Just a Bit Shameless by Alessandra Hazards (HPDM ver.

)
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/46603102.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter
Additional Tags: Undercover Missions, Just a bit shameless, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Top
Harry Potter, Top Harry, Older Harry Potter, Older Harry, Younger
Draco Malfoy, Age Difference, Older Man/Younger Man, Original work
is by Alessandra Hazards, Gay Draco Malfoy, Other Additional Tags to
Be Added, Sugar Daddy Harry Potter, Sugar Daddy Harry, Sugar Baby
Draco Malfoy, Auctions, Harry Potter Has a Large Cock, Orphan Draco
Malfoy, Orphan Harry Potter, Possessive Harry Potter
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2023-04-19 Updated: 2023-06-05 Words: 56,595 Chapters:
3/?
 Just a Bit Shameless by Alessandra Hazards (HPDM ver.)
by 12SleepDeprivedwriter12

Summary

Two MI6 agents go undercover as a rich businessman and his sugar baby. Can their fake
relationship become something real?

Draco Malfoy is a homeless eighteen-year-old thief desperate for a different life. When his
skills attract the attention of the British Secret Intelligence Service, Draco is determined to
prove himself.

His first mission: he has to steal a flash drive from a paranoid crime lord. The problem is, he
has to pretend to be another agent’s sugar baby.

Harry James Potter, his “sugar daddy,” is ridiculously handsome, charming, rich, and pretty
much perfect. Harry is kind, generous, and protective of him.

Except “Harry James Potter” is nothing but a role performed by a cynical MI6 agent, who is
actually straight, aloof, and manipulative.

Draco is perfectly aware that everything Harry does is carefully calculated, every emotion
faked. He knows that men actually do nothing for Harry and he doesn’t really want Draco.

But despite knowing all of this, Draco still finds himself falling hard for a man who doesn’t
exist.

Or does he?

!!!!This work is only meant for entertainment purposes only and will be taken down if the
original author requests so.!!!!

Inspired by Just a Bit Shameless by Alessandra Hazards

Inspired by Just a Bit Shameless by Alessandra Hazards
 Chapter 1

“He’s too young.”

The woman seated behind the massive desk gave the man a flat look. “Hardly, Agent. You
were far younger when we recruited you.”

The man’s dark eyes met hers steadily. “He’s too young,” he repeated.

The woman studied him with pursed lips. Agent 11 was one of her least favorite agents for
this very reason. He had… opinions. He belonged to the category of men she had always
detested: men who always thought they were right, so confident in their own abilities that
everyone just accepted that they were right. It grated on her nerves. Privately, she thought
Agent 11 had a problem with a woman being in charge, but she had no way to prove it. He’d
never crossed the line and was always unfailingly polite, even though she could often feel
that he disagreed with her decisions.

Unfortunately, she had no choice but to tolerate him. He was one of her best agents, if not the
best. His success rate was unparalleled. He was too good to get rid of, no matter how much
she might dislike his attitude.

So she returned her attention to the boy on the screen. To be fair, Agent 11 had a point: the
boy did look young. But they were hardly in a position to be picky.

“We need him,” she said shortly.

“He’s a homeless, untrained kid,” Agent 11 said. “What can he do that our trained agents
can’t?”

She gritted her teeth. Did he think her incompetent? Although he was closer to thirty than to
twenty, compared to her, he was no more than a boy himself. She was twenty years his senior.
It was true that she didn’t have any field experience, but she hadn’t become the Chief of the
British Secret Intelligence Service by being an idiot.

She knew she could tell him to do his job and stop questioning his superiors. But it wouldn’t
be smart. Agent 11 was always more cooperative and efficient if he agreed with the mission.

“We need him for the Brylsko mission,” she said.

He said flatly, “You want to use an inexperienced, innocent kid to steal highly sensitive data
from a Polish crime lord.”

She met his gaze unflinchingly, ignoring his unimpressed tone. “He’s more than experienced
for the job. That ‘innocent kid’ has been pickpocketing since he was six. Our sources in
London gangs—multiple sources—say that he’s the best out there. He has the moniker
Shadow for a reason. Apparently it’s nearly impossible to catch him even when you know
he’s going to steal from you. He’s that good.”

She thought Agent 11 looked a little interested now, but as usual, it was hard to read his face.

“I’m sure A19 can do the job,” he said. “And he’s not a kid.”

“Agent 19 isn’t suited for this particular mission,” she ground out. “He can neither play the
role of the rich, hedonistic businessman nor can he be a believable sugar baby.”

She felt a little ridiculous saying the words “sugar baby” in a serious conversation, but she
liked to be blunt. That was what they needed for the mission, after all: two agents to go
undercover on a cruise, an exclusive luxury cruise for rich people who had a taste for younger
pets. A19, for all his considerable talents in pickpocketing, lock picking and hacking, was an
ordinary-looking twenty-year-old with a bad case of acne. He was best suited for missions
that required anonymous agents that could blend with the crowd. He was definitely not suited
for the Brylsko mission. No one would believe that a rich businessman would be interested in
taking A19 as a pet, and A19 was too young to pull off the role of a rich sugar daddy.
Agent 11 looked at the screen as well. “And you think this homeless kid can make a
believable pet? Even if he could pull it off, he’ll likely crumble under pressure.
Pickpocketing random people is one thing. Stealing a flash drive from a paranoid crime lord
and then putting it back without him noticing is another.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. The worst part was, she knew A11’s concerns were valid.
Not for the first time, she wished they could simply eliminate the target and get the flash
drive, but it was not possible. They couldn’t risk it.

“At least, unlike A19, he does look the part,” she said, glancing at the screen again.

The boy on the screen was definitely attractive. He was taller than average, lithely muscled,
with long legs and a nice smile. He was a bit too pale, as many platinum blonds were, but the
paleness of his skin only accentuated his bright silver eyes and the red color of his lips. His
eyes and those long eyelashes were probably his best features. Granted, that platinum hair
was rather unfortunate, but some people liked the color. The curve of the boy’s generous
mouth gave the impression of vulnerability, which was something that would definitely
appeal to older men who liked younger companions.

Agent 11 heaved a sigh. “Very well. Who are you going to send with him on the babysitting
duty?”

She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. She had thought she had made it obvious.

He let out a laugh. “With all due respect, you can’t be serious, ma’am. You know I can’t.”

“And why is that, A11?” she said coldly.

A furrow appeared between his dark brows. It clearly wasn’t the response he’d expected. “It
will ruin my cover, ma’am. My cover for Mission W.”
She suppressed a sigh. It was true that going undercover as a hedonistic sugar daddy might
ruin A11’s cover for one of their most important long-term missions. But it was nothing she
hadn’t considered before.

“The risk is negligible,” she said. “Mission W is mostly situated in Russia and England. It’s
extremely unlikely that the targets will ever cross each other’s paths. Your long-term cover
won’t be compromised.”

A11’s lips pressed together. He clearly disagreed, but when she glared at him, for once, he
didn’t argue.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Read the boy’s file,” she said. “You’ll be the one to recruit him, so familiarize yourself with
his background. It’s pretty standard, as backgrounds go. Born to a single mother, no known
father. The mother died when he was four. Cancer. A relative took him in. Our sources
indicate the boy was emotionally abused by his relatives, perhaps physically too.” She
shrugged, uncomfortable with the subject. “In any case, he ran away when he was six. We
believe he joined Ed Tucker’s gang and started pickpocketing in exchange for protection and
a roof over his head.” She looked at the agent. “I don’t think he’s loyal to the gang. Use the
boy’s yearning for a stable life and home. I’m sure I don’t have to teach you how to
manipulate him.”

His lips thinned. “No, ma’am.”

“The boy will be recruited tonight. You will supervise his progress and train him yourself if
needed.”

A muscle twitched in A11’s jaw. They both knew a senior agent like him had better things to
do than train rookies.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, very evenly.

“Dismissed, Agent,” she said.

She watched him leave and frowned when the door shut after him.

She wondered if she had made a mistake. Agent 11 wasn’t someone you wanted to have as
your enemy.

But she needed to keep him on a leash.

After all, she was neither stupid nor blind. She was well aware that he was the most likely
candidate to replace her.

She returned her gaze to the platinum blond on the screen and smiled.

Yes, the Brylsko mission was perfect for her purposes.

The woman reeked of money.

Chewing on his lip, Draco evaluated her from head to toe, from her designer dress to her
Prada bag to the shiny new iPhone in her hand.

Maybe he wouldn’t even need to look for anyone else. He needed six hundred pounds—the
minimum Tucker had set for him—so he hoped the woman had enough cash on her.

Ignoring the voice of his conscience, Draco moved toward her, telling himself that six
hundred pounds would be spare change for someone who could afford to wear clothes that
were worth at least five grand.
The question was, what was someone like that doing in this part of London?

Not that it was his business or anything. She was just a target and he should think of her as
his target, nothing more. He had a job to do, and he couldn’t afford to be squeamish about the
job if he didn’t want to become Tucker’s punching bag tonight—or worse.

Draco sighed, his lips pursing unhappily.

Not for the first time, he wanted to kick his younger self for ever agreeing to Tucker’s
protection. To be fair, he’d only been six at the time, a scrawny little kid, easy to pick on,
scared and defenseless. At the time, Tucker’s protection had seemed like a godsend. Now it
felt like a form of slavery, with Tucker’s ever-increasing demands. Draco knew Tucker would
never let him leave his gang. He was Tucker’s golden goose, capable of bringing more
money than all the other boys put together. He would never be free.

Pushing the depressing thought away, Draco tried to focus on the job.

The woman had her purse in her left pocket. Her right hand had just brought her iPhone to
her ear.

Draco pulled out his own battered phone—an old Nokia, scuffed and scratched but
indestructible—and walked toward the woman, his eyes fixed on his phone. Nothing
suspicious. Just another teenager texting his friends and paying no attention to where he was
going.

Draco bumped into the woman, murmured his apologies, and walked away, her purse tucked
under his jacket.

He rounded the corner and disappeared into the dark alley. Glancing around and making sure
he was alone, Draco pulled out the purse and opened it.
His eyes widened when he saw its contents. Money. Lots of money. And were those
diamonds?

Something cold and hard pressed against Draco’s nape.

“Don’t move,” said a deep male voice.

Draco swore under his breath. Stupid. He should have suspected something. It had been too
easy, even for him.

“Get him into the car,” the same voice said. Two burly men grabbed Draco’s arms and
dragged him toward the black van parked around the corner.

Draco didn’t resist, his mind racing. Who would want to set him up and why? He was
nobody. Well, not nobody, but he was a small fish in a very big pond. Why him?

The men shoved him inside but didn’t get in with him. Draco heard one of them get into the
driver’s seat and the other take the passenger’s seat.

When Draco started wondering if he should try to dash out of the car, another man got into
the back of the van and sat opposite him.

Draco eyed him warily. He didn’t recognize the man. He had dark brown hair and dark eyes,
and his skin was tanned or naturally bronzed—Draco couldn’t tell which. The man was
dressed in black trousers and a simple black turtleneck that did nothing to hide his tall,
muscular body.

“Hello, Draco,” the man said as the car started moving.

Draco blinked. “Creepy.”

Something that could have been amusement flickered in the man’s eyes. “I could make it
creepier.” His voice was incredibly deep and rich, the kind of voice that held people’s
attention. “You’re Draco Malfoy, you’re eighteen, and you’re a member of Ed Tucker’s little
gang of pickpockets.”

Draco’s skin crawled. No one knew his last name. Not even Tucker.

“What do you want from me?” he said.

The man just looked at him for a long moment.

He was very attractive, Draco realized with discomfort and annoyance.

It wasn’t as though he had a problem with handsome men; it was just… he didn’t like the
effect they had on him. Draco tended to blush, stammer, and do stupid things around
handsome blokes (who were always either straight or uninterested in him, which made the
whole thing even more mortifying). Hormones were awful and being eighteen sucked.

“Here’s the thing,” the man said. “You’re in trouble. You stole twenty thousand pounds and a
diamond bracelet from a prominent citizen—”

“You set me up,” Draco bit out. “I never get caught!”

The man blinked slowly, his lips twitching. “That’s irrelevant. The important thing is, you
were caught stealing a substantial sum of money and a priceless heirloom. Normally, that
would mean jail.”

Draco pursed his lips. “What do you want?”

“We want you to work for us,” the man said.

Draco couldn’t really say he was surprised. He suspected as much. He knew he had made
something of a name for himself in certain circles. “Who do you work for? Big Johnson?
Xavier?”

The man laughed, the sound hoarse and deep.

Draco felt his stomach flutter and cursed his stupid hormones once again.

“No one that exciting, I’m afraid,” the man said. “I work for SIS.”

“SIS,” Draco repeated dumbly.

“Secret Intelligence Service,” the man clarified, as if Draco didn’t know what it was. “Or
MI6, if you prefer.”

Draco eyed him for a moment before saying, “Prove it.”

The man raised his eyebrows. “You do realize that being a Secret Intelligence Agent isn’t
something one advertises, right?”

“Bullshit,” Draco said. “If you really are an MI6 agent, you’ll need some kind of ID to prove
to the police that your actions are sanctioned by the government. It’s terribly impractical to
have your superiors get you out of trouble every time.”

For the first time, Draco saw something like approval in those dark green eyes and he had to
fight the blush threatening to color his cheeks. Ugh. Hormones.
“I like you, Blond,” the man said (which really wasn’t helping the blushing situation). “And
normally, you would be right. But strictly speaking, MI6 agents aren’t allowed to carry out
operations on home soil, so having a real ID wouldn’t help. Most of our field agents carry
fake IDs issued by MI5.”

“But not you?”

The man shook his head. “I belong to a special division that doesn’t have IDs. I’m known as
Agent 11, or A-Eleven.”

Draco chuckled. “Agent 11? Seriously? Are you going to tell me there’s Agent 007 too?”

The look Agent 11 gave him was definitely long-suffering. “No, James Bond and Double-ohs
aren’t real. But MI6 is. And some of us do have codenames.”

“So what’s your name, then? I feel silly calling you Agent 11 in my head.”

“Classified.”

Draco grinned. “Your name is Classified? Very unusual.”

“Cheeky little thing,” Agent 11 murmured. “I can’t tell you my name. Don’t take it
personally. Only two people at MI6 know my real name.”

Draco leaned back in his seat and put his legs on the opposite seat, next to the agent. “So if I
agree to work for MI6, I’ll get a codename too? Can I pick the number?

Agent 11 glanced down at his legs, looking entirely unimpressed. “If you’re recruited, you’ll
be a trainee for a while. If you participate in missions while you’re a trainee, you’ll have a
random codename. Even if you successfully complete the training program, you’ll likely be
just Agent Malfoy. Sorry to disappoint, but most MI6 agents don’t have permanent
codenames.”

“But you do,” Draco pointed out, intrigued. “Why?”

“You know what happens to curious cats, Blond?”

“They die.”

“Precisely.”

Draco stared at him. He wasn’t even sure the bloke was joking, considering his job.

“Right,” Draco said with an awkward smile before frowning. “And stop calling me Blond.”

Agent 11 shrugged. “So do you want to accept the job?”

Draco cocked his head to the side, a bit confused. “I have a choice?”

“There’s always a choice,” Agent 11 said.

“If the other option is jail, there isn’t really a choice.”

Agent 11 looked at him steadily, something pinched about his expression. “If you don’t
actually want to serve your country and protect it, get out of the car. I won’t stop you.”
Draco would have scoffed and rolled his eyes, but the dead serious look on the agent’s face
made him hesitate. He had a feeling this man wasn’t one for empty patriotic speeches.
“You’re serious.”

“Of course I am.” Agent 11 sighed. “Look, it’s not a pretty job. Sometimes you will be forced
to do things—things you’ll absolutely hate, things that’ll make you puke and want to avoid
your reflection in the mirror.” Agent 11 gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Trust me, if you don’t truly believe that you’re doing the right thing, that your country needs
you to suck it up and get on with it, you won’t last long in the Secret Service.”

Draco fidgeted, feeling a little uneasy. While he didn’t consider himself all that patriotic—
he’d never had the ambition to serve the Queen and Country—he wasn’t unpatriotic either. If
he were given a choice, he would like to be on the good side for once. Not to mention that if
he accepted the job, he’d be free of Tucker and his “protection.” That was a pretty significant
upside in Draco’s book.

“You’re a lousy recruiter,” Draco said. “Aren’t you supposed to convince me that I’d be crazy
not to accept a job offer like this?”

A look of genuine amusement flashed across Agent 11’s face. “Probably.”

Draco took that as confirmation that the agent had been ordered to recruit him—an order he
clearly disagreed with but was forced to follow. “Why don’t you want me to accept the job
offer?”

“You’re too young,” Agent 11 said. “This lifestyle isn’t safe for kids.”

Draco smiled crookedly. “No offense, Agent 11, but my current lifestyle isn’t exactly safe,
either.” He hesitated. “What kind of mission do you want me for?”

“Classified.”
Draco crossed his arms over his chest and pouted exaggeratedly. “You are a lousy recruiter.”

Agent 11’s lips twitched.

Draco sighed, thought for a moment, and asked, “Will I have my own flat?” A home.
Something mine.”

“Yes. After you finish the training.”

Draco licked his dry lips. “Where do I sign?”

Agent 11 touched the tiny ear piece that Draco hadn’t even noticed until then.

“He’s in,” Agent 11 said, his posture relaxed but his eyes grim.

The life of an MI6 trainee was nowhere as glamorous as Draco had imagined it would be.

For one thing, headquarters—real headquarters, not the SIS building in Vauxhall the public
knew about—kind of creeped him out. There were cameras everywhere. The entire building
was smart, and there was electronic surveillance even in the loo. It took some getting used to.
Thankfully, although he had to share his room in the training facility with another trainee, the
room didn’t have security cameras, which at least afforded them some modicum of privacy.

Not that Draco saw much of his room. He trained sixteen hours a day, and sometimes longer
than that. So far, his training included Physical training, Weapons and Equipment training,
Computer and Electronic Systems training, Foreign Languages training, and, of course,
Combat training.
At least all the physical training seemed to be paying off: his arms started looking pretty
damn nice, and if he really squinted at himself in the mirror, Draco could already see
something that resembled a six-pack. Or at least a four-pack.

Though, it wasn’t like he could use his shiny new muscles for picking up hot guys; more
often than not, Draco was so tired after his training sessions that he just face-planted into his
bed and slept like the dead.

Draco couldn’t remember ever sleeping so well, not since… Maybe not since his mother
died. Not that he could remember much of his mother. Sometimes, he thought that he could
remember a warm, safe embrace and a soft voice singing a lullaby, but those memories were
hazy, like a dream. He didn’t know whether they were real or not. It was so bloody unfair that
he couldn’t remember much of his mother, but could remember perfectly well the sneer on
his uncle’s face, every hateful word he’d said. Worthless little brat. Your mother should have
aborted you when she had the chance. You’re nothing but a burden. A parasite.

After living through two years of his aunt’s alcohol-induced rages, Draco had run away, but
those words had stayed with him. He vowed to himself that he would never be a burden to
anyone again.

All in all, Draco considered himself lucky. It could have been worse; it could have been much
worse. His aunt had never physically hurt him. He’d never been forced to sleep outside in the
winter. Granted, being under Tucker’s “protection” wasn’t much better.

Compared to his old life, the life of an MI6 trainee was easy and nice. Draco didn’t even
mind that he seemed to be the only one enrolled into such an intense training program.

“I’m so jealous of you,” Kira, another trainee, said two weeks into his training as Draco took
a rare break for lunch. “I asked around. Accelerated training program is for special cases.
That means you’ll get a real mission soon.”

Draco nodded. He’d had an inkling that he had been recruited with a specific mission in
mind. He was very curious about that—and a little nervous.
But before he could say anything, he noticed that Kira’s attention was elsewhere.

“That special agent is looking at us,” Kira whispered excitedly.

Draco followed her gaze.

He went still when he saw Agent 11. He hadn’t seen the agent at all since he delivered Draco
to the training facility weeks ago.

Agent 11 was as annoyingly hot as he remembered. The man’s shoulders and arms looked
unfairly good in that suit, and the contrast between his white shirt and his bronzed neck was
—

Draco tore his eyes away and sternly told him to stop ogling straight men. In the past weeks,
he’d heard enough about Agent 11 to know that the bloke was straight as an arrow.
Apparently, Agent 11 wasn’t shy about using his body if the mission required it and he had
seduced countless women—if the rumors were to be believed.

“So what?” Draco said with a shrug.

“Are you kidding? Special agents normally never bother with rookies! They’re the elite, the
very best, the top of the food chain, the—”

“You just want to shag him,” Draco said with a smile, trying to suppress the urge to look back
at Agent 11. Straight, straight, straight. Bloody hell, would he ever learn?

“Of course I do,” Kira said shamelessly. “Who wouldn’t? But that’s not the point. Special
agents literally never come here. There are, like, twenty of them in total, and they’re all
usually deep undercover—oh my God, he’s coming over here, Dray!”
“Don’t call me Dray,” Draco corrected her automatically, his mind racing as he watched
Agent 11 approach them with Agent Brown in tow. Agent Brown, Draco’s usual trainer,
looked a little uncomfortable and… maybe angry? Draco wasn’t sure. He still wasn’t all that
good at reading emotions of people who had been trained in concealing them.

“Malfoy,” Agent Brown said in a clipped voice. “Agent 11 offered to take over your training
in Torture and Interrogation that was scheduled for this afternoon. Follow him.”

Draco swallowed. He hadn’t exactly been looking forward to this afternoon’s training
session. He knew that Torture and Interrogation training was mandatory for all field agents—
they were supposed to be trained to withstand torture so they didn’t give away classified
information. But it didn’t mean that he wasn’t a little afraid. He had an embarrassingly low
pain threshold.

Draco looked at Agent 11. The man’s face was impossible to read. He simply jerked his head,
motioning Draco to follow him, and stalked away. Draco struggled to catch up with him.

“Hello,” Draco said. “You didn’t say hello. Rude.”

Agent 11 shot him an amused look and kept on walking. “Hello,Blond. How are you liking
MI6?”

“It’s… interesting,” Draco said.

“That’s one way to put it,” Agent 11 said, leading him into Training Room 4A.

Draco followed him into the room and glanced around nervously. He couldn’t see any
obvious torture tools, but what would those even look like?

“So are you an orphan?” Draco blurted out.

The agent took off his suit jacket and threw it on the desk. “What?”

“Are you an orphan? Like, I’ve asked around, and the overwhelming majority of trainees are
orphans. I have a theory that MI6 prefers to recruit orphans, which is, like, fucked up? And
kind of scary, to be honest, because the reason is pretty obvious, yeah? I mean—”

Agent 11 laughed. “Breathe, Dracy.”

Draco flushed. “I am breathing. I’m not nervous. It’s just… they should have named this
training course differently, don’t you think? Torture and Interrogation sounds creepy.”

Agent 11’s lips twitched. “I’ll pass along your suggestion to the higher-ups.” But then, the
mirth in his eyes disappeared, replaced by something grim and hard. “Sit down, Draco.”

Draco sat down in the only chair in the room. Why was it so dim here?

“Ominous,” he said with a chuckle that sounded painfully awkward and nervous even to his
own ears. He was probably fooling no one. “So are you going to torture me now?”

Agent 11 looked at him unwaveringly. “I’ll tell you a secret. The Torture and Interrogation
training is a load of crap.”

Draco blinked. “What?”

Agent 11’s sensual lips twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “If you get caught,
no amount of ‘training’ will prepare you for the real thing.”

Draco felt his mouth go dry. “So what is this training for?”
“To weed out the mentally weak.”

Draco hung his head, looking at the floor. “I guess I’ve already failed it, then.”

“It’s normal to be reasonably nervous. Being nervous doesn’t make you weak. The key is to
not let your nerves get the best of you. Some nervousness can be helpful in the field, actually.
It can make you less reckless.”

Draco smiled ruefully. “Do you get nervous? During a mission?”

“Not anymore,” the agent said. “But I’m not a rookie. I’m not eighteen. I have a decade of
experience to rely on.”

Draco lifted his gaze. “A decade? How old are you?” It was hard to pinpoint the bloke’s age.
It could be anywhere from twenty-five to thirty-five. But then again, men with Agent 11’s
facial structure and bronzed complexion could look ridiculously good even in their forties. It
was so fucking unfair.

“Classified,” the agent said.

Draco pouted. “You’re no fun.” He looked at the other man curiously. “So you aren’t gonna
torture and interrogate me? What am I supposed to learn, then?”

“The only foolproof way to avoid torture and interrogation is to not get caught. That’s what
I’ll teach you.”

Draco sat straighter, smiling widely in excitement. “Undercover training?”

Agent 11 returned his smile. “Yes. But I’m afraid it’s nowhere near as exciting as you think.”
Two hours later, Draco was inclined to agree. Undercover work sounded like a lot of work.
Tedious, difficult work that involved a lot of studying and preparation.

“The key to being a good undercover agent is to know your cover so well that you can think
and act like your cover without forcing it. A moment’s pause, a slight hesitation will get your
cover blown.”

Curious, Draco said, “Has your cover ever been blown?”

Agent 11’s face went oddly still. “Yes.”

“Why? What did you do wrong?”

The agent didn’t reply immediately.

Draco started wondering if he had crossed some line when Agent 11 said quietly, “I was
ordered to kill an innocent bystander, a pregnant woman who witnessed something she
shouldn’t have. I couldn’t. I helped her escape.”

Draco frowned. “Well, you did the right thing.”

The agent’s face was blank. “It had taken me eleven months to infiltrate that sex trafficking
ring. After my cover was blown, it took MI6 another two years to get another agent in.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Draco said, after some hesitation, “I don’t understand. You still did
the right thing.”

“I’ve read the reports,” Agent 11 said, his normally rich voice sounding hollowed out. “There
were children among those sex workers. The youngest kid was eight—the youngest surviving
kid.” He looked Draco in the eye and smiled. “Still think I did the right thing?”
Draco stared at him, unable to form words. If Agent 11 hadn’t gotten his cover blown by
saving that woman, he could have saved those children years earlier. Could have, would
have…

“How do you do it?” Draco whispered. “How am I supposed to make decisions like that?”
How do you live with that?

Agent 11’s lips thinned. “You think of the bigger picture. You compartmentalize. You do
what you must. And most importantly, you don’t fuck up and get fucking sentimental when
you shouldn’t.”

Draco bit the inside his cheek.

Agent 11 grabbed his jacket and slipped into it. “That’s enough for today. We have a pre-
mission briefing tomorrow at eight. After that, we’ll have a week to perfect our covers.”

“Wait, what? My first mission is with you?”

The agent just nodded, something flickering in his eyes, before he headed out of the room.

“The answer to your question is yes, by the way,” he said, opening the door.

Draco frowned, confused. “What?”

“Orphans do make the best recruits.”

And then he was gone.

Chapter 4

The administrative floor was intimidatingly quiet, a stark contrast to the training center,
which was always noisy and full of people. Draco normally didn’t have the clearance to be on
that floor, but Claudia, the Chief’s secretary, had informed him that for the duration of this
mission he would have the necessary clearance.

Despite that, Draco still felt like an impostor, painfully aware how young and inexperienced
he was compared to everyone else in the briefing room. He found himself moving closer to
Agent 11, the only person he knew.

“Sit,” the woman at the head of the table said.

Draco took the seat next to Agent 11, opposite the middle-aged man in glasses.

“Draco,” the woman said, forcing Draco to look at her, which he had been avoiding since
entering the room. The woman’s piercing stare unnerved him a little. “I know you’re still a
trainee and have a long way to go until you complete your training, but unfortunately, we
have no available agents that fit the criteria for this mission so we have no choice but to send
a trainee. I trust that you’ll do the job well. If you do, your training will be accelerated and
you will be Agent Malfoy in less than two months.”

“Amanda,” the bespectacled man said. “I don’t think—”

One hard look from the woman—Amanda—silenced the man. Draco knew that her name
probably wasn’t Amanda. It was said that no one but a select few higher-ups in the
government knew the Chief’s real name. Within the Secret Service, Amanda was simply
known as “C.” She was the shadow figure behind the Chief of SIS the general public knew
about, who was no more than a decoy. Sometimes all that secrecy seemed a bit over the top to
Draco before he remembered that there was a good reason for it. They dealt with terrorists on
a regular basis.

“William, please outline the parameters of the mission,” Amanda told the bespectacled man.
Glancing at Draco, she added for his benefit, “William Mason is the head of our Intelligence
department.”

Draco nodded gratefully, a little surprised by how nice and considerate Amanda was. He
glanced at Agent 11 and found the agent’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile. Weird.

The big screen on the wall switched on and Draco stared at the picture of a middle-aged
blond man.

William Mason cleared his throat. “This is Milosz Brylsko, aged forty-three, a Polish crime
lord. His organization is part of an Eastern European crime ring. Brylsko is of particular
interest to us because he’s responsible for supplying weapons to other members of the ring.”
Mason’s lips pursed. “If our intelligence is correct, he’s recently started selling nuclear
weapons to several European governments.”

Draco fidgeted in his seat, glancing at Agent 11, but his face was inscrutable. He probably
knew all of this already.

Mason pushed his glasses up and continued, “We have reason to believe that Brylsko has an
underground nuclear factory in one of the third world countries, but we have no proof. So far
we’ve failed to locate it. Locating the factory is one of the mission’s primary targets. The
other is to learn which countries have already purchased nuclear weapons from Brylsko. The
problem is, Brylsko is extremely careful and paranoid. There are no phone calls or emails
concerning nuclear weapons that we can track. There’s no single reference to them in his
organization’s computers—at least the ones plugged into network—and our best hackers
were unable to find anything of use. But our mole has been able to learn that Brylsko keeps
the most sensitive data on a secure flash drive he always carries on him. We need that flash
drive. And we need to return the flash drive into Brylsko’s possession without him ever being
the wiser. That’s why we need an exceptional thief for this mission, Malfoy.”

Draco frowned. “Why do you need to put the flash drive back?” That part of the plan made
the otherwise straightforward task considerably more challenging. If Brylsko really was as
paranoid as Mason said, then he was likely to constantly check that the flash drive was still
there. Would they even have enough time to crack the pass code, copy the encrypted data,
and put the flash drive back?
It was Amanda who replied, her tone careful. “Because there’s some very sensitive
information on that flash drive. We don’t want anyone to know that we are in possession of it.
That’s why very few people know about this mission.”

Agent 11 snorted.

Amanda glared at him. “Your commentary isn’t required, A11.”

Agent 11 raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t say anything, ma’am.”

Curious, Draco looked between the agent and the Chief of SIS. Was it his imagination, or did
these two strongly dislike each other?

Mason cleared his throat. “We will give you a flash drive that fits the description our mole
gave us. You will switch it with the original. That should fool Brylsko for the time being
while you copy the data and return the original flash drive. However, we don’t know how
often Brylsko accesses the data on the flash drive, so ideally, you’ll need to find out before
proceeding—without compromising your cover, of course.” He cleared his throat again.
“Now, about your cover. Brylsko is extremely paranoid. Normally, it’s impossible to
approach him without him being surrounded by bodyguards and without being subjected to
extensive background checks. But we have learned that at the end of the month, he will be on
an exclusive luxury cruise that caters to… rich people with Brylsko’s particular tastes.”

Mason paused and shifted in his seat. Draco eyed him, wondering why the man seemed so
uncomfortable.

“What tastes?” he asked when neither Amanda nor Agent 11 said anything.

Mason grimaced, a look of distaste appearing on his face.

“Brylsko has a taste for young pets,” Amanda replied in his stead, her tone neutral. “Very
young, but mostly above the age of consent. As far as we know, he doesn’t coerce them. He
likes them willing. He likes to be… generous with them, keep them in luxury. I suppose it
strokes his ego.”

Draco’s brows pinched. “You mean he likes keeping a sugar baby?”

A familiar look of amusement flashed across Agent 11’s face. “Are you old enough to know
what that is?”

Draco kicked him under the table—he was eighteen, not a child!—and was about to say
something scathing when a thought stopped him. “Wait. You want me to be the sugar baby?
Brylsko’s sugar baby?” He tried not to show how uneasy the prospect made him.

“Nothing quite so drastic,” Amanda said. “You will be one of the ‘pets’ put on an auction.
The likelihood of Brylsko taking notice of you and wanting you for himself is quite small.
You will be bought by our agent.”

“Bought?” Draco repeated.

Mason sighed. “Yes. The cruise organizers hold a private auction for rich passengers who
would like to purchase a so-called slave. The slaves aren’t actually slaves. It’s just a sick
fantasy for rich and perverted. We have checked—the slaves enter the arrangement willingly
and all the money from their sale goes to their bank accounts. They’re literally just young
women and men looking for a rich sugar daddy and wanting to play the fantasy of being
owned.” Mason gave Agent 11 a pointed look. “I want to make it clear that the auction isn’t
our target. Leave it alone, A11. It’s shady, but it’s not of concern to MI6. Don’t play the
hero.”

Agent 11 nodded. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

Draco wished he looked as cool as Agent 11 when he was being sarcastic.

Amanda gave the agent a sharp look. “Please do.”

Agent 11 held her gaze unflinchingly. “If you have a problem with the way I conduct
missions, it’s not too late to choose another agent, ma’am. You know this mission might blow
my long-term cover.”

Amanda pursed her lips. “We’ve already been over this, A11. Your other cover will not be
compromised.”

Agent 11’s jaw clenched. He said nothing.

Draco looked between them curiously. He contemplated asking what this was about, but then
something else occurred to him. He looked at Agent 11. “You’ll be pretending to be my sugar
daddy?”

“Yes, he will,” Amanda said, her voice like steel, her eyes boring into the agent. “As William
said, Brylsko is extremely paranoid. I have no doubt that he’ll run background checks on all
passengers. We don’t know how thorough they will be. If your cover fails, your other cover
will likely be the one Brylsko will discover, which will keep you safe. He’ll just think that
you’re too ashamed of your perverted fantasies to book the cruise under your real name.”

Agent 11 gave a clipped nod.

Mason shot the agent a somewhat worried look before turning to Draco and giving him a
manila folder. “Study this. You’re Draconius “Dracy” Malfoy-Black, an orphan with little
means to support yourself but with a taste for expensive things. You like older men,
especially if they can give you the lifestyle you want. Since you were sixteen, you’ve been on
several online dating services, catering to sugar daddies and sugar babies. You’ve learned
about the cruise online, through a friend of a friend—the cruise has something of a reputation
in certain circles, so it’s plausible.”

Draco took the manila folder and looked at it anxiously, his mind going a hundred miles an
hour.
In the meantime, Mason handed Agent 11 a similar folder.

“If either of you have any questions, come to me,” Mason said. “You have six days to get
Draco ready. We’ll have a final briefing before Draco flies out to Turkey. You will leave a
week later.”

Agent 11 nodded and headed out of the room. Draco hurried after him.

“I have a question,” he said once they were in the hall.

The agent glanced at him and kept on walking. “You heard Mason. If you have any questions,
go to him.”

“Aren’t you straight? Are you sure you can convincingly play a gay sugar daddy?”

Agent 11 actually laughed.

Draco glowered and folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t like when people laugh at my
expense.”

“Draco,” the agent said mildly. “Trust me, this will not be the strangest or the most difficult
cover I’ve ever had. Far from it.” He looked at Draco, frowning. “You still don’t seem to get
it. It doesn’t matter what our personal preferences are. It’s our job.” He glanced at the manila
folder in Draco’s hand. “Study your cover. Try to understand what motivates Draconius. Your
cover must be flawless. If it isn’t, we’re both screwed.” Agent 11 glanced around, his eyes
sharp, before leaning in and saying quietly, “What Amanda and Will didn’t say was that there
won’t be an extraction team if we fuck it up. We’ll be on our own.”

Draco’s mouth fell open. “What? Why?”

