.

“You’ve gotten so bloody fit since you became an Auror, Potter, you’ve no fucking idea,” said Malfoy. “You never looked like this in school.”

“Is that what this is about?” Harry said with a chuckle. “You have an Auror kink?”

“Not particularly. I just like my lovers strong enough to manhandle me.”

Harry could hear the subtle challenge in Malfoy’s words, and he responded to it by lifting Malfoy up so that he could wrap his legs around Harry’s waist. It was surprisingly easy; Malfoy was tall, but he was just as thin as he’d ever been.

“That’s more like it,” Malfoy said, leaning in for another deep, wet kiss.

Harry carried him over to the bench and sat down with Malfoy in his lap. He kissed a line down Malfoy’s throat, inhaling deeply. “You smell really good.”

“For what I spend on cologne, I’d better,” said Malfoy. “You need to sit sideways.”

Harry shifted so that his legs were on either side of the bench. It was low enough so that when Malfoy unwrapped his legs from Harry’s waist and let them fall to the sides, his feet touched the ground even though he was still sitting on Harry’s thighs.

Malfoy scooted backwards a bit and started unfastening Harry’s trousers. Harry rid himself of his unbuttoned shirt, letting out a rather embarrassing noise when Malfoy finally drew his cock out of his pants and stroked it exploratively.

“Thick,” he said with approval. “I like that.”

Harry ran his hands up Malfoy’s thighs. “Do you have any –”

“Lube? Yes. It’s in my robes.”

Malfoy made as if to get up, but Harry didn’t want to lose the warm weight of him. He pulled Malfoy back down and reached a hand towards Malfoy’s fallen robes, a few metres away. A small tube squirmed out from underneath them and flew into Harry’s outstretched hand.

Malfoy’s eyes were wide.

“What?” Harry said.

“You didn’t use a wand. Or even a spell.”

“Don’t have to. Do you want to do this, or do you want me to?”

Malfoy stared a moment longer before shaking his head. “Have you had anal sex before?”

“A few times.” The thought of Ginny made Harry’s stomach turn with guilt, but he pushed the feeling away. Malfoy was right – she was probably in bed with that woman right now, laughing about how stupid and drunk he was.

Watching him closely, Malfoy said, “I’m not sure you’re sober enough for me to trust your fingers. You still look a little wobbly.”

“I’m not drunk enough to hurt you,” Harry said, offended.

“No, but the fact that you’re drunk enough to have sex with me in the first place says a lot about your judgment right now. I’ll do it.”

“‘M not that drunk,” Harry grumbled, but he handed the tube over. “There’s only one of you, and the world’s not even spinning.”

That wasn’t completely true – while the world wasn’t spinning, it wasn’t all that steady, either. But Harry’d been able to carry Malfoy over to the bench without any problems, so he thought his balance and motor skills were still mostly intact.

Malfoy squeezed some lube onto the fingers of his right hand and then set the tube aside, leaning backwards and supporting himself with his left hand behind him, his long, lean body stretched out in front of Harry. He dipped his right hand between his legs and pushed two fingers into his hole.

Harry’s breath caught. “This is good, too,” he said. He lifted Malfoy’s balls out of the way so he could get a better look, liking the way they felt in his hand.

“You like watching me play with myself?”

Harry made an incoherent noise of assent.

“I do like to be fingered,” Malfoy said, pushing a third digit into his hole even as he said it. “If you were sober and we had a bed, I’d make you bring me off with your fingers before I even let you put your cock inside me.”

Harry squeezed Malfoy’s balls, just hard enough to make Malfoy gasp and drop his head back. “You’re a teasing bastard.”

“I’m not teasing – I’ll give you what you want. But only if you ask for it.”

“What?”

Malfoy pulled his fingers from his arse and sat up, moving forward so that their cocks brushed together. He pressed his lips lightly against Harry’s. “Ask me to let you fuck me.”

Harry growled, his libido surging into overdrive. He grabbed Malfoy’s arse so hard that Malfoy cried out. “Malfoy, if you don’t sit that tight little arse of yours on my cock right the fuck now, I’m just going to take it.”

Oh, Malfoy liked that – his eyes were nearly black with lust and his cheeks were flushed a hectic pink. He lifted himself up a little, lined Harry’s cock up with his hole, and then drove himself down on it. They both moaned.

“Yes,” Malfoy hissed. “Oh, Potter –”

He rose up again and slammed himself down even harder than before, repeating the movement again and again until Harry’s eyes rolled back in his head. He had a death grip on Malfoy’s hips, letting Malfoy work his cock, so wet and hot and tight.

“You do like it rough,” Harry panted.

Malfoy didn’t answer; he looked to be off in his own world, eyes closed and body glistening with sweat as he rode Harry’s cock for all he was worth. He made a little high-pitched noise on each downward thrust, fingers bruising on Harry’s shoulders.

Harry started moving his hips a bit, pushing up every time Malfoy came down, and suddenly Malfoy’s eyes flew open and he let out a ragged cry. “Yes, right there,” he said frantically. “Just like that, right there, don’t stop…”

Malfoy’s movements changed so that instead of sliding all the way up and down Harry’s cock, he only moved a couple of inches. From his sobbing moans and the look of pure physical ecstasy on his face, Harry was fairly certain that Malfoy was just rubbing his prostate against Harry’s shaft over and over. It was an intensely arousing sight.

“Touch me,” Malfoy gasped.

Harry let go of Malfoy’s hip and took hold of his cock instead. He’d never touched another man’s cock before, but it couldn’t be that different from touching his own, and there was no mystery in how to get a man off. Taking his cue from the near-frenzied pace Malfoy had set, Harry pumped his cock hard and fast.

