Work Text:
Everyone knows that Draco Malfoy was one difficult snarky git, oh he acknowledged that very well. In fact, his snippy tongue has earned him more mess than fortunes ever since he was a little kid, always so proud trailing after his father on the dark passages in Knocturn. He had tried hard cutting the snide remarks off since Hogwarts, quiet and subdued and very not the real him. Yet, his big mouth always seemed to find a way and he can't help it if stupidity is what everyone seems to possess these days, right?
On some other occasions, however, Draco sometimes wondered if he could overturn his sharp mouth from blurting out unnecessary shits before he could think of the outcome. Should he put a restrain on his lips? Zip it tight close? None of it mattered anymore since he urgently needed more help escaping the current situation he was in. Nothing new, just another trouble for his biting remarks. Yet he was sure refraining his tongue would also certainly help him from being pressed on the hard, bumpy surface of the wall in a dark corridor somewhere in Ministry by the notorious Harry Potter whose head might explode from the sheer fucking anger.
“You think you can just run that pretty mouth of yours whenever you want, Malfoy?” Potter drawled, his fists clenched tight on the collar of Draco's blue shirt, ruining the smooth material with ugly wrinkles and his burly arms suffocated Draco's chest with its weight, trapping him there with no way to escape.
In his honest defense, it was not his fault at all. He was just genuinely concerned with the state of Potter's attitude in his workplace, always seen lazing around and slugging off. He meant, that was what Pansy had tipped him off, who got the information from Tina in finance, who got it from Amy who frequently passed the Auror departments by. So with that logic, the acquired words must be somehow true. And to add more evidence, Draco has seen Potter coming to the work late (at 9.30, Potter? Seriously?), proven by his atrocious bed hair and black soot on his shoulder, clearly a remnant of his rushed morning routine. Draco was not remotely surprised if Potter didn't even have a wash before going to work. Barbarian.
He couldn't let something so unethical happen, could he? So, Draco has taken the matter himself to Robards, as both of them knew each other from the meetings the solicitors like Draco has to attend at the Ministry.
“I can,” He spat back, staring right into the mesmerizing emerald eyes no less than ten centimetres in front of him. For a moment, Draco felt bewildered by the idea of Potter's eyes looking mesmerizing passing his brain candidly. Yet, the taut grasp in his collar that went firmer brought him back to his notable sneer. “And in fact, I will not let your lazy arse skulk around.”
“Shut it, Malfoy. You're enough trouble as it is,” Potter's voice went down an octave lower, husky and rough and it absurdly sent a compelling shiver down his spine. Draco would probably think Potter's fuming face amusing if he wasn't the sole reason and target of Potter's temper. “Stop making another.”
“As if you're not a troublemaker yourself, Scarhead,” Draco curled his lips in disdain at the boy in front of him, refusing to back down from this dance they've both been playing for years. The war has definitely stroke his name and his family down, yes Draco has expected that for sure, even the horrible things that come to him like a hurricane, but he has worked his way to an honorable job, his enormous pride was still intact and he has no plan to concede to Potter's burning leer at all.
Except when Potter's pupils went down. Draco was fairly sure he imagined this part of the fight by himself; for Potter's mesmerizing (again? Get over yourself, Draco.) sea-green orbs raking Draco's face, drinking in the sight of high cheekbones, creamy pale skin, and sculpted nose. The fight beaming out from the shine of his eyes gradually lessened, replaced with want, lust, hunger, whatever it is Draco was afraid to define.
Potter's damned gaze settled on what Draco thought to be his lips for a second too long and he could feel their panting breaths (when did they get this close?) mingling together from the proximity of their faces and if Draco could just lean forward a bit, maybe... maybe he could finally taste those lips...
Alarmed by the unforeseen urge to move closer to Potter, he shoved Potter's chest with all the sanity he has left and watched as Potter stumbled back from Draco in surprise with gaping lips and rounded eyes, filled with unconcealed shock but also scorching, intense, dark, and seemingly unable to move from Draco's own stormy grey eyes. He seemed to be in a chagrin.
A quiet, betraying whisper in Draco's head blew a contemplative idea that maybe there's a probability that Potter apparently had the same train of thought. As rousing as that sounds and how Draco wishes it to not be a figment of his imagination, Draco brushed it off