“Because we have already attempted to apprehend Brylsko before. Our agent got discovered.
But instead of just killing him, Brylsko put up a lot of fuss about the British Secret
Intelligence Service ‘unlawfully spying’ on an ‘honest businessman.’” Agent 11’s lips
twisted. “Brylsko has a lot of connections in the Polish government and EU, and technically,
there’s no conclusive proof that he’s something other than a businessman. He’s very good at
covering his tracks, the slippery type that always has a contingency plan for everything. So
the UK was put in a very sticky position. Officially, this mission isn’t sanctioned. We need
proof of his actions, but we can’t afford to get caught again. Brylsko and the Polish
government have too much political leverage as it is thanks to that fiasco.”

“And we want the leverage back,” Draco said. “But without alerting Brylsko so that he
doesn’t cover his tracks again?”

Agent 11 smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’ll make a secret agent out of you yet,
Red.”

Draco tried and failed not to preen.

Inwardly, he groaned.

Stupid hormones.

The undercover training sessions with Agent 11 in the following week were both bizarre and
educational. They were fascinating in a way Draco’s more traditional lessons weren’t. Agent
11 thoroughly destroyed most preconceived notions Draco had had about the life of a secret
spy.

“First of all, forget everything you’ve seen in spy movies,” Agent 11 said, assembling the
rifle in his hands with calm, practiced efficiency. “Most of the time, we don’t participate in
adrenaline-ridden car chases, explosions, and gunfire. Most of the time, you’ll be
inconspicuous, blending in and gathering intelligence from the inside of whatever criminal
organization you’ve been ordered to infiltrate. It’s not actually your job to go in with guns
blazing. There are other divisions for that.”
“Are you actually saying that you’ve never had any kill missions?” Draco said, not bothering
to hide his skepticism.

“No.” Agent 11 put the rifle on a front-mounted bipod, looked through it and made small
adjustments to the sights. “I’m saying that when I’m ordered to kill, it’s quiet and
inconspicuous, no explosions involved. But elimination missions are actually pretty rare. It’s
not our main job.”

“Then what is our main job?” Draco said, growing confused. “Infiltration?”

When the agent didn’t answer, Draco realized he had put on hearing protectors and was about
to take a shot. Quickly, Draco put on his own hearing protectors and watched Agent 11’s
focused face.

Finally, the other man fired, the sound deafening even with the protectors. The recoil bucked
the rifle into his shoulder, but Agent 11 didn’t even blink.

He hit the target dead in the center.

Pulling the rifle into his shoulder, his hands caressing the barrel as he moved into position,
Agent 11 fired several rounds in quick succession, this time without any concern for aiming.
He still hit the target dead in the center.

Licking his lips, Draco tried to think of something disgusting. Nope, he wasn’t getting turned
on from watching a hot guy handle a gun. Nope, nope, nope. But it might be possible that he
had a competence kink.

“What were you saying?” Agent 11 said, taking off Draco’s hearing protectors and then his
own.
It was a struggle to remember what they had been talking about.

“Um,” Draco said, very intelligently. “What is our job, then?”

“Our main job is to look someone in the eye and lie. You must be able to lie so well that you
can fool even someone who knows you into thinking that you aren’t actually you.”

Draco looked pointedly at the rifle the agent was disassembling. “Why do you need that
thing, then?”

“Because things rarely go textbook perfect, no matter how good you are. Of course, if you are
a good liar, you might be able to improvise and talk your way out of trouble instead of
resorting to brute force. That’s always preferable, but not always possible.” Agent 11 put the
rifle away and looked at Draco intently. “Did you study your cover for the mission?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think you understand your cover?”

Draco nodded after some hesitation. He had done his research and had been pretty confident,
but Agent 11’s assessing stare was making him question himself again.

“We’ll see,” Agent 11 said mildly, leading Draco out of the firing range and into the nearest
empty room. When the door closed behind them, he said, “Strip.”

Draco stared. “Why?”

“Why do you think?”

Draco suppressed the inappropriate response and forced himself to think. “I’ll be naked
during the auction,” he said. “You want to check how comfortable I am with being naked in
front of an audience.”

The silent approval in the agent’s eyes caused warmth to curl in Draco’s lower belly, and
once again, Draco had to suppress the urge to preen. Shit, this was getting annoying—and
rather alarming, to be honest. He didn’t want Agent 11’s approval. He didn’t.

“Yes,” Agent 11 said. “You’re Draconius, an adventurous boy who willingly enrolled himself
in an illegal auction, seeking a rich sugar daddy to take care of his needs. Nudity doesn’t
bother you. You like attention. You know you look good. You’re proud of your body and
want to showcase it to attract the best catch possible.” Agent 11 eyed him thoughtfully.
“You’re excited. Perhaps even aroused. Hmm… blushing would also be acceptable. You
aren’t necessarily a blushing virgin, but you’re smart enough to understand that some
powerful men like faux innocence. Now show me that, Draconius.”

Draco took a deep breath and started undressing, trying to get himself into the right mindset.
He didn’t want to disappoint this man. He wanted to prove to him that he could do it. He
wanted to be good.

Pulling his underwear and socks off, Draco straightened, acutely aware of how naked he was.
After a moment’s pause, he dropped fluidly to his knees and waited, his gaze lowered,
eyelashes hiding his expression. From this position, all he could see were Agent 11’s shiny
black shoes and black trousers. He breathed deeply, evenly, trying to think like Draconius. He
wasn’t embarrassed. He wasn’t ashamed. He knew he was beautiful and desirable—

No, he wasn’t. Agent 11 was straight. Draco probably looked pathetic to him, kneeling on a
cold floor, pale and naked, and a little turned on. Draco’s cheeks burned from humiliation.

“What is it?” the agent said, stepping closer. “You were doing so well, but now you’re all
tense and awkward.”

Draco shook his head. “Just feeling self-conscious,” he mumbled, looking at the floor.
“Don’t be,” Agent 11 said, pushing Draco’s floppy fringe away from his eyes.

“Look at me, Blond.” His voice was gentle but commanding.

Draco obeyed. “I’m sorry—I’m not good at it. I look ridiculous.”

“You don’t. Trust me, you have no reason to feel self-conscious. You’re exactly the type
those rich assholes would like.”

Draco scoffed, unable to meet the other man’s eyes. “Coming from a straight man, it doesn’t
mean much,” he mumbled.

“Draco.”

The command in the agent’s voice was impossible to ignore. Reluctantly, Draco looked him
in the eye.

“I might be straight, but I’m not exactly new to this,” Agent 11 said. “I’ve been pretending to
be a gay man for the past few years for another mission.”

Draco’s mouth fell open. “Really? Why?”

Agent 11 shook his head. “I’m not supposed to be talking about this with you. You don’t have
the security clearance.”

Draco gave him his best puppy eyes. “Please?”

Agent 11’s expression turned pinched before he chuckled. “You’re a fucking menace.” He
sighed when Draco grinned. “I have to romance the heir of one of the richest men in the UK,
who is suspected… in a number of very serious international crimes. My cover needs to be
bulletproof. It needs to be good enough to withstand any amount of scrutiny. That’s why it’s
taking so long.”

Draco curled his hands in his lap. “How are you going to—to seduce that bloke if you aren’t
gay?”

Agent 11 looked almost amused. “There are things that can help me out with that.”

Draco scrunched his nose. “Viagra?”

The agent shrugged, looking largely unconcerned. “If necessary. The bloke is pretty enough
to be mistaken for a woman, so it may not be necessary.” He looked at Draco. “My point is,
I’ve been successfully pretending to be a gay man for years. I’d like to think that I know what
I’m talking about.”

“And you really don’t think I look ridiculous?”

“No,” Agent 11 said. “You look good. Now let’s try again.”

Draco nodded, inhaled deeply, and relaxed his body. He was Draconius, an adventurous boy
who willingly enrolled himself in an illegal auction, seeking a sugar daddy. Nudity didn’t
bother him. He knew he looked good. He knew he was desirable. He liked the attention. He
liked feeling eyes on his body. He wanted people to want him. He wanted to be doted on and
pampered.

He was Draconius, and he felt beautiful. Desirable.

“Good job, Draconius,” Agent 11 said, laying a large, calloused hand on Draco’s nape.
Draco didn’t tense up. He didn’t flinch. He looked through his eyelashes at the other man,
biting his bottom lip and leaning into the touch subtly.

The dark eyes smiled at him. “You’re ready.”

In any other circumstances, Draco would have been excited to be on a Mediterranean cruise,
especially when the ship was like a five-star-hotel, including crystal-laden tables and potted
palms. Granted, he hadn’t seen much of the ship before he was ushered into a huge cabin
below the deck that served as a temporary cabin for all of the boys and girls participating in
the auction.

Draco struggled to keep his expression suitably excited as he watched the others chat
excitedly about the auction—the auction that was supposed to begin in less than half an hour.
His stomach churned uncomfortably.

To distract himself, he eyed the other boys and girls. There were about two dozen of them,
and they all looked startlingly beautiful and confident. No matter how hard he’d studied for
his cover, Draco felt like a fraud, like any moment now they would guess that he didn’t
belong.

“Nervous?”

Only his training with Agent 11 prevented Draco from flinching. Pasting on a smile, he
turned around.

A girl about his age was smiling at him sympathetically. She was very petite and very pretty,
with long golden hair and huge blue eyes. “You’re new to this, aren’t you?”

Draco nodded. He was glad that he had a cover of a newbie; he didn’t think he could have
pulled off a cover of someone experienced at this. “I’m Draconius,” he said, stretching out
his hand.
The girl shook it. “I’m Martha. Pleased to meet you!” She looped her arm through his and
beamed at him. “Don’t be nervous, sweetie. It’ll be fine. My best friend participated in this
cruise last year and she couldn’t be happier with her sugar daddy.”

“Really? She got a good one?”

Martha smirked. “I’ve seen him. Just forty-four and fit as fuck. Treats her like a princess. I’m
so jealous—hope I’ll be bought by someone half as good.”

Draco barely stopped himself from cringing. It was hard to believe that all these seemingly
normal people actually wanted to be bought like slaves. To be fair, he knew money likely
wasn’t the only motivation for them. According to his research, some sugar babies liked the
feeling of security, the feeling of being provided for, cared for. Some genuinely liked making
older men—or women—feel young again and providing them with comfort and affection
after a stressful day. Draco also knew that some of them actually got off on being pets, got off
on serving other people. And of course some sugar babies were in it just for money.

He wondered what category Martha belonged to. He decided it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“What are you looking for?” Draco said. “A full relationship or a mutually beneficial
companionship?”

Martha shrugged. “I’m open. I mean, obviously I’m not going to sign an all-inclusive
contract with someone I’m not reasonably attracted to, but I’ll be okay with everything else
as long as they’re nice and treat me well. I like people and people like me, so I don’t expect
any problems with providing just companionship.” She winked. “But obviously I’d be
happier with a sugar daddy who will worship my frankly amazing body.”

Draco snorted and decided that he liked her.

“What about you?” she said.

Draco shrugged. “I like the idea of being someone’s favorite. Like, I love being doted on,
spoiled, and praised. Sex is secondary to me, but obviously I won’t mind sex if he’s not
ugly.”

She smiled at him in understanding. “I’m sure you’ll find someone,” she said, patting him on
the arm. “You have amazing eyelashes! I wish mine were—”

“Attention, please!”

They turned to the middle-aged woman in a suit who appeared in the doorway. If Draco
hadn’t known better, he would have taken her for an administrator in your average business
company.

“Please get ready. You may leave your clothes and things here. No phones are allowed. Don’t
worry, your possessions will be safe.”

Martha grinned at Draco and started undressing. There was no hint of shame or
embarrassment on her pretty face, as if undressing in a room full of strangers was perfectly
normal.

Draco followed suit, hiding his uneasiness.

I can do this, he told himself firmly.

***

Half an hour later, kneeling on the round platform in the middle of the huge room, naked and
shivering, Draco was no longer so sure that he could do it.
The whole experience was surreal. He could see from the corner of his eye the other pets,
kneeling in a similar manner, with their heads bowed, completely naked, while dozens of rich
men in bespoke suits and a few women in equally expensive dresses walked around the
platform, making idle conversation and scrutinizing the pets as if they were livestock on
show to prospective buyers —which he supposed they were. Draco was torn between
laughing hysterically at the utter ridiculousness of the situation and hating every single of
those rich gits. It was disgusting and kind of sad that money could make any deprived,
ridiculous fantasy of some people come true.

The worst part was, he hadn’t even glimpsed Agent 11 so far. It made his stomach clench
with anxiety. As instructed, he hadn’t been in contact with MI6 since arriving in Turkey.
What if something had happened and Agent 11 wasn’t even on the ship? What if his cover
had already been blown? What if Draco was alone here? What if—

“Lift your head, boy,” a male voice said, in a heavily accented English. A Polish accent.

Draco did his best not to freeze. He lifted his head slowly and managed to keep his
expression docile as he met Brylsko’s pale eyes.

He had seen the target’s picture, of course. Objectively, Brylsko was quite attractive for a
middle-aged man. His blond hair had just a hint of gray at the temples; his teeth were white,
his skin smooth. But despite his groomed appearance, there was something… oily about the
man. Snake. He reminded Draco of a snake. A slimy, slippery snake.

“How old are you, pet?” Brylsko said, his gaze sweeping over Draco.

Suppressing the urge to snark that all the information was available on the tablets provided by
the auction organizers—one of which was in Brylsko’s hands—Draco looked down and said
softly, “Eighteen, sir.”

Brylsko gripped his chin and lifted Draco’s face again. Draco couldn’t quite suppress the
shudder of revulsion at the touch. Hoping Brylsko mistook it for excitement, Draco leaned
into the touch, his eyes scanning the room discreetly.
Where the hell was Agent 11?

“Such a pretty boy,” Brylsko said, cupping his cheek and brushing his thumb over Draco’s
bottom lip. “Perhaps I will bid for you.”

Draco’s stomach rolled. He struggled to keep his expression unchanged. They hadn’t
considered this possibility in the pre-mission briefing. According to MI6’s intelligence,
Brylsko had always had female sugar babies; he wasn’t supposed to be interested in him.

Calm down, Draco told himself, breathing evenly. He wasn’t actually a slave and it wasn’t a
real auction: he could actually decline a contract with the highest bidder if he didn’t like
them. The problem was, if Brylsko made a bid for him and won, he would likely be very
offended if Draco declined his generous offer. That would be detrimental to the mission:
Draco did need to get close enough to the target in order to steal the flash drive, after all.

Fuck. He wasn’t ready for this. It would be a lie to say that Draco had never actually
distracted his targets before robbing them, but this was something else. It wasn’t just some
meaningless flirting. He couldn’t imagine letting Brylsko touch him, fuck him, own him. The
mere thought made him nauseous. He didn’t want to be a whore, not even for the Queen and
Country.

Before he could react to Brylsko’s words, a familiar voice said, “He really is quite pretty.”

Draco nearly sighed in relief. Agent 11.

He looked toward the voice and blinked, taking the agent in. He looked… He looked
completely different. In the week Draco hadn’t seen him, Agent 11 had managed to grow
some nice scruff. While the beard was well-groomed, it changed his appearance a lot, making
him look quite a bit older. And that wasn’t all. There was something different about the way
the agent carried himself. He no longer looked like a carefully controlled weapon; his posture
was relaxed, almost lazy, the cut of his designer suit somehow hiding his impressive
physique. He was the perfect picture of a rich, hedonistic civilian. Even his voice sounded a
lot posher than it normally did.

Agent 11 and Brylsko exchanged a look that lasted a tad too long before Brylsko smiled
pleasantly and stretched his hand out. “Milosz Brylsko. And you’re Harry Potter, I believe.”

Draco barely hid his surprise and fear. Agent 11’s name for this mission was supposed to be
William Robertson, not Harry Potter. Was his cover already blown?

Draco looked at the agent, but he looked neither surprised nor wary. He looked… sheepish?

“I would appreciate if you keep my real name quiet,” Agent 11 said with a small grimace,
shaking Brylsko’s hand. He chuckled. “My extended family will be beyond shocked if they
find out I’m on a cruise like this.”

Brylsko snorted. “Families. I find that the less they know about our… interests, the better.”
His blue eyes turned to Draco. “Isn’t that right, pet?”

“I don’t have a family, sir,” Draco said softly, his mind racing. Had Brylsko discovered Agent
11’s other cover? The one Agent 11 didn’t want to compromise? Did it change something for
this mission?

“That’s a pity,” Brylsko said with something like genuine regret. “Do you speak Polish,
boy?”

Draco shook his head, hoping beyond hope that it would make him less appealing in
Brylsko’s eyes. “I’m not very good at languages, sir. That’s why I’d prefer to live in an
English-speaking country.”

Brylsko looked at Agent 11. “Looks like you’re in luck, Mr. Potter. Or are you Lord Potter?
I’m afraid I’m not very familiar with British titles and honorifics.”
Agent 11 shook his head with a rueful smile. “Unless my cousin dies without leaving any
sons, I’ll be a simple Mister for the rest of my life. I don’t care for titles anyway. I’m not a
snob. Harry is fine.”

“Then you should call me Milosz.” Brylsko glanced back at Draco. “Are you interested in the
boy? You should be. I’m almost tempted, but I’d hate to keep my pet in a country he doesn’t
want to be in. That would be cruel, and I’m not a cruel man.”

Draco hoped his face didn’t betray his disbelief—and relief.

“I haven’t made the choice yet,” Agent 11 said, glancing at Draco. “But the boy really is
pretty.” He put his hand on Draco’s neck, thumb moving up his throat slowly until it reached
Draco’s bottom lip.

This time Draco’s shiver wasn’t caused by disgust.

“Very pretty,” Agent 11 said, his deep voice getting huskier.

Draco didn’t have to summon the blush that heated his cheeks. He knew his reaction was
stupid—“Harry” was just a superb actor—but he couldn’t help it.

“Draconius, isn’t it?” Agent 11 said, glancing at the name tag at Draco’s feet.

Draco nodded, his eyes slipping shut as “Harry” started carding his strong fingers through his
hair. It felt impossibly nice. He could almost understand why all these people wanted to live
this fantasy.

Brylsko chuckled. “He seems quite taken with you already.”

“Are you, Draconius?” Harry said.

Draco forced his eyes open and nodded, leaning into the touch.

He was almost sure he could see approval in Agent 11’s eyes.

“Will you accept a contract with me if I bid for you?” the agent murmured, stroking Draco’s
cheek with his knuckles.

Instead of answering, Draco turned his head and nuzzled into Agent 11’s hand. Before he
could think twice, he kissed it softly.

For a fraction of a second, there was a strange look in the other man’s eyes, but it was gone
so quickly that Draco wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it.

Agent 11 smiled at him. “I will see you later, then.”

And then he stepped back—and Draco realized with a sinking feeling that he’d completely
forgotten that Brylsko was just a few feet away, watching them.

“Shall we take a look at other pets?” Agent 11 said, shifting his gaze to Brylsko.

Brylsko looked from Draco to Harry, his face unreadable, before nodding and moving to the
next pet.

Draco dropped his gaze, forcing himself not to stare at Agent 11’s retreating back.

***
Eight people made bids for him. Eight.

It blew Draco’s mind that eight people wanted him enough to buy him for an outrageous
amount of money.

Rich people were bloody crazy.

In the end, “Harry Potter” won the auction. Brylsko hadn’t made any bids for him—he’d
bought a gorgeous dark-haired girl—but Draco had caught him looking at him a few times.
Draco wasn’t sure what to make of it. Did Brylsko suspect something?

Draco was still mulling it over as he and “Harry Potter” dealt with formalities. For an illegal
auction, there was a surprising amount of paperwork. It seemed the auction organizers were
nothing if not thorough. Out of curiosity, Draco skimmed over his contract and almost gaped
when he saw the outrageous “allowance” Harry had offered to pay him every month.

Finally, after what felt like ages, Agent 11 steered him toward what was likely his cabin.
Draco went obediently, trying to ignore the touch on his lower back. God. How was he
supposed to concentrate on the job when he seemed to lose all his focus every time this man
touched him? This was starting to get really annoying.

The door shut after them and Draco looked around the cabin. It was spacious and
comfortable. Draco’s suitcase was already there, by the huge bed that dominated the cabin.
Draco licked his lips and turned to look at his partner.

Agent 11 was unbuttoning his suit jacket, his eyes sweeping around the cabin in a seemingly
casual manner, but Draco knew he was looking for bugs. He had been warned about this.
Until the agent confirmed that the cabin was free of bugs, they had to keep playing their
roles.

“What would you like me to do, sir?” Draco said softly.

Agent 11 winced a little, shrugging out of his jacket and going to the wardrobe to hang it.
“First of all, don’t call me sir. Harry is fine.”

Draco nodded, mouthing the name silently. He probably needed to start thinking of the agent
as Harry. He couldn’t afford to give them away.

“What would you like me to call you?” Harry said, loosening his tie, his dark eyes hooded
and deceptively tired as they continued sweeping over the cabin.

Draco frowned, not understanding the question. “Draconius?”

Harry chuckled, his tanned fingers unbuttoning his white shirt in a manner that was entirely
too distracting. Draco tried not to stare at first, but then he figured that Draconius the Sugar
Baby would totally ogle his sugar daddy, especially when he was that hot.

“Some people have an aversion to pet names,” Harry clarified, letting his shirt fall open,
revealing his broad, muscular chest and absolutely mouthwatering set of abs, with a trail of
dark hair disappearing into his waistband.

Draco almost whined at the unfairness of it. Why were the hot ones always straight?

“Draconius?”

Draco blinked and tore his gaze from Harry’s happy trail.

Harry raised his eyebrows a little.

Draco flushed, realizing that he had been caught all but drooling. He batted his eyelashes.
“What? Can’t a bloke look at his hot sugar daddy?”
Harry’s expression became amused. “Good to know you don’t find me repulsive.” He
glanced at the contract he’d put on the table. “We need to talk about it, by the way. But first,
go take a shower. You stink.”

“I don’t!”

“You stink of other men who touched you.”

The slight sneer on Harry’s lips was perfect, his expression a bit derisive, but mostly
possessive. Draco felt like applauding his acting.

He couldn’t, of course.

Instead, Draco put on his most cheeky smile. “Will you join me?”

Harry’s lips twitched. “Maybe. If you’re very good.”

Smiling, Draco grabbed his pajamas from his suitcase and went to the en-suite bathroom. As
instructed in the pre-mission briefing, he stripped quickly and started the fancy shower,
putting it on the highest setting. If the cabin was bugged, the shower was the only place they
could talk in without being overheard. God, he hoped the cabin wasn’t bugged. He wasn’t
sure he could act like Draconius the Sugar Baby all the time. At least he didn’t have to
pretend to be attracted to his sugar daddy.

Draco scowled at the thought, a fresh wave of mortification washing over him. He could only
hope Harry thought that he was just an excellent actor. The only thing worse than being
attracted to a straight man was when said straight man knew about it and pitied him.

He didn’t flinch when the bathroom door opened. He closed his eyes, letting the water beat
over his face and shoulders, his back to the door. But he did wonder if Agent 11 liked the
view.

Don’t be silly. No matter how nice his ass was, it wasn’t going to make a straight man gay.

After a few minutes, he felt a firm, muscular body press against his back. A bearded cheek
nuzzled against his ear before Agent 11 said quietly over the sound of water, “Two bugs in
the cabin, one in the bathroom. Possibly a hidden camera on the wardrobe, but can’t verify
yet without arousing suspicion.”

Draco sucked a breath in. “Why are there bugs? We were told it would be highly unlikely.”

He felt Harry sigh against his ear. “Brylsko’s background checks were more thorough than
Amanda expected. My cover was blown because I have a pretty public Harry Potter cover
back in England. I was able to explain away the use of a fake name, but clearly Brylsko still
has some suspicions if he installed bugs in my cabin.” His hands stroked down Draco’s chest.
“That obviously complicates things, but if we prove to him that we are who we say we are,
his guard should go down.”

“Are we in danger?” Draco said, trying to ignore the large calloused hands on his skin. Work.
This was work for Harry.

“Not in any immediate danger,” the agent murmured, trailing his hands all over Draco’s
chest, his lips brushing against Draco’s neck. “Brylsko is just very paranoid. If he truly
suspected that I was after him, he wouldn’t have let me get on the ship.”

Draco breathed out. “What is the plan now?”

“It hasn’t changed. We play our roles and try to get close enough to Brylsko.”

“What about the bugs?”

“We do nothing about them. Civilians would never notice them.”

Draco bit his lip. “But if there are bugs and cameras in the cabin… We’ll have to…”

He felt Harry’s muscles tense a little. “Yes. Sorry about that, Blond.” He sighed against
Draco’s nape. “I told you—you’re too damn young for this job.”

Draco pursed his lips. “Stop treating me like a child. I’ve grown up on London streets, you
know. I’m up for it. Are you?”

Harry let out a frustrated noise. “It’s not a game, Draconius. Do you even understand what
you’ll have to do?”

“I do.”

“Do you?” Harry’s hands moved down to Draco’s hips.

Draco swallowed and told his cock to behave. Predictably, his cock didn’t listen. “Yes.”

Harry swore under his breath, his body practically radiating frustration. “I’m not going to
fuck you,” he said into Draco’s ear.

Draco’s cock twitched at the word ‘fuck.’

“But I’ll have to do something,” Harry said. “You do understand that, right?”

Draco nodded, licking his lips. “I can suck your cock?” he offered, hoping he didn’t sound
too eager. “It’s not a biggie, really. I like it.” That was something of an understatement, to be
honest. He loved sucking cock, had always had a bit of an oral fixation.
Harry exhaled loudly. “All right,” he said before taking his hands off Draco. “Go. Behave
normally. Displaying some excitement and nervousness would be appropriate, too. Don’t
look for bugs.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco said, intending to give him a cheeky salute, but when he actually saw Agent
11 naked and wet, he forgot how to speak. Thankfully, Harry wasn’t looking his way and
couldn’t see him drooling again.

Finally, Draco managed to tear his eyes away and strode out of the bathroom.

Only once he was in the cabin did Draco realize that he’d left his pajamas in the bathroom.
Groaning in frustration, Draco walked to his suitcase and rummaged in it, trying to find
something to sleep in and determinedly not thinking about Agent 11’s wet, muscular body. Or
his cock, mouthwatering even in an unaroused state.

Straight, unavailable, a lot older, and way out of my league.

Draco repeated that in his head, over and over, but it was useless.

The only thing he seemed to be able to focus on was the exhilarating fact that soon he would
get to suck that cock.

Fuck his life.

Draco was already stretched out under the sheets when the bathroom door opened and closed.

He didn’t open his eyes when the mattress dipped and a heavy body joined him in bed.
But when a muscular arm was slung over his waist, Draco did.

“Do you mind?” Harry said, his voice raspy with sleepiness.

Draco wondered if the sleepiness was real.

He wondered if anything about this man was real.

He wondered who Agent 11 was and what he was really thinking behind the perfect mask of
Harry Potter.

“No,” Draco replied, turning to face the other man.

The cabin was illuminated only by the dim lamp on the table, and Harry’s face was half in the
shadows. But Draco could still see more than enough. Harry was only in a pair of black
boxers, his body long, muscular, and absolutely mouthwatering.

Draco shifted his gaze to Harry’s face, though it wasn’t much of an improvement. He found
himself staring helplessly at Harry’s firm jaw and perfectly sculpted lips.

“We should probably talk,” Harry said with a yawn that Draco was almost certain was fake.
“Get to know each other.”

“We probably should,” Draco agreed, suppressing the urge to look for the bugs in the room.
Was anyone listening to their conversation at this moment? Was anyone watching them?

Harry made an affirmative noise, his eyes closing. “But I’m knackered after all the
excitement today. Had a long flight, and then nearly got kicked out of the cruise before it
even started.”
Acutely aware of the bugs, Draco tried to think of what Draconius the Sugar Baby would say.
Draconius the Sugar Baby would probably be curious.

“Is that true you used a fake name to get here?” Draco said. It would be suspicious if he
didn’t ask. “Why?”

“I didn’t want anyone back home to find out that I was on a cruise like this.” Harry smiled
ruefully without opening his eyes. “You probably guessed that I was new to this.”

“Really?”

“Up until a few months ago, I would have laughed if someone told me I’d pay someone for
companionship.”

“Why are you doing this, then? Um, you don’t exactly look like you need to pay for
company.”

Harry opened his eyes and looked at him. “I work for one of the biggest financial companies
in the UK. After I got promoted to a department head, I had no time for dating. And I’m
usually too tired after work to go out clubbing and pick someone up.” He grimaced. “A one-
night stand isn’t what I want, anyway. It got old years ago.”

Draco looked at him curiously. Now he wondered what this cover was for. Was it the one
Agent 11 was going to use to seduce that rich heir he’d mentioned a while back?

“What do you want, then?” Draco murmured.

“I’ve always wanted something stable. Maybe even marriage and a couple of kids at some
point. But I don’t have the time, at least not now. Maybe when things are less hectic at work,
I’ll find the time to date, but…”
“But for now you just want something uncomplicated but stable,” Draco finished for him,
nodding in understanding. He couldn’t help but admire Agent 11’s ability to lie so
convincingly. This mission had clearly compromised his other cover, but the agent still found
a way to make Harry Potter’s participation in this cruise somewhat believable.

“Yes,” Harry said and chuckled softly, his voice laced with sleepiness. “I don’t even
remember how I ended up on sugar daddy websites, but I guess Google knows everything.”

Draco laughed at that. “Dracoe here. You’re my first, too. I mean, I’ve talked to a few
potential sugar daddies on those websites, but it didn’t really go anywhere.” He pulled a face.
“Like, I’m as open-minded as your average guy, but I draw a line at sending some stranger a
picture of me wearing a baby bib and nothing else.”

Harry laughed, a deep, genuine laugh that sent a thrill through Draco’s body.

“Really?” Harry said.

Smiling, Draco nodded, feeling stupidly pleased with himself for making Harry laugh. That
part of the story had been real enough. He had made an account on a sugar baby dating
website and had talked to a few people. It had been pretty enlightening.

“Yeah. I guess it’s true when they say there are a lot of weirdos on the Internet,” Draco said.
“I almost gave up looking, but then someone mentioned this cruise—that the cruise
organizers checked all potential sugar daddies’ backgrounds and weeded out the creeps.”
That part was supposedly true, but considering Brylsko had been approved, Draco didn’t
have much faith in it.

Draco looked at Harry. “So… I’d really appreciate it if you tell me if I’m doing something
you don’t want me to do. All my knowledge on this kind of relationship is theoretical, you
know?”
Harry hummed in agreement. “I will, but this goes both ways, Draconius. I know you said in
your questionnaire that you were flexible and willing to try pretty much anything, but if
you’re uncomfortable with something I ask, you will tell me.” He looked at Draco seriously.
“I know I’m paying you for your company, but you’re not a hooker and I don’t want you to
think you must do whatever I want.”

Draco beamed at him. “Thank you,” he said softly, feeling ridiculously touched. What the
hell, he wasn’t even a real sugar baby. “I’m glad it’s you—that you’re my first sugar daddy.”

Harry just looked at him for a while, his expression impossible to read in the dim light. “I’m
glad it’s you, too.”

They stared at each other.

The silence stretched, and Draco’s heart started to pound.

It was becoming increasingly hard to ignore that he was in bed with an insanely attractive
man, who was supposed to be his sugar daddy.

Whose cock he would get to suck.

Draco licked his lips.

“Fuck, I’m beat,” Harry said, breaking the silence. “Let’s sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Draco struggled to hide his disappointment. Obviously, he knew why Harry was pretending
to be tired: he wanted to put off the inevitable for as long as he could. If Harry thought that
Draco would appreciate it, he was wrong. What was the point in putting off what would
happen anyway? The suspense would just make him more anxious.
That’s not the reason you don’t want to wait, his inner voice said snidely. You’re just dying to
choke on his cock.

Draco scowled, his cheeks aflame. “Can I suck your cock before we go to sleep?”

Harry’s body didn’t tense, exactly, but Draco felt something about him change. Harry eyed
him appraisingly.

“As a thank you for choosing me?” Draco added with a cheekiness he didn’t feel. “Nick, can
I please give a goodnight kiss to your prick?”

Harry laughed. “That was terrible. You’re a shameless little thing, aren’t you?”

Draco grinned. “Hey, I’m not little! I’m tall! I’m not much shorter than you.”

A small smirk curled Harry’s sensual lips. “You’re like a baby deer, Blond.” He rolled onto
his back and raised his eyebrows, looking at Draco through heavy-lidded eyes, a picture of
masculinity and indulgence. “If you think you can get me hard when I’m so tired, go ahead,
Bambi.”

Draco looked at Harry’s black boxers and swallowed nervously, knowing that Harry’s
disinterest had nothing to do with being tired. This was just work to him. He had no interest
in Draco whatsoever.

“Second thoughts?”

“No,” Draco said, moving between the agent’s thick, muscular thighs. He leaned down and
nuzzled the bulge under Harry’s boxers. Harry wasn’t hard, but the size of his cock still made
Draco’s mouth water. Fuck, he wanted that in his mouth, wanted to feel it harden inside him
—because of him. How long had it been since he sucked a cock that big? Too long.
Draco dragged his parted lips along the length of the cock before sucking the head through
the fabric. Harry inhaled sharply. Draco smiled, tugged the boxers down, and gave the head a
small, kittenish lick before licking it from the base to the head. Harry’s cock started
hardening.

Pleased, Draco took the cock into his mouth, moaning a little when he felt it harden further.
He started bobbing his head up and down the hardening length, swirling his tongue around it
and humming happily as it became thicker and longer, stretching his lips to the limit. The
taste, the stretch, the feel of the thick cock stroking the sensitive skin inside his mouth made
him lightheaded.

The only thing that bothered him was how quiet Harry was. Draco looked up and saw that
Harry had his eyes closed, his jaw set. The only visible sign that he was enjoying himself was
the erection in Draco’s mouth.

Was he thinking about some woman?

The thought bothered Draco more than it probably should have, bothered him enough to pull
off Harry’s cock and say, “Look at me.”

Harry opened his eyes, his expression hard to read as he watched Draco lick his cock slowly.
Draco was half-afraid that Harry’s erection would flag now that Harry couldn’t pretend that
he was getting a blowjob from a woman, but the cock remained hard and thick against
Draco’s lips.

Looking Harry in the eye, Draco smiled and licked the fat tip, the touch of his tongue teasing,
barely there. He could feel Harry’s thighs tense.

A large hand settled on top of Draco’s head. The touch was ever so gentle, Harry’s fingers
grazing his sensitive ear and then stroking his cheek. Draco shivered and turned his face to
nuzzle Harry’s palm. He noticed the shift in Harry’s expression only because he was
watching him closely.

Fondness.
Harry liked him.

It made Draco giddy. He didn’t care that the sentiment was likely neither sexual nor romantic
for Agent 11. The important thing was that it was genuine; at least Draco was pretty sure of
it.

“You’re so damn young,” Harry murmured, looking at Draco with a strange, fixed
expression. “A baby.”

Draco licked the head of his cock. “Not that young,” he said with a smile, and took Harry’s
cock back into his mouth.

It wasn’t the finest blowjob he’d ever given, but it was probably the most enthusiastic. He
knew he was sloppy, drooling all over Harry’s cock, overzealous and eager to please, but he
couldn’t help it. He’d always liked sucking cock, but he absolutely loved sucking Harry’s,
humming and moaning as he bobbed his head up and down, trying to take as much of the
cock inside his mouth as he could.

Harry watched him suck his cock through heavy-lidded dark eyes, petting Draco’s hair lazily,
his body language fucking indulgent, as if Draco was a favorite pet he was humoring.
Something about it rubbed Draco the wrong way, but he liked having Harry’s hands in his
hair too much to tell him to stop.

“I’m close, baby,” Harry warned at some point, a slight tightness of his low voice betraying
that he wasn’t as composed as he seemed.

Baby.

Draco moaned and didn’t pull off, fucking his mouth onto the leaking cock and relishing the
taste of pure male arousal. He wanted Harry to come in his mouth, wanted a proof that he,
Draco, did that to him. He wondered what Agent 11 was thinking, whether he liked watching
a gay kid suck his cock.

He looked up, met Harry’s eyes, and swallowed his cock until it hit his throat. He gagged a
little, but it seemed to do the trick and Harry came, his breath hitching and his hand gripping
Draco’s hair.

Draco swallowed greedily and continued sucking on the softening cock until Harry hissed a
little and pulled him off. Disappointed that it was over, Draco dropped his face on Harry’s
stomach, licking the inside of his own mouth and chasing Harry’s taste. God, he wanted to do
it again.

Eventually, Draco lifted his head and looked at the other man. Harry’s face was relaxed,
contentment rolling off his body in waves. Now he did seem sleepy for real, his fingers
playing with Draco’s hair idly.

Draco grinned, feeling pleased and a little smug.

“Come here,” Harry said.

Draco lay down, pressing his face against Harry’s shoulder.

“Good job,” Harry said, dropping a kiss on his head. “Now take care of your little problem,
and then we can sleep.”

Draco blinked, surprised that Harry had noticed his arousal and hadn’t chosen to ignore it.

“Okay,” he said, slipping his hand into his underwear and pulling out his hard cock. Nuzzling
his face against Harry’s upper arm, he wanked leisurely. A part of him marveled at how
comfortable and natural it felt. He didn’t feel any awkwardness, even though he was cuddled
up to a straight man as he jerked off with said straight man’s permission. It didn’t feel
embarrassing. He felt good. Safe, comfy, and turned on. When strong fingers started playing
with his hair again, Draco whined into Harry’s shoulder and started stroking his cock harder.

“That’s it,” Harry murmured, tugging at his hair a little. “Let go, Draconius.”

Draco did, coming with a moan, his toes curling as pleasure rolled through his body. God, it
felt…

He was only distantly aware of Harry cleaning his stomach with a towel.

“Now sleep,” Harry said, tucking a sleepy Draco back into his side.

Afterglow. Draco never really knew what it meant, but now he did, because having Harry
wrapped around him after they’d both come felt like the best thing ever. The comforting
weight of Harry’s arm, the little shivers still running up and down Draco’s skin, and the
warmth of Harry’s breath against his temple…. He didn’t want to ever move again. And
never in his life had he felt this safe.

Draco slept.

He dreamed of a warm summer day.

Chapter 8

Draco yawned and burrowed his face deeper into his pillow. His pillow moved.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”

Draco cracked his eyes open. He found himself looking into Harry’s dark eyes, their faces
inches apart.

“Sleep well?” Harry said, his voice thick with sleep.

Draco was kind of torn between punching him and shoving him on his back and licking him
from head to toe. No one should be allowed to be so bloody attractive and have such a sexy
voice to boot.

“Slept like a baby,” Draco murmured, suppressing both urges. “Your arm is very comfy.”

“I’m glad at least one of us was comfortable,” Harry said, his lips twitching. “My arm fell
asleep hours ago.”

Blushing, Draco moved his head to Harry’s chest. “Better?”

Harry laughed. “I like you, Draconius.”

Draco grinned against Harry’s warm skin and kissed him on the chest. “I like you, too.” He
did. A little too much for comfort. It wasn’t just physical attraction; at his age, he was
attracted to a lot of people. He felt good with Harry. Comfortable. Tingly and warm on the
inside. Like nothing bad could ever happen.

“Do we have to get up?” he murmured, nuzzling into Harry’s chest. The guy had amazing
pecs, but, to Draco’s dismay, it wasn’t the reason he didn’t want to move. “Pet my hair.”

Harry snorted. “Bossy,” he said, but did as he was told.

Draco hummed in contentment as Harry’s fingers started carding through his hair. Fuck, he
was getting a little bit addicted to those hands. He tried not to imagine how nice those hands
would feel on his body; it was pointless to wonder about something that would never happen.
“We do have to get up,” Harry said after a few minutes of companionable silence. “I’m
hungry, and you probably are, too. You’re a growing boy. We should go to the restaurant.”
Look for Brylsko.

Draco sighed. He knew Harry was right. They couldn’t spend the day in bed, no matter how
appealing the prospect seemed right now.

“Okay,” he said, reluctantly rolling off Harry and trying to get himself into the right mindset.
They had a job to do. Not to mention that it was probably a good idea to put some distance
between them. He was getting too comfortable with Harry. As someone who had been
independent all his life, this… rapidly forming attachment was starting to get on his nerves. If
he wasn’t careful, he would be in trouble. He needed to remember that he was just a rookie
that Harry—Agent 11—had to babysit for this mission. Nothing more.

The sooner he got the job done, the better.

***

Martha gave Draco a discreet thumbs-up when he and Harry took their seats at the restaurant.
She was in the company of a middle-aged man with graying hair who carried himself like he
owned the world. The guy had a strong, ruggedly handsome face, but he looked like he could
be her father rather than her lover. Martha seemed happy enough, though, so Draco figured
her sugar daddy must be all right.

Draco glanced at his own companion and suppressed a sigh. Martha’s sugar daddy had
nothing on his. Harry looked outrageously good in that dark suit, his blue shirt halfway
unbuttoned, revealing tanned skin Draco wanted to rub his face against. He was probably
staring again. Thankfully, Harry didn’t seem to notice, his eyes sweeping around the
restaurant in a seemingly leisurely manner.

Although Draco didn’t look around, he knew immediately when Brylsko entered the room.
Harry’s expression didn’t change, nor did he stiffen or stare. The only thing that betrayed
Harry was how cold his eyes became as he sipped his coffee. Draco was uncomfortably
reminded that this man wasn’t just a spy. He was also a government-sanctioned killer when
the occasion called for it.

“Try these,” Draco said, chewing on a pancake. “Delicious.”

The ice melted from Harry’s eyes as he shifted his gaze to Draco. “Are they?” he said. “You
should eat your vegetables too.”

“You’re not my mother,” Draco said, reaching out for another pancake.

Harry gave him a heated look. “I should hope not.”

Draco nearly groaned aloud. Was it really necessary? Agent 11 deserved a fucking Oscar for
his performance.

“Come here,” Harry said, patting his lap.

“We’re in a restaurant, Nick,” Draco pointed out with a smile, even though he was perfectly
aware what a lame excuse it was. It was hardly a normal restaurant. Other sugar babies were
either snuggled up against their sugar daddies or sitting on their laps. One bloke was even
kneeling at a middle-aged woman’s feet, his cheek resting on her knee. Brylsko had his sugar
baby on a leash as he led her into the restaurant.

He and Harry were one of the few couples behaving normally.

They were standing out.

“Draconius.”
Draco suppressed a sigh. Harry was right. They couldn’t let Brylsko suspect anything.

Draco got to his feet and moved to sit on Harry’s lap. He had half-expected some
awkwardness, but he should have known better. His body seemed to immediately melt into
Harry’s, going disgustingly relaxed and pliant against Harry’s firm chest. Christ, he smelled
so good.

“He’s looking at us,” Harry said quietly into Draco’s ear, his hand stroking Draco’s back. To
the casual eye, it probably looked as though Harry was feeling him up and whispering sweet
nothings to him. “He’s wearing a gold chain around his neck, and it looks like there’s
something on it, but it’s under his shirt. Impossible to tell if it’s the flash drive or not.”

“We’ll have to wait until he takes a dip in the pool,” Draco murmured, struggling to keep his
attention on the mission when all he wanted was to close his eyes and remain in Harry’s arms
forever.

Harry chuckled. “The pool? Which one?”

“There’s more than one?” Draco sighed. He could already see them wandering the deck all
day, trying to catch Brylsko without a shirt. “Have I mentioned that my skin hates the sun,
and that the feeling is mutual?”

Harry laughed, tipped Draco’s face up, and kissed his disgruntled nose. “I’ll protect you from
it.”

Draco absolutely didn’t melt into a puddle of goo. He decided that he hated straight men—
especially those who were ridiculously hot and who treated him as though he were something
precious.

“You can protect me from the sun?”

“I can put sunscreen on you.”

Draco smirked filthily. “Everywhere?”

Harry’s eyes were laughing. “Naughty child.”

Draco grinned. “Do you still think of me as a child after last night?”

A barely visible grimace crossed Harry’s face. “Don’t remind me.”

Draco tried not to get offended and failed. “I’ll have you know that I’ve been reliably
informed by multiple sources that I’m great at sucking cock.”

Harry’s expression turned pinched. “I really didn’t need that information.”

A laugh left Draco’s lips when he realized what this was about. He lowered his voice. “I’ve
been living on the streets since I was six, Nick. Did you really think I was some innocent
little boy, a blushing virgin who would be bothered by what happened last night? You don’t
need to worry about my nonexistent virtue.” He smiled and kissed Harry’s cheek, shivering
when Harry’s scruff tickled his skin. “But it’s very sweet of you, anyway.”

“Sweet,” Harry said with laughter in his voice. “I don’t remember the last time anyone called
me sweet.”

Draco leaned his cheek against Harry’s. “I dunno… Your cock tasted pretty sweet to me.”

“Draconius,” Harry said, half-laughing, half-groaning.

Whatever Harry was about to say was cut off when a familiar voice said,
“A fine morning, isn’t it?”

Draco tensed but relaxed again when Harry’s hand stroked his back.

“It is,” Harry said, stretching out his free hand for a handshake. His expression was polite and
friendly. “Milosz. I’m afraid I don’t remember your companion’s name.”

“This is my pet, Anika,” Brylsko said, stroking the leather leash in his hand. The girl, Anika,
was very beautiful and very quiet, the picture of submissiveness. Brylsko looked at her with a
vaguely proprietary expression that, to Draco’s surprise, seemed genuinely affectionate.
“Isn’t she beautiful?”

“I’m sure she is,” Harry said, flicking a neutral glance toward the girl before returning his
eyes to Draco, his gaze becoming far more appreciative. “But I’m afraid I’m not a very good
judge of female beauty.”

Christ, he was good. Even knowing that Agent 11 was straight, Draco couldn’t tell that he
was anything but honest.

Brylsko chuckled. “I can see that.” He gave Draco a long look.

Draco pressed himself tighter against Harry, hoping his uneasiness wasn’t obvious.

“Will you be attending the shibari demonstration with your boy?” Brylsko said, returning his
gaze to Harry. “I’ve been told they have amazing artists.”

Draco expected Harry to agree, but he shook his head with a shrug. “I’m not all that
interested in bondage. I’m a simple man of simple tastes. Maybe some other day if we have
nothing to do.”

“Hmm, that’s a pity. I’m sure we’ll see you around.” Brylsko led his pet toward their table.
“Why did you say no?” Draco whispered when they were alone.

Harry kissed the corner of his mouth. “Pretty sure he was testing us. We can’t seem too eager
to go wherever he goes. Besides, Harry Potter has no history of being interested in any form
of BDSM, so it would have been doubly suspicious.”

“What about you?” Draco murmured, licking his tingling lips and trying not to stare at
Harry’s mouth. He’d never been so painfully aware of another man’s mouth.

“What about me?”

“Are you interested in bondage?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Harry said, dropping a kiss on Draco’s nose.

Draco pouted.

Harry laughed.

“So, what now?” Draco said, glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to
overhear them.

“We eat, we take a long walk around the ship. If we’re lucky, Brylsko takes off his shirt at
some point.”

“And if we aren’t?”
Harry’s face turned serious. “If we aren’t, we’ll think of something else. Can you even steal
that chain?”

Draco thought for a moment before nodding. “Yes. If I’m close enough and he’s distracted by
something.”

Harry looked at him intently. “Can you put it back around his neck without him noticing?”

Draco grimaced. “Maybe.” It was a big maybe.

“Not good enough. I’m not letting you take such a risk when we don’t even know for sure
that the flash drive is on that chain.”

“There may not be a choice,” Draco said quietly, though he wasn’t exactly a fan of that plan,
either. It really was too risky.

“That will be our last resort,” Harry said. “We have time to find a better solution.”

Draco pursed his lips, pressing his nose to the hollow of Harry’s throat. “There’s another
option, you know,” he whispered reluctantly. “To get him to take his shirt off.”

He felt Harry’s muscles go rigid against him.

“No.”

“I’m just saying that—”

“No,” Harry cut him off, his voice like ice.

Draco sighed. “He’s interested in me. I can tell. Maybe not interested enough to bid for me,
but enough not to say no if a friend offered to share his boytoy.”

Harry was quiet.

At last, he said, “We’ll find another way.”

Draco looked at Harry’s dead serious expression and felt a warm feeling curl in his chest. In
his heart.

God, this was bad.

Harry Potter, or the man who was known as Harry Potter, rarely felt squeamish about doing
whatever he must for a mission’s success. It had been years since something had made him
hesitate.

That was why a part of him was incredulous that he had refused to consider the option that
would make their mission much easier to accomplish. It was useless to deny that lending the
boy to Brylsko would be the easiest way to learn where Brylsko kept the flash drive. Not to
mention that swapping it for the fake one would be much easier if the mark was… distracted.

Distracted.

The mere idea made Harry’s fingers itch for a gun, a knife. Anything.

Fuck. This was unacceptable. The boy shouldn’t have mattered. He’d done far worse in the
name of Queen and Country than sacrificing a teenager’s mental health. It wasn’t as though
Brylsko would kill or physically harm the boy. It was just sex. An exchange of bodily fluids.
It wasn’t as though Harry himself had never had to fuck people he abhorred for the success of
his mission. So why couldn’t he let the boy do it? He had warned Draco that it wasn’t a job
for someone with a weak stomach. The kid had ignored his warning, and now he must deal
with consequences. Simple as that.

Except no matter what Harry told himself, it changed nothing. He knew he wouldn’t allow
Draconius to do it, end of story. And it pissed him off.

This… protectiveness was unacceptable. Dangerous.

“You’re very quiet,” Draconius said, leaning closer to him, his hand tightening on Harry’s
upper arm.

Harry glanced around the deck, looking for security cameras. He couldn’t see any, but even if
he missed some, it was highly unlikely that they would be overheard over the loud music
played at the bar. There weren’t any passengers close enough to them. It was as safe to talk as
it could be.

He looked back at the boy. Anxious silver eyes were studying him.

“Something wrong?” Draconius said.

Harry shook his head. He could hardly tell the kid what he was thinking about. Draco would
likely be horrified if he found out that Harry had been trying to convince himself to do the
smart thing and use the boy’s body to get the information they needed.

On the other hand, maybe he should tell Draconius. It hadn’t escaped his notice that the kid
had developed a bit of a crush on him. He should probably nip it in the bud and rid the boy of
the delusion that he was some sort of knight in shining armor. The mere idea almost made
Harry laugh. He was nothing but a weapon. Some would call him a cold-blooded killer. Some
would call him a two-faced, manipulative bastard. They wouldn’t be wrong.
“Okay, the silence is bit ominous,” Draconius said with a chuckle, his eyes bright with
curiosity.

Christ. The boy was disgustingly endearing.

Harry liked him. He genuinely liked him, and that was the crux of the problem. That didn’t
happen to him. He’d learned a long time ago to keep emotional distance from other people
during his missions. They were nothing but marks and collateral damage.

But this kid… Draconius looked at him as though he was the sun, not a cynical government
agent with too many faces and bloodstained hands. It made him want to do something cruel,
to wipe that look off the boy’s face.

Except… he liked it. It was nothing but a fantasy, but he fucking liked it, liked that Draconius
thought he was a far better man than he was.

“You shouldn’t have a crush on me,” Harry said.

Platinum blonds didn’t blush prettily, but somehow, this one did.

To Draco’s credit, he didn’t even try to deny it. “I know,” he said with a sigh. “It’s annoying
me, too. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll pass soon. I’m a teenager. I get a new crush every other
week.”

Harry chuckled, dropping a kiss on Draconius’s forehead. “Nothing to be embarrassed of,

Bambi. I’m flattered.”

Draco half-scowled, half-smiled. “I’m not embarrassed. Just annoyed. Do you know how
much it sucks to have a crush on a straight bloke? Why couldn’t they stick me with someone
ugly?”
Harry laughed. It wasn’t actually all that funny, but Draco’s annoyed, pouting expression was
freaking adorable. Adorable wasn’t a word that had ever been in his vocabulary, but it fit this
kid.

“It’s not funny,” Draconius said, glowering at him.

It was about as intimidating as a puppy’s bark.

“I’ll introduce you to Agent Quinn when we get back,” Harry said, still smiling faintly. “He’s
gay, close to your age, and he’s at least an eight. I’m sure you’ll be crushing on him in no
time.”

“An eight wouldn’t do it,” Draco grumbled. “Have you seen yourself in the mirror?”

For the first time in a very long time, Harry didn’t know what to say. He did know how he
looked, of course. It would have been ridiculous to claim not to be aware of something that
he often used if a mission required it. But this wasn’t a mark. This was a kid he liked. Despite
making light of it, Harry knew unrequited crushes could hurt a great deal when one was a
teenager.

Draco laughed. “Stop. I can hear you panicking. I’m not in love with you or anything. I told
you—I get a crush every week. I once had a crush on a priest who had been very kind to me.
I convinced myself I was tragically in love with him, but then I saw a movie with Tom Hardy
and forgot all about my epic love for the priest.”

“That’s reassuring,” Harry said dryly. But it was. He didn’t want Draconius to fancy himself
in love with him. He didn’t want the kid to get hurt.

This protectiveness wasn’t exactly new. He had felt protective of the boy (although,
admittedly, not to this degree) even at their first meeting—when he’d seen the excitement and
longing in Draco’s eyes as he asked Harry whether he would have his own place if he
accepted the job. From their first meeting, Harry had been a little endeared by the lad, who
could be cocky and shameless one moment and shy and vulnerable the next. He wanted to
protect the boy, even from himself. Maybe especially from himself.
“Though I did love sucking your cock,” Draconius said wistfully.

Harry sighed. “Do you even have a brain-to-mouth filter?”

Draconius grinned. “A brain-to-mouth filter? What is that?”

Nothing you need, Harry thought, looking at the boy’s smiling face. Maybe that was why he
liked Draconius so much. He was something fresh and genuine in a world that was anything
but.

Chapter 10

Draco was getting frustrated. The day had been fruitless so far. They had spent it walking
around, alternating between the bar, the main pool, the smaller pool, the spa, and the
restaurants. They’d glimpsed Brylsko a few times, but he was either mingling with other
passengers or groping his sugar baby. He hadn’t taken his shirt off even when he hung out by
the pool.

“What now?” Draco muttered, feeling defeated as they headed back to their cabin. He was
half-afraid that Harry would change his mind and take him up on his offer to lend him out to
Brylsko.

Harry squeezed his shoulder. “Patience,” he said quietly. “We have time.”

Yawning, Draco leaned into him. He’d always found walking with someone’s arm around
him awkward and uncomfortable, but somehow, it wasn’t awkward with Harry. At this point,
having Harry’s arm around him felt so natural that it felt off whenever Harry removed it.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Draco smiled crookedly. “It was probably stupid of me to
expect this to be quick. Everything happens so fast in spy movies.” He gave a chuckle at
Harry’s look. “I know, I know! You told me to forget all the stuff I’ve seen in spy movies.”

“To be fair, movies do get some things right. But they can’t show how much time we spend
doing nothing while we wait for the mark to make a mistake.”

Draco worried his lip. “But what if he doesn’t?”

“He will. No matter how paranoid he is, he’ll let his guard slip at some point.”

Draco shrugged. He didn’t share Harry’s confidence, but… “I’ll trust your judgment on this.
You’re the special agent, and I’m the rookie here.”

When Harry shot him a sharp look, Draco wondered if he was still being obvious. He’d been
trying to rein his feelings in all day. He didn’t want Harry’s pity. He didn’t want him to think
that his… thing for Harry was more serious than a crush. Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t,
dammit.

Draco was almost relieved that they had reached the cabin and Harry couldn’t question him
anymore. His relief, however, was short-lived when he saw the bed. Muttering something
about his full bladder, Draco rushed to the bathroom and closed the door.

Leaning back against it, Draco stared at his face in the mirror. He looked flushed and bright-
eyed. Almost feverish. Just from Harry’s proximity.

Fuck.

Tearing his gaze away, Draco relieved himself and brushed his teeth, but he didn’t really have
any reason to linger. They had showered after their dip in the pool. There was nothing
stopping them from rolling into the bed and shagging—something that would be expected if
they were being watched.
Draco was still stressing about it as he got into the bed and waited for Harry to emerge from
the bathroom.

He didn’t know what to do.

What he did know was that he didn’t want to sleep with someone who didn’t actually want
him. No matter how much the mere thought of sex with Harry made his skin go hot, the fact
that it would be nothing but a chore for Harry killed all his arousal.

He couldn’t do it. It would be embarrassing and awkward for both of them. He didn’t care
that Harry—Agent 11—did this often enough in his line of work. It was one thing to offer to
suck Harry’s cock—a mouth was a mouth, after all, and they had needed to do something
sexual in order not to blow their covers—but forcing Harry to actually fuck someone he
didn’t want turned Draco’s stomach. Yes, it was their job, and they had to do what they must,
but there were lines he’d rather not cross.

“What’s with that face?” Harry said, slipping between the sheets and pulling Draco closer. He
was big and warm, and smelled as amazing as ever. Draco wanted to rub his face all over him
—wanted to rub himself against him.

God, he hated his life.

Putting his head on Harry’s bare shoulder, Draco wet his lips. “I have a confession to make,”
he said, drumming his fingers on Harry’s chest.

“Hmm?” Harry said, covering Draco’s slimmer fingers with his larger ones.

“I’m not actually as experienced as I claimed when I filled out the questionnaire for the
auction.” Feigning embarrassment, Draco played with Harry’s fingers. “I’ve never actually
had sex. I mean, just blowjobs and handjobs, you know?”

He could feel Harry’s surprise. Of course he was surprised: Draco was going off the script.
“Really?” Harry murmured.

“Yeah. I know it’s probably silly, but it’s always seemed like a big deal to me. A show of
trust, you know?” Draco met Harry’s eyes and could see understanding and a hint of relief in
them.

“I get it,” Harry said. “I can wait. I’m still virtually a stranger to you. We don’t have to go all
the way right now.”

Draco smiled, hugging him tightly. “Thank you! I was so nervous, so scared to tell you.”

Harry kissed him on the forehead, his lips dry and soft. The gesture of affection felt achingly
genuine. “You can tell me anything, Bambi. Always.”

This wasn’t helping his stupid crush.

Smiling, Draco rubbed their noses together, putting his hand on Harry’s nape. “Okay,” he
whispered, breathing Harry in and greedily soaking up his closeness, feeling a little
lightheaded and low-key aroused.

“I like you a lot,” Draco said, trying and failing to convince himself that he was just playing
up for their possible audience. “Like, a lot, you know?”

Something flickered in Harry’s eyes. “Yeah,” he said, brushing Draco’s lips with his own
chastely. “Now close your eyes and sleep, babe.”

Draco pouted. “But I wanted to give you head.”

“You can give me head in the morning,” Harry said with a smile. “Now, close your eyes.”

Draco closed his eyes obediently, though he didn’t expect to fall asleep anytime soon while
Harry was so tantalizingly close.

However, to his surprise, he did.

He woke up to the sound of waves rocking against the ship and to the feeling of Harry’s hand
carding through his hair. Draco decided he never wanted to move.

“Good morning,” Harry said, his sleep-hoarse voice doing awful things to Draco’s sanity and
body, as usual.

“Morning,” Draconius said, pressing a kiss to Harry’s cheek and shivering when his beard
brushed his smooth skin. He slipped his hand down and grabbed Harry’s morning wood. “I
believe I was promised something,” Draco said, smiling sleepily.

Harry snorted, lay back, and pulled his cock out.

Draco eyed it hungrily for a moment before leaning down and swallowing it.

He sucked it slowly, taking his time and savoring the taste, bringing Harry close to orgasm
and stopping, again and again, until the sleepy, indulgent expression disappeared from
Harry’s face, his muscles flexing and his dark eyes watching Draco with clear frustration.

“Draconius.”

Draco pulled off his cock with a pop and blinked innocently. “What?”
For a moment, Harry looked conflicted before his hand grabbed a handful of Draco’s messy
hair and yanked him roughly back onto his cock. Fuck yeah. Gone was Harry’s infuriatingly
indulgent attitude; now he fucked Draco’s mouth like he actually wanted it, making
Draconius feel helpless and powerful all at once. He did this to Harry. The knowledge went
to his head and he moaned around Harry’s thick cock, letting Harry fuck his throat and
enjoying every second of it.

Harry was already close, so it didn’t take long. Much too soon, he was coming down his
throat, making Draconius whine in disappointment when his softened cock slipped out of his
mouth.

“Fuck, I’m so horny now,” Draco complained, pushing his face into the hollow of Harry’s
throat. “I’m dying, Nick.”

Harry—bastard—laughed. “Poor baby,” he said, dropping a kiss on Draconius’s sweaty

forehead. “Where does it hurt?”

“Where do you think?” Draco grumbled, not appreciating Harry’s amusement. He wondered
if it was possible to actually die from sexual frustration.

Harry hummed, running his fingers through Draco’s hair. “Why won’t you deal with it?”

“Why won’t you?” Draco said, telling himself that he was asking only because it would look
strange if he didn’t.

“I’m not going to touch you until you feel that you trust me completely.” Harry chuckled with
a note of self-deprecation. “I’ve never had good self-control, Draconius. If I start touching
you, I won’t be able to stop.”

Draco wondered if he’d ever be such a good liar.

“Come on,” Harry said. “You weren’t shy yesterday.”

“I’m not shy,” Draco grumbled, reaching down to pull his erection out. “It’s just not the
same. My hand, I mean. Not as good as when someone else touches me. But I guess beggars
can’t be choosers.”

“It can be good,” Harry said into his ear. “You’re just rushing. Take your time. Tease
yourself. Think of something you want.”

Draco pressed his face into Harry’s shoulder, palming his cock and feeling his arousal surge,
honey-thick in his spine and belly. In his mind it was Harry touching him. Harry, kissing his
inner thighs, his beard rubbing against his sensitive skin. Harry, sucking his cock, his dark
eyes looking up at him. Harry, licking his hole and fucking him with his tongue.

Draconius pushed harder into his own first, moaning as the images flashed rapidly, blurring
together. He buried his face in Harry’s neck, breathing in his scent. He hoped he wasn’t
overstepping, but Harry didn’t seem to mind. Harry didn’t seem to mind his moans, either, or
the way Draco sucked lightly on his neck as he wanked.

“What are you thinking about?” Harry murmured, right into his ear. “Me?”

Draco’s hand froze on his cock as he struggled for the right response.

He pulled back a little and eyed Harry, feeling more than a little confused. He didn’t
understand why Harry was asking that. Did he really want to know? Why?

“Yeah,” he said, blushing but looking Harry in the eye.

The expression on Harry’s face was completely inscrutable. He was staring at Draco, his gaze
dark and intense.
Draco was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with him, because being
embarrassed only seemed to turn him on more. He resumed stroking his cock, hyper-aware of
Harry’s heavy gaze on him, enjoying it—enjoying his attention a little too much.

He wondered what Harry was thinking. What would he think if he knew that Draco was
imagining Harry spreading his cheeks and licking his hole?

Draco groaned and came, teeth sinking into Harry’s shoulder to muffle his groan.

“Not so bad, was it?” Harry said afterward, stroking his back and his neck in a manner that
seemed almost proprietary, but Draco knew better.

Later, as they dressed to go out, Draco noticed something on Harry’s neck.

A love bite. He had left a mark on Harry.

It was red and very obvious, and Draco couldn’t look at it without feeling funny for the rest
of the day.

Chapter 11

Harry was pissed off.

Either that, or he had a grudge against the poor punching bag he was currently abusing.

Running on a treadmill, Draco watched him from the corner of his eye. He tried not to, he
really did, but his gaze kept returning to Harry as though the agent was a magnet he was
inexplicably drawn to. It didn’t seem to matter that the gym was huge—he was still acutely
aware of the man across the gym.
Draco licked his lips, trying not to stare at the beads of sweat on Harry’s forehead and neck,
or the way his sweat-soaked black t-shirt did absolutely nothing to conceal his sculpted
muscles. Draco was all but drooling as he watched the flex of Harry’s muscles every time he
punched the bag.

He was hopelessly turned on, but in his defense, it was pretty much porn.

Not to mention that Draco had a legitimate reason to watch him.

Harry had been getting grimmer and more withdrawn with every day that they failed to verify
the location of the flash drive. They were five days into the cruise, and Brylsko’s guard still
hadn’t slipped yet. The guy was truly paranoid. His cabin was guarded all the time by two
burly bodyguards, and Brylsko hadn’t been seen without his shirt even once.

Draco could understand Harry’s dark mood; Draco was getting super anxious, too. They had
only three days left. If they didn’t make any headway soon, Harry would likely change his
mind and offer him to Brylsko. Maybe that was why Harry seemed so pissed off. Maybe he
was angry that he would have to resort to this after promising Draco that he wouldn’t have to
do it.

His stomach churning at the thought, Draco reached for his Gatorade. He took a few greedy
gulps when a familiar accented voice said,

“You shouldn’t drink while you run, pet.”

Draco had always been good at flying by the seat of his pants and making quick decisions.
He was already choking on his drink before the plan fully formulated in his head. Draco
yelped as he tripped on the treadmill, and fell toward the sound of the voice.

He almost grinned when Brylsko’s hands stopped his fall while his drink spilled all over
Brylsko’s t-shirt.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Draco apologized, wide-eyed and stammering. “You startled me!
Let me clean this!” He grabbed a few napkins from the nearby table and started dabbing
Brylsko’s soaked shirt. There definitely was an object shaped like a flash drive on Brylsko’s
chain, but it wasn’t possible to verify that it was identical to the fake one he’d been given for
switching it with. The shirt must go.

“Stop fussing, boy,” Brylsko said with a laugh. “It’s just a shirt. I have dozens more. No harm
done.”

Had he mentioned how unsettling it was that sometimes this man seemed kind and laid back?
Why couldn’t real life villains be more like the ones from movies? It would have been less of
a mindfuck.

Draco smiled at him bashfully. “You should probably take this off before it becomes sticky
and gross, sir.”

Brylsko smirked. “Who am I to say no when such a pretty thing wants to see me without a
shirt?”

Draco almost rolled his eyes. But on the outside, he smiled, looking at Brylsko through his
eyelashes. Ugh, flirting with creepy men sucked. Draco barely kept himself from flinching
when Brylsko stepped closer, his gaze on Draco’s legs clad in a pair of tiny white shorts.

When Brylsko took his shirt off, Draco forced his eyes to roam all over the man’s chest, not
letting them linger on the flash drive for too long. To be fair, Brylsko was in good shape, but
compared to Harry’s, his body was nothing to write home about.

Draco hoped it wasn’t obvious that he was faking the appreciation in his eyes as he
murmured with a crooked smile, “Although I’m happy with my sugar daddy, now I’m a little
sorry that I don’t know Polish.”

Smirking, Brylsko winked at him. “Maybe I can talk Harry into sharing.”
Draco forced out a laugh. “I wouldn’t be against it, but I don’t think he would agree.”

Familiar hands settled on his hips. “Yes,” Harry said from behind him. “I’m afraid I’m not
very good at sharing, love.”

Draco relaxed back against Harry’s chest, the tension in his body bleeding out. Thank fuck.
He didn’t think he could keep flirting for much longer. He wasn’t that good a liar.

“That’s a pity,” Brylsko said, shifting his gaze to Harry.

Draco couldn’t see Harry’s expression, but it must not have been pleasant, because Brylsko’s
genial look changed ever so subtly, his eyes turning wary and a little suspicious.

Draco elbowed Harry as discreetly as he could. What the fuck was he doing? Did he want to
blow their covers? Had Harry forgotten that he was supposed to be a harmless, hedonistic
rich man?

“You have no reason to be jealous,” Draco said with a fond, long-suffering smile, turning
around to look at Harry. He nearly winced when he saw his stony expression. Fuck. This
called for drastic measures or Brylsko might get suspicious. Draco looped his arms around
Harry’s neck and pressed his body flush against him. “Don’t be a caveman.” He pecked
Harry’s on the lips, shivering a little at the contact. “Mr. Brylsko is a handsome, interesting
man, but I’m happy to belong to you. Honest. You have no reason to feel insecure. Have you
seen yourself in the mirror? Everyone here is jealous of me.”

Finally—finally—Harry’s expression thawed out, a rueful, sheepish smile twisting his lips.
“I’m sorry, Milosz,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve always been too damn possessive of my
things. I get carried away sometimes.”

Brylsko nodded, his wariness disappearing. “I’m the same way, so I completely understand.”
His blue eyes swept over Harry. “You’re in very good shape for someone who spends most of
his time behind a desk.”
Draco eyed Brylsko but couldn’t tell if he was suspicious.

Harry snorted, tucking Draco into his side and stroking his bare arm in an absent-minded
manner. “I should hope so. I spend a small fortune on my gym membership. If I stop working
out, I quickly gain weight. Hazards of a desk job.”

Brylsko hummed noncommittally, his attention already shifting to his pet on the other side of
the gym, “Looks like my pet wants me. See you around.”

He strode toward his sugar baby.

Before Draco could say anything, Harry took his wrist and led him out of the gym. His face
was neutral, his shoulders relaxed, but the grip on Draco’s wrist was a little too tight for
comfort.

Frowning, Draco resisted the urge to demand explanations for Harry’s completely
unreasonable behavior. He waited until they were on the deck, far from any other passengers.

“What the hell was that?” he gritted out, turning to Harry.

Harry looked at him impassively. “I’m the one who should be asking that.”

Draco’s brows drew together. “Why are you pissed off? It was a brilliant idea. He approached
me, so it wasn’t suspicious at all—until you came and ruined all my work!” His bottom lip
wobbled a little. He felt stupidly upset. He’d thought Harry would be proud and pleased, not
angry. “I did manage to verify the flash drive’s location and confirm that our flash drive looks
similar enough. You should be praising me instead of being angry.” He hated that he couldn’t
quite keep the hurt from his voice. Why was Harry’s opinion so important to him, anyway?
He didn’t live for Harry’s praise.
A muscle flexed in Harry’s jaw. “You shouldn’t have acted without consulting me first.”

Draco stared at him in disbelief. “You’re the one who taught me to trust my instincts and do
whatever I must for the success of the mission. And by the way, I’ve read the mission
parameters. You might outrank me, but in this mission I’m the lead agent; you’re the support
agent. I’m supposed to do most of the job. You’re here to make sure I don’t fuck up and get
hurt.”

“Exactly,” Harry bit out.

Draco scoffed. “I could take care of myself. What would he do to me in a public place? I
guess a man like him—”

Harry yanked him close and kissed him.

Draco would like to say he put up some resistance, that he hesitated before kissing back.

The embarrassing truth was, he melted the moment Harry’s lips touched his, his mind going
blissfully empty and his body going pliant and tingling all over. His mouth was the only part
of him that seemed to be able to move, kissing back with wanton abandon, lips clinging to
Harry’s and sucking on Harry’s tongue. His little gasps and whimpers turned into full-blown
moans when Harry’s hands started moving, stroking him all over—his back, his buttocks, the
backs of his bare thighs. Fuck, he was dying. He was one step away from humping Harry—

Harry broke the kiss and stepped away.

Draconius stared at him, disoriented, flushed and so turned on he couldn’t think. Why had
Nick stopped?

“He’s gone,” Harry said, raking his fingers through his dark hair.
“Who.”

Harry looked at him. “Brylsko was approaching us. He nearly overheard us. You should be
more careful, Draconius.”

Of-fucking-course.

Draco turned away and crossed his arms over his chest, his throat thick with tears of
humiliation.

Behind him, Harry sighed. “I’m sorry for overreacting,” he said stiffly. “You did a good job.”

Somehow, the praise that he’d wanted felt meaningless and empty.

“Now we just have to figure out how to get that chain off him,” Harry said, his voice all
business, matter-of-fact.

Draco blinked the stupid tears away and took a deep, calming breath.

When he spoke again, he managed to sound far more cool-headed and professional than he
felt. “There’s no risk-free way to get it off him without him noticing. It’s too sturdy and
weighty, especially with a flash drive attached to it. But…” He thought for a moment,
picturing the flash drive in his mind. “There’s a short, thinner chain linking the flash drive to
the main chain. It looked hollow, easily breakable. If it’s dark enough, I could get close and
clip the thinner chain without him noticing straight away.”

“But if we don’t switch the flash drives, he will notice eventually that his flash drive is
missing.”

Draco shook his head, watching the ship cut through the water. “He’s unlikely to suspect
anything if he finds the flash drive at his feet. Chains break. It’s not uncommon. He’ll think
himself lucky that he didn’t lose the flash drive, and that he found it before anyone else could
take it. But I need the room to be reasonably dark—and we must make sure that security
cameras don’t have night vision.”

He could feel Harry’s scrutinizing gaze on him. “It could work,” he said. “Brysko is fond of
shibari demonstrations that happen every evening. The room is usually very dark, the
spotlight only on the performers.”

“Perfect,” Draco said with forced enthusiasm. “Can you find out about the cameras? If you
can tell me where security cameras have blind spots, it would be even easier.”

“Sure.” There was a pause. “Is everything all right?”

Draco put on a smile and turned around. “Of course,” he said, looking Harry in the eye.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Harry stared at him for a moment before nodding.

Draco didn’t delude himself into thinking that he’d fooled Harry. After all, he was just a
novice at pretending to feel something he didn’t.

It was impossible to fool a master.

Chapter 12

Draco tried to stay angry at Harry, but he wasn’t really one to hold grudges. Now he just felt
a little down and a lot stupid. Agent 11 had just been doing his job when he’d kissed him. It
wasn’t Harry’s intention to lead him on. Draco had no reason to be angry or upset. It wasn’t
Harry’s fault that Draco had a giant crush on him—on a straight, older man who was way out
of his league anyway. He was being stupid and unreasonable. He should just focus his efforts
on getting the job done and finishing the mission. When the mission was over, he probably
wouldn’t see much of Harry anyway. Special agents normally had little to do with rookies.
Instead of reassuring him, the thought made a ball of anxiety settle in the pit of his stomach.

Draco hoped he was successful at hiding how down he felt, but of course Harry noticed.

“You’re upset,” he said when he joined him in the shower that afternoon.

Draco kept his eyes off Harry’s body. He didn’t feel like being humiliated again by getting an
inappropriate boner. “A little bit,” he admitted with a rueful smile, rinsing his hair and
looking anywhere but at the other man. “It doesn’t matter.”

Harry took his chin and tipped his face up. “What’s wrong, Draconius?”

Draco had never really liked to be called anything but Draco. But he liked the way Harry said
Draconius—warm, affectionate, and soft. It sounded like an endearment.

“Talk to me,” Harry said, looking at him intently. “You can tell me anything. We’re a team,
remember?”

Draco looked at him and didn’t know what to say. All he wanted at the moment was to hide
his face against Harry’s neck and let Harry hold him and pet his hair. Christ, this was fucked
up. His thing for Harry was the oddest mix of wanton, base want and a childish need for
comfort.

“It’s nothing,” Draco said, dropping his gaze and hating himself for being such a kid about it.

“Is this about the kiss?”

Startled, Draco looked back at him and flushed under Harry’s understanding gaze.
Harry murmured, “You shouldn’t let something as superficial as a crush get you down when
you’re doing so well.”

Draco scrunched his nose up and chuckled. “You could have had the decency to pretend you
didn’t notice anything, you know. This is getting mortifying.”

Smiling, Harry kissed him on the nose. “Nothing mortifying about it. I was eighteen once,
too. I remember how much it sucked.”

“I don’t believe you,” Draco said, leaning his overheated cheek against Harry’s wet chest.
“You were probably hot as fuck at eighteen, too. All girls were probably yours.”

“Well,” Harry said. “Would you believe me if I said I had spots?”

“No,” Draco said, smiling despite himself.

Harry dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “It’ll pass, Draconius.”

“I know.” Draco sighed. “But it still really sucks. I can’t wait to get over this.” Desperate for
a change of subject, he said, “Did you have the chance to check the cameras in the shibari
room?”

“Yes,” Harry said, his soaped hands gliding over Draco’s back. “There are three of them. No
infrared. There are two blind spots in the room, one behind the column and the other on the
left from the door.”

Draco closed his eyes, trying to picture the room in his mind. He’d seen it only fleetingly, but
he had a pretty good memory.
Except he had trouble focusing. Harry’s hands were too distracting. The weird thing was,
Harry’s touch didn’t feel impersonal and detached. Harry was washing Draco as though he
had every right to touch him, his hands confident and gentle—knowing.

Draco pulled his hips back. The situation was embarrassing enough.

“The column it is,” he said, clearing his throat. The ultrabook he’d been given by MI6 might
be small, but the glare of its screen would still give him away in a dark room unless Draco
used it behind the column. He frowned. “Are we sure the program can crack the flash drive’s
password in a few minutes?”

“It isn’t the first time I’ve used it. The program was developed by our best hackers. There’s
very little it can’t crack.”

“Very little? That’s not very reassuring.”

Harry’s soapy hands moved to his lower back. “The boffins are confident it will work.
Besides, Brylsko isn’t the type to employ first-rate computer programmers. He’s too paranoid
that they’ll stab him in the back and steal all his money.”

“So when are we doing it?” Draco said, trying to ignore the perfect weight of Harry’s hands
on his lower back. God, it felt… His hole clenched, his cock going painfully hard as he
imagined Harry’s long fingers slipping lower and stroking between his cheeks.

“The sooner the better,” Harry said, his soaped hands dipping lower, skimming over his
buttocks and thighs. “So tonight.”

Draco couldn’t focus on the conversation anymore. “All right,” he managed, stepping away.
He couldn’t quite meet Harry’s eyes as he hurried out of the bathroom.

Seriously, fuck his life.

 Chapter 2

“I get it,” Harry said. “I can wait. I’m still virtually a stranger to you. We don’t have to go all
the way right now.”

Draco smiled, hugging him tightly. “Thank you! I was so nervous, so scared to tell you.”

Harry kissed him on the forehead, his lips dry and soft. The gesture of affection felt achingly
genuine. “You can tell me anything, Bambi. Always.”

This wasn’t helping his stupid crush.

Smiling, Draco rubbed their noses together, putting his hand on Harry’s nape. “Okay,” he
whispered, breathing Harry in and greedily soaking up his closeness, feeling a little
lightheaded and low-key aroused.

“I like you a lot,” Draco said, trying and failing to convince himself that he was just playing
up for their possible audience. “Like, a lot, you know?”

Something flickered in Harry’s eyes. “Yeah,” he said, brushing Draco’s lips with his own
chastely. “Now close your eyes and sleep, babe.”

Draco pouted. “But I wanted to give you head.”

“You can give me head in the morning,” Harry said with a smile. “Now, close your eyes.”

Draco closed his eyes obediently, though he didn’t expect to fall asleep anytime soon while
Harry was so tantalizingly close.
However, to his surprise, he did.

He woke up to the sound of waves rocking against the ship and to the feeling of Harry’s hand
carding through his hair. Draco decided he never wanted to move.

“Good morning,” Harry said, his sleep-hoarse voice doing awful things to Draco’s sanity and
body, as usual.

“Morning,” Draconius said, pressing a kiss to Harry’s cheek and shivering when his beard
brushed his smooth skin. He slipped his hand down and grabbed Harry’s morning wood. “I
believe I was promised something,” Draco said, smiling sleepily.

Harry snorted, lay back, and pulled his cock out.

Draco eyed it hungrily for a moment before leaning down and swallowing it.

He sucked it slowly, taking his time and savoring the taste, bringing Harry close to orgasm
and stopping, again and again, until the sleepy, indulgent expression disappeared from
Harry’s face, his muscles flexing and his dark eyes watching Draco with clear frustration.

“Draconius.”

Draco pulled off his cock with a pop and blinked innocently. “What?”

For a moment, Harry looked conflicted before his hand grabbed a handful of Draco’s messy
hair and yanked him roughly back onto his cock. Fuck yeah. Gone was Harry’s infuriatingly
indulgent attitude; now he fucked Draco’s mouth like he actually wanted it, making
Draconius feel helpless and powerful all at once. He did this to Harry. The knowledge went
to his head and he moaned around Harry’s thick cock, letting Harry fuck his throat and
enjoying every second of it.
Harry was already close, so it didn’t take long. Much too soon, he was coming down his
throat, making Draconius whine in disappointment when his softened cock slipped out of his
mouth.

“Fuck, I’m so horny now,” Draco complained, pushing his face into the hollow of Harry’s
throat. “I’m dying, Harry.”

Harry—bastard—laughed. “Poor baby,” he said, dropping a kiss on Draconius’s sweaty

forehead. “Where does it hurt?”

“Where do you think?” Draco grumbled, not appreciating Harry’s amusement. He wondered
if it was possible to actually die from sexual frustration.

Harry hummed, running his fingers through Draco’s hair. “Why won’t you deal with it?”

“Why won’t you?” Draco said, telling himself that he was asking only because it would look
strange if he didn’t.

“I’m not going to touch you until you feel that you trust me completely.” Harry chuckled with
a note of self-deprecation. “I’ve never had good self-control, Draconius. If I start touching
you, I won’t be able to stop.”

Draco wondered if he’d ever be such a good liar.

“Come on,” Harry said. “You weren’t shy yesterday.”

“I’m not shy,” Draco grumbled, reaching down to pull his erection out. “It’s just not the
same. My hand, I mean. Not as good as when someone else touches me. But I guess beggars
can’t be choosers.”
“It can be good,” Harry said into his ear. “You’re just rushing. Take your time. Tease
yourself. Think of something you want.”

Draco pressed his face into Harry’s shoulder, palming his cock and feeling his arousal surge,
honey-thick in his spine and belly. In his mind it was Harry touching him. Harry, kissing his
inner thighs, his beard rubbing against his sensitive skin. Harry, sucking his cock, his dark
eyes looking up at him. Harry, licking his hole and fucking him with his tongue.

Draconius pushed harder into his own first, moaning as the images flashed rapidly, blurring
together. He buried his face in Harry’s neck, breathing in his scent. He hoped he wasn’t
overstepping, but Harry didn’t seem to mind. Harry didn’t seem to mind his moans, either, or
the way Draco sucked lightly on his neck as he wanked.

“What are you thinking about?” Harry murmured, right into his ear. “Me?”

Draco’s hand froze on his cock as he struggled for the right response.

He pulled back a little and eyed Harry, feeling more than a little confused. He didn’t
understand why Harry was asking that. Did he really want to know? Why?

“Yeah,” he said, blushing but looking Harry in the eye.

The expression on Harry’s face was completely inscrutable. He was staring at Draco, his gaze
dark and intense.

Draco was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with him, because being
embarrassed only seemed to turn him on more. He resumed stroking his cock, hyper-aware of
Harry’s heavy gaze on him, enjoying it—enjoying his attention a little too much.

He wondered what Harry was thinking. What would he think if he knew that Draco was
imagining Harry spreading his cheeks and licking his hole?
Draco groaned and came, teeth sinking into Harry’s shoulder to muffle his groan.

“Not so bad, was it?” Harry said afterward, stroking his back and his neck in a manner that
seemed almost proprietary, but Draco knew better.

Later, as they dressed to go out, Draco noticed something on Harry’s neck.

A love bite. He had left a mark on Harry.

It was red and very obvious, and Draco couldn’t look at it without feeling funny for the rest
of the day.

Harry was pissed off.

Either that, or he had a grudge against the poor punching bag he was currently abusing.

Running on a treadmill, Draco watched him from the corner of his eye. He tried not to, he
really did, but his gaze kept returning to Harry as though the agent was a magnet he was
inexplicably drawn to. It didn’t seem to matter that the gym was huge—he was still acutely
aware of the man across the gym.

Draco licked his lips, trying not to stare at the beads of sweat on Harry’s forehead and neck,
or the way his sweat-soaked black t-shirt did absolutely nothing to conceal his sculpted
muscles. Draco was all but drooling as he watched the flex of Harry’s muscles every time he
punched the bag.

He was hopelessly turned on, but in his defense, it was pretty much porn.
Not to mention that Draco had a legitimate reason to watch him.

Harry had been getting grimmer and more withdrawn with every day that they failed to verify
the location of the flash drive. They were five days into the cruise, and Brylsko’s guard still
hadn’t slipped yet. The guy was truly paranoid. His cabin was guarded all the time by two
burly bodyguards, and Brylsko hadn’t been seen without his shirt even once.

Draco could understand Harry’s dark mood; Draco was getting super anxious, too. They had
only three days left. If they didn’t make any headway soon, Harry would likely change his
mind and offer him to Brylsko. Maybe that was why Harry seemed so pissed off. Maybe he
was angry that he would have to resort to this after promising Draco that he wouldn’t have to
do it.

His stomach churning at the thought, Draco reached for his Gatorade. He took a few greedy
gulps when a familiar accented voice said,

“You shouldn’t drink while you run, pet.”

Draco had always been good at flying by the seat of his pants and making quick decisions.
He was already choking on his drink before the plan fully formulated in his head. Draco
yelped as he tripped on the treadmill, and fell toward the sound of the voice.

He almost grinned when Brylsko’s hands stopped his fall while his drink spilled all over
Brylsko’s t-shirt.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Draco apologized, wide-eyed and stammering. “You startled me!
Let me clean this!” He grabbed a few napkins from the nearby table and started dabbing
Brylsko’s soaked shirt. There definitely was an object shaped like a flash drive on Brylsko’s
chain, but it wasn’t possible to verify that it was identical to the fake one he’d been given for
switching it with. The shirt must go.
“Stop fussing, boy,” Brylsko said with a laugh. “It’s just a shirt. I have dozens more. No harm
done.”

Had he mentioned how unsettling it was that sometimes this man seemed kind and laid back?
Why couldn’t real life villains be more like the ones from movies? It would have been less of
a mindfuck.

Draco smiled at him bashfully. “You should probably take this off before it becomes sticky
and gross, sir.”

Brylsko smirked. “Who am I to say no when such a pretty thing wants to see me without a
shirt?”

Draco almost rolled his eyes. But on the outside, he smiled, looking at Brylsko through his
eyelashes. Ugh, flirting with creepy men sucked. Draco barely kept himself from flinching
when Brylsko stepped closer, his gaze on Draco’s legs clad in a pair of tiny white shorts.

When Brylsko took his shirt off, Draco forced his eyes to roam all over the man’s chest, not
letting them linger on the flash drive for too long. To be fair, Brylsko was in good shape, but
compared to Harry’s, his body was nothing to write home about.

Draco hoped it wasn’t obvious that he was faking the appreciation in his eyes as he
murmured with a crooked smile, “Although I’m happy with my sugar daddy, now I’m a little
sorry that I don’t know Polish.”

Smirking, Brylsko winked at him. “Maybe I can talk Harry into sharing.”

Draco forced out a laugh. “I wouldn’t be against it, but I don’t think he would agree.”

Familiar hands settled on his hips. “Yes,” Harry said from behind him. “I’m afraid I’m not
very good at sharing, love.”
Draco relaxed back against Harry’s chest, the tension in his body bleeding out. Thank fuck.
He didn’t think he could keep flirting for much longer. He wasn’t that good a liar.

“That’s a pity,” Brylsko said, shifting his gaze to Harry.

Draco couldn’t see Harry’s expression, but it must not have been pleasant, because Brylsko’s
genial look changed ever so subtly, his eyes turning wary and a little suspicious.

Draco elbowed Harry as discreetly as he could. What the fuck was he doing? Did he want to
blow their covers? Had Harry forgotten that he was supposed to be a harmless, hedonistic
rich man?

“You have no reason to be jealous,” Draco said with a fond, long-suffering smile, turning
around to look at Harry. He nearly winced when he saw his stony expression. Fuck. This
called for drastic measures or Brylsko might get suspicious. Draco looped his arms around
Harry’s neck and pressed his body flush against him. “Don’t be a caveman.” He pecked
Harry’s on the lips, shivering a little at the contact. “Mr. Brylsko is a handsome, interesting
man, but I’m happy to belong to you. Honest. You have no reason to feel insecure. Have you
seen yourself in the mirror? Everyone here is jealous of me.”

Finally—finally—Harry’s expression thawed out, a rueful, sheepish smile twisting his lips.
“I’m sorry, Milosz,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve always been too damn possessive of my
things. I get carried away sometimes.”

Brylsko nodded, his wariness disappearing. “I’m the same way, so I completely understand.”
His blue eyes swept over Harry. “You’re in very good shape for someone who spends most of
his time behind a desk.”

Draco eyed Brylsko but couldn’t tell if he was suspicious.

Harry snorted, tucking Draco into his side and stroking his bare arm in an absent-minded
manner. “I should hope so. I spend a small fortune on my gym membership. If I stop working
out, I quickly gain weight. Hazards of a desk job.”

Brylsko hummed noncommittally, his attention already shifting to his pet on the other side of
the gym, “Looks like my pet wants me. See you around.”

He strode toward his sugar baby.

Before Draco could say anything, Harry took his wrist and led him out of the gym. His face
was neutral, his shoulders relaxed, but the grip on Draco’s wrist was a little too tight for
comfort.

Frowning, Draco resisted the urge to demand explanations for Harry’s completely
unreasonable behavior. He waited until they were on the deck, far from any other passengers.

“What the hell was that?” he gritted out, turning to Harry.

Harry looked at him impassively. “I’m the one who should be asking that.”

Draco’s brows drew together. “Why are you pissed off? It was a brilliant idea. He approached
me, so it wasn’t suspicious at all—until you came and ruined all my work!” His bottom lip
wobbled a little. He felt stupidly upset. He’d thought Harry would be proud and pleased, not
angry. “I did manage to verify the flash drive’s location and confirm that our flash drive looks
similar enough. You should be praising me instead of being angry.” He hated that he couldn’t
quite keep the hurt from his voice. Why was Harry’s opinion so important to him, anyway?
He didn’t live for Harry’s praise.

A muscle flexed in Harry’s jaw. “You shouldn’t have acted without consulting me first.”

Draco stared at him in disbelief. “You’re the one who taught me to trust my instincts and do
whatever I must for the success of the mission. And by the way, I’ve read the mission
parameters. You might outrank me, but in this mission I’m the lead agent; you’re the support
agent. I’m supposed to do most of the job. You’re here to make sure I don’t fuck up and get
hurt.”

“Exactly,” Harry bit out.

Draco scoffed. “I could take care of myself. What would he do to me in a public place? I
guess a man like him—”

Harry yanked him close and kissed him.

Draco would like to say he put up some resistance, that he hesitated before kissing back.

The embarrassing truth was, he melted the moment Harry’s lips touched his, his mind going
blissfully empty and his body going pliant and tingling all over. His mouth was the only part
of him that seemed to be able to move, kissing back with wanton abandon, lips clinging to
Harry’s and sucking on Harry’s tongue. His little gasps and whimpers turned into full-blown
moans when Harry’s hands started moving, stroking him all over—his back, his buttocks, the
backs of his bare thighs. Fuck, he was dying. He was one step away from humping Harry—

Harry broke the kiss and stepped away.

Draconius stared at him, disoriented, flushed and so turned on he couldn’t think. Why had
Harry stopped?

“He’s gone,” Harry said, raking his fingers through his dark hair.

“Who.”

Harry looked at him. “Brylsko was approaching us. He nearly overheard us. You should be
more careful, Draconius.”
Of-fucking-course.

Draco turned away and crossed his arms over his chest, his throat thick with tears of
humiliation.

Behind him, Harry sighed. “I’m sorry for overreacting,” he said stiffly. “You did a good job.”

Somehow, the praise that he’d wanted felt meaningless and empty.

“Now we just have to figure out how to get that chain off him,” Harry said, his voice all
business, matter-of-fact.

Draco blinked the stupid tears away and took a deep, calming breath.

When he spoke again, he managed to sound far more cool-headed and professional than he
felt. “There’s no risk-free way to get it off him without him noticing. It’s too sturdy and
weighty, especially with a flash drive attached to it. But…” He thought for a moment,
picturing the flash drive in his mind. “There’s a short, thinner chain linking the flash drive to
the main chain. It looked hollow, easily breakable. If it’s dark enough, I could get close and
clip the thinner chain without him noticing straight away.”

“But if we don’t switch the flash drives, he will notice eventually that his flash drive is
missing.”

Draco shook his head, watching the ship cut through the water. “He’s unlikely to suspect
anything if he finds the flash drive at his feet. Chains break. It’s not uncommon. He’ll think
himself lucky that he didn’t lose the flash drive, and that he found it before anyone else could
take it. But I need the room to be reasonably dark—and we must make sure that security
cameras don’t have night vision.”
He could feel Harry’s scrutinizing gaze on him. “It could work,” he said. “Brysko is fond of
shibari demonstrations that happen every evening. The room is usually very dark, the
spotlight only on the performers.”

“Perfect,” Draco said with forced enthusiasm. “Can you find out about the cameras? If you
can tell me where security cameras have blind spots, it would be even easier.”

“Sure.” There was a pause. “Is everything all right?”

Draco put on a smile and turned around. “Of course,” he said, looking Harry in the eye.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Harry stared at him for a moment before nodding.

Draco didn’t delude himself into thinking that he’d fooled Harry. After all, he was just a
novice at pretending to feel something he didn’t.

It was impossible to fool a master.

Draco tried to stay angry at Harry, but he wasn’t really one to hold grudges. Now he just felt
a little down and a lot stupid. Agent 11 had just been doing his job when he’d kissed him. It
wasn’t Harry’s intention to lead him on. Draco had no reason to be angry or upset. It wasn’t
Harry’s fault that Draco had a giant crush on him—on a straight, older man who was way out
of his league anyway. He was being stupid and unreasonable. He should just focus his efforts
on getting the job done and finishing the mission. When the mission was over, he probably
wouldn’t see much of Harry anyway. Special agents normally had little to do with rookies.

Instead of reassuring him, the thought made a ball of anxiety settle in the pit of his stomach.
Draco hoped he was successful at hiding how down he felt, but of course Harry noticed.

“You’re upset,” he said when he joined him in the shower that afternoon.

Draco kept his eyes off Harry’s body. He didn’t feel like being humiliated again by getting an
inappropriate boner. “A little bit,” he admitted with a rueful smile, rinsing his hair and
looking anywhere but at the other man. “It doesn’t matter.”

Harry took his chin and tipped his face up. “What’s wrong, Draconius?”

Draco had never really liked to be called anything but Draco. But he liked the way Harry said
Draconius—warm, affectionate, and soft. It sounded like an endearment.

“Talk to me,” Harry said, looking at him intently. “You can tell me anything. We’re a team,
remember?”

Draco looked at him and didn’t know what to say. All he wanted at the moment was to hide
his face against Harry’s neck and let Harry hold him and pet his hair. Christ, this was fucked
up. His thing for Harry was the oddest mix of wanton, base want and a childish need for
comfort.

“It’s nothing,” Draco said, dropping his gaze and hating himself for being such a kid about it.

“Is this about the kiss?”

Startled, Draco looked back at him and flushed under Harry’s understanding gaze.

Harry murmured, “You shouldn’t let something as superficial as a crush get you down when
you’re doing so well.”
Draco scrunched his nose up and chuckled. “You could have had the decency to pretend you
didn’t notice anything, you know. This is getting mortifying.”

Smiling, Harry kissed him on the nose. “Nothing mortifying about it. I was eighteen once,
too. I remember how much it sucked.”

“I don’t believe you,” Draco said, leaning his overheated cheek against Harry’s wet chest.
“You were probably hot as fuck at eighteen, too. All girls were probably yours.”

“Well,” Harry said. “Would you believe me if I said I had spots?”

“No,” Draco said, smiling despite himself.

Harry dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “It’ll pass, Draconius.”

“I know.” Draco sighed. “But it still really sucks. I can’t wait to get over this.” Desperate for
a change of subject, he said, “Did you have the chance to check the cameras in the shibari
room?”

“Yes,” Harry said, his soaped hands gliding over Draco’s back. “There are three of them. No
infrared. There are two blind spots in the room, one behind the column and the other on the
left from the door.”

Draco closed his eyes, trying to picture the room in his mind. He’d seen it only fleetingly, but
he had a pretty good memory.

Except he had trouble focusing. Harry’s hands were too distracting. The weird thing was,
Harry’s touch didn’t feel impersonal and detached. Harry was washing Draco as though he
had every right to touch him, his hands confident and gentle—knowing.

Draco pulled his hips back. The situation was embarrassing enough.
“The column it is,” he said, clearing his throat. The ultrabook he’d been given by MI6 might
be small, but the glare of its screen would still give him away in a dark room unless Draco
used it behind the column. He frowned. “Are we sure the program can crack the flash drive’s
password in a few minutes?”

“It isn’t the first time I’ve used it. The program was developed by our best hackers. There’s
very little it can’t crack.”

“Very little? That’s not very reassuring.”

Harry’s soapy hands moved to his lower back. “The boffins are confident it will work.
Besides, Brylsko isn’t the type to employ first-rate computer programmers. He’s too paranoid
that they’ll stab him in the back and steal all his money.”

“So when are we doing it?” Draco said, trying to ignore the perfect weight of Harry’s hands
on his lower back. God, it felt… His hole clenched, his cock going painfully hard as he
imagined Harry’s long fingers slipping lower and stroking between his cheeks.

“The sooner the better,” Harry said, his soaped hands dipping lower, skimming over his
buttocks and thighs. “So tonight.”

Draco couldn’t focus on the conversation anymore. “All right,” he managed, stepping away.
He couldn’t quite meet Harry’s eyes as he hurried out of the bathroom.

Seriously, fuck his life.

Harry hadn’t exactly been happy to be assigned to this mission. As a rule, senior agents
disliked babysitting and he was no exception. Watching over a rookie was tedious at best and
extremely aggravating if the rookie kept messing up.
Watching over Draconius was neither tedious nor aggravating. The boy was very bright,
quick to learn, and eager to please.

It wasn’t Draconius who was the problem. It was him.

Nothing had prepared Harry for how agitated and uneasy he would feel while his rookie
partner put himself at risk. If something went wrong, Harry wouldn’t be able to help. This
particular mission required a skill set he didn’t have. While he had done some pickpocketing
in the past, this job required someone who was better than just good. It required someone
exceptional.

Someone like Draconius.

Harry couldn’t even find Draconius despite actively looking for him. The room was dark, the
stage at the center the only illuminated spot. The audience was scattered all over the room,
mostly in pairs, a good part of them paying no attention to the shibari performance, too busy
groping their partners.

As he’d suspected, this show was just an excuse for some kinky passengers to engage in
public sex under the guise of attending a professional bondage demonstration. The darkness
gave an illusion of privacy, but it was probably titillating enough. Considering that most
couples weren’t even trying to be quiet anymore, it made him wonder how many of these
shows ended in one big orgy.

A couple near him started to fuck.

Harry paid them no attention, his eyes peering into the darkness. He felt more on edge the
longer Draconius was out of his sight. He had to remind himself that the boy was very good
at what he did. It did nothing to quell his concern: he was well aware that sometimes
excelling at something wasn’t enough. Sometimes there were circumstances outside of one’s
control. Stealing the flash drive while Brylsko was wearing it on a chain around his neck
wasn’t an easy task, considering Brylsko’s paranoia. But it was dark and Brylsko was also
distracted by the girl in his lap. It could work. It could also blow up spectacularly in their
faces.
Harry peered in Brylsko’s direction. He could barely make out his shape. Brylsko’s girl
seemed to be blowing him, but he couldn’t tell for sure; it was too dark. He couldn’t see
Draconius anywhere.

Minutes dragged.

He kept an eye on the shibari performance. It was nearing its end. They had been informed
that there would be a striptease after that, but there was no telling if the lights would be
turned on between the performances. Dammit. He should have watched the security footage
of previous shows while he’d scoped out the room in the afternoon.

Harry pursed his lips at the thought.

He would have checked the security footage if he hadn’t been anxious to return to Draconius,
his skin crawling with unease after seeing the way Brylsko had devoured the boy with his
eyes. Men like Brylsko were used to always getting what they wanted and Harry hadn’t
wanted to leave Draconius alone longer than necessary.

It had been the first time since the auction that he and Draconius had been apart for more than
a few minutes and Harry hadn’t been able to shake off the thought that something would go
wrong in his absence. He had learned to trust his instincts a long time ago, but this time he
wondered if he was just getting paranoid. Nothing had happened to the boy while Harry had
been away. He had found Draconius in the shower, perfectly healthy and safe. The relief that
he’d felt at the sight had been… disconcerting. The urge to touch Draconius and make sure
he was okay had been more than just disconcerting. Christ, talk about overreacting. This
overprotectiveness was starting to creep him out. There was being protective and then there
was the need to protect and provide that he felt around that kid.

Not to mention that he shouldn’t have touched Draconius the way he had touched him in the
shower—not when Draconius had a giant crush on him.

Remembering Draconius’s flushed, embarrassed face almost made Harry smile. It shouldn’t
have been endearing, but it was, and it was such a foreign feeling that it threw him off every
time he caught himself feeling fond.
He didn’t do fond.

And yet here he was.

The boy’s obvious crush didn’t even bother him. Nor did it particularly bother him that he
might have to fuck Draconius if Brylsko got too suspicious. Harry would prefer not to—
mostly because he didn’t want to mess with Draconius’s head when the kid already had a
crush on him—but the idea of sex with Draconius wasn’t… it didn’t exactly gross him out. It
didn’t make him feel the resigned detachment or mild revulsion that he’d felt on the rare
occasions he’d had to fuck a male mark. While he didn’t want to fuck Draconius, he wasn’t
put off by the idea of touching him that way, either. He touched him all the time already. It
was easy to touch him. Maybe too easy. He didn’t have to force any gestures of affection.
Most of the time, he found himself kissing Draconius on the nose or on the forehead because
he wanted to. He touched Draconius because he wanted to.

He wanted to.

It wasn’t sexual. Harry had never been attracted to men and Draconius was no exception. The
boy just pushed all the right buttons in him, buttons he hadn’t even known he’d had. He felt a
weird pull towards the boy, a base need to have him that wasn’t sexual. Draconius had a
unique ability to make him feel fond, amused, fiercely protective—and possessive.

Harry grimaced at the memory of his overreaction to Brylsko ogling Draconius in the gym.
Draco had been right: he had been completely irrational. He couldn’t believe he’d nearly
ruined the mission just because he didn’t like the way the mark was eye-fucking his partner.

A light touch to his shoulder brought him back to the present, his muscles tensing for a
moment before he recognized that touch.

Draconius.

Harry felt the tension in his body bleed out.

“It’s done,” Draconius whispered, straddling Harry’s lap, where he had been sitting at the
beginning of the show.

Harry tightened his arms around the boy. “Did the program work?” he murmured into
Draconius’s ear.

“It had better,” Draconius said quietly, unbuttoning Harry’s shirt. “I’m not doing it again. I
nearly got caught. Good thing the guy seems to drop all his guard whenever he gets his prick
wet.” He giggled and Harry smiled indulgently, recognizing the signs of adrenaline rush.

“Get my hair messy, too,” Harry said, raking his hand through Draconius’s hair. They needed
to look disheveled. “The ultrabook?”

“I hid it behind those unused tables at the corner,” Draconius said, threading his fingers
through Harry’s hair. “I put the flash drive on his seat, by his thigh. He should find it without
problem. Hopefully he’ll just think he or his girl broke the chain in a fit of passion.” He
giggled again, burying his face in Harry’s chest. “Fuck, this was fun.”

“For you, maybe,” Harry said, slipping his hand between them and popping the button of
Draco’s fly.

“Um. Do we have to?”

“Yes.” Harry unzipped Draconius’s fly. “We must look like we’ve been as busy as the others.
When he sees the flash drive, he’ll be suspicious enough. No need to attract his attention by
standing out.”

“All right,” Draconius said, his deft fingers starting to work on Harry’s fly. “By the way, my
boner has nothing to do with you. It’s—it’s the danger.”
“You don’t have to sound so defensive,” Harry said wryly, wrapping his hand around
Draconius’s erection. It was warm. It pulsed slightly in his hand.

Draconius sighed, hiding his face against Harry’s shoulder. “I’ve never been so humiliated in
my life.”

Despite his words, the humiliation didn’t seem to be killing Draco’s erection. It was very hard
in Harry’s fist, and when Harry started stroking it, Draco moaned quietly.

It wasn’t the first time Harry had a hand on another man’s cock. He’d had two missions that
had involved fucking information out of a male mark. Both times it took him a lot of effort
not to show how bored and detached from the whole ordeal he had been.

He felt neither bored nor detached now. Maybe the difference was that he had grown
ridiculously attached to this boy in the few short weeks he’d known him.

“Come on,” Harry said, his hand stroking the boy’s cock faster as his other arm pulled him
tighter to himself.

Draconius moaned, teeth sinking into Harry’s neck and probably leaving a large bruise—
again. “Harry,” he panted, writhing on Harry’s lap. “Harry, I need…”

“What do you need, baby?” Harry said, leaning down to nuzzle Draconius’s cheek, his hand
tightening around Draconius’s cock. Fuck, he liked this. Liked taking care of his boy.

Breathing harshly, Draco brought his mouth to Harry’s ear and whispered, “Touch my hole. I
like when men play with my hole.”

Harry made a strangled noise. Sometimes it was hard to believe how utterly shameless
Draconius could be.
But if Draconius really wanted it…

Harry brought two fingers of his free hand to his mouth and got them wet before slipping
them under the waistband of Draco’s jeans. The moment his fingers stroked Draco’s crack,
Draco whined, shuddering with his entire body. “Oh God, Harry,” he panted out, fucking up
into Harry’s fist. “Oh God.”

“That’s it,” Harry said, tightening his hand around Draco’s dick. “You’ve been so good. Such
a good boy.” He pushed the tip of his finger inside the boy. Draconius went rigid before
letting out a loud groan and coming, his hole clenching around Harry’s finger.

“Sorry,” Draco muttered, breathless.

Harry pecked him on his sweaty forehead. “For what?”

“For making a mess on your stomach. You’re probably grossed out.”

Surprisingly, he wasn’t. His stomach was covered in jizz, his finger was still up another
bloke’s ass, but he didn’t feel grossed out in the least.

A little bemused, Harry pulled his finger out and wrapped his arm around Draconius, letting
him rest against him as he recovered from his orgasm.

Suddenly, the lights turned on.

It took his eyes a few precious seconds to adjust to the sudden brightness. When he could
finally focus his gaze, Harry found himself looking at a room full of half-dressed, disheveled
people. One couple in the corner was still fucking, either not caring about their audience or
enjoying it.
Brylsko was looking around the room with narrowed eyes, the flash drive clenched in his
hand.

Tensing, Harry quickly shifted his gaze to the boy sprawled in his lap.

Draconius smiled at him dazedly, looking flushed and shagged out, his spent cock still in
Harry’s hand. Harry probably looked nearly as obscene, his shirt halfway off, jizz drying on
his stomach, and his fly open.

It was perfect. No one in their right mind would suspect that the fucked out boy in his lap had
anything to do with Brylsko’s flash drive across the room.

When Harry chanced another look at Brylsko, Milosz was leading his pet out of the room. He
seemed less tense than he had been a few minutes ago, having probably concluded that the
chain had just broken and no one was to blame.

Harry breathed out, the tension leaving his body.

“Good job,” he said, brushing his knuckles against Draconius’s flushed cheek.

Draconius beamed at him.

When the lights turned off again for the striptease show, Draconius fetched the ultrabook for
them and Harry tucked it under his jacket.

They left hand in hand, just a regular couple returning to their cabin after an adventurous
night out.
The last few days of the cruise were surprisingly unremarkable. Brylsko didn’t seem to be
worried or suspicious of them, and the ultrabook with stolen data was safely stored in the
secret compartment in Draco’s suitcase.

Since they had nothing to do but maintain their covers, Draco decided to have some fun
while he could. After all, it wasn’t every day he had the opportunity to be on an exclusive
luxury cruise across the Mediterranean.

Envious of Harry’s bronzed skin, Draco was determined to do something about his ghostly
white complexion and spent the last few days lazing around by the pool, drinking fancy
cocktails and working on his tan. His skin did hate the sun, but sometimes he managed to get
some tan instead of getting burned, so there was hope.

But he was quickly starting to regret that plan, because Harry insisted on slathering him in
sunscreen from head to toe every two hours. It was torture. Draco had never been so horny
and sexually frustrated in his life.

“Stop whining,” Harry said sternly when Draco complained about being woken from his nap.
“You’re a platinum blond with very pale skin. Ever heard of skin cancer?”

Draco relented, because Harry was right; it had nothing to do with the fact that Harry’s
attention and protectiveness made him all giddy and warm on the inside.

Right. God, who was he trying to kid here? His crush on Harry was starting to really, really
worry him. It was all Harry’s fault for looking the way he looked and being so nice, caring,
and protective of him. Sometimes Draco almost hated him—hated Agent 11 for being such a
good actor. Not to mention that it wasn’t exactly easy to get over his crush when he had to
suck Harry’s cock every day to maintain their covers.

But soon it will be over, Draco thought as he lay wide-awake in Harry’s arms. Tomorrow
they would arrive in Barcelona and then fly back to London.

Tomorrow everything would be over. Harry would stop pretending to want him. Harry would
stop touching him. Harry would stop calling him baby and other ridiculously affectionate
endearments.

Tomorrow Harry would stop being Harry.

He would be Agent 11 again, an aloof special agent too good to have anything in common
with a trainee like Draco. They were very unlikely to share a mission again, and what other
reason would Harry—Agent 11—have for hanging out with a kid like him?

Draco tried to tell himself that the hollow feeling of loss that twisted his gut was normal. It
was normal to be a little upset. But it would pass. It was just a crush. It would pass.

It had to.

Please, he thought desperately, pressing his cheek to Harry’s shoulder and squeezing his eyes.
Please.

***

When they arrived in Barcelona, he still didn’t feel ready.

It all seemed so… anti-climatic. Draco had half-expected an open confrontation with
Brylsko, for their covers to be blown, for some violence that would prove that Brylsko was
more than just a middle-aged, hedonistic businessman. But there was nothing. No one
stopped them as they left the ship and got into a cab.

“This was a bit of an anticlimax,” Draco mumbled, looking out the car window.

Harry—Agent 11, dammit—snorted. “Anticlimax is good, trust me. It means a job well
done.” Still, he seemed a little tense. It wasn’t obvious, but after more than a week in close
quarters with him, Draco learned the difference between a completely relaxed MI6 agent and
an MI6 agent who was actually tense while he pretended to be relaxed.
Draco perked up. “Are we in danger?” he whispered, looking around wide-eyed. Maybe the
driver was one of Brylsko’s men. Maybe he was kidnapping them!

Agent 11 gave a laugh. “No. Sorry to disappoint.”

Draco deflated. “It’s not my fault the mission was boring. Being a secret agent isn’t what it’s
hyped up to be.”

Agent 11 smiled, white teeth flashing against his sun-kissed skin, still unshaven but unfairly
handsome.

God, he wanted to kiss him so much.

Swallowing, Draco averted his gaze.

He was quiet after that, tapping his leg anxiously while he waited for them to arrive at the
airport. He caught Agent 11 watching him a few times, but he was quiet too.

Only when their plane was taking off, Draco blurted out, without looking at his companion,
“So do you have a mission lined up after this one?”

“Yes.”

Draco looked at his hands, reminding himself that it was none of his business. He had no
right to ask.

To his surprise, Agent 11 volunteered, “I’ll be working on my long-term mission.”

Draco whipped his head to him. “The Harry Potter one?”

The other man nodded.

Draco wet his lips. “The one in which you’re supposed to seduce some big shot’s son?”

His expression inscrutable, Agent 11 nodded again.

“Oh,” Draco breathed out and looked away again, trying to ignore the tight knot in his
stomach.

It wasn’t jealousy. He had no right to be jealous. This was Harry’s job. He had been Harry’s
job, too. He meant nothing to Harry—to Agent 11. It was good to be reminded of that.

Agent 11 sighed. “Draco.”

Draco pulled out his brand new phone—issued to him by MI6—and put his earbuds in.

“Draconius,” Harry said.

“What,” Draco said flatly, glaring at the screen of his phone.

“Are you angry at me?”

“No,” Draco said. “Why would I be angry at you?”

“Don’t do this,” Harry said.

“Do what?”

“Don’t lie,” Harry said quietly. “It’s not you. You say what you think. It’s rare. Don’t let it
change.”

Draco scoffed. “Isn’t lying our job?”

Harry let out a laugh at his own words thrown back at him. “Don’t let the job change you.
You should never let your missions affect you off-mission. If you do, you won’t last long
with MI6.”

Draco lifted his gaze to Harry. “Just like that? It’s so easy for you? Keeping your work
separate from your life?”

“Of course it isn’t,” Harry said, his expression grim. “But you must learn to
compartmentalize. Think of yourself as an actor who takes off his stage makeup after a
performance. Similarly, everything that happens during a mission isn’t real. It’s a
performance.”

Nice.

Draco laughed. “You don’t have to tell me this, you know. I get it: I must get over my silly
crush and stop being stupid. I get it, okay?” He forced himself to meet Harry’s eyes
unflinchingly. Harry wanted honesty, didn’t he? He could be brutally honest. “I know you
don’t really care about me. I’m not actually an idiot.”

Harry pressed his lips together, a pinched expression appearing on his face. His jaw working,
he looked away before saying stiffly, “That wasn’t what I meant. I’m not a fucking robot,
either, you know. I don’t—I do care about you. I told you: your little crush doesn’t bother me
at all. I wasn’t even thinking about it when I said that. I just wanted you to be honest with me.
If you’re angry, say that you’re angry. I don’t like your lying to me.”
The tight knot in Draco’s stomach loosened a little. “Are you going to be honest back?”

Harry laughed, as if Draco had said something funny, and looked at him. “I already am. You
think I’m so candid with everyone?”

Draco frowned. Now that he thought about it, he remembered people back at MI6 gossiping
about how standoffish and closed off Agent 11 was. Despite working for MI6 for a decade,
Agent 11 was still a mystery to most of his co-workers.

“You aren’t?” Draco said softly.

Harry shook his head with a wry smile. “Now, tell me what got you upset. I’m not a mind
reader.”

“Um.” Draco studied his nails with more interest than they warranted. “I guess I just feel
disposable. Replaced by someone else.”

He could feel Harry’s gaze on him. “Are you jealous?”

Flushing, Draco grimaced. “No,” he grumbled unconvincingly.

Shit, this was mortifying.

“Draconius,” Harry said with a sigh. “My next mission will be completely different from this
one.”

There was something about Harry’s tone that made Draco look at him.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not exactly looking forward to my next mission,
either, you know. An heir to a crime empire or not, the bloke I’m supposed to use is a person,
too. It’s possible he isn’t even aware of his father’s criminal activities.”

“Then why seduce him at all?”

Harry made a face. “Because his father is one paranoid son of a bitch. He makes Brylsko look
gullible and trusting. It’s impossible to get close to him, because he literally doesn’t trust
anyone. His son is the only weak spot he has. He doesn’t seem to have much affection for his
son, but it looks like he does want to leave everything to his own flesh and blood, so he must
start trusting his son at some point soon. And I have to become the person his son trusts. It’s
the only way we can get someone inside.”

Draco frowned. “Why is MI6 involved, though? Domestic intelligence is MI5’s job.”

Harry shrugged a little. “It’s a joint operation with MI5. The mark has connections to a South
American human trafficking ring and Russian mafia.”

Draco looked at the clouds outside the window. Although rationally he understood that
Harry’s mission was important, he felt sick at the thought that Harry was going to romance
and seduce another bloke—smile at him, kiss him and touch him, have sex with him.

But it wasn’t like his opinion mattered. He was just a gay kid with a dumb crush on a straight
man.

“Okay,” he said tonelessly. He turned the music on, and closed his eyes.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have, because the next thing he knew, they
were touching down and he was blinking blearily as Harry unbuckled his seatbelt. He felt
disoriented.
“Come on,” Harry said, steering him out of the plane by a hand placed on Draco’s lower
back.

Draco leaned into the touch before jerking away, like a rag doll pulled in two different
directions.

“Draconius?” Harry said.

Stop calling me Draconius, Draco almost snapped but didn’t. He had no room to talk after all
—he had trouble thinking of Harry as Agent 11 too.

“Let’s get our luggage and find a cab,” Draco said, looking straight ahead.

The cab ride to headquarters was silent.

It wasn’t a companionable silence. Draco closed his eyes and feigned sleep, painfully aware
of the man beside him. He thought he could feel Harry’s gaze on him, but for all he knew, it
was his imagination.

It was a relief when the cab finally dropped them off by headquarters.

“Do we really have to report immediately?” Draco said, without looking at Harry.

“Yes,” Harry said, stepping to the iris scanner.

It beeped and flashed green.

Draco followed him into the building, trying not to look like he was dragging his feet. He
should have been excited. He had successfully completed his first field mission. He was
going to be the object of envy at the training center.

The training center… It felt like it had been months since he’d been there.

It felt like it had been months since Harry—

“Harry” doesn’t fucking exist, Draco reminded himself angrily. There was only Agent 11,
who soon would be off to seduce some other guy.

“Welcome back, A11,” Claudia said, flashing Harry a smile. “How was your flight?”

“Good,” Harry said tersely. “Is C in her office?”

“Yes, but she wants you to file your mission report and hand over the recovered data to the
Intelligence department.” Claudia glanced at Draco for the first time. “Agent Malfoy must
report in person. She’s waiting for him.”

Draco couldn’t see Harry’s face, but he could see his shoulders tense up a little.

“Why him?”

Claudia shrugged. “C doesn’t explain herself to me.”

Harry gave a clipped nod and glanced at Draco, something flickering in his eyes as their
gazes met.

And then he turned and walked away.

Draco watched him go, his insides in knots.

As the lift doors closed after Harry, Draco found himself staring at it stupidly, feeling lost and
alone. He’d forgotten what it felt like. He’d actually forgotten.

“Draco? Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Smiling weakly at Claudia, Draco knocked on the door and entered Amanda’s office.

“Hello, Draco,” Amanda said with a pleasant smile. “Please take a seat.”

He did, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.

What did she want from him?

“With all due respect, ma’am, I don’t understand why you’ve requested a mission report from
me,” Draco said. “Surely Agent 11 can give you a better report.”

Amanda gave him another smile. “True. But Agent 11 doesn’t have to be here to submit his
report.” She studied him for a few moments. “Draco, I’m going to be blunt with you. I
requested you to come alone because I wanted to make sure you weren’t traumatized by the
mission. Obviously you would have felt pressured in Agent 11’s presence and wouldn’t have
been able to speak candidly.”

Draco stared at her. “What?”

Amanda gave him an understanding look. “You don’t have to be afraid, Draco. You can be
honest with me if Agent 11 pressured you into doing anything you didn’t want to do during
the course of the mission. You’re very young and inexperienced, and Agent 11 had no right to
coerce you into anything, mission or not. I don’t condone sexual coercion of teenagers.”

Draco looked at her in disbelief before he had to drop his gaze to hide his anger. The nerve of
that woman. Did she think him stupid?

Taking a deep breath, Draco met her eyes and said as calmly as he could, “I’m afraid I don’t
understand, ma’am. Agent 11 was nothing if not considerate. He was an immense help and
support to me when I needed it, and he definitely didn’t coerce me into doing anything I
didn’t want. I’m eighteen, ma’am. An adult. A consenting adult.”

The woman’s smile turned a little strained. “I see. You may go, Malfoy.”

Draco had never left a room so fast.

“I don’t condone sexual coercion of teenagers,” he repeated under his breath, anger clogging
his throat. If she truly didn’t condone it, she wouldn’t have fucking assigned a teenager to
that mission. Not that he felt in any way coerced—far from it—but it was the principle of the
thing.

Come to think of it, looking back, Draco could see the signs of a carefully laid trap. Never at
any point in the pre-mission briefing was it explicitly said that he might have to perform
sexual acts if needed. It was heavily implied, but it could be argued that Draco had just
misunderstood her. Now Amanda could claim innocence and put all the blame on Harry—if
Draco voiced any complaints, which she had obviously expected. It felt good to disappoint
her. Draco wished he could tell her what he thought of her, but—

A hand grabbed his arm and yanked him into a room he hadn’t even noticed. Draco’s yelp
was cut short when he saw that it was Harry.

“What did she want?” he said.

Draco glanced at the security camera in the corner of the room. Harry followed his gaze and
nodded. Taking Draco’s wrist, he led him out of the room and strode toward the lift.

Draco was so confused that it took him a while to realize that Harry was heading to Draco’s
room in the training facility. It made sense. The living quarters were the only place they were
afforded some modicum of privacy.

“Hey, man,” Patrick, his roommate, said when he saw Draco. “Good to see you back.” He
glanced uncertainly at Harry. “Are you—”

“Out,” Harry said. “You may return in an hour.”

“Unbelievable,” Draco said when Patrick actually got up and left the room without any
complaints.

Draco plopped down on his bed, buried his face in the pillow, and closed his eyes. “You
shouldn’t have told Patrick to come back in an hour. There’s not much to talk about. Amanda
just tried to make me accuse you of sexual misconduct. I told her you didn’t do anything I
didn’t want. End of story. You have nothing to worry about.” He just wanted Harry to leave
him alone so that he could be miserable in peace. “Bye. Don’t you have a rich heir to
seduce?”

“For fuck’s sake, Draconius—”

“Stop calling me that!” Draco snapped, rolling onto his back and glaring at Harry. “The
mission is over. You don’t have to be sweet to me, or touch me, or talk to me—” His voice
cracked and Draco glared harder, hating himself and hating this man, because even now all
he wanted was to be wrapped in Harry’s arms and told sweet lies.

“This has nothing to do with the mission,” Harry said. “I thought it was obvious you weren’t
just a mission to me. I really care about you. Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Why?” Draco repeated incredulously, sitting up. Was he serious? “I don’t even know your
real name! How am I supposed to believe anything you say when I don’t know a single real
thing about you? I’ve never met a person who was such a chameleon!”

All anger seemed to fade from Harry’s body. He sighed, running a hand over his face. “My
real name is Harry.”

Draco stared at him, confused. “What?”

Harry walked over and sat next to him. “It’s kind of a long story.”

Draco eyed his profile.

“I have time,” he said softly, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Harry was
actually Harry.

Agent 11—Harry—was quiet for a while.

“My father died when I was eleven,” he said at last. “A car crash. My mother remarried a
year later. I hated my stepfather.” There was something self-deprecating about Harry’s smile.
“I was constantly angry as a teenager. I thought I hated my mother, too. I felt betrayed, felt
like she betrayed my father by remarrying so soon after his death and marrying my father’s
best friend to boot. I got it in my head that she must have been cheating on my dad before his
death.”

“Was she?” Draco said quietly.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t think so, but back then, I was sure of it and didn’t want to live with
them. I ran away from home four times before my mother finally gave up and asked my
father’s relatives to take me in.”
“So you grew up at your relatives’?”

“No,” Harry said. “My father… He belonged to an impoverished branch of a very old, very
influential family, so all his relatives were a bunch of rich snobs. They all looked down at
me.” Harry looked almost amused. “You can probably guess what happened.”

Draco cocked his head to the side. “You couldn’t stand your snobbish relatives and ran away
again?”

Harry nodded with a snort. “I think I fancied myself something of a rebel. That time around, I
lived on the streets for a while, getting into trouble and barely getting out. But by the time I
turned fifteen, I grew up a little and realized that I didn’t actually hate my mother and had
been wrong to treat her the way I did. I missed her.” Harry paused. “But it was too late. She
had died while I was gone. Complications during labor.” Harry’s face was completely blank.
“I hadn’t even known she was pregnant.”

Oh.

Draco winced inwardly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, touching Harry’s hand uncertainly. He’d thought it would be awkward,
but the moment he touched Harry, their hands immediately rearranged themselves, their
fingers lacing. They had gotten used to holding hands.

Harry looked down at their hands. “Yeah,” he said. “Me, too.”

They fell silent for a while, with Harry playing with Draco’s fingers absentmindedly.

When Draco started thinking Harry wasn’t going to continue, he did.

“After that… you can probably guess I felt like shit,” Harry said. “I became a bit of a loose
cannon. When I was sixteen, I ended up in jail after stabbing the leader of one of London
gangs, but MI6 got me out and cleared my record.” He smiled sardonically. “They were
recruiting. They wanted someone young and capable, someone they could shape in any way
they wanted, and it didn’t hurt that I was from an old family and they could use me to
infiltrate the upper class if they ever needed it.”

“Why do you pretend your real name is just a cover?” Draco murmured, staring at their
entangled fingers. Draco’s hand wasn’t small by any means, but Harry’s hand dwarfed it, his
skin so much darker than Draco’s. It made Draco feel funny. He couldn’t tear his gaze away.

“It is a cover, in a way,” Harry said. “Just because it’s my given name doesn’t mean the Harry
Potter people know is a real person. He isn’t. My education is real enough, as is my job at
Grayguard, but most of my supposed interests and preferences are fake. Even my relatives
have no idea that I’m not actually gay. When I was assigned to this mission two years ago, I
‘came out’ and started building my cover. For the sake of this mission, Harry Potter is
supposed to be the perfect man of Luke Whitford’s dreams: a gay man, confident and
dependable, who wants a serious relationship and family. This cover isn’t more real than any
other cover I’ve had.”

“Luke Whitford?” Draco said, snapping his gaze to Harry’s face. “That’s who you’re
supposed to seduce? I didn’t even know he was gay.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “You know of him?”

Draco snorted. “I’m a thief, Harry. He’s the heir of the richest man in England. Knowing
about rich people was part of my job.”

He also knew that Luke Whitford was very pretty. Not handsome or even beautiful—he was
pretty. So pretty even a straight man could probably be attracted to him.

Draco cleared his throat. “So when does your mission officially start? Like, is there a reason
you’ve been waiting?”
“There is,” Harry said, starting to fiddle with Draco’s fingers again. “I needed to make my
cover bulletproof, and we had to wait for a sign that Whitford had started to trust his son. We
know that Whitford sent his son to Russia last winter, to represent him at the Russian branch
of Whitford Industries. Interestingly enough, Luke went missing in February, after a meeting
with Roman Demidov, the Russian billionaire suspected of being the boss of Russian mafia.”

Draco frowned. “Wait, Luke Whitford was kidnapped? I didn’t know that.”

“Not many did. His father mostly managed to keep it quiet. He didn’t even call the police.
But Luke’s best friend—my cousin James, actually—talked his father, a very influential
politician, into asking MI6 for help.” Harry smiled. “It was kind of funny. We already knew
of Luke’s disappearance but had to pretend that we didn’t. Though, James did confirm that
Luke went to see Roman Demidov before he disappeared, so it wasn’t entirely useless. It
seems Whitford finally started trusting his son, so my mission can officially start now that
Luke is back.”

“Wait,” Draco said again. “Luke was found?”

“Not long ago,” Harry said, his thumb stroking the thin skin between Draco’s fingers. “He
was interrogated by our agents, but they didn’t learn much. Luke claims not to know who
kidnapped him or why. He said it wasn’t Roman Demidov, that he was kidnapped a few hours
after his meeting with the Russian.”

Draco looked at Harry curiously. “You don’t believe it?”

Untangling their hands, Harry tapped Draco’s nose with his thumb, his expression soft but
rueful. “I just realized I shouldn’t be telling you this. It’s classified for a reason. That little
face of yours is a danger to national security.”

Draco grinned, his cheeks warm. “Too late, you can’t take it back! Keep talking.”

Harry snorted, his finger poking the tiny dimple that appeared by Draco’s mouth when he
smiled. “Yes, I think Luke is lying,” he said. “The question is why. Anyway, the mission has
been given a go, so I’ll find out soon enough.”
Right.

Draco’s good mood plummeted.

“So…” he said, looking anywhere but at Harry. “If you’re going to focus on that mission,
does that mean you’ll stop coming to headquarters?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “As soon as I start dating his son, Whitford will likely have me tracked by
his people. He’s actually that paranoid.”

“He knows his son is gay?”

“We have conflicting intelligence. It seems Luke thinks his father doesn’t know he’s gay, but
we’re sure Whitford does. Whitford had Luke’s last two boyfriends followed. He scared one
of them off, actually. It doesn’t look like he’s happy with his son’s sexuality, but as far as we
know, he hasn’t confronted Luke yet. Maybe he’s hoping that it’s just a phase and his son will
outgrow it.”

“Good luck with that,” Draco said with a scoff, feeling almost sorry for Luke before
remembering that soon Luke would be dating his Harry.

Not yours, a voice in his head said scathingly. He had as much claim on Harry as Luke
Whitford did. Less, actually.

It was a bitter pill to swallow.

Draco sprang to his feet and walked to his suitcase. Someone must have dropped it off while
he talked to Amanda. He started unpacking, even though there was no rush to do it. He
needed something to occupy himself while he pretended that everything was fine—that he
was totally fine with Harry seducing some other guy. A very pretty, very rich, well-educated
guy.

Draco stared unblinkingly at the green t-shirt in his hands. It was one of the few shirts of his
own that he hadn’t thrown out after becoming an MI6 trainee. It was threadbare and faded
from too many washings, but it didn’t have any holes, which was good enough in his book.

He wondered if Luke Whitford ever wore something like that.

Draco nearly laughed at that thought.

“You’re still angry,” Harry stated.

“No,” Draco said honestly. He wasn’t angry anymore. He did believe now that Harry gave a
shit about him—he wouldn’t have told Draco about himself and his mission if he didn’t care
at least a little.

It just didn’t change anything.

“So if you can’t come to headquarters, that means I’m not going to see you for a long time,
right?” Draco said, staring at his suitcase unseeingly. “Months, yeah?”

He had heard that missions like that could take a long time.

Sometimes years.

His throat constricted, and Draco found himself balling the t-shirt in his hand. It was just a
crush. Just a little crush. There was no reason for his chest to ache like this.
“Probably,” Harry said after a moment.

Draco gave a clipped nod.

Why wasn’t Harry leaving?

He felt more than heard Harry walk over.

Draco stiffened, his fingers trembling.

He could feel Harry close, right behind him.

“Draconius,” he said quietly, laying his hand on Draco’s nape.

Draco shuddered. It took all his willpower not to lean back into the touch.

“Starting tomorrow, I can’t be here much,” Harry said. “I’ll give you my number, the one that
MI6 doesn’t know about. If something happens—if Amanda tries something again or assigns
you to another mission or someone gives you trouble—you will call me. Understood?”

Draco bit his bottom lip so hard he tasted blood. A part of him hated Harry for this, for caring
for him and giving him stupid hope.

Draco nodded, pulling out his MI6 issued phone.

“No, your phone is tracked and every conversation is recorded. Here.” Harry pulled out a
mobile phone, seemingly identical to Draco’s, and gave it to him. “A burner phone. I already
put my number in there. Don’t let anyone know you have it.”
Draco slowly stood, took the phone, and looked at the other man.

Harry had a very strange expression on his face. It was intense but hard to read. He eyed
Draco for a long moment before taking a step closer.

Draco stared back, breathless, his heart beating like crazy, and he thought maybe—

“Be safe, Bambi.” Harry clapped him on the shoulder and strode out of the room.

Draco moved toward his bed, sat down, and dropped his face into his hands.

“Idiot,” he whispered.

Sometimes he wondered what his mother would think of him if she were still alive.

She would probably be ashamed of giving birth to such a stupid, pathetic thing like him.

Goddammit.

Harry’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He didn’t look at the rear-view mirror as
headquarters disappeared out of sight. He had more self-control than that. Barely.

“Bloody ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath. Not only was he completely powerless to
resist Draconius when he asked something, but he also had to suppress the completely insane,
paranoid ideas that something would happen to Draconius when he wasn’t around to protect
him.
Draconius didn’t need protecting. He was neither helpless nor naive. He’d survived more
than a decade on the streets. He didn’t fucking need Harry to hold his hand. He would be fine
while Harry concentrated on the Whitford mission—even if the mission lasted months.

His lips thinned at the thought.

Harry had to remind himself that he’d known the boy for a month. It wasn’t enough time to
get so… attached.

Besides, some time apart would do them good. Draconius would get over his crush and find
another object for his affections. When Harry saw him next, Draconius would likely gush to
him about some boy his age that he was crushing on and would no longer look dazed and
high whenever Harry touched him.

The thought was… strange.

The fact that it was strange proved that he definitely needed some healthy distance from the
kid.

***

He lasted three hours.

In Harry’s defense, he had a good reason to call Draconius. Or so he told himself.

Draconius answered on the fourth ring. “Harry?”

Harry straightened up from his slouch on the couch. The boy sounded as though he’d been
crying. “Are you okay?”
He could hear Draco take a deep breath before he said, “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just napping.
Something wrong?”

Harry frowned, unsure he believed him. “No. I just wanted to know what exactly Amanda
said.”

“Oh. I already told you.”

Harry winced. “I know, but I need details.”

“She wanted to get you in trouble,” Draconius said. “She tried to make me say that you
coerced me into sex.” He scoffed. “She actually had the nerve to pretend to be all
sympathetic and understanding, as if I had no clue that she was the one who ordered you to
recruit me for that mission, perfectly aware that some kind of sex would likely be involved.
She pretended that it was your idea, that your actions were unsanctioned.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully. “Interesting.”

“Why does she hate you?” Draco said.

“She thinks I’m after her job.”

“Are you?”

“Maybe.”

“Seriously? You want to be Chief of MI6?”

Harry made a face. “Want” was too strong a word.

“In a few years maybe. It’s something I’m considering.”

“Aren’t you a bit young for the job?”

Harry shrugged a little. “I have enough experience. Age might actually be a positive thing.
The main reason the higher-ups are considering replacing Amanda is because she’s too old-
fashioned. Technologically we’re quite a bit behind foreign intelligence agencies like the
CIA, and not because we don’t have the brains. Amanda is just set in her old ways and
refuses to give the Research and Development department enough funding. It gets frustrating
at times, because, for example, our last mission would have been so much easier if we had
some of the technology the CIA possesses. So yes, sometimes it’s tempting as hell to take
charge of MI6 so we are no longer stuck in the past century.”

“But the hacking program the boffins gave us was pretty neat,” Draco said, a smile in his
voice. “I may or may not have made an illegal copy for myself.”

Harry smiled, relief coursing through him at the lightness of Draconius’s voice. He’d started
thinking he wouldn’t get to hear it again.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said dryly.

“Hear what?” Draconius said, his voice very innocent and sweet.

Harry laughed. He could vividly imagine wide silver eyes gazing at him with feigned
confusion and innocence. If Draconius were here, he would—he would kiss Draconius on his
pert nose. Or maybe on his cheek. Draconius would blush, and do that subconscious thing he
always did when Harry touched him—lean into Harry’s touch, as though asking for more. He
always wanted more.

“Harry?” Draconius said uncertainly, snapping him back to the present.

Harry shook his head, bemused by his own thoughts. “Sorry, got distracted for a moment.”
He rubbed a finger between his brows, frowning. “Draco?”

“What?”

Harry couldn’t believe what he was about to ask. “Are we okay?” It came off as awkward and
strange as he’d expected. He was asking an eighteen-year-old boy he’d shared a mission with
whether they were okay even though objectively he had done nothing wrong. It shouldn’t
have mattered that Draconius was upset by his next mission.

“Is there a we?” Draconius said.

Harry closed his eyes. “I wouldn’t be asking if there wasn’t. I don’t want you to think I don’t
want you around now that the mission is over.”

There was silence on the line.

“You do?”

The utter vulnerability in Draconius’s voice made Harry’s chest tighten with protectiveness.
“Of course I do, baby,” he heard himself say. Immediately, Harry grimaced. He shouldn’t
have used the endearment. The mission was over and continuing to use endearments would
just mess with Draconius’s head—with both of their heads. Things were complicated enough
already.

“I wasn’t sure you did,” Draco confessed, endearingly honest. Harry didn’t need to see him to
know that Draconius was smiling, just a little.

Realizing that he was smiling too, Harry ran a hand over his face, unease settling low in his
stomach.
What the hell was he doing?

“I have to go,” he said tersely and ended the call.

Immediately, he felt like an asshole—a bigger asshole than he already was.

***

Draconius called him two hours later.

“Hello,” he said, sounding shy but determined. Harry could imagine him worrying his lip,
Draconius’s chin propped on his knees. The image was disturbingly vivid in his mind.

“Hey,” Harry said, opening the fridge. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Draconius said. “I just… You kinda hung up without saying goodbye and I was
just…” He trailed off before groaning. It sounded muffled, as if Draconius was doing it into
his hand. “Basically, I’m that uncool clingy kid who wants to make sure people don’t secretly
hate him. Please ignore me. I’m hanging up and never using a phone again.”

Harry found himself smiling. “I don’t secretly hate you. We’re fine. Sorry if I gave you the
impression that I didn’t want to talk to you.”

“Then why did you hang up so abruptly?”

Harry hesitated. His first instinct was to lie—with his job, it always was—before he
remembered that honesty should go both ways.
“To be honest, I did want to stop talking to you,” Harry said, closing the fridge with the
mental note to go grocery shopping as soon as possible. “But not because I secretly hate
you.”

There was silence on the line.

Harry walked to his laptop and took the seat in front of it again. The picture of Luke
Whitford stared at him from the screen. Luke looked quite a bit younger than his twenty-three
years. With his golden hair, fine features, and full lips, he was objectively very good-looking.
He was more good-looking than most women Harry knew. It was a pity he couldn’t feel a
flicker of attraction to him, which made his mission all the more difficult. Faking desire
wasn’t easy, even for someone as experienced as him. There were always tells, lack of
erection the most damning. He’d been staring at that picture for the past hour, trying to find
something about Luke that attracted him—he couldn’t exactly take Viagra every time he went
out with Luke.

It was one of the reasons Harry hated honeypot missions, especially when the mark was
male. He wasn’t always attracted to women he was supposed to seduce, but with women it
was easier to fool his body into believing that he was attracted to them. So far he hadn’t been
successful at convincing his body that it wanted Luke Whitford.

Of course, the fact that his thoughts kept returning to Draconius with irritating frequency
didn’t exactly help him focus on the job.

“Then why?” Draconius said at last.

Harry leaned back in his seat. “I hung up before I could say something stupid. More stupid
than what I already said.” He still couldn’t believe he had called Draco baby. Christ, was he
out of his mind?

“What do you mean?”

“Look,” Harry said with a sigh. “I try not to be an asshole. I know it’s not cool to lead
someone on. I didn’t mean to, but… I can’t be as firm with you as I should be.”
He should have been firmer with Draconius about his little crush instead of calling him
endearments.

“Wait,” Draconius said, sounding like he was torn between laughing and sighing. “If it’s
about you calling me baby, I know you aren’t—I know you don’t see me that way. Don’t
worry. I’m not delusional.”

“Still,” Harry said. “I should be—there should be a line. I’m the adult with more experience.
I should be more responsible. But instead of being responsible, I keep slipping and treating
you like—like…” My baby. “I can’t be as firm with you as I should be.”

“Awww.” Draconius sounded as though he was smiling. “Are you saying you like me too
much, Harry?”

Harry gave a rueful smile. If only it were that simple. “I guess I got a bit attached to you,
Blond.”

He could practically hear Draconius grin. “Of course you did,” he said. “I have a winning
personality.”

“You do,” Harry said, smiling faintly.

They fell silent for a while, but this time the silence was comfortable.

“I know you can’t come to headquarters,” Draconius said suddenly. “But can I come to your
place? When I have time?”

Harry stared at Luke’s picture unseeingly.

When he didn’t reply at once, Draconius mumbled with an awkward laugh, “Okay, let’s
pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“It will look as suspicious as me going to headquarters,” Harry said. “My house will be likely
be watched after Whitford hears about my dating his son.”

“Oh. Okay. I get it. Forget about it—it was stupid of me to suggest that, anyway.”

Harry grimaced. Sometimes Draconius’s insecurity was heartbreaking. “Remember what I

told you about paying attention to what people say rather than letting your preconceived
opinions affect your judgment? All I said was that you can’t come to my house from
headquarters—sooner or later you’ll lead Whitford to MI6, no matter how careful you are.”

“I won’t!”

“You will. You’re very talented at what you do, but you’re still just a trainee. You don’t have
practical experience and you will make a mistake, because every trainee does.”

Draconius went silent, clearly disheartened.

Harry’s jaw clenched.

Don’t you dare, his rational part said.

But another voice whispered that Draconius was sad, Draconius was alone and vulnerable,
and Draconius needed him.

“But you might be able to stay with me if you want,” Harry said, cringing at his self-control,
or lack thereof.
“What?”

Draconius sounded as stunned as part of Harry was by his own suggestion.

He was a private man. He tried to keep his personal life away from his professional one if it
was possible. In his decade with MI6, he’d never offered a colleague to stay with him. Most
of his colleagues didn’t even know where he lived. And now he was offering to share his
house with an eighteen-year-old kid he’d known for a month. What the hell was wrong with
him? He’d never gotten attached to people so fast and so hard. If Draconius were a woman,
Harry could have blamed infatuation. Since Draconius was a boy, he was just baffled and
irritated by the intensity of that attachment.

Not to mention that inviting a gay kid who had a crush on him to live in his house was the
opposite of smart. It was the definition of irresponsible.

But apparently if Draconius was upset, all his rational thinking went out the window.
Unbelievable.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Harry explained, “There are no rules prohibiting you from
living somewhere other than the training facility. As long as you can get a qualified trainer,
you don’t even have to go to headquarters until your tests a few months from now.”

“And you’re a qualified trainer?” Draco said.

Harry smiled a little. “No, but I’m the next best thing. All agents of my rank are qualified to
train rookies.”

“But won’t it blow your cover? It will be suspicious if someone you’re not related to lives
with you.”

“Actually,” Harry said thoughtfully. “It will probably be less suspicious if you live with me.
If Richard Whitford manages to find out that I was on that cruise, he will also find out that I
bought a pet on the auction. It will be more suspicious if my sugar baby suddenly disappears
after I get home.”

“But what about Luke?” Draconius said. “He won’t exactly be thrilled if he finds out that
you’re living with the sugar baby you bought on some kinky cruise. It will contradict your
image of a dependable man looking for a serious relationship.”

Harry heaved a sigh. “I know.” The Brylsko mission had compromised his cover either way.
“I’ll try not to bring Luke home, but if he finds out about you, I’ll tell him that you were a
homeless child that I had seen around my house a few years ago who I felt sorry for and
brought home. Obviously I’ll say you’re straight.”

“It won’t work if Luke finds out about the sugar daddy cruise,” Draco pointed out, playing
the devil’s advocate.

Harry hummed in agreement, considering and discarding ideas.

“I could say that I brought you home when you were, say, fifteen,” Harry said. “You lived
with me for a few years, but then you got upset and ran away when you found out that I was
considering settling down and starting a family of my own. I’ll tell Luke that you have trust
and abandonment issues. That’s why you ran away and I couldn’t find you for a while. Then I
heard from someone that you were desperate for money and signed up for some dodgy cruise.
Of course I had to interfere. But I couldn’t simply drag you back, so I had to buy you to keep
you safe from perverted old men and women. So here we are.”

“That…” Draconius said. “That could work, actually. It perfectly explains why someone like
Harry Potter would be on a cruise like that.” He paused before saying in a small voice, “You
really want me to live with you?”

Christ, Harry wanted to hug him. “Yes, Draconius. Pack your things. I’ll talk to Amanda and
pick you up in a few hours.”

“But she hates you. Are you sure she won’t say no?”
Harry smiled grimly. “I’m sure.”

His bag slung over his shoulder, Draco got out of the lift and stopped dead in his tracks when
he saw Amanda standing there, her arms crossed behind her back, her posture straight and her
expression cold.

Was she waiting for him?

A sense of dread filled him, his excitement fading into uncertainty. He had filed the
appropriate forms Harry had told him to file, but, despite Harry’s words, Draco wasn’t all that
confident that Amanda wouldn’t forbid him to leave headquarters and live with Harry.

“Ma’am?” he said cautiously. “I can go, right? I was allowed.”

“Of course you can go, Draco,” she said with a kind smile. “But be careful. Now I understand
why you refused to file any complaints against Agent 11.” Her lips curled. “Agent 11 has… a
certain effect on some women, and it appears you fell victim to it, too. Of course it’s not your
fault. You’re young and impressionable and he’s an expert at manipulating people.”

Draco put on a smile that was probably as fake as hers. “Thanks for warning me, ma’am.
That’s very kind of you. Now if you’ll excuse me… “ He strode out of the building before
she could stop him.

Fucking hell. Even Brylsko seemed far more likable than Amanda.

Sighing, Draco reminded himself that he was biased and that this was likely affecting his
judgment. Amanda must have some admirable qualities too. She was obviously very capable
and ambitious if she had managed to get such a prestigious job. It must not have been easy to
succeed in a field governed by men.
Her words did bother him, but likely not for the reasons she wanted. He was bothered that her
words didn’t manage to plant even a sliver of doubt in him. He absolutely trusted Harry—
trusted him far beyond a mere crush.

A blast from a car horn made Draco jump.

He looked around until his gaze stopped on the silver Mercedes. When he saw Harry behind
the wheel, Draco’s heart lurched and he blushed, for no reason at all. Ugh.

Smiling sheepishly, Draco walked to the car and climbed into the passenger’s seat, putting his
bag at his feet. “Has Amanda always been so creepy?” he said. “She’s just tried to convince
me that you’re a big bad wolf manipulating a naive impressionable boy like me.”

Harry started the engine. “No, she wasn’t always like that. She just feels threatened and she
isn’t one to go down without a fight.”

“She’s evil,” Draco grumbled.

Harry chuckled. “She isn’t evil, Draconius. She isn’t more evil or manipulative than me.”

Draco frowned, disagreeing and not understanding how Harry could be so calm about it.
“She’s trying to get you in trouble.”

“It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last,” Harry said, returning his eyes to the road.

Draco stared at his profile. Harry had shaved. He’d looked very good with a beard, but the
sight of his clean-shaven jaw and the sun-kissed skin of his throat made Draco’s mouth water.
He wanted to lick that jawline and then nuzzle into Harry’s neck. He wanted—he wanted…
Draco’s gaze moved helplessly to Harry’s tanned, muscular forearms exposed by his rolled
up sleeves.
Tearing his hungry eyes away, Draco curled his hands into fists.

Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to agree to live with Harry, after all.

“How did you convince her that I should live with you?” Draco said, looking down at his
hands.

“She didn’t need much convincing. She knows it’s her fault that my cover was compromised.
I warned her, she didn’t listen. Now we must work with it. She knows my sugar baby’s
disappearance from my life would make things even more suspicious. She might dislike me
all she wants, but she isn’t stupid. She knows how important my mission is. She won’t let her
personal grudges affect it again.”

Draco wasn’t all that sure about it but didn’t argue. Harry knew her better than he did.

When they pulled up to a beautiful house in Kensington, Draco probably shouldn’t have been
as surprised as he was. He had known that Harry Potter was supposedly rich and successful,
so it was hardly surprising he had a house in one of the most expensive London
neighborhoods.

But it still felt surreal as he followed Harry into the house.

The house was as pretty and elegant on the inside as it was on the outside, but, to Draco’s
surprise and relief, it was homey and looked lived in, not at all as impersonal and
intimidatingly perfect as he had half-expected.

The huge brown couch in the living room looked particularly comfy and inviting, and Draco
sprawled out on it with a sigh of bliss.
“By all means, make yourself comfortable,” Harry said wryly, but his eyes were soft as he
looked down at him. He picked up Draco’s bag and disappeared into the guest room.

“Order us pizza, Harry!” Draco yelled. “With pepperoni, bacon, and sausage.”

“Do you want me to start a bubble bath for you too?” Harry called out.

“Great idea!” Draco said, grinning when he heard Harry laugh and call him a lazy baby.

There was a bubbly feeling in his chest that made it impossible to stop smiling.

Was this what happiness felt like?

***

A week later, Draco was positive he’d never been happier in his life.

Living with Harry was even better than he’d imagined. Draco had expected to feel a little
awkward, as he normally did when he stayed at someone’s place, but Harry had never made
him feel like he was intruding or unwelcome.

The only problem was, living with Harry wasn’t exactly helping him get rid of his crush. The
word “crush” seemed so inadequate for the warm feeling that filled his heart as he watched
Harry make them breakfast, looking sleepy-eyed, unshaven, and a little grumpy. Draco
wanted to pull him close and kiss him so badly that he felt like he was choking on want.

Draco absolutely hated watching Harry leave for work, but he loved when he came home. No
matter how tired Harry was, he always had a smile for him. He seemed happy to see Draco,
happy to spend time with him after work, happy to train him and have him around.
Sometimes, Draco talked him into playing video games—why did Harry even own an Xbox
if he never used it?—and sometimes they worked out in the gym downstairs, but more often
than not, they just hung out together and watched movies. Those evenings were Draco’s
favorites.

It was one of such evenings. They were sprawled on the couch, the TV the only source of
light in the room. Draco’s head was on Harry’s lap, Harry’s fingers carding through his hair
absentmindedly as they watched the movie.

If someone asked him, Draco wouldn’t be able to explain how they’d ended up like this—
they’d started out at opposite ends of the couch with a very respectable distance between
them. It was genuinely baffling. It didn’t seem to matter how hard Draco tried not to be too
needy for Harry’s affection; it never worked.

Regardless of how they’d ended up like this, Draco knew he should probably move away, but
God, he couldn’t. Harry’s fingers were tracing patterns across his scalp, little tiny movements
that washed Draco’s body in shivers. He felt like he was floating, deep contentment coursing
through his body at every gentle touch. He didn’t want this to ever end.

“Hey,” Harry murmured, looking down at him. “Why are you smiling?”

Was he?

Draco shrugged, smiling helplessly. He looked Harry in the eye, his chest swelling with that
warm, intense feeling he was scared to name. “This is probably very soppy, but I kind of
adore you. You know that, right?”

Harry leaned down and kissed him on the nose.

Scrunching up his nose, Draco laughed. “It doesn’t count, you know. Say something.
Something soppy.”
Harry gave a snort. “Draconius, you have a government spy-slash-assassin petting your hair.
It doesn’t get soppier than that for me.”

Draco pouted. “You suck.”

Harry laughed, his thumb pushing against Draco’s bottom lip. “Quit pouting. Secret agents
don’t pout.”

“This one does,” Draco said haughtily and licked Harry’s thumb.

“Gross,” Harry said but didn’t pull his hand away.

“Disagree,” Draco said, licking the thumb again. His eyelids slipping shut, he sucked Harry’s
thumb into his mouth. The taste of Harry skin, the feel of something hard in his mouth was
quickly making him lightheaded and horny. God. It had been ages since he’d sucked cock.

“Jesus, Draconius,” Harry said, sounding a little strangled, and removed his thumb.

It felt like a bucket of cold water.

Draco opened his eyes, his face hot with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” he said awkwardly. “You probably noticed I have a bad case of oral fixation.” He
forced out a laugh. “Like, if you don’t want me to suck your cock, you’d better not put things
in my mouth.”

Harry didn’t laugh.

It was hard to read his expression in the dim glare of the TV.
“Can we please forget it?” Draco said with a grimace. “I’ll go out and pull someone.” Draco
suppressed another grimace. He wasn’t exactly eager to suck some random bloke’s cock, but
he couldn’t let his sexual frustration strain things between them. Draco sighed. “I was
planning to go out and get laid anyway. It’ll help me get rid of this annoying crush.”

Harry removed his hand from Draco’s hair. “Yeah, it would probably be better if you go out
and… hook up with someone your age.” His voice sounded a bit odd: uncomfortable and stiff
—almost as if the idea of a gay hook up was gross.

Draco frowned. “Never pegged you for a homophobe.”

“Of course I’m not,” Harry said, his brows drawing together. “It’s just… One night-stands
can be dangerous. There are a lot of creeps out there.”

Rolling his eyes, Draco sat up. “I’m a big boy, Harry. I can take of myself.” He headed to his
room. If he wanted to pick someone up, he needed to change.

He tried to ignore the knot of discomfort in his stomach.

Why did it feel like he was going to cheat on Harry?

Draconius emerged from his room fifteen minutes later, wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of
tight jeans that showed off his long legs. When Draconius bent to grab his phone from the
coffee table, Harry pursed his lips and looked away.

“I probably won’t be back until morning,” Draconius said. “Can I take your car?”
Harry headed out. “I’m driving you.”

“What? No!” Draco caught up to him in the driveway. “No way!”

“Why not?” Harry said, getting into his car. “You think I’ve never been to a gay club?”

“It’s not that,” Draconius said, climbing into the passenger’s seat. “Fuck, this is weird, Harry.
I don’t want you there while I…” He flushed and averted his gaze, looking embarrassed.

“Give me the address,” Harry said evenly.

Draconius gave him the address. Harry started the car, his face carefully expressionless.
Draconius was absolutely right: he wasn’t a naive little virgin whose virtue needed
protecting. He could take care of himself. If he wanted to suck some stranger’s cock, it was
none of Harry’s business.

“Are you all right?” Draconius said, looking at Harry warily.

“Of course.”

Draconius shrugged a little. “You look kind of pissed off.”

Harry was so surprised that he nearly crashed into the car in front of them. Fuck. He couldn’t
remember the last time anyone had correctly guessed that he was angry and called him out on
that. Since when had he become so transparent?

“I’m worried,” he said, his eyes fixed ahead. “One night stands can often go wrong. I don’t
want you to get hurt.”
Draco sighed. “I guess it’s sweet of you, but for the last time: I’m not a baby. I’ll be fine.
Promise me you won’t interfere.”

Harry said nothing.

“Harry,” Draconius said.

“I promise,” he said tersely.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the drive.

The club was very crowded, but mercifully, the music wasn’t too loud. Harry ordered a beer
he had no intention of drinking, leaned against the bar, and followed Draconius with his eyes.

Those jeans were fucking obscene. They made Harry uncomfortable and twitchy. He had to
resist the urge to find a blanket and wrap Draconius in it so that no one could ogle him.

“Boyfriend?” a male voice said—yelled—over the music.

Harry glanced at the man—tall, blond, irrelevant—before returning his gaze to Draco. He
was dancing with someone now. The guy was around twenty, a typical jock, all brawn and no
brain.

“No,” he said, realizing the blond was still waiting for his response. “Just a kid I have to
watch after.”

“That must suck,” the blond said sympathetically. “How did you get saddled with babysitting
duty?”
Harry didn’t reply. The jock was all over Draconius now, his hands slipping from Draconius’s
narrow waist to his pert ass. Tightening his grip on his beer, Harry reminded himself that it
was none of his business. Draconius wasn’t a baby. He had promised Draconius to not
interfere.

“Is he your little brother?” the blond said, clearly not getting the hint that he wasn’t
interested.

Something about being called Draco’s brother rubbed him the wrong way.

“No,” Harry said shortly. He knew he was being rude. He normally tried to turn people down
gently, without hurting their pride, but right now politeness was the last thing on his mind.

He was angry, and he was angry that he was angry. This possessiveness was fucking gross
and messed up, considering that he didn’t want Draconius that way. Rationally, he approved
of what Draconius was doing. Irrationally, he was imagining many ways he could kill the
asshole who was currently groping his Draconius with his dirty, unworthy hands.

At that moment, Draconius glanced back at him and frowned. It took Harry several moments
to realize why: it was so crowded that the blond bloke was practically plastered against his
side.

Harry knew he should push the blond away.

He didn’t.

It was a dirty tactic; Harry was perfectly aware of that. A part of him was a little incredulous
—why was he doing this?—but a bigger part just wanted Draconius to ditch that git and
come back to him.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Soon, Draco was striding back to him.

“You’re a prick, you know that, right?” he said, glaring at Harry before pushing the blond
away and wrapping a proprietary arm around Harry’s middle.

“Where are your manners, Draconius?” Harry said, smiling apologetically at the blond, who
was looking confusedly between them.

Scoffing, Draco told the blond, “I did you a favor. Ignore how hot he is. He’s the worst.”

Shaking his head in bewilderment, the blond walked away.

“Now apologize,” Draconius said, lifting his chin stubbornly, his arms crossed, his silver eyes
stormy, spoiling for a fight.

Harry couldn’t help a fond smile. “Looks like it’s true what they say about blonds’ temper.”

Draconius glowered at him. “I don’t know about other blonds, but this blond is angry as hell.
Apologize for cockblocking me.”

Harry gave him a bewildered look. “Pardon? I was minding my own business—”

“Argh!”

Draconius was the cutest when he was furious.

Laughing, Harry caught his fists. “I’m kidding—calm down.”

“You’re the worst,” Draconius said, breathing hard, still flushed with anger.

“I am,” Harry said with a grin. “Let’s go home. You can yell at me there more effectively.”

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but then he must have realized that a loud club wasn’t a
good place for a conversation.

He stormed off. Smiling, Harry followed him out of the club at a more sedate pace.

The car ride home was spent in angry silence, with Draconius looking out the window and
pointedly ignoring him.

Harry couldn’t help thinking that he was like a cat—a ginger kitten—hissing at him angrily.

“Stop smiling,” Draco ground out as they got out of the car. “It’s not funny. I’m very mad at
you.”

“For what?” Harry said mildly, steering the boy inside the house with a gentle hand on his
lower back.

His cheeks pink, Draconius scowled. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. You did it on purpose.”
He plopped down on the couch and glared at Harry. “You couldn’t give a shit about that
blondie, but you let him be all over you just to make me—” He cut himself off and pressed
his lips together.

“Jealous?” Harry said.

“Yes!” Draconius looked at him challengingly. “Are you denying it?”

Sighing, Harry sat on the floor in front of Draconius.

“No,” he said, wrapping his fingers around the boy’s ankle. “You’re right. I’m an asshole. I
manipulated you to distract you from that bloke you were grinding against.”

The anger in Draconius’s eyes was replaced by confusion. “Why? That’s what I don’t get.”

Harry stroked Draco’s ankle absentmindedly as he considered how to phrase his answer.

“Why?” Draconius said again, frustration evident in his voice.

Harry let his eyes roam over Draco’s face, over the features that had become so dear to him in
such a short time. “I’m not exactly indifferent to you. Far from it.”

Draco’s silver eyes widened, bewilderment settling over his features. “But you’re…”

“Straight, yes,” Harry said. “It’s—it’s not sexual—fuck, it’s complicated.” He sighed,
stroking Draconius’s ankle. “Over the past few weeks, I got a bit too attached to you. I feel
like you’re mine. Just mine.” His lips twisted. “And I guess I don’t like someone else
touching what’s mine.”

Draconius’s brows furrowed. “It’s not fair to me,” he said, his voice wavering.

Fuck.

“I know, love.” The endearment slipped from his mouth before he could stop it. Harry
squeezed Draconius’s ankle. “I feel like a right bastard, but you asked for honesty. And this is
the truth.”
Draconius caught his lip between his teeth, glaring at Harry before groaning. “You know, I’m
pretty sure I’m supposed to want to punch you for being such a selfish, possessive prick, but
all I want is to suck your dick.”

Harry’s dick twitched. He wasn’t surprised by his body’s reaction. It was a Pavlovian
response at this point. He was practically conditioned to associate Draconius’s mouth with
pleasure. “You can if you want,” he said before he could think twice.

“Really,” Draconius said without inflection, looking at Harry intently. “You’ll let me suck
your cock? I don’t need your pity, Harry.”

“What pity?” Harry smiled ruefully. “This is me being a possessive asshole. All I’m saying
that if you want to suck cock, I want it to be mine.”

“You’re straight,” Draconius said, giving him an uncertain look.

“So what?” Harry said, standing up and putting a hand on the back of the couch next to
Draconius’s face. He leaned in, looming over the boy. “I was straight a week ago too when
you sucked my cock every day.”

“We were on a mission,” Draconius said, his breath quickening, his silver eyes fixed on him
hungrily. “It was different.”

“Was it?” Harry said, brushing his knuckles over Draconius’s jawline. It would be a lie to say
that he didn’t like the effect his proximity had on Draconius. He’d never considered himself
an egomaniac, but fuck, he loved being the center of Draconius’s world. It was messed up,
but it went straight to his cock. “You think I didn’t enjoy it? You’re good at giving head.”

Draconius swallowed. “Okay, but—it will be temporary. I’m gonna get over this crush. Soon.
Real soon.”
“Okay,” Harry said, running a hand over Draconius’s neck and feeling him tremble.
“Whatever you want. Do you want a kiss?”

Draconius made a small sound, leaning into the touch. “Can I?”

“Of course,” Harry said before slotting their mouths together.

Harry had kissed a lot of people, but kissing Draconius felt nothing like kissing male marks
or even women. He’d never kissed someone who felt like his. He’d never felt like the only
thing that mattered was drawing hitched breaths out of Draconius, little broken off sounds of
pleasure that made him feel ten feet tall. The boy was wonderfully responsive, trembling at
the barest flicker of Harry’s tongue and kissing back hungrily. It was oddly addictive, and
Harry found himself closing his eyes and letting himself enjoy the slick heat of Draconius’s
soft, eager mouth.

It was harder to break the kiss than he’d expected.

“Fuck,” Draconius whispered, his eyes glazed and his breathing hard. “This is a terrible
idea.”

Harry kissed him on the nose, stroking his thumb over Draconius’s moist, trembling red lips.
“Probably,” he said, fascinated by how puffy and used Draco’s mouth looked. “I won’t kiss
you again if you don’t want it.”

Draconius huffed and yanked him on top of him. “Don’t you dare,” he said, pulling Harry’s
head down and crushing their lips together.

Harry tried to prop himself on his elbows and take some of his considerable weight off the
lanky boy, but Draconius was having none of it: he wrapped his arms and legs around Harry,
pulling their bodies flush together and whimpering into Harry’s mouth. Giving in, Harry
kissed him deeply, his mind getting foggier the longer he had his tongue in Draconius’s
mouth. He was aroused—far more aroused than he’d ever been with any male mark, his cock
pressed against Draconius’s thigh through the layers of fabric separating them. He could feel
the boy’s erection, but he didn’t feel even a hint of wrongness that he usually felt with male
marks. While it was a relief—Harry didn’t want this to feel like work—it proved how strange
his attachment to Draconius was.

“Harry,” Draco panted out against his lips, squirming. “Please. I wanna come. Make me
come.”

Harry reached between them and palmed the boy’s cock through his jeans. He gave it a good
squeeze and Draconius moaned, long and shameless.

“What do you want, baby?”

Draco looked at him dazedly, his cheeks flushed and mouth wet. “Can you—” He swallowed,
blushing harder. “Can you finger me?”

Harry stared at him.

He extricated himself from Draconius and got to his feet.

Disappointment and embarrassment flashed across Draconius’s face.

Harry said, “Get undressed and wait for me in your bedroom.”

Draco’s wide-eyed, aroused gaze was the last thing he saw before leaving to get supplies
from his bedroom.

This is a fucking terrible idea, a voice hissed at the back of Harry’s mind.

Harry grabbed the bottle of lube and stared at the pack of condoms that lay beside it in the
drawer.
Draco was shaking.

His fingers were trembling as he undressed hurriedly and stared at his own bed.

Should he lie down?

He glanced back at the open door and decided it would be less awkward if he were already in
bed by the time Harry came.

There was the sound of footsteps, and Draco climbed into bed and lay down on his stomach.

“Ready?” Harry said. His voice sounded a little strange.

Draco’s stomach clenched, goosebumps covering his skin. He tucked his forehead into his
folded arms and let out a long breath. “Yeah.” Despite his nerves, he was turned on. He’d
never been more turned on.

He could feel the slight rocking of the mattress as Harry got on the bed, but it felt distant and
drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. He could feel Harry’s gaze on him.

Did he like what he saw? Or was he indifferent?

Harry lay a warm hand low on his back and Draco shivered, buttocks clenching and fingers
curling into the fabric of his bedspread.
“Easy,” Harry murmured, running his hand over Draco’s ass, and Draco exhaled slowly,
forcing the tension out of his back and legs.

The first graze of Harry’s lubed fingertips against his hole made Draco shake, his cock so
hard it was painful. He moaned as Harry pried his cheeks apart and rubbed lube between
them. His finger caught on Draco’s hole and Draco squirmed, trying to push back against the
finger, take it in.

“No patience at all,” Harry said with a chuckle, holding Draco still with one heavy hand on
his hip and sliding a finger of the other up and down along Draco’s crack, little drags over his
hole that made him twitch and whine. “Fuck, you’re really into this.” There was something
like fascination in Harry’s voice.

Draco groaned into the bedspread. “Stop bloody teasing and just do it.”

Harry, the prick, didn’t listen, rubbing at his hole, slick pressure that circled in and then fell
away. It was maddening. Draco squirmed, toes curling, as Harry continued rubbing teasingly
at Draco’s hole. It was immensely frustrating.

“I fucking hate you,” Draco whined, making Harry snort.

“I was reliably informed that you adore me.”

“I take it back,” Draco grumbled. “You’re the worst—ngghh.” Finally, Harry pushed a finger
inside him.

“There we go,” he murmured, pulling his finger back. Draco followed it with his hips and let
out a gasp when Harry’s other hand pushed him down, forcing him to be still, Draco’s cock
squeezed pleasantly beneath him.

“Did I say you could move?” Harry started fingering him gently, just one thick finger sliding
in and out of Draco’s hole, and Draco panted into his folded arms, parting his thighs to try to
find some leverage and make Harry finger him harder. God, he loved this, loved the stretch,
but he needed more.

“Harder,” he groaned, arching his back and trying to get some pressure on his prostate. But it
was as though Harry was avoiding it on purpose, and Draco made a frustrated sound,
trembling in anticipation. Come on, come on, come on.

Harry snorted and twisted his finger. Draco let out a long moan, shuddering with his entire
body. “Fuck—more.”

This time Harry listened, sliding his finger out and pushing in two fingers. Draco choked on a
keen of pleasure, the wide stretch of Harry’s thick fingers rubbing inside him so bloody
perfectly he was on the verge of coming already. It felt so good. He squeezed his eyes shut,
gasping for air. He had a flash of what he must look like, thighs straining and arms trembling
and sweat beading at his temples as he fucked himself back on Harry’s thick fingers,
shameless and needy. But God, it felt so amazing that he didn’t care. He knew he was
moaning and blabbering something incoherent and it took him a while to realize what he was
saying. Harry, please, fuck me, put your cock in me—it’s gonna be so good—need you, need
your cock in me, need you to fuck me hard.

Shit, what must Harry be thinking? He sounded like a total slut.

A wave of mortification swept over Draco, shame mixing with pleasure, but it actually
pushed him over the edge, his hole clenching on Harry’s fingers as he came with a groan,
pleasure rolling through his body.

Draco couldn’t even enjoy the afterglow, his face hot with embarrassment as the silence
stretched.

Harry pulled his fingers out carefully.

Draco bit his lip. Christ, he was so empty. Despite coming, he still felt weirdly unsatisfied,
wanting more.
The silence was broken by the sound of a zipper sliding downward.

His eyes wide, Draco rolled onto his back.

Harry had his cock out and was stroking himself, his dark eyes fixed on Draco’s splayed legs.

Draco stared at Harry’s red, thick cock. It was hard. Harry was hard from fingering him.

Or more likely, Harry was hard from Draco’s shameless begging for his cock. Draco could
get it, really. Although boobs and vagina did nothing for him, he could get hard watching
straight porn—the act of sex, the sounds of sex, and dirty talk could be enough to turn him on
a little. It was probably the same for Harry. He shouldn’t read too much into it.

Panting, Draco said hoarsely, “I can do it. I can suck you off.”

Harry moved his gaze to Draco’s face, still stroking himself. His lips twitched. “I don’t think
you could suck a lollipop right now.”

Draco was about to object before realizing that Harry was likely right: he was still out of
breath, his heart pounding, his body boneless and heavy. If he attempted to suck a cock right
now, he would likely choke, and not in the fun way.

But… he had another hole Harry could fuck without any effort from Draco or any danger to
choke him.

Licking his lips, Draco looked at Harry’s cock. “You can just stick it in, you know. I’m all
stretched and slick.”

Harry’s hand stopped moving. “Draconius—”

“Just saying,” Draco said, flushing. “It’s not a big deal. Why waste all the hard work you did?
You made me come and now I gotta return the favor, right? I don’t mind getting you off that
way.” It was the understatement of the century, and after all his shameless begging, Harry
was likely perfectly aware of it.

But he didn’t call Draco out on it.

When Harry said nothing, Draco finally found the courage to look at his face.

Harry was looking at him with a very strange expression, a mix of different emotions in his
eyes.

Draco held his gaze, his heart hammering somewhere in his throat. “I promise I won’t make a
big deal out of it. I already came, so, like, it won’t be sex. Just a wet hole for you to fuck.”

Harry’s eyes seemed to get darker. “Condoms?”

Draco’s breathing hitched, his cock twitching. “In the pocket of my jeans.”

He watched breathlessly as Harry tore the wrapper and rolled the condom on without a word.
Harry didn’t even bother undressing, just moved between Draco’s splayed thighs and lined
his cock up. Fuck—

Draco bit off a moan as the head breached his swollen, sensitive rim. Gripping his thighs,
Harry spread them impossibly wide and shoved all the way in, spearing Draco on his cock.
Draco gasped, his cock swelling again as he tried to adjust to the cock buried inside him. It
felt overwhelming. It felt glorious.

Trying to swallow his moans, Draco could only hold on to the headboard as Harry gave him
the most thorough fucking of his life. It wasn’t at all like he’d imagined sex with Harry. It
wasn’t affectionate. It was filthy, with Harry basically using him like a hole, fully clothed but
for his cock thrusting inside him.

Draco didn’t care. That was what he’d suggested, after all. He was fine with being used for
Harry’s pleasure, fine with everything, as long as Harry didn’t stop. He tried not to make any
noise, tried not to rock back onto Harry’s cock, no matter how desperate he was for those
vicious stabs against his prostate that sent sparks zinging through his skin. He had told Harry
it wouldn’t really be sex, so he didn’t want to be too obvious about enjoying himself.

But God, he couldn’t. Draco let out a sob as Harry nailed his prostate with amazing accuracy,
over, over, and over—until Draco came again, biting back a scream as his orgasm flooded
through him like a riptide, one brutal rush of ruthless ecstasy. He was a quivering, gasping
mess, jerking with every move of Harry’s cock inside him. Finally, Harry groaned and
stopped moving, his cock softening inside Draco.

Draco sighed, feeling breathless and blissfully fucked out.

His eyes slipped closed. He would talk to Harry in a minute.

But when he opened his eyes next, it was morning already.

He was alone, Harry nowhere to be seen.

“Morning,” Harry said, sipping his coffee. He was already dressed for work, in a pair of gray
trousers and a white shirt that looked obscenely good against his tanned skin.

Draco tore his eyes away and took a seat at the table. “Morning,” he said, trying to act
normal. He had promised Harry that he didn’t have any delusions and he didn’t want to be a
liar.
They had fucked. Harry had fucked him.

In the daylight, it seemed surreal. If he wasn’t a little sore, he would think it had all been a
dream.

“I’ll be home late tonight,” Harry said.

Draco’s eyes darted to him. “Why?”

Harry grimaced slightly. “I have a date with Luke Whitford.”

Draco felt his stomach clench.

“Already?” he said weakly. “That was fast.”

“My cousin James arranged it, actually.” Harry took another sip from his mug. “He’s Luke’s
best friend. I didn’t even have to ask him to do it. Apparently James thinks Luke needs some
distraction after his kidnapping.”

“Weird,” Draco mumbled. “Agreeing to a date just a month after such a traumatic
experience.”

Harry nodded. “It does seem a bit strange.”

“Could it be a trap?”

“Unlikely. James is a nice bloke, one of my better relatives, actually. He seems genuinely
worried for his friend. I’m starting to think he’s hoping that I’ll take Luke’s mind off
something—or someone.”
Draco looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s just a hunch. I could be wrong.”

“Come on, tell me anyway!” Draco said, giving Harry his best puppy eyes. He was a bit
surprised how easy it was to act normal, to tease Harry and be a brat. He didn’t feel any
different about Harry now that they’d shagged—perhaps a little more aware of him
physically, but since he’d always been extremely aware of Harry’s body, it was nothing
unusual. Draco was sure it was a good sign that nothing had changed for him.

You can’t fall deeper if you’re already on the bottom, a voice said hesitantly at the back of his
mind.

Draco ignored it.

Harry sighed, looking long-suffering but fond. “Luke Whitford has a type. He seems to have
a bit of a weakness for assholes, especially when they’re tall, dark, and older than him. If he
really was kidnapped by Roman Demidov, it’s not impossible that he might have developed a
bit of a thing for Demidov. The Russian fits Luke’s type to a T.”

So do you, Draco thought unhappily. Aloud he said, “I thought Luke was looking for a
serious, committed relationship?”

Harry looked at him over the rim of his mug. “It’s not exactly rare to think with your dick in
the heat of the moment and do things you shouldn’t.”

Their eyes met and held, Harry’s gaze steady and serious.

Draco’s stomach plummeted.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I guess you’re right.”

Seemingly oblivious to his discomfort, Harry continued, “I actually considered going for the
asshole type, but Luke seems to be rational enough to understand that he can’t trust men like
that, no matter how attracted to them he might be. Ultimately, I need his trust, so the role of a
man he would like to marry is more useful in the long run than the role of a man he would
like to fuck.”

Draco scoffed. If Harry thought that Luke wouldn’t want to sleep with him, he was in for a
surprise.

Harry glanced at his watch and set his mug down. “Shit, I’m running late.” He stood,
grabbing his suit jacket off the back of his chair and slipping it up his arms and over his
shoulders.

“Good luck with Luke,” Draco forced out.

Harry paused and looked at him. “Thanks, Draconius,” he said, his deep voice warm and raw.
His hand brushed Draco’s shoulder as Harry passed him on his way to the door.

When the door closed after Harry, Draco sagged back in his seat, licking his lips. He’d never
wanted a goodbye kiss so fucking badly.

Maybe something had changed, after all.

***

Draco looked around nervously, half-expecting to be kicked out of the command center any
moment. But no one as much as glanced at him, all handlers busy watching over their
respective agents and occasionally barking orders at them. He’d never been at the command
center before and, strictly speaking, he probably wasn’t supposed to be there, but his
clearance hadn’t been revoked yet after the Brylsko mission so he grabbed the chance to
watch Harry’s mission.

As he watched Harry smile and flirt with Luke Whitford, Draco was beginning to regret it.
He tried to remind himself that Harry was straight and wasn’t interested in Luke, but it was
useless. The admiration, the attraction in Harry’s dark eyes as he looked at Luke seemed
absolutely genuine. It turned Draco’s stomach for several different reasons. Luke was so
pretty. Draco could totally see even straight men finding Luke attractive. But if Harry was
just pretending to be attracted to him… if Harry was that good at pretending, how could he be
sure that Harry hadn’t lied to Draco about not pitying him?

The longer he watched Harry and Luke’s date, the worse Draco felt. Luke seemed like a nice
bloke. What Harry was doing was so cold-hearted and manipulative. Harry had researched
Luke’s past relationships and knew why every single one of them failed. He knew what Luke
was looking for in a relationship and had carefully crafted his image into that of the man of
Luke’s dreams. It was both ingenious and disgusting.

“Look, I’m going to be blunt with you,” Harry told Luke, his expression serious. “I don’t
want any misunderstandings here. I want to make sure we’re on the same page.” He looked
Luke in the eye, his gaze open and calm. “I’m tired of the club scene and casual relationships.
At this point I would like a husband and a couple of kids to spoil.” Harry shrugged. “I really
like you, but if a serious relationship isn’t what you’re interested in, you’d better tell me
now.”

“You’re taking a huge risk, A11,” Harry’s handler said, looking agitated. “What are you
going to do if he says no?”

Harry, of course, ignored his handler, perfectly calm and confident that it would work.

It did.

Luke brought his glass to his lips and sipped his drink, clearly taken aback and unsure how to
answer.
Harry smiled, looking amused. “I’m not proposing or anything,” he said, reaching across the
table and taking Luke’s free hand. Draco glared at it, hating how good Luke’s small hand
looked in Harry’s. In the meantime, Harry continued, “I don’t want you to freak out. I’m just
saying I like what I see—a smile like yours doesn’t lie—and I’d really like to get to know
you better. Would you like to get to know me?”

Luke smiled at Harry and nodded, clearly charmed by Harry’s straightforwardness,

confidence, and perceived honesty.

Draco felt sick to his stomach.

The rest of the date went smoothly. Draco could see the tension in Luke’s shoulders drain
away, the slight wariness in his eyes disappear, replaced by genuine smiles. He was holding
back a little, and while he clearly wasn’t falling head over heels for Harry, Luke’s eyes kept
lingering appreciatively on Harry’s face, hands, and wide shoulders under his suit. Draco
couldn’t even blame the guy: Luke would have to be dead or straight to not appreciate
Harry’s physique and charisma.

After the dinner, the pair took a short walk, and Harry actually bought Luke flowers. Draco
scoffed—how cringeworthy was that?—but Luke clearly didn’t share his opinion, beaming
up at Harry and looking utterly charmed. Right. Luke was a hopeless romantic.

It was a relief when Harry finally dropped Luke off at his place.

But Draco’s relief didn’t last long.

Harry’s handler hacked into the security cameras of Luke’s building; therefore Draco had a
front row view of Harry’s eyes as he kissed Luke goodnight. They were blank and detached.
When Harry ended the brief kiss, he smiled at Luke, his eyes full of affection and desire.

Draco staggered into the nearest bathroom and washed his face with cold water, trying to
suppress the violent urge to throw up. He was shaking, his stomach churning with unease and
disgust.
At that moment, looking at his own pale face in the mirror, he understood what Harry had
meant when he had told him that the job of an MI6 agent wasn’t for everyone. Harry had
warned him, but Draco had dismissed it.

Looking back, he felt very young and very foolish. He wasn’t like Harry. He didn’t have the
stomach to lie and fool innocent people even for the Queen and Country. He couldn’t imagine
himself using other people for the sake of a mission. He couldn’t imagine himself in Harry’s
shoes, forced to touch, kiss, and sleep with someone he wasn’t attracted to. He didn’t know
how Harry did it. It must have required incredible mental strength—mental strength Draco
clearly didn’t have if just watching Harry’s mission made him feel sick.

Well, he supposed it was better that he found out now rather than later.

Draco straightened, took a deep breath, and walked out of the bathroom, trying to ignore the
feeling of loss as he headed to the HR department.

Harry returned home a few hours after he dropped Luke off at his place. While the evening
had been successful as far as the mission was concerned, he’d had to make a detour to his
favorite pub in an attempt to get rid of the bad taste in his mouth.

He had liked Luke Whitford. He seemed like a nice bloke with some daddy issues, who badly
wanted a committed relationship and family. Using that against Luke had made Harry feel
like the worst scum on Earth.

Drinking hadn’t erased the feeling—it never did—but it dimmed it a little. He didn’t get
sloshed—he knew when to stop before his faculties were compromised—so he was no more
than tipsy when he got home.

There was light in the living room.

That made him frown. He hadn’t expected Draconius to wait up for him. It was well after
midnight. Maybe Draco had fallen asleep watching the telly. He hoped Draconius was asleep.
He didn’t want to see him, not tonight. Or rather, he wanted to see him a bit too much for
comfort, soak up his warm affection as the greedy, selfish bastard he was and pretend for a
while that he was the decent person Draconius believed him to be.

And that was precisely why he shouldn’t see Draco now.

Keeping in mind that the boy could be asleep, Harry unlocked the door and entered the house
as quietly as he could.

Draconius wasn’t asleep.

He was sitting on the couch, clearly dressed to go. The bag with his things was at his feet.

Harry took it all in, feeling completely sober all of a sudden. “I thought you’d be asleep,” he
heard himself say, his chest tight. Goddammit, he knew he shouldn’t have fucked Draco—he
knew it would make things weird—but he hadn’t thought Draconius would actually leave
because of that. Maybe acting like last night never happened had been a mistake. Maybe they
should have talked it out and made sure they were on the same page.

“I was at headquarters,” Draco said, his silver eyes blank. “I watched your mission.”

Harry opened his mouth and closed it without saying anything. His shoulders tensed up when
he realized what this was about.

“And what did you think?” he said at last, his voice calm, as if his heart wasn’t thudding hard
in his chest... with something that felt a lot like fear. It was probably messed up, but he was
pretty much addicted to the way Draconius looked at him—as though he was Draconius’s
world—and he didn’t know what he would do if it changed to disgust and disappointment.

“I thought that you were right and I was wrong.”

“What?”

Draconius smiled sadly. “I quit, Harry.”

Harry stared at him. Maybe he was more tipsy than he’d thought, because his brain didn’t
seem to be able to grasp Draconius’s words. “Quit?”

Draconius nodded. “I’ve filled out all the appropriate forms. I’m just a trainee, so there
weren’t all that many, actually. Obviously, I signed an NDA and returned MI6’s
equipment…” Draconius chewed on his lip and pulled out the phone Harry had given him. “I
guess I should return this one to you, too.”

Harry looked from the phone to Draconius’s face. He didn’t need to ask what had brought
this on. He could make a guess. He had always thought that Draco wasn’t suited for MI6—he
wasn’t hardened enough for things MI6 would make him do. While his conduct during the
Brylsko mission was exemplary, Draconius hadn’t been forced to do anything he found
particularly disgusting and immoral. The Whitford mission was different. It was likely the
first time Draco was faced with the reality of Harry’s job.

“Aren’t you going to say that I need to think it through?” Draconius said with a crooked
smile.

“No,” Harry said. “I’m sure you have.”

Draconius nodded. “I guess… I’ll be going, then,” he said, grabbing his bag and standing up.
“I waited just to say goodbye.”

Harry’s gut knotted up. “Do you even have a place to go?”
Draconius slung his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll be fine. I may not have a home, but I’ve
never really slept without a roof over my head. I have… friends. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Harry said, largely unconvinced.

Draco shrugged. “People who owe me favors.” His lips curled into a sad smile that had a
bitter edge to it. “And it’s not like I can’t steal if I have to.”

“You hate stealing.”

Draconius shrugged again, avoiding his eyes. “I’ll suck it up and do what I have to. It’s not
like I’m any good at anything else.” He moved toward the door.

“Draconius.”

The boy came to a halt, looking down.

“Look at me.”

When Draco finally did, his expression uncertain, Harry said, “Do you want to leave?”

Draco blinked. “I already told you I quit.”

“No,” Harry said, stepping closer. He brushed his knuckles against Draconius’s cheek and
watched him lean into the touch instinctively. Something in him relaxed. He had been half-
afraid Draconius would shy away from his touch after watching him lie and manipulate Luke.
“Do you want to leave my house?”

Me.
That was what he meant and they both knew it.

Draconius wet his lips, a wrinkle appearing between his brows. “Is this a serious question?
I’m not an MI6 trainee anymore, Harry. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“You can stay if you want.”

Draconius stared.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything.

“Why?” he said at last, his voice quiet. “What do you need some homeless kid for?”

“You may not be MI6 anymore, but I’m still supposed to have a sugar baby,” Harry said,
hoping he sounded casual and not at all like he wanted to make Draconius stay. Which he
didn’t.

Liar.

He’d never been all that good at lying to himself. There was a part of him that wanted to
force Draconius to stay. That part of him wanted to grab the boy and kiss him until he forgot
even his own name and remembered only Harry’s. And it sickened him that he wanted to
manipulate Draco into staying. He should let him go. It was becoming increasingly obvious
he couldn’t trust himself with Draco. The boy would be safer on the streets than under his
roof.

As if hearing his thoughts, Draconius shook his head. “If Luke ever finds out, I’m sure you
can easily come up with a convincing lie to explain where your sugar baby is.” He smiled
sadly. “Let’s not pretend I’m necessary for the success of your mission. I’ve seen how well
Agent 11 can lie. He doesn’t need me here.”
Harry stepped closer and put his hands on Draconius’s shoulders, resisting the urge to cradle
Draconius’s heart-shaped face with his hands. “What if I say I want you here? Not Agent 11.
Me.”

Draconius swallowed, his eyes searching Harry’s face. “Why?” he said, his voice wavering.
“What do you want with me? I’m an uneducated, stupid gay kid with an inconvenient crush
on you.”

“You aren’t stupid.”

Draconius made a face. “I didn’t even take my GCSEs. I’m as uneducated as it gets. Stealing
is the only thing I’m good at.” He chuckled. “I had to steal children’s books to teach myself
how to read and write. I don’t have a horrible vocabulary only thanks to the fact that I love
reading.”

“You’re still very young. You can study and catch up to your peers.” When Draconius just
looked at him skeptically, Harry squeezed his shoulders and said, “You will. It’s not actually
rare for MI6 recruits to have irregular education. We have arrangements with the government
for cases line that. You can be home schooled until you can pass your exams and then you
can be enrolled in a college of your choice.”

“But I’m not with Ml6 anymore,” Draco said. “I will never be able to afford private lessons
or uni without stealing—stealing a lot—”

“I will pay for them,” Harry said. When Draco frowned and opened his mouth, Harry cut him
off. “It’s nothing for me. I’m not exactly poor.”

Draconius’s brows furrowed. “I know your Harry Potter cover is supposedly very rich, but
—”

“Draco,” Harry said with a wry smile. “Harry Potter is me. My preferences and personal life
might be false, but my financial situation isn’t. I’m really a department head in one of the
biggest financial companies in the country. Not to mention that being a senior field agent
pays very well, considering the hazards of the job. I’m not a billionaire, but I’m well off. To
put it lightly.”

Draconius shook his head, blinking. “It still doesn’t—I don’t…” He gave Harry a searching
look. “You still didn’t answer why you want me here—why you want to pay for my
education and…” Draconius looked lost, his silver eyes endearingly confused. “I don’t
understand.”

Christ, Harry wanted to hug him.

So he did.

Draconius was stiff in his arms for exactly one second before hugging back. Fuck, he fit
perfectly in Harry’s arms, so perfectly it was hard to let go.

“I want you to stay because I care about you,” Harry said against Draconius’s temple. “I want
you in my house, safe, warm, and comfortable. Because you deserve it. And if you call
yourself stupid again, I’ll…” He struggled to come up with a suitable threat. For someone
who knew dozens of different torture techniques, it was surprisingly hard to threaten
Draconius with anything. “I’ll change the Wi-Fi password and won’t tell you what it is.”

Draco started laughing into his shoulder. “Okay, that’s actually pretty scary. Thanks, Harry. I
care about you, too.”

Harry caught himself smiling—a warm, soft thing that betrayed far more about how he felt
than he was comfortable showing. The smile felt alien on his lips and he was glad Draconius
couldn’t see it.

Harry cleared his throat.

“So you’re staying,” he said, pulling back and studying the boy. Although he phrased it as a
statement, it was undoubtedly a question.

Draconius nodded. “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.” He smirked a little, amusement
appearing in his eyes. “What can I say? I got used to the pampered life of your sugar baby.”

Harry snorted. “Good night.” He headed for his bedroom, trying not to think about the
vicious satisfaction he’d felt when Draconius had called himself his sugar baby.

Jesus. He had a problem.

 Chapter 3

The next morning, as Draco watched Harry make an omelet before he had to leave for work
—for his official work, not the MI6 one—Draco realized how truly fucked he was.

Either he had been wrong yesterday that nothing changed in regards to his feelings for Harry,
or he had been too well-shagged and satisfied to be embarrassing around Harry—more than
he normally was.

While Harry’s attention was on the stove, Draco’s eyes swept helplessly over his wide
shoulders and the muscles of his back under that shirt. He imagined running his mouth over
the veins in Harry’s forearms bared by his rolled-up sleeves. He licked his lips, trying and
failing to suppress the hunger gnawing at him, hunger that had nothing to do with his empty
stomach. He couldn’t sit still, the urge to touch nearly irresistible.

And the maddening part was, Harry would probably kiss him and let him suck his cock if
Draco asked. He might even finger him again if Draco asked—or fuck him if Draco asked.
The knowledge ate at him, tempting him and horrifying him at the same time.

Although Harry had told him that he would prefer Draco to hook up with him rather than
some random bloke, Draco was uncomfortable initiating sex again, especially after watching
Harry being forced to romance Luke Whitford. Draco couldn’t get out of his mind Harry’s
blank eyes as he kissed Luke. What if Harry had felt like that while he kissed Draco, too?
What if he had been just putting up with it?

The thought made him sick.

“Can I ask you something?” Draco said.

Harry turned, his expression curious. “Sure.”

“When you kissed Luke yesterday, was it—did it feel like when you kissed me?”
Harry turned off the stove, removed his apron, and looked at Draco carefully. “No.” Was it
Draco’s imagination or did Harry really look uncomfortable?

No, it wasn’t his imagination.

Draco’s stomach dropped. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not. Of course it was different. He’s my mission. You’re my—”

When Harry cut himself off, Draco looked at him with a crooked smile. “Your what? A gay
kid you feel sorry for?”

Harry gave him a pinched look. “Are we back to that? I told you that it wasn’t pity.”

“Then what was it?” Draco said. “You looked bored when you kissed Luke! And he’s, like,
five times more attractive than me.”

“He isn’t,” Harry said, frowning. “And I wasn’t bored when I kissed him. I was focused.”

Draco scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Please. You looked resigned at best.
Don’t tell me you didn’t mind kissing him. You clearly did.”

Running a hand through his dark hair, Harry sighed. “I can’t believe we’re arguing over
whether I liked kissing a mark or not. Fine, I didn’t like it. If it were up to me, I would never
kiss him. It doesn’t prove that I didn’t like kissing you.”

“Did you like kissing me, then?” Draco said, finally finding the courage to ask.
When Harry said nothing, Draco nodded, his face twisting into a mortified grimace. God,
how embarrassing. “See? You can’t even say that. You hated it.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry said, his eyes flashing with frustration. “I didn’t hate it. I liked it. A
lot. Happy now?”

Draco looked at him dubiously, unsure if he should believe him. “Really?” he said in a small
voice.

Harry’s eyes softened a little. He rounded the kitchen island and pulled Draco up from his
chair. “Look,” he said, his hands slipping down to Draco’s lower back. “I’m a good liar, and I
lie a lot for work. I won’t deny it. But I’ve never lied to you.” He looked Draco in the eye
intently. “Trust me. Please, Draconius.”

Draco exhaled shakily. “But how can you possibly like kissing me if you didn’t like kissing
Luke? He’s—”

“He isn’t five times more attractive than you,” Harry said with a scoff.

Draco bit the inside of his cheek. “Maybe not, but he’s definitely a lot more feminine than
me. So logically, straight men should be more comfortable kissing him than me.”

Harry chuckled. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“But—”

“Bloody hell.” Harry jerked him closer and kissed him hard, his mouth slick, hot, and utterly
perfect. It was embarrassing how fast Draco went boneless against Harry’s chest, his toes
curling with pleasure, his mouth parting eagerly to accommodate Harry’s tongue, pure bliss
spreading through his body.
He whined when Harry broke the kiss.

“You know what I like about kissing you?” Harry said, pressing their foreheads together. “I
like how responsive you are. You kiss me like—like you belong to me—like you’re mine,
like your mouth is mine.” He gave Draco another short, hard kiss. “It’s bloody addictive.”

Draco blinked at him dazedly. He couldn’t believe that Harry actually liked that he lost higher
brain function and became a slave to his basest needs the moment Harry put his mouth on
him. It was a bit weird, but whatever. Draco didn’t particularly care as long as Harry actually
liked kissing him.

“Okay,” Draco said and kissed Harry again.

He wasn’t sure how long they kissed, the room quiet but for the slick sounds of their mouths
moving together and quiet gasps of pleasure. Draco didn’t know what Harry was feeling, but
he hoped the kiss felt as good for Harry as it did for him. Addictive. Harry had called his
mouth addictive. Draco could totally relate, because he seemed completely unable to stop
kissing Harry, his body tingling and aching all over, hungry, so very hungry.

It took him a while to register the buzzing sound. “Your phone,” Draco managed against
Harry’s lips.

Harry didn’t stop kissing him, licking into his mouth.

“Your phone, Harry,” Draco said again.

Pulling back, Harry glanced around, his dark eyes a little unfocused before they settled on his
phone on the table. He walked over, glanced at the Caller ID, and frowned before he
answered. “A11.”

Draco saw Harry’s shoulders tense up.

“Are you sure it’s him?” Harry said. There was a pause as Harry listened to the caller’s
response. “I’ll be at headquarters in fifteen minutes.”

He hung up and turned to Draco, his brows drawn together. “Richard Whitford’s helicopter
crashed in Columbia. No survivors.”

“Luke’s father?” Draco said. “Does that mean your mission is canceled?”

Harry shook his head, grabbing his jacket and heading out. “It just means that the mission
parameters have just changed. By the way, could you call my work number and tell my
secretary that I have an urgent meeting with Riverwood Trading?”

“What?”

Harry smiled at his confusion. “It’s a company created by MI6 that is used as one of the
covers for our agents. It’s a client of Grayguard, so it’s a good cover for me when I need to
leave on missions.”

“Why don’t you call your secretary yourself?” Draco said, following Harry to his car. He was
probably being clingy, but he couldn’t help it.

“I might be too busy to answer my phone. Tell her I forgot my mobile at home.”

“And if she asks who I am?” Draco said, watching Harry get in the car.

Harry rolled down the side window and looked at him. “Tell her the truth: that you live with
me and that I trust you.”

Draco swallowed and nodded.

“Okay,” he said, reaching out and fixing Harry’s tie. He couldn’t help it; he needed to touch
him.

Some emotion flashed across Harry’s face. He squeezed Draco’s hand, let go, and started the
engine. “I’ll see you this evening.”

Draco watched the car disappear before going inside the house.

He locked the door and leaned back against it, a small smile curling his lips. He knew he was
being ridiculous—he still had no idea where they really stood—but fuck, he felt a little bit
happy. Was it wrong? To be happy even though it likely wouldn’t last?

But what if it did?

Harry unlocked the front door and pushed it open.

The house was as quiet and dark as one would expect it to be at two in the morning. Harry
could only smile wearily remembering his words to Draconius that he would see him in the
evening. Sometimes he hated his job—both his jobs. He was only twenty-seven, but thanks to
his double life, sometimes he felt years older.

Sometimes he wondered why he was doing this. While his employment at Grayguard had
started out as an easy cover, now he had the job of a department head on top of his MI6 job.
As a result, on days like this, he felt bone-tired, barely able to drag himself home, his head
pounding and his body sore.
Maybe he was just getting too old for a double life, especially one as demanding as his.

That was why he was hesitant about accepting the position of Chief of SIS when the higher-
ups would eventually force Amanda to step down in a few years. He didn’t think he could
juggle the two directorial positions effectively. He was struggling already as it was. But then
again, days like this didn’t happen all that often.

Sighing, Harry pushed the door to his bedroom and went still.

Draconius was sleeping on his bed.

It was clear that he had been trying to wait up for Harry: the bedside lamp was on and there
was an open book next to Draconius. The fact that Harry hadn’t noticed the dim light before
entering the room spoke volumes about how tired he was. His lapse in vigilance still didn’t
please him, making him wonder once again if he needed to change something about his work.
It wouldn’t matter that he had the best mission success rate if he was ambushed in his own
home because he was too tired to pay attention.

Harry walked closer to the bed, his footsteps silent. Loosening his tie, he looked down at the
sleeping boy. An odd feeling settled low in his stomach when he realized that the black t-shirt
Draconius was wearing was his.

Taking his tie off, Harry started unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes still on the boy sprawled in his
bed. He had trouble looking away. The sight was deeply satisfying on a primal level, which…
made him cringe. He’d never considered himself a possessive man, had never been one in
any of his relationships, not even over the only woman he ever loved. And yet here he was,
being all caveman and shit over a boy he’d given a home to.

Christ, what a mess. He should have never touched Draconius that way. What happened
during the mission should have stayed there. Now, with the lines blurred, he’d needlessly
complicated everything.

For the first time in years, Harry felt at a loss what to do. He wasn’t willing to hurt the boy by
saying that he’d regretted fucking him and that they shouldn’t do it again. But continuing
fooling around with Draconius would be a mistake too. A crush was harmless enough. But
crushes could grow into something more, something that hurt. If he were thinking rationally,
he would have let Draconius get laid by someone else—someone gay. That would have been
the right thing to do. Draconius should meet a nice, gay bloke his own age who could return
his feelings and make him happy. Someone who wasn’t a manipulative asshole who lied,
killed, and used people for a living.

His jaw clenching, Harry undressed briskly and went to the bathroom.

After showering and finishing his nightly routine, Harry paused, looking at his reflection in
the mirror. He tried to see what Draconius saw in him. All he could see was a tired-looking
man with blank eyes and a blank personality. He spent so much time pretending to be
someone he wasn’t that he was no longer sure who the hell he was and what he wanted.

Harry turned away from the mirror.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Draconius was sitting up in the bed, blinking groggily.
“Harry?”

“Hey,” Harry said, walking to his wardrobe. He pulled out a fresh pair of boxers and pulled
them on before getting in bed with a sigh.

“Tired?” Draconius said sympathetically.

Harry made an affirmative noise, closing his eyes.

“I’ll go, then.”

He should let him go. But dammit, he wanted Draconius’s warmth, wanted to bury himself in
it until the cold, hollow feeling in his chest went away.
“Stay.”

He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that Draconius was smiling as he lay down and
snuggled up under his arm.

Chapter 22

The next morning, as Draco watched Harry make an omelet before he had to leave for work
—for his official work, not the MI6 one—Draco realized how truly fucked he was.

Either he had been wrong yesterday that nothing changed in regards to his feelings for Harry,
or he had been too well-shagged and satisfied to be embarrassing around Harry—more than
he normally was.

While Harry’s attention was on the stove, Draco’s eyes swept helplessly over his wide
shoulders and the muscles of his back under that shirt. He imagined running his mouth over
the veins in Harry’s forearms bared by his rolled-up sleeves. He licked his lips, trying and
failing to suppress the hunger gnawing at him, hunger that had nothing to do with his empty
stomach. He couldn’t sit still, the urge to touch nearly irresistible.

And the maddening part was, Harry would probably kiss him and let him suck his cock if
Draco asked. He might even finger him again if Draco asked—or fuck him if Draco asked.
The knowledge ate at him, tempting him and horrifying him at the same time.

Although Harry had told him that he would prefer Draco to hook up with him rather than
some random bloke, Draco was uncomfortable initiating sex again, especially after watching
Harry being forced to romance Luke Whitford. Draco couldn’t get out of his mind Harry’s
blank eyes as he kissed Luke. What if Harry had felt like that while he kissed Draco, too?
What if he had been just putting up with it?

The thought made him sick.

“Can I ask you something?” Draco said.

Harry turned, his expression curious. “Sure.”

“When you kissed Luke yesterday, was it—did it feel like when you kissed me?”

Harry turned off the stove, removed his apron, and looked at Draco carefully. “No.” Was it
Draco’s imagination or did Harry really look uncomfortable?

No, it wasn’t his imagination.

Draco’s stomach dropped. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not. Of course it was different. He’s my mission. You’re my—”

When Harry cut himself off, Draco looked at him with a crooked smile. “Your what? A gay
kid you feel sorry for?”

Harry gave him a pinched look. “Are we back to that? I told you that it wasn’t pity.”

“Then what was it?” Draco said. “You looked bored when you kissed Luke! And he’s, like,
five times more attractive than me.”

“He isn’t,” Harry said, frowning. “And I wasn’t bored when I kissed him. I was focused.”

Draco scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Please. You looked resigned at best.
Don’t tell me you didn’t mind kissing him. You clearly did.”
Running a hand through his dark hair, Harry sighed. “I can’t believe we’re arguing over
whether I liked kissing a mark or not. Fine, I didn’t like it. If it were up to me, I would never
kiss him. It doesn’t prove that I didn’t like kissing you.”

“Did you like kissing me, then?” Draco said, finally finding the courage to ask.

When Harry said nothing, Draco nodded, his face twisting into a mortified grimace. God,
how embarrassing. “See? You can’t even say that. You hated it.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry said, his eyes flashing with frustration. “I didn’t hate it. I liked it. A
lot. Happy now?”

Draco looked at him dubiously, unsure if he should believe him. “Really?” he said in a small
voice.

Harry’s eyes softened a little. He rounded the kitchen island and pulled Draco up from his
chair. “Look,” he said, his hands slipping down to Draco’s lower back. “I’m a good liar, and I
lie a lot for work. I won’t deny it. But I’ve never lied to you.” He looked Draco in the eye
intently. “Trust me. Please, Draconius.”

Draco exhaled shakily. “But how can you possibly like kissing me if you didn’t like kissing
Luke? He’s—”

“He isn’t five times more attractive than you,” Harry said with a scoff.

Draco bit the inside of his cheek. “Maybe not, but he’s definitely a lot more feminine than
me. So logically, straight men should be more comfortable kissing him than me.”

Harry chuckled. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“But—”
“Bloody hell.” Harry jerked him closer and kissed him hard, his mouth slick, hot, and utterly
perfect. It was embarrassing how fast Draco went boneless against Harry’s chest, his toes
curling with pleasure, his mouth parting eagerly to accommodate Harry’s tongue, pure bliss
spreading through his body.

He whined when Harry broke the kiss.

“You know what I like about kissing you?” Harry said, pressing their foreheads together. “I
like how responsive you are. You kiss me like—like you belong to me—like you’re mine,
like your mouth is mine.” He gave Draco another short, hard kiss. “It’s bloody addictive.”

Draco blinked at him dazedly. He couldn’t believe that Harry actually liked that he lost higher
brain function and became a slave to his basest needs the moment Harry put his mouth on
him. It was a bit weird, but whatever. Draco didn’t particularly care as long as Harry actually
liked kissing him.

“Okay,” Draco said and kissed Harry again.

He wasn’t sure how long they kissed, the room quiet but for the slick sounds of their mouths
moving together and quiet gasps of pleasure. Draco didn’t know what Harry was feeling, but
he hoped the kiss felt as good for Harry as it did for him. Addictive. Harry had called his
mouth addictive. Draco could totally relate, because he seemed completely unable to stop
kissing Harry, his body tingling and aching all over, hungry, so very hungry.

It took him a while to register the buzzing sound. “Your phone,” Draco managed against
Harry’s lips.

Harry didn’t stop kissing him, licking into his mouth.

“Your phone, Harry,” Draco said again.

Pulling back, Harry glanced around, his dark eyes a little unfocused before they settled on his
phone on the table. He walked over, glanced at the Caller ID, and frowned before he
answered. “A11.”

Draco saw Harry’s shoulders tense up.

“Are you sure it’s him?” Harry said. There was a pause as Harry listened to the caller’s
response. “I’ll be at headquarters in fifteen minutes.”

He hung up and turned to Draco, his brows drawn together. “Richard Whitford’s helicopter
crashed in Columbia. No survivors.”

“Luke’s father?” Draco said. “Does that mean your mission is canceled?”

Harry shook his head, grabbing his jacket and heading out. “It just means that the mission
parameters have just changed. By the way, could you call my work number and tell my
secretary that I have an urgent meeting with Riverwood Trading?”

“What?”

Harry smiled at his confusion. “It’s a company created by MI6 that is used as one of the
covers for our agents. It’s a client of Grayguard, so it’s a good cover for me when I need to
leave on missions.”

“Why don’t you call your secretary yourself?” Draco said, following Harry to his car. He was
probably being clingy, but he couldn’t help it.

“I might be too busy to answer my phone. Tell her I forgot my mobile at home.”

“And if she asks who I am?” Draco said, watching Harry get in the car.
Harry rolled down the side window and looked at him. “Tell her the truth: that you live with
me and that I trust you.”

Draco swallowed and nodded.

“Okay,” he said, reaching out and fixing Harry’s tie. He couldn’t help it; he needed to touch
him.

Some emotion flashed across Harry’s face. He squeezed Draco’s hand, let go, and started the
engine. “I’ll see you this evening.”

Draco watched the car disappear before going inside the house.

He locked the door and leaned back against it, a small smile curling his lips. He knew he was
being ridiculous—he still had no idea where they really stood—but fuck, he felt a little bit
happy. Was it wrong? To be happy even though it likely wouldn’t last?

But what if it did?

Harry unlocked the front door and pushed it open.

The house was as quiet and dark as one would expect it to be at two in the morning. Harry
could only smile wearily remembering his words to Draconius that he would see him in the
evening. Sometimes he hated his job—both his jobs. He was only twenty-seven, but thanks to
his double life, sometimes he felt years older.
Sometimes he wondered why he was doing this. While his employment at Grayguard had
started out as an easy cover, now he had the job of a department head on top of his MI6 job.
As a result, on days like this, he felt bone-tired, barely able to drag himself home, his head
pounding and his body sore.

Maybe he was just getting too old for a double life, especially one as demanding as his.

That was why he was hesitant about accepting the position of Chief of SIS when the higher-
ups would eventually force Amanda to step down in a few years. He didn’t think he could
juggle the two directorial positions effectively. He was struggling already as it was. But then
again, days like this didn’t happen all that often.

Sighing, Harry pushed the door to his bedroom and went still.

Draconius was sleeping on his bed.

It was clear that he had been trying to wait up for Harry: the bedside lamp was on and there
was an open book next to Draconius. The fact that Harry hadn’t noticed the dim light before
entering the room spoke volumes about how tired he was. His lapse in vigilance still didn’t
please him, making him wonder once again if he needed to change something about his work.
It wouldn’t matter that he had the best mission success rate if he was ambushed in his own
home because he was too tired to pay attention.

Harry walked closer to the bed, his footsteps silent. Loosening his tie, he looked down at the
sleeping boy. An odd feeling settled low in his stomach when he realized that the black t-shirt
Draconius was wearing was his.

Taking his tie off, Harry started unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes still on the boy sprawled in his
bed. He had trouble looking away. The sight was deeply satisfying on a primal level, which…
made him cringe. He’d never considered himself a possessive man, had never been one in
any of his relationships, not even over the only woman he ever loved. And yet here he was,
being all caveman and shit over a boy he’d given a home to.
Christ, what a mess. He should have never touched Draconius that way. What happened
during the mission should have stayed there. Now, with the lines blurred, he’d needlessly
complicated everything.

For the first time in years, Harry felt at a loss what to do. He wasn’t willing to hurt the boy by
saying that he’d regretted fucking him and that they shouldn’t do it again. But continuing
fooling around with Draconius would be a mistake too. A crush was harmless enough. But
crushes could grow into something more, something that hurt. If he were thinking rationally,
he would have let Draconius get laid by someone else—someone gay. That would have been
the right thing to do. Draconius should meet a nice, gay bloke his own age who could return
his feelings and make him happy. Someone who wasn’t a manipulative asshole who lied,
killed, and used people for a living.

His jaw clenching, Harry undressed briskly and went to the bathroom.

After showering and finishing his nightly routine, Harry paused, looking at his reflection in
the mirror. He tried to see what Draconius saw in him. All he could see was a tired-looking
man with blank eyes and a blank personality. He spent so much time pretending to be
someone he wasn’t that he was no longer sure who the hell he was and what he wanted.

Harry turned away from the mirror.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Draconius was sitting up in the bed, blinking groggily.
“Harry?”

“Hey,” Harry said, walking to his wardrobe. He pulled out a fresh pair of boxers and pulled
them on before getting in bed with a sigh.

“Tired?” Draconius said sympathetically.

Harry made an affirmative noise, closing his eyes.

“I’ll go, then.”

He should let him go. But dammit, he wanted Draconius’s warmth, wanted to bury himself in
it until the cold, hollow feeling in his chest went away.

“Stay.”

He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that Draconius was smiling as he lay down and
snuggled up under his arm.

“Why are you so late?” Draconius said, his cheek pressed to the side of Harry’s chest.

“Long story,” Harry said with a sigh, stroking Draconius’s arm up and down. “I was at
headquarters all morning, coordinating with our agents in Columbia. We had to make sure it’s
really Richard Whitford and he’s really dead—it wouldn’t be the first time someone faked
their death—but it’s him; there’s no mistake.”

“And now what?” Draconius said, running his fingers idly over Harry’s bare chest.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, pulling Draconius tighter to him. Gradually, the cold feeling
faded away. When he was with Draconius, it always did. “The helicopter crash was unlikely
to be an accident. Our agents in Columbia suspect the local crime boss Alvaro Lopez, but
there’s no proof. And…”

“And what?”

Harry opened his eyes. “We’ve found something interesting. A few weeks ago, Alvaro Lopez
had a meeting with a certain Russian oligarch.”

“Really? The same man who’s suspected in kidnapping Luke Whitford?”

“Yes. Roman Demidov. What a coincidence, huh?”

Draconius’s dark red brows furrowed. “But what does it mean? Demidov kidnaps Whitford’s
son and then lets him escape a few months later. Luke seems unharmed and denies
Demidov’s involvement. Then, just a few weeks after Luke’s return, Demidov arranges for
Luke’s father to be killed? That… Huh. It smells kind of fishy.”

“Yes,” Harry said. “I thought Luke was a good guy who wouldn’t harm a fly, but maybe I
was wrong.”

Draconius looked at him curiously. “You really think Luke conspired with his kidnapper
against his father?”

Harry stroked Draconius’s nape. “Maybe. Roman Demidov is a handsome man. By all
accounts, he’s straight, but he’s one ruthless, manipulative son-of-a-bitch. Luke could be a
victim of Stockholm syndrome. It wouldn’t be the first time. It actually happens more often
than you’d think.”

Draconius worried his bottom lip. “But if Luke is involved in his father’s death, that means
he’s dangerous. You could be in danger.”

“No more than I was before. Besides, Luke could be completely innocent. We have him
under surveillance and he hasn’t been in contact with Demidov since his return to England.
And Luke seemed genuinely shocked by his father’s death.”

Draconius stiffened against him. “You were with Luke?”

Harry nodded, studying the boy’s face. “I was with him at Grayguard when he received the
news. His shock seemed real enough, though he didn’t seem particularly upset. But then
again, he and his father weren’t very close, so it isn’t all that surprising.”

“He might be a good liar,” Draconius said. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

“They can be,” Harry conceded, watching Draconius carefully. “Are you upset that I was
with Luke? That isn’t why I came home so late.” He didn’t even know why he felt the need to
explain himself. Draconius wasn’t his wife—or his husband. “It was a hell of a day at
Grayguard. I had to work late because I wasn’t at work until late afternoon.”

Draconius pursed his lips. “If you’re implying I’m jealous, I’m not.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Harry said mildly, suppressing a smile and dropping a kiss on
Draconius’s forehead. Truth be told, he didn’t mind Draconius’s jealousy. “You have no
reason to be jealous. By the way, why are you wearing my clothes?”

Draconius flushed. “It wasn’t because I missed you or something,” he said sulkily.

Harry kept his face straight. “Did I say it was?”

Looking at him suspiciously, Draconius said, “I don’t have many clothes.”

Harry’s amusement disappeared. “What?”

Draconius dropped his gaze, tracing lines on Harry’s chest with his finger. “I threw out my
old clothes when I got recruited—they weren’t very good and I was issued clothes for
trainees anyway—but now…” Draconius made a shrugging gesture, avoiding Harry’s eyes. `

Harry stared at him. “Are you saying you have no clothes?”

“I do,” Draconius said, looking anywhere but at him. “Just not many. This t-shirt isn’t as
fancy as the rest of your clothes so I figured you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed it. I can wash it
later—”
Harry took his chin and forced him to meet his eyes. “I don’t mind. You can take whatever
you like. But tomorrow we’re going shopping. If you gave back all of your MI6-issued
belongings, you’ll need more than just clothes.”

Frowning, Draconius opened his mouth, but Harry cut him off before he could say anything.
“It’s not charity. I won’t accept no; you can’t change my mind. Can we move on now? It’s a
non-issue, Draconius.”

Draco heaved a long-suffering sigh and smiled wryly. “You do realize that now you’re pretty
much my real sugar daddy, right?”

Harry chuckled, pinching Draconius’s cheek. “Does that mean you’re my real sugar baby?”

Draconius smiled wider, looking him in the eye sleepily. “I don’t mind being a sugar baby as
long as I’m yours.”

Harry’s cock twitched. Draconius’s words pushed all the right buttons for him—or rather, all
the wrong ones, his selfish possessiveness rearing its ugly head again.

He cleared his throat, threading his fingers through the boy’s hair. “You shouldn’t stay stuff
like that. I’m trying to be a better man here.”

“What do you mean?” Draconius said. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re a good
man.”

Harry stared at him. “You still think that after watching my date with Luke? After watching
me worm my way into his trust by manipulating his emotions and insecurities?” And he’d
done things much worse than that in the past, things Draconius was better off not knowing.

Draco’s lips folded into a thin line. “A while ago, you told me that what happens on a mission
shouldn’t affect the real me. Why doesn’t it apply to you? It’s not as though you want to hurt
people, right? It’s not you. It’s your job.”
“I know,” Harry said. “It’s just…” He cradled Draconius’s cheek with his hand, soaking up
the affection in Draconius’s eyes. He’d been craving this all day. He’d spent the day either
being a nameless Agent 11 or pretending to be a person he wasn’t. On days like this, Harry
felt like a fraud, a man with fake emotions, fake behavior, and fake sexuality. It didn’t help
that he was using his real name for this mission, which messed with his head more than any
undercover work ever did. He wanted something real. Something that was only his.

“I’m trying to be a better man,” he said, looking at Draconius’s lips.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Draconius whispered, licking his lips with the tip of his
tongue. “Stop saying stupid things and kiss me.”

There’s everything wrong with me, Harry thought as he leaned in and did as requested.
Draconius’s lips trembled at the barest touch, parting for his tongue with eagerness that
destroyed any remnants of self-control he’d possessed. Harry groaned and licked his way into
Draconius’s mouth, wanting to put himself deeper into the boy until all he could feel was
Draconius and his warmth and affection. Fuck, this was… this was something he’d been
looking forward to all day, if Harry were honest with himself. This—feeling Draconius’s
trembling, needy lips against his—this was real. This was his. Draconius was his.

After his past experiences with male marks, Harry had been confident he could never be
attracted to a man—sex with men had always felt wrong, even with Viagra—but he couldn’t
deny that he was drawn to this boy, emotionally attracted to him in a way he’d never been to
any woman, and that emotional attachment seemed to spill over and mutate into a physical
need, his sexuality be damned. He wanted Draconius’s warmth and affection so much that he
wanted to put himself inside the boy as deep as he could until he was Draconius’s entire
world.

Jesus, the direction of his thoughts was fucking disturbing. Harry was aware that their
relationship was becoming dangerously unbalanced, with Harry having too much power over
the boy—financial, emotional, and physical—and it surely couldn’t be healthy, but Draco
didn’t seem to care. Draconius wasn’t even coy about it, just giving himself over to him,
honest and eager, trusting him not to hurt him—or hurt him, if Harry wanted to. It was
addictive in the worst possible way, and Harry knew he shouldn’t indulge himself in this, but
he found himself kissing Draco harder and deeper, pulling the boy closer and then rolling on
top of him when it wasn’t enough. Fuck, he wanted to crawl inside Draconius and drown in
him.
“Harry,” Draconius whispered against his lips, his voice shaky and hoarse, his hands
clutching Harry’s bare shoulders helplessly. “Stop kissing me like this unless you’re gonna
fuck me. This is cruel. Stop kissing me or fuck me.”