Another seven or eight thrusts and Malfoy wailed aloud, shoving himself down so that his arse was flush with Harry’s hips and grinding Harry’s cock inside him as he came in thick white jets all over Harry’s hand and chest. Harry stroked him through it, mesmerized by how beautiful Malfoy was when he came, completely unselfconscious and uninhibited.

Malfoy stilled, slumping against Harry so that his forehead rested on Harry’s shoulder. His rapid breaths were warm against Harry’s damp skin.

Harry, still achingly hard and so close to the edge that it made his spine itch, shifted anxiously. “Malfoy.”

“What?”

Harry thrust up shallowly a few times to remind the selfish git that he hadn’t finished yet.

“All right, all right.”

Malfoy started riding him again, slower and more deliberately this time – intent on Harry’s pleasure instead of his own. It was an entirely different sensation, and Harry couldn’t have said which he liked better. Malfoy was squeezing his arse muscles tight on every upward stroke, hands running over Harry’s chest, lips soft but insistent against Harry’s as he demanded to be kissed. He trembled slightly every time Harry’s cock slid past his prostate; the thought of how sensitive he must be there just made Harry want to fuck him harder.

Malfoy slid a hand into Harry’s hair and tugged on it, just this side of painful. “Come inside me,” he whispered. “I want it.”

“Fuck,” Harry grunted, hips pistoning up into Malfoy’s clenching little hole. “You gorgeous fucking slut –”

The shout that tore from his throat when he came was deep and primal. Even beyond the physical pleasure was the unexpected psychological satisfaction of filling Malfoy – arrogant, snobbish, mocking Malfoy – with his come. Whatever might happen after this, both of them would always know that Harry had marked Malfoy in that most primitive and indelible of ways.

Harry breathed deeply, arms instinctively winding around Malfoy’s waist and holding him close. Malfoy didn’t resist; he dropped his head on Harry’s shoulder again and was silent but for his harsh breathing.

The combination of alcohol and afterglow were making Harry sleepy. He had to fight to keep his eyes open. In an attempt to avoid passing out right there on the bench, he said, “So, was that everything you imagined?”

Malfoy lifted his head, eyes soft with amusement and free of malice. “Significantly better. If that’s how you fuck when you’re drunk, I can’t imagine you sober. Though I suppose you’d never touch me in that case.”

“Let’s find out,” Harry said, reaching out a hand to summon his wand from his robes.

Malfoy’s eyes widened. “No, don’t –”

He tried to struggle to his feet, Harry’s cock slipping from his arse as he did so, but Harry’s arm around his waist pulled him right back down. Harry caught his wand with his free hand, keeping a firm hold on Malfoy as he pointed it at himself and spoke a sobering charm.

The spell was intensely unpleasant, as always, taking everything that had been agreeably fuzzy and throwing it into sharp, painful relief. Harry’s stomach clenched as the knowledge of Ginny’s infidelity washed over him again, now without the cushioning barrier of alcohol to soften the blow. What hurt even worse than her cheating was the cruel, dismissive way she had spoken of him. The memory of it made him nauseous.

He looked at Malfoy, who was looking back at him with no small amount of anxiety. Harry wasn’t sure how to feel about him. Malfoy had freely admitted to getting him drunk and alone in order to have sex with him. Harry should be furious, but…the sex had been good. Incredible, really. What Malfoy had done was inarguably unethical, but Harry didn’t feel taken advantage of.

And he didn’t feel regret.

That was perhaps what surprised him the most. He had cheated on Ginny. The fact that she had cheated first didn’t absolve him of guilt, but he felt none. He had been drunk, but he had consented. And if he were truly honest with himself…if Malfoy had led him out here while he was sober, if he had stripped off and thrown himself at Harry the way he had earlier, would Harry have turned him down just because there was no whiskey lowering his inhibitions?

The answer, he found, was a resounding no.

“You look nervous,” Harry said to Malfoy.

Malfoy swallowed, his body tense, but his voice was steady when he answered. “I’d rather thought I’d be miles away by the time you sobered up.”

“I’m sure you did. That was kind of a nasty thing to do, don’t you think? Taking advantage of someone who was clearly emotionally distraught, getting me drunk so I’d have sex with you… not very nice, Malfoy. Grounds for a rape charge, in some cases.”

Malfoy made an indignant noise and shoved Harry in the chest. “I didn’t rape you, you fucking prick, and you know it! You loved every second.”

“Yeah.”

Malfoy, taken aback by Harry’s admission, was startled into silence. Harry suddenly became aware of the wet heat seeping through his trousers where Malfoy was still sitting on his thighs, and realized it was his own come leaking from Malfoy’s hole.

Fuck.

Harry’s cock stirred. Malfoy felt it and looked down, eyebrows raising as some of the tension faded from his shoulders.

“I think you owe me an apology,” said Harry.

Malfoy scoffed. “Don’t hold your breath.”

Harry took Malfoy’s hand and put it on his own cock, holding it there until Malfoy got the idea and started to wank him, coaxing him to hardness. He didn’t miss the fact that Malfoy’s cock was taking a renewed interest as well.

“Then you’ll just have to make it up to me.”

Harry’s mind was made up – if Ginny was going to keep fucking that woman, he was going to keep fucking Malfoy. He would confront her about it when they got home. For now, though, the only thing he wanted to think about was how good Malfoy looked with pink cheeks and bright eyes.

“What did you have in mind?” Malfoy asked.

The eager, lusty moan Malfoy made when Harry stretched him out on the bench and entered him again was payback enough… but Harry wasn’t about to tell him that.