I don't want to be his tutor!

The dinner party went surprisingly well. The topics of conversation were suspiciously neutral; they discussed the weather, their studies, and their plans for the future. However, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy asked Harry about the future most assiduously, making a lot of clarifying questions. Lucius was even writing something down in a threatening-looking black notebook. And the guards, who seemed to be more than fifty in the dining room, were a little disconcerting to an already tense Harry. But none of that mattered when he caught Draco’s attentive gaze. Harry felt him with his skin, every cell in his body, energized with calmness and confidence by the soft omega pheromones. Perhaps it wasn’t the pheromones, but the insistent sharp knee Draco used to shove him under the table every time he picked up the wrong fork or made a mistake in answering his parents' questions. Unfortunately, Draco’s attempt to discreetly reprimand him was perceived quite differently by Harry’s brain. Malfoy’s hidden touches under the table spilled a completely unnecessary heat over Harry’s body. His brain was starting to remember yesterday and Draco’s silver eyes drunk on alpha pheromones, his exposed stomach and soft lips glistening with saliva. As luck would have it Harry’s fantasies didn’t have time to flare up too brightly. Draco finally noticed his ambiguous reaction and, realizing what was happening, removed his foot. The rest of the evening passed quietly. Only one point escaped his grasp. Why was he now standing in the guest bedroom of Malfoy Manor in front of a spread bed, dressed in his issued pajamas! How did that happen?! Harry wasn’t used to sleeping in such huge rooms. He looked around his intimidating mansion in disbelief. Antique shelving and chests of drawers, dark emerald wallpaper, and a heavy canopy over the wide bed. Malfoy Manor was typically classically English, even in the guest rooms. Was I really going to spend the night here? By the way, how far is Draco’s room…? After curling up sleepless in the huge bed for a few hours, he carefully peered out into the dark night corridor. Apart from the intimidating guard, barely recognizable in the darkness, standing at the very end, there was no one. Harry didn’t get it, was this guard assigned to guard the room to make sure no one went in or out? That obnoxious blond guy squeezed me out, taking all my energy! He’s definitely sleeping on his ass right now, not feeling the least bit guilty…. Harry decided that a little meditation would help with the raging thoughts, dimmed the lights, and settled into the lotus position on the bed. But no matter how hard he tried, all the ever living and long dead inhabitants of this Malfoy Manor appeared before his eyes. And every one of them was looking at him reproachfully, shaking their heads as if they were reading his lewd thoughts. Harry took a deep breath and frowned irritably, trying to focus. At that moment, there was a quiet knock on the door. Fully convinced that he had imagined it amongst the other strange creaks and rustles of the old manor, Harry drew his eyebrows together to the point of pain in his skull and began counting down from one to ten. On the sixth count, the knocking repeated. Harry jumped up from his bed and tiptoed to the door. As he approached, he could distinctly smell the sweet, organ-twisting odor through the slits in the canvas. With a shaky hand, Harry opened the door. A white blanket cocoon stood in the pitch black corridor, with Draco’s head peeking out on top of it. His sleepy, tired look told him without words that he hadn’t been able to sleep, and he was overly unhappy with the long wait. “Are you going to let me in, or are we going to stand here like this?” “Do I really have to do this?” exactly copying the phrase Draco had told him on his first visit, Harry replied, smiling slyly. Draco’s already heavy eyes darkened and he cast a quick glance toward the end of the corridor. “If you don’t let me in, I’ll have Mr. Zabini shoot you in the leg.” Harry glanced at the guard in disbelief. The guard had already approached and was standing only a step away from them. He didn’t look much older than they were, but his sharp eyes and straight posture indicated a strict military bearing. Mr. Zabini kept his eyes on Harry, ready to react lightning fast to any suspicious movement he made and to immediately carry out any order from the barely standing Draco. The heavy sandalwood pheromone was clearly showing he was not happy about their nightly encounter. “I can hardly believe he’s going to shoot,” Harry looked around the empty hallway in mistrust. “Blaise.” Draco raised a relaxed palm. Without a change in his face, the guard threw back the hem of his jacket, pulled out a pistol, and pointed the muzzle at Harry’s thigh. The gun’s safety clicked. “Oh, shit!” Harry exclaimed, frozen in place. Draco gestured for the cold-blooded gunman to stop and smugly chuckled. “I made a mistake, Mr. Malfoy,” Harry bowed and cleared the doorway. “I deeply apologize and invite you to enter the quarters you generously provided for such a lowly me.” “Of course, you are.” Draco strode barefoot inside the bedroom in a proud blanket cocoon. Harry closed the door quietly behind him, encountering the guard’s heavy, penetrating stare in the dark crevice. “How did you even get here?” Harry asked, watching Draco look around with interest. “What do you mean?” “The guard saw you.” “I live here,” Draco replied with a grimace on his face. “That’s my guard.” “Yeah I mean… Your parents.” Harry said with difficulty stringing words together. Draco Malfoy was in his bedroom and that fact confused his thoughts. “What will they think when they find out you came to my room at night looking like that?” “Oh, come on!” Draco waved it off, looking at Harry’s things on the bedside table with interest. “What else did my mother leave you here for?” There came an awkward pause in the room. Draco watched Harry blush rapidly for a few moments, then he finally realized the incorrectness of his wording. Harry, meanwhile, blushed definitively and no longer knew where to hide his gaze. “I’m talking about night and quiet conversations, what were you thinking, testosterone head?” Draco exclaimed and shook his head reproachfully, just like the imaginary Malfoy ancestors in Harry’s head. Draco strode over to the unfolded bed, pulled a bottle of wine and two glasses out of the warm blanket cocoon and stacked them neatly on the sheet. “You’ll have to excuse me, the room is small, no dining area,” Draco said, pulling Harry’s blanket and crumpled pillows under him. “The more decent guest rooms are being renovated right now.” Harry nodded silently, watching Draco dragging his worn shirt from the chair into bed as if nothing had happened. “It’s not too far from my room,” Draco continued through a stifled yawn, not taking his eyes off his work. Soon a cozy, safe circular space of clothes and bedding had formed around him, and Draco looked up to see Harry still strangely silent, standing at the foot of the bed. “What?” “How did I not realize you were an omega before,” Harry hummed thoughtfully, picking up his sock that had fallen off the floor during the omega’s concentrated construction. Draco suddenly darkened and shifted his eyebrows. “You’re tired, feeling lost, and that’s why you’re nesting. Look around,” Harry replied to his look of confusion. Draco looked around at his creation, noting with horror that it no longer looked like anything but a round, safe and soft nest. His long-sleeping brain was doing whatever it wanted, and Draco definitely didn’t like it. “No, it’s just blankets and pillows! Nothing else!” He waved him away. “No, you’re unknowingly making a soft place for yourself and…” Harry blushed again and this time even covered his eyes with his hand. “You’re using my stuff. With my… scent.” Draco found that in the folds of the blankets and pillows he could see pants, a sweatshirt, and even the bath towel so carefully given to Harry by his mother. “This is ridiculous!” Draco exclaimed and threw the completely unnecessary things on the floor. “Sit down!” Draco patted the empty seat in front of him. But Harry didn’t move. “Malfoy,” he began threateningly. “If you only need an alpha for one night, you’d better get back to your room.” Draco’s face turned rapidly colder, his gaze becoming somber and gloomy. He clenched his fists, trying to deal with the emotions he had been holding back for so long. When his eyes watered, he exhaled slowly. “I’m dying of confusion about tonight’s dinner. My head is exploding with everything that’s going on. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, what I’m going to do with my life,” he blurted out, his voice shaking in shame. Then he calmed down a little and added quietly: “So please sit next to me. Or I’ll find another alpha to keep me company!” Harry stepped closer, peering into his eyes ingratiatingly. “I don’t understand what you want from me,” Harry said, pulling the blanket carefully over Draco’s exposed knee. “You kick me out of the house yesterday, then you come in late at night in thin pajamas, what am I supposed to think?” As he approached Draco, Harry finally felt the unstable pheromones pouring off Draco’s skin. He was literally holding on to the edge of unconsciousness with his last strength, fighting his own changing body against his will. “I haven’t slept in almost two days. I can’t sleep,” Draco said quietly and looked up blurred. — “I thought I might be able to sleep here. With you. I don’t want to take advantage of you. Just help me if you can.” There was so much painful emotion in his words that Harry forgot how to breathe. He climbed onto the bed beside a horribly embarrassed Draco. “Look at me,” Harry said, gently fixing Draco’s fallen platinum bangs with his fingers. “Thank you. For being honest. And I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you at all.” Draco saw no mockery or sneer in the emerald eyes. Harry was genuinely pleased by his words. The realization of that made something strangely prickling inside. The night’s conversation casually began to take on a life of its own. They discussed the insistent parents, the food that had been served. When Harry said he had never tasted anything like it before, Draco firmly decided to feed him the entire fridge in the morning, forcing the numerous cooks to prepare the most exquisite dishes. Slowly relaxing into the warmth and sense of security, Draco filled his glass for the third time, only then noticing, in Harry’s glass, the amount of liquid hadn’t changed. “Your glass is still full,” Draco said glumly. Harry took a small sip, but immediately grumbled and set the glass aside. “It doesn’t taste good.” “It’s a red, dry, aged wine with chocolate and pomegranate notes and an oaky aftertaste!” Draco exclaimed, pounding his fist angrily on the blanket. “So?” Harry asked, genuinely not understanding how he could taste any of the above in such a sour taste. “It can’t be bad!” “It can be. And it is.” Harry eyed the ruby liquid suspiciously. “Sour, dry and…” he began. Draco grabbed his glass and poured the contents into his mouth in one fell swoop. Harry continued less confidently: “And disgusting…?” Draco moved forward and pressed his soft, wine-wet lips against Harry’s, eliciting a surprised moan from him. Then, without wasting a second, he pushed his tongue deep into Harry’s mouth, exploring confidently inside. The taste of red wine immediately mingled with the sweet pheromones that wafted thickly from Draco’s heated skin. After a couple of brief moments, Draco pulled away, drunk on the frantic heartbeat, smugly watching an equally drunken Harry. “What about now?” Draco asked as if nothing had happened. “You know, I haven’t had enough time to savor the flavor,” Harry replied glumly. His gaze darkened, his fingers digging into the sheet. Draco raised his eyebrows disappointedly and pulled back. “I’m not going to kiss you first for the third time,” he said indignantly. Draco reached for the bottle to refill his glass, but it was immediately intercepted by Harry. He grabbed the neck of the bottle and poured the wine straight into his mouth. Before Draco could move, Harry moved forward and took him by the face and kissed him greedily, sharing the pomegranate liquid in his mouth. Draco took a few sips, sadly noting that any other wine in the world would now seem empty and meaningless without Potter’s pheromones in it. “You’re so beautiful,” Harry breathed out huskily into the sweet lips. He turned away to once again admire the glittering gray eyes like mountain crystals. Lowering his gaze, Harry saw a scarlet wine drop. It came off Draco’s swollen lips from the kiss, traced a path down his chin, and rolled down to his chest. Harry grabbed Draco’s hair at the back of his neck without a second thought, tilting his head back, and buried his mouth against the exposed neck, running his tongue greedily over the snow-white skin. He carefully collected the wine that he had hated a few minutes ago, as if it were the world’s most precious nectar. Then he nuzzled his nose into the snow-white skin, finally letting himself go. His lungs were immediately soaked with a sweet, narcotic odor. Draco let out a strangled exhale. A muffled moan escaped from behind his thrown back head, making Harry’s mind go completely blank. Grabbing Draco by the hips, Harry planted him on top of him and pressed his hard erection into him. Through the soft fabric of their pajama pants, every sensation was felt so clearly, amplifying the synchronized heartbeats of both of them as if they were both without clothes at all. The room drowned in their scents, intoxicating their minds. Harry was going crazy. Draco Malfoy clung to him with his whole body, whimpering quietly and demanding more caresses and touches. Harry once again discovered Draco’s pale neck with a confident gesture. Unable to take his eyes off his bulging collarbones, he leaned closer, baring his fangs. When his teeth lightly touched the marble skin, Harry clenched his eyes painfully, trying to bring himself to his senses. Then he opened his eyes and touched the neck of Draco frozen in his arms with just one soft kiss. “We have to stop now,” Harry breathed out into Draco’s snow-white shoulder with difficulty. “What???” Draco straightened up and pulled away from him, peering anxiously into his eyes. “You’re about to go into heat,” Harry whispered and gently stroked the hips of Draco still sitting on top of him. “I can even feel your secreted moisture through your clothes. And your pheromones… It’s not safe for you.” Draco frowned and looked at Harry silently. He moved a strained gaze from one of his eyes to the other, trying to read his thoughts. To understand what he had done wrong, why Harry was pulling away from him. Sure, Draco hadn’t counted on having perfectly proper first sex, considering he’d thought he was an alpha for most of his life… But to fail so embarrassingly that even bloody Potter refused to take him? Interrupting the flow of self-destructive thoughts in Malfoy’s head, Harry reached for his hand, leaned it against his face, and kissed the palm softly. Then with pressure, but just as gently, he bit down on his wrist, taking another suppressed exhale from Draco. A neat barely visible fang mark was left on his skin. “I don’t want you to be with me because you’re drunk, in heat, or dead tired,” Harry whispered, clinging to the half-closed silver eyes. “I want to know that it’s you who likes me, not your body.” “You don’t believe me? You think I’m just drunk?” Draco exclaimed resentfully, pulling back his hand. Harry arched an eyebrow and leaned closer meaningfully. “You wanted to get into my bedroom so badly that you ordered a guard to shoot me in the leg. Does that sound like a conscious decision?” “Fair enough,” Draco pursed his lips and nodded in agreement. He then removed the bottle and glasses from the bed to the floor, wrapped the blanket around them in a quick motion, and plopped them back down on the pillows. Feeling the warm body next to him, caressing him so sweetly, Harry was afraid to move once more, lest the magical fairy tale end. He didn’t know how he had so much stamina and self-control, or how he could stop himself. Harry was pretty sure he was going to sink his fangs into Malfoy’s so obediently set neck. He wanted it. In that moment, he needed it more than he needed to breathe. It was more important than life itself. His whole gut wanted to make Draco, so soft and cuddly, his omega. What stopped him? Youthful romantic dreams? Politeness? Decency? Or the desire to win a fair victory? A victory when Draco Malfoy himself would ask to bite him, ask to tag him and make him his own. “Draco, I’m going to fall asleep like this,” Harry blinked heavily, drowning in sweet pheromones. “It’s okay, you can stay here,” Draco waved his hand through his sleep. “But this is my bedroom…” “Ah…” Draco made an attempt to focus, “Well then, I can stay here.” In the soft, stupefying warmth of the alpha, basking in such a pleasant calm, Draco’s remaining strength left him swiftly. His exhausted body felt safe and finally relaxed, falling into sleep. Balancing on the edge of dreaming and reality, Draco moved closer, threw his leg over Harry’s and nuzzled his face into his chest. “Potter.” Harry mumbled in response and struggled to open one eye. In the darkness he could make out a strange smirk on the pale face. “You’re not going to school again tomorrow.” “What? I already got a truancy today!” Harry moaned painfully. “Mr. Snape is going to do his chemistry experiments on me for this!” “You have an excuse,” Draco pulled himself up and snuggled into Harry’s neck. Soft goosebumps traveled to the back of his neck from his cold nose. Harry covered his eyes, savoring every touch and scent. “What’s my excuse?” He asked quietly, stroking Draco’s back. “You’ve been studying hard with your tutor.”