Tearing himself away from that sweet, addictive mouth, Harry stared at the boy under him: at
his flushed face and red, puffy lips, at his long, pale legs parted wantonly to accommodate
Harry’s hips. He couldn’t see Draconius’s erection, but he could feel it against his thigh, long
and slim, like everything about the boy.

Objectively, he shouldn’t want Draconius. He liked his women the curvier the better, and the
pale, lanky boy under him shouldn’t turn him on. But God help them both, he did. Harry was
hard as a rock, his body eager for sex, eager to fuck, to take, to consume.

It made no sense. His hunger for Draconius defied logic, sexuality, and rational thought,
originating from something more primitive than normal attraction. It felt like a force, a force
he couldn’t fight. Even the power imbalance between them just turned him on. He liked being
able to provide Draconius with material possessions. He liked that Draconius had an obvious
crush on him. He liked being the center of Draconius’s world.

And he didn’t want that to ever change.

Bloody hell. He was turning into a creep.

“So are you gonna fuck me or not?” Draconius said, looking at him dazedly, his fingers
digging into Harry’s buttocks.

“I will.”

Draconius’s eyes widened, his well-kissed mouth falling open. He stared at Harry
unblinkingly for what felt like hours before yanking Harry’s head down and kissing him
wetly.
After that, Harry felt himself get lost in the feel of Draconius’s soft, hungry mouth, only
vaguely aware of pulling his shirt off Draconius and kicking off their boxers. The feel of
Draconius’s young, smooth skin against his mouth was fucking glorious. Harry dragged his
lips down Draconius’s neck, kissing and nibbling the unblemished, perfect skin… so soft…
so responsive and sensitive to the touch… Draconius keened when Harry latched on his pink
nipple, Draco’s fingers burying in Harry’s hair and pushing his head down unsubtly.

He went, licking and kissing his way down Draconius’s fluttering, pale tummy, to his leaking,
hard cock. Draconius moaned when Harry swallowed it in his mouth.

It wasn’t the first cock Harry had ever sucked. But it was the first time he actually wanted to
do it. Now he could almost understand why Draconius got off on sucking cock. The feel of
Draconius’s cock moving in his mouth was surprisingly okay. The noises the boy was making
were more than just okay, and Harry sucked the cock harder, wanting to hear more of them.

When he sensed that Draconius was close, Harry pulled off. Looking at the panting, flushed
boy under him, he reached down and gave his own cock a tug, to stave off his arousal, a little
surprised that he hadn’t lost his erection at all while he sucked Draco’s.

“Lube?” Draconius said, looking at Harry’s cock with something that could only be described
as hunger.

And fuck, did he want to sate that hunger.

“Yes,” Harry said tersely, reaching out to the drawer for the bottle of lube and condoms he
kept there. “Get on your stomach.”

Draconius blinked at him dazedly, watching Harry slick his fingers up, and then did as he was
told: he got on his knees, elbows dropping to the bed, ass up and back curved in an arch that
was pure pornography.
Harry licked his dry lips, remembering how tight that ass was, how good it felt to be inside it
and watch Draconius come apart on his cock.

Setting his jaw, Harry put on a condom and prepped the boy as carefully as his impatience
allowed, unable to look away from Draconius’s hole, which was red and shiny where it was
stretched around his thick fingers.

“Come on,” Draconius whispered, his voice catching. “Please. Don’t want fingers—want
you.”

“Yeah.” Harry removed his fingers, watching in fascination as the hole clenched around
nothing. Leaning down, he gave it a long lick.

Draconius moaned, his back arching. “Harry—”

Harry gave his hole another lick before straightening and lining his cock up against the
glistening opening. He nudged the fat head against it, teasing them both for a long moment
before pushing in with a groan. Draconius shuddered under him, a high pitched whine
leaving his lips as his inner walls clenched around Harry’s cock tightly.

Christ. So fucking good.

Gripping Draconius’s hips, Harry started thrusting, his eyes squeezed shut, a snarl twisting
his lips as he focused on not coming like a goddamn virgin. He wanted to make Draconius
feel good. That was his priority, not his own pleasure.

Teeth sunk deep into his bottom lip, Harry angled his thrusts until he managed to hit
Draconius’s prostate at least on every other thrust. It was surprisingly difficult and not
because he didn’t know how to do it. He was proficient enough at sex with men, but with the
male marks he could easily focus on nailing the man’s prostate, because he didn’t have to
fight his own need to chase his pleasure. With the male marks, Harry had been an agent in
full control of himself; with Draconius, he was just a man struggling for control.
Draconius wasn’t exactly helping his self-control, fucking himself back on Harry’s cock with
wanton abandon, letting out a constant stream of moans and whines that only served to spur
Harry on even more. Draconius was such a sweet boy, but he was absolutely shameless in
bed. Harry liked it, liked what a slut for his cock the boy was. Draconius fucked as though he
couldn’t live without it—without Harry’s cock in him. It shouldn’t have been so damn
arousing, but fuck…

Harry felt his thrusts grow forceful and erratic, the headboard banging against the wall.
Growling, Harry grabbed Draconius’s cock and started stroking it in the same rhythm as his
thrusts. Draconius sobbed out something unintelligible and came, his hole clenching hard
around Harry’s cock.

Groaning, Harry let his control slip further, his grip on Draconius’s hips now bruising, and he
sucked harshly at the skin of Draconius’s nape as pleasure overtook him, drowning him in
sensations that intensified until they exploded in a climax that left him clutching Draconius to
him.

God. Jesus fucking Christ.

It felt like hours passed before he could think again.

“Fuck, I’m crushing you.” He rolled off Draconius and kissed the back of the boy’s neck,
breathing in his scent. “Are you okay?”

The last remnants of his afterglow disappeared when Draco didn’t answer, his back still
turned to Harry. “Draconius?”

The platinum haired boy sat up. “I’m fine.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, studying the boy’s back. “Did I hurt you?” he said, sitting up and
touching Draco’s shoulder.
Draconius squirmed away from the touch instead of leaning into it as usual.

Harry’s blood went cold.

“Of course not,” Draconius said with a chuckle, finally turning his head. “It was bloody
amazing and you know it, but I think… I think we shouldn’t—I should stop asking you to
fool around with me.” He smiled crookedly. “It will be smarter if we don’t do this anymore.
It’s not exactly helping my crush. I refuse to be that stupid, clingy gay kid who can’t take the
hint.” He laughed a little, looking down. When he lifted his gaze back to Harry, his
expression was achingly honest. “But if we keep this up, I know I’ll become him. I know you
have something of a soft spot for me, but promise me you won’t indulge me from now on. I
don’t want to get my hopes up only to get them crushed again and again. And I don’t want
my—my stupid crush to ruin our relationship. I don’t want us to lose what we have over
something that’ll never work out. Not with you.”

Harry could only stare at him, too surprised to speak. Although, surprise was a very
inadequate word for the confusing storm of emotions inside him.

Draconius got out of the bed and picked up his discarded clothes. Slipping into his shirt, he
walked back to Harry and kissed him chastely on the cheek. “Thanks for the great sex,
Harry,” he mumbled with a yawn. “Don’t worry, I’m going to work on getting over my stupid
crush. Friends?”

“Of course.” He should have probably been relieved, but all he felt was wrong-footed and
confused.

Draconius smiled at him and padded out of the room with a sleepy, “Good night.”

As the door closed after him, Harry stared at it unseeingly.

Jess Sanders loved her job. The shop was upmarket, so it was rarely crowded or noisy. Most
of the time, she sat at the counter, reading fashion magazines or people watching, which she
liked the best.

Take that gay couple, for example.

Well, Jess assumed that they were a couple. If they were friends, they were very strange ones
for sure.

The dark-haired man clearly belonged to the wealthy clientele the shop catered to. It was
obvious not only from the Rolex on his wrist and his impeccable dark suit, but also from the
self-assured way the man carried himself. He smelled of money and power, which wasn’t all
that unusual or noteworthy; Jess saw ten men like him every day.

It was his companion that was interesting.

Jess couldn’t think of a reason a man like that would be friends with the blond in those cheap,
ill-fitting clothes and worn sneakers. Truth be told, the owner of the shop had told Jess to
make sure that poor people didn’t “ruin the look of the shop.” Jess wasn’t sure how she was
supposed to accomplish that even if she were inclined to listen to her employer. Besides, she
had a feeling that even if she did try to be cold and condescending toward the platinum haired
boy, she wouldn’t like the other man’s reaction.

She didn’t think they were friends. They were the cutest, and Jess didn’t mean their looks,
although they were that too. In Jess’s opinion, they were absolutely adorable together. The
dark-haired man seemed very insistent about buying his companion everything the blond
took even a slight shine to, without even glancing at the price tag, so they ended up with a
sizable pile of jackets, jeans, shirts, and jumpers. The red-haired man—boy, really—was
looking a little overwhelmed as they approached the counter.

Jess flipped her magazine closed, moved to the register, and added up the piles of clothes.
“That’ll be 1942 pounds.”
The platinum blond spluttered, his silver eyes going comically wide.

Jess felt a pang of discomfort. Maybe she should have made sure the kid knew that the
clothes weren’t cheap. It was going to be awkward as hell.

Thankfully, the other man didn’t even blink. He pulled out his wallet and handed Jess his
credit card.

“Harry, that’s too much,” the boy protested as Jess politely pretended to be engrossed in
packing the clothes into bags. “Seriously, I don’t—”

“It’s fine,” the one called Harry said, his tone final. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But—”

“Draconius, don’t worry about it,” Harry said, his voice softening as he noticed the blond’s
discomfort. “I know it makes you uncomfortable, but it makes me uncomfortable too to see
you in rags while I’m wearing a designer suit. It makes me look like a prick. People will
think I’m not taking good care of you.”

Draconius snorted. “Do you think I don’t know what you’re trying to do?” he said, rolling his
eyes. “And it’s not your job to take care of me.”

“It isn’t my job,” Harry conceded, looking at him intently. “I want to do it. Please indulge
me?”

Jess suppressed the urge to smile as the blond blushed and dropped his gaze, his long
eyelashes fluttering against his pale cheeks.
Seriously, they were the cutest!

“Jessica?” Harry said, glancing at her nametag.

Realizing that she still hadn’t returned his card to him, Jess flushed and did just that. “Thanks
for shopping here! Please come back.”

Nodding politely, Harry picked up the bags and steered Draconius out of the shop with a hand
on the boy’s lower back.

Jess smiled to herself as the door closed after them.

At moments like this, she almost wished she were into men. It would have been pretty nice to
have a nice older bloke who would shower her in expensive presents and treat her like a
princess.

Jess chuckled. No amount of nice clothes would make her like cock.

It was a good thing she could always find a nice older woman.

Sometimes being the Head of MI6’s HR department could be tedious, mused Rachel
Longwood as she knocked on the door. She wished she could delegate this visit to one of her
assistants, but none of them were equipped to deal with Agent 11. Debora would no doubt let
him sweet talk her into agreeing with whatever he wanted while Alan… He was a competent
assistant and sweet person, but Rachel had to admit he lacked the spine to handle Agent 11.
The door opened, revealing a platinum blond who looked only vaguely familiar to her.
Rachel had seen him only in passing, since it was Debora who handled trainees. Rachel
hadn’t been surprised when the boy had filed his resignation form a few weeks ago—many
trainees did, unfortunately, unable to handle the pressure or the physical training. But she had
been very surprised this morning when Agent 11’s handler had informed her that apparently
the boy was still living with the agent.

“Ma’am?” Draco said.

“Hello.” Rachel smiled. “Is he home?”

“You know I am,” Agent 11 said, coming up over Draco’s shoulder. His inscrutable eyes
studied her for a moment. “What a surprise, Rachel. But come on in.” He touched the boy’s
shoulder gently and Draco walked away. He sprawled out on the huge brown couch and
picked up the iPad that lay there. The boy didn’t look their way as Agent 11 motioned for
Rachel to sit on the couch on the other side of the room and dropped himself in the armchair
opposite her.

“Well?” Agent 11 said, looking at her expectantly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

As the Head of HR, Rachel knew his real name was Harry, but he had never invited her to
call him by his first name, and, truth be told, she couldn’t think of him as Harry. Although he
was younger than her, Agent 11 had been with MI6 longer. He had always been Agent 11 to
her, a handsome but aloof agent she had always had trouble reading. He could be such a
chameleon if the mission required it—confident, shy, arrogant, humble, flirtatious, serious—
that it was hard to tell which of his personalties was real.

Rachel raised her eyebrows, glancing toward the boy lounging on the other couch. “You can
probably guess why I’m here.”

Agent 11’s expression didn’t change. “I fail to see how my guests are of any concern to MI6’s
HR.”
Sometimes Rachel forgot that Agent 11 came from an aristocratic family, his bloodline as old
as the Queen’s. Looking at his haughty expression, she could easily believe it, but then again,
perhaps that casual arrogance stemmed from the agent’s confidence in his abilities. Perhaps it
was a bit of both.

In any case, she absolutely refused to be intimidated by his flat gaze, loathing the fact that she
no longer felt as confident as she had been. That wouldn’t do.

“Non-disclosure clause is in your contract for a reason, A11,” she said. “Your guest isn’t
cleared to know anything about your job, and yet he’s living with you while you’re
conducting a classified mission. He can’t live with you now that he isn’t with us. He can’t be
privy to classified information.”

The boy snorted from his couch, confirming her suspicion that he wasn’t as engrossed in his
iPad as he was pretending.

Shooting Draco a look she couldn’t quite read, Agent 11 leaned back in his chair. “Draconius,
why won’t you come here and tell the nice lady what you think?”

The blond was by his side in a matter of seconds. Crossing his arms over his chest, the young
man perched himself on the armrest of Agent 11’s chair. Nearly losing his balance, Draco
grabbed the agent’s shoulder and peered at Rachel with bright silver eyes. “Look, unless you
can make me magically unlearn the classified information I already learned before I quit MI6,
what’s the point? Isn’t it smarter to keep me where you can have an eye on me instead of
letting me leave and sell your precious classified information to someone else?”

Rachel pursed her lips and looked at Agent 11, but he didn’t look bothered by the boy’s sass
at all. In fact, he also didn’t seem bothered that the boy still hadn’t removed his hand from his
shoulder.

Rachel looked from one to the other curiously, trying to guess what sort of relationship they
had. She had always prided herself on reading people well, but now she was at a loss. Agent
11 and Draco Malfoy didn’t have the body language of friends; that she was sure of. Beyond
that, she wasn’t sure. While she didn’t think they were lovers—Agent 11’s reluctance when it
came to seducing male marks was well known—there was something there, something she
couldn’t put her finger on.
For one thing, Agent 11 wasn’t one to look so at ease with someone all over his personal
space. Rachel admired Harry Potter’s ability to convey emotions he didn’t feel, but even he
couldn’t completely erase the barely noticeable tension in his muscles whenever someone got
too close to him—tension that wasn’t there now.

How curious.

It was interesting that the agent’s guard wasn’t down at all; he just seemed to regard the
platinum blond as… something safe? Perhaps something that was included in his personal
bubble? Like an extension of him.

Curiouser and curiouser.

“Maybe,” Rachel conceded. “But the rules are there for a reason.” She looked at Agent 11
firmly. “It is explicitly stated in your contract that you can only tell your spouse about your
job, or your appointed next-of-kin if you don’t have one. That’s it. So I’m afraid Draco can’t
live with you. It would set a bad precedent for other agents.” Just thinking about it gave her a
headache. She would be the one dealing with all the complaints and demands from other
agents if she let Agent 11 get away with this.

Rachel pretended not to see Draco’s face fall when he realized she wasn’t budging on this.
On the inside, she winced. She wasn’t heartless. She knew the kid had never really had a
home, and now she was taking his home away again. She did feel sorry for him. But rules
were rules, and she hadn’t become Head of MI6’s HR by being soft.

“Fine,” Agent 11 said. “I’ll fill out the necessary paperwork tomorrow.”

She blinked. “Pardon?”

Agent 11 rose to his feet. “I’ll put Draco as my next-of-kin.”

It took all her considerable self-control to keep herself from gaping.

Rachel said slowly, “You want this boy to be the person to make decisions concerning your
health if you’re incapacitated?” For an active field agent, that was a legitimate concern, so it
was an incredible show of trust.

Agent 11 gave her a cool look. “Yes, I’m aware what next-of-kin is.”

“Well,” she said, getting to her feet and glancing at the boy, who had a strange expression on
his face. “I suppose it’s your right to choose whoever you want. I’ll show myself out.” She
strode toward the door, her heels clicking loudly in the tense silence that fell over the room.
“By the way,” she said, pausing with her hand on the door handle, “Amanda wants a status
report on the Whitford mission.”

Agent 11 gave a clipped nod while Draco looked down.

Rachel let herself out, feeling more bewildered than she had been in years.

What was going on between those two?

As the door closed after Rachel, Draconius said quietly, without looking at him, “You don’t
have to do it, you know. I can live somewhere else. I don’t want you to feel like you have to
—”

“I wouldn’t tell her that if I didn’t want it,” Harry said, shrugging. “There’s no one I trust
more than you, anyway.”
His eyes suspiciously shiny, Draconius smiled at him, lunged forward, and hugged him hard,
burying his face against Harry’s throat.

Harry hugged back.

They stood like that for a while, the room silent, as Draconius clung to him like a small child,
his breathing unsteady and shaky, while Harry pretended not to notice the wetness on his
neck.

When Draconius lifted his head a few minutes later, he looked more composed. “Thanks,
Harry,” he said thickly. “I’m—I’m honored that you trust me that much. I’m…” He
swallowed and smiled. “I trust you more than anyone, too.”

Harry returned the smile. “Good to know,” he said dryly. “Now that we’ve established mutual
trust, I guess I can stop hiding the family heirlooms under my bed.”

Draconius laughed, his silver eyes bright with mirth. “Family heirlooms, huh?” he said, his
arms still looped around Harry’s waist. “Are they valuable?”

Harry made an affirmative sound, his chest tight with affection as he stared at Draconius’s
grinning face. Fuck, he was so… Leaning in, he kissed Draconius on the nose. It wasn’t
enough. His gaze dropped to Draconius’s generous, soft lips, and the urge to crush them with
his own was nearly irresistible.

Bloody buggering hell.

Harry stepped back hurriedly, flushing. Jesus, he didn’t know anymore what was wrong with
him where Draconius was concerned.
He knew that he liked coming home to a sleepy-eyed Draconius waiting up for him no matter
how late it was. He knew that he liked cooking for two, that he liked teaching Draconius how
to cook without burning down the house. He liked buying Draconius things and watching his
pretty eyes light up. He liked seeing Draconius in the clothes he’d bought for him. He liked
seeing Draconius happy and being the cause for his happiness.

Separately, none of those things were particularly odd. But together, he had to admit they
were a bit strange.

Not to mention that wanting to snog Draconius without being asked to was more than just a
bit strange, considering the fact that he was straight and Draconius seemed to genuinely want
to be just friends. In the past few weeks since they’d had sex, Draconius had been perfectly
affectionate and friendly, but there was a barely noticeable distance between them that hadn’t
been there before—distance that bothered Harry more than it should have.

“Something wrong?” Draconius said, cocking his head.

“No,” Harry said, unclenching his jaw. He glanced at his watch. “Just remembered that I need
to pick Luke up.”

Draconius nodded, his expression neutral. “How is it going? You’re still not official?”

Harry eyed him carefully, but try as he might, he couldn’t see even a hint of jealousy. It
seemed Draconius was truly over his little crush, which was… good. It was. “No. We’re just
casually dating. He’s been very busy dealing with the fallout of his father’s death. I promised
to help him sort through some documents, actually.”

“That’s promising, isn’t it?” Draconius said. “What about Roman Demidov?”

Harry frowned at the reminder. “He’s still in Switzerland. He hasn’t made any contact with
Luke. Maybe Luke has nothing to do with his father’s death, after all.”
Draconius pursed his lips. “Or maybe they know that MI6 is watching them.”

Harry shrugged, grabbing his keys from the counter. “Don’t forget that you have your classes
in two hours.”

Smiling, Draconius rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dad.”

“I’m not your dad,” Harry said and almost grimaced. His voice had come out much sharper
than he had intended.

Draconius raised his eyebrows, eyeing him curiously. “You’ve been weird today. Scratch that,
you’ve been a bit weird for weeks. Tense.”

“I have a stressful job, Draco,” Harry said, shrugging into his jacket.

Draconius chuckled. “Has anyone told you how ingenious your way of lying without lying
is? I know you have a stressful job. It isn’t the reason you’ve been weird. And you never call
me Draco unless there’s something off.”

Torn between feeling ridiculously proud and feeling dismayed that he was apparently so easy
to read, Harry gave him a lopsided smile. “Sorry. I think I just need to get laid. I get too damn
irritable if I don’t.” It was true enough, though he didn’t know why he was telling that to
Draconius.

You know why, you slimy bastard.

Harry ignored the voice at the back of his mind, watching Draconius’s reaction.

Draconius’s eyes widened, his nostrils flaring. “So you haven’t had sex with anyone since
we…” He trailed off, flushing, and then shrugged. “It’s been weeks. You should get laid.”
When Draconius didn’t offer to suck his cock, as he’d half-expected, Harry nodded. “Maybe
I should. Don’t wait up for me.”

Draconius was already looking at his iPad. “I won’t,” he muttered distractedly, paying him no
attention.

Harry looked at him for a few moments and then left.

He didn’t slam the door, but it was a close thing.

Attending remedial courses wasn’t as scary as Draco had expected when Harry had talked
him into it weeks ago. No one laughed at him for being stupid. Everyone attending these
classes was in a similar position to him. Draco wasn’t even the oldest kid around, so he didn’t
stick out like a sore thumb. He had actually made a few friends his age, Lisa and Andy.
Although he didn’t have a lot in common with them, he liked them. They were so… normal.
They made him feel normal, too. It was such a novel feeling, considering that he’d gone from
being a homeless pickpocket to living in a fancy house in Kensington.

“Want me to drop you off?” Andy said as they walked out of the building.

Draco shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ll take the tube. It’s not dark yet—”

Lisa elbowed him discreetly and mouthed, Shut up.

Draco blinked, confused.

Sighing exasperatedly, Lisa leaned to his ear and hissed, “He likes you, idiot.”

Slowly, Draconius looked from her to Andy, who flushed immediately.

Oh.

Now that Draco thought about it, he couldn’t believe how he had missed it. He wasn’t exactly
inexperienced. It was just… He couldn’t imagine being with someone other than Harry. And
that was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it? He’d forgotten that other people could be
attracted to him and that he could be attracted to other people. He was too hung up on Harry.

In all honesty, Draco knew he should start looking at other guys. He needed to put Harry out
of his mind and his heart. There was no point in moping over something that was never going
to happen. He had been trying—he had been trying so hard—but fuck, it wasn’t easy. His
heart refused to listen to his brain, no matter how determined Draco was to get over his
feelings for Harry before he could do something stupid… like tell Harry that he loved him.

Like he’d done weeks ago during sex.

The memory made his chest tighten. I love you. He’d blurted it out as he came, but
thankfully, his words were probably too unintelligible for Harry to hear clearly. Draco had
wanted to say them again after the sex—when their bodies had still been joined, with Harry
breathing heavily against his skin, still high from his orgasm. They had seemed so close to
each other at that moment, and the words were almost choking him, wanting out. I love you, I
love you, I love you.

It had scared him shitless.

In a way, having sex with Harry had helped. It had rid him of the delusion that he could fool
around with Harry without getting his heart broken. He was well on his way to getting his
heart broken if he didn’t do something.

Something like going out with another bloke.

Suppressing his unease, Draco smiled at Andy, trying to see him as a potential boyfriend.

Andy wasn’t unattractive. He had a nice, strong face with nice blue eyes and reddish brown
hair. He would never be as devastatingly attractive as his Harry, but—

Draco exhaled noisily, annoyed as hell. Harry wasn’t his. Harry would never truly be his.
Harry was probably fucking some gorgeous woman at that very moment.

Pushing the thought away, Draco made himself smile at Andy. At least if there was one thing
he’d learned from Harry, it was how to fake interest and attraction when he actually felt
nothing.

Andy smiled back, bumping their shoulders together. “I do like you. So can I give you a
ride?”

Before Draco could reply, there was the sound of a car pulling over and he glanced that way.

His stomach did a small flip-flop when he saw the silver Mercedes. He hated that his world
immediately seemed to shrink to the man who was getting out of the car, all his senses
attuning to him.

“Damn,” Lisa said. “Nice.”

“I know,” Draco murmured before he could stop himself, earning a strange look from Andy.
Andy looked between him and the approaching man. “Do you know him?”

Draconius nodded, trying to look nonchalant as he said to Harry, “What are you doing here?”

Harry’s sharp gaze flicked to Andy for a moment before focusing on him. “My business
concluded earlier than expected. I figured I’d pick you up.”

“Draco’s already getting a ride from me,” Andy said, stepping closer to him.

Draco frowned at him, but before he could say anything, Harry said, very mildly, “Don’t
bother, lad. We live in Kensington and it would be pointless of you to drive all the way there
when I’m perfectly capable of driving Draconius home.”

“You live together?” Lisa all but squeaked.

“I thought you said you didn’t have family,” Andy said, turning to Draco.

“He doesn’t,” Harry said, his gaze lazy and his tone casual, as if he had no idea that he was
giving them the wrong impression.

Draco stared at him incredulously, too confused to be angry.

Smiling, Harry turned to Lisa and shook her hand. “Harry Potter.”

“Lisa,” she said simply, smiling a little.

Draco hoped the expression on his face wasn’t too sour. “Let’s go, then,” he said, striding
toward Harry’s car. “Bye,” he said belatedly, waving to Lisa and Andy. Lisa put her fingers
up to her ear like a phone and mouthed at him, “Call me.”
Andy avoided his gaze, his jaw clenched.

Feeling a pang of guilt, Draco got in the passenger’s seat and waited for Harry to get into the
driver’s seat.

“What the fuck?” Draco said. It didn’t come out angry; he was still mostly confused.

Harry pulled out of the driveway. “What do you mean? I’m driving you home.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Stop pretending you don’t understand. You just—you made them
think we’re an item. On purpose! You don’t do anything accidentally.”

Harry’s eyes were fixed on the road. “I didn’t like how that bloke was looking at you.”

Draco blinked. “Andy? And how was he looking at me?”

A sneer twisted Harry’s lips. “He’s the typical horny teenager looking for an easy shag.”

Draco stared at him. “I thought we agreed that I should go out and get a crush on someone
my age?”

“You should,” Harry said testily after a short pause. “But that kid wasn’t good enough for
you. It’s obvious that he cares only about getting his rocks off. He doesn’t give a damn about
you.”

“And you determined all of this after knowing him for a total of ten seconds?” Draco said
wryly, giving Harry a curious look. If he didn’t know better, he’d think…
“I’m a spy,” Harry said evenly. “I’m trained to notice these things.”

Right. Of course.

Draco pursed his lips. “What if all I wanted was a good shag, too? Andy will do nicely for
that.”

A muscle pulsed in Harry’s jaw. “Do whatever you want, then.”

Draco sighed. “Look, thanks for looking out for me, but I can take care of myself. I don’t
need to be coddled.”

The tension didn’t leave Harry’s body. He said nothing.

Draco sighed again, reaching out and squeezing Harry’s arm. “Come on, Harry. I don’t want
us to be mad at each other. I really, really appreciate that you care, but there’s such a thing as
overprotectiveness, you know?”

Harry remained silent, looking straight ahead even though they were stuck in traffic.

“Come on,” Draco said, moving closer and pressing his cheek to Harry’s shoulder. “Stop
sulking. I hate when you sulk. You get all distant and frosty, and you aren’t allowed to be
distant and frosty with me.”

“Brat,” Harry said with a snort. “I’ve spoiled you rotten.”

Grinning, Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s scruffy cheek. “I love being spoiled by you,” he
whispered, blushing. He loved the attention, the care in Harry’s gifts. “So, let’s kiss and make
up?”
Harry turned his head and kissed him forcefully, the kiss wet, deep, and toe-curling.

It ended as suddenly as it started.

Breathing unsteadily, Draco stared at Harry in confusion as the other man stared at the car in
front, which had finally started moving. Harry looked calm and collected, but Draco knew
that with Harry it could mean nothing.

“What was that?” Draco finally said with a chuckle, touching his wet, trembling lips.

“I did what you told me,” Harry said stiffly, without looking at him. “We kissed and made
up.”

Draco gave him an incredulous look but chose not to voice his disbelief. He didn’t speak to
Harry for the rest of the drive.

He had a lot to think about.

And plot.

That night, as he lay in his soft bed, Draco carefully considered his options.

On one hand, he had never been one to give up on something he wanted without a fight. If
there was even a slim chance that Harry actually wanted him—wanted him beyond Draconius
wants it, it feels pretty nice, so why not?—then Draco would be damned if he didn’t fight for
that chance.

On the other hand, he didn’t want to ruin their relationship just because he was too greedy for
more, and there was nothing more important to him than his relationship with Harry. He
finally had a person he adored and who cared about him, too. He finally had a home, and
Draco didn’t mean this house, no matter how nice it was. He would happily live with Harry
in a shack as long as Harry loved him back.

Even admitting it in his head made him nervous. Not because he thought that Harry would
throw him out if he found out that Draco was in love with him—after Harry had made him
his next-of-kin, Draco felt secure enough about their relationship to know that Harry
wouldn’t do it—but because a big part of him was sure that Harry would never love him
back, and that he was just setting himself up for hurt.

But maybe Harry could love him.

That tantalizing thought was all he could think about after Harry had kissed him. Even
thinking about the possibility made him warm and shivery on the inside.

He would do anything for Harry’s love.

But before he could act, he needed to know for sure that Harry really wanted him.

There was too much at risk.

The next evening Draco returned from his classes earlier than usual. Although it was nine
already, Harry wasn’t home yet. That would normally worry him—he didn’t like how much
Harry worked—but that day it suited him just fine.

Draco ordered pizza, took a shower, and then went to Harry’s bedroom. Opening the
wardrobe, he examined its contents. Shaking his head fondly at the amount of expensive suits
that all looked the same to him, Draco found a gray-green t-shirt that hopefully didn’t cost
hundreds of pounds and put it on. It was very soft and smelled faintly of Harry.

Draco smiled at his reflection. The color brought out his eyes nicely. Although he wasn’t
much shorter than Harry, he didn’t have Harry’s shoulders and pecs, so the shirt looked pretty
big on him, falling just below his thighs. It was the perfect length—not too short to seem
indecent but short enough to accentuate his long, smooth legs. His legs were his best feature,
in Draco’s opinion, and he wasn’t shy to exploit them. Neither was he shy to exploit the fact
that Harry liked seeing him in his clothes. Harry wasn’t obvious about it, but he always
touched him more when Draco wore his clothes. That had to mean something, right?

Biting his lips a few times, to make them redder, and running his hand through his hair,
Draco nodded at his reflection, satisfied with his appearance. He would totally shag himself.
If Harry didn’t want him… Well, at least he would know for sure that he had no chance with
Harry and would stop hoping for impossible, this time for good.

Draco went to the living room just in time to open the door for the pizza man. After paying
for the pizza and setting it on the coffee table, Draco put the TV on and stretched out on the
couch. Harry had texted him that he’d be home soon. Now all he had to do was wait.

He didn’t have to wait for long.

Not five minutes later, the door opened and Harry walked in. Dropping his briefcase by the
door, Harry shrugged out of his jacket with a weary sigh.

“I’m getting too old for this,” he said, flopping down on the space left by Draco’s legs and
dropping his head on Draco’s stomach.
Draco tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach and analyzed the other man’s behavior.
There was another perfectly comfortable couch in the room, but Harry had chosen Draco’s.
That had to mean something, right?

“Poor thing,” Draco murmured, threading his fingers through Harry’s hair and massaging his
scalp. “How was your day?”

“Annoying,” Harry said, nuzzling into Draco’s stomach. “Is that my shirt?”

“It was.”

Harry snorted softly. “I thought we bought you plenty of clothes so you could stop stealing
mine.”

“Liar,” Draco said with a smile. “You bought me clothes because you like buying me things.”

“Guilty as charged,” Harry mumbled, closing his eyes.

“Are you going to sleep on me?”

“Probably.”

“There’s a pizza.”

“Hmm, tempting, but not tempting enough to make me get up.”

Draco was glad Harry couldn’t see the lovesick look on his face. “I think you should quit
your job if it wears you out so much.”
“Which one?” Harry said with a sigh, burrowing deeper into Draco’s stomach, his large
hands settling on Draco’s bare thighs.

Draco cringed, desperately trying to think of something gross. A boner was the last thing he
needed right now. The evening wasn’t exactly going as he’d envisioned. While Harry was
touching him, he didn’t even seem to notice what he was doing; he clearly was just
comfortable with him.

Draco had hoped… He didn’t know what he’d hoped for. That Harry would suddenly realize
how sexy he was and jump his bones? Stupid.

“Speaking of my job,” Harry murmured, his words muffled by Draco’s shirt. “I’m going on a
business trip to Tokyo. I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

Draco’s brows furrowed. “How long will you be gone?”

“A week.”

Draco pursed his lips unhappily, his stomach lurching. A week without Harry seemed like a
lifetime.

“A week?” he repeated.

Harry heaved a sigh. “It’s not ideal, but there’s nothing I can do. The negotiations are too
important to send someone else. The mission will have to wait. MI6 will watch Luke while
I’m gone.”

What about me?

Draco bit the inside of his cheek, swallowing back the snappish words. He refused to be
clingy. He wouldn’t be clingy. He wouldn’t.

“I wish I could take you with me,” Harry said as if hearing his thoughts. “You’d love Japan.”

Warmed by Harry’s words, Draco smiled and parted his legs wider to accommodate Harry’s
shoulders between them. Their position probably looked pretty obscene. To the casual eye, it
probably looked as though Harry was giving him head.

His cock twitched at the thought.

“You’ve been to Japan before?”

“Yeah, a few times.” Harry’s thumb traced Draco’s thigh lazily. “Had a long mission there
once. Nice culture… really interesting. And people. I liked the people.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there,” Draco said.

Harry didn’t say anything for a few moments.

“There was a woman,” he said, his voice a little hollow and wistful. “I fell in love with her.”

Draco’s smile faded.

“Obviously, it didn’t work out. Long-distance relationships rarely do. But…” Harry trailed
off.

Draco squirmed from under Harry and jumped to his feet. “Pizza’s getting cold!”
Now he understood why people said “crushing” before disappointment and sadness; it felt
like a vice around his chest, his lungs, the weight of it heavy and overwhelming, making it
hard to breathe.

He couldn’t quite meet Harry’s eyes for the rest of the evening, not wanting Harry to see how
upset he was. It wasn’t like he’d forgotten that Harry was straight—he never forgot that—
but…

Maybe he had forgotten, after all. He’d never seen Harry with a woman he was truly
interested in. Being reminded of Harry’s sexuality in such a way felt like a blow to his gut.
And to think that he’d actually entertained the thought that Harry might want him… It
seemed so pathetic and ridiculous now.

Was Harry still in love with that woman? Would he see her while he was in Japan?

The questions hovered on the tip of his tongue for the rest of the evening but never left his
lips. A coward. He was being a coward. It wasn’t like it mattered whether Harry loved some
woman or not. He certainly didn’t love him.

So Draco used everything he’d learned at MI6 and put a smile on his lips—a smile he
couldn’t feel. He joked, he smiled, and he laughed. If Harry noticed anything, he didn’t
comment.

The evening was… tolerable. Even though his pathetic plan of seduction had been an utter
failure, he wasn’t going to complain about an evening spent with Harry.

Beggars can’t be choosers, Draconius thought bitterly, pushing away his disappointment and
swearing to himself that this would be the last time he let his hopes up where Harry was
concerned.

Straight men didn’t become gay in real life.

At least not for someone like Draco.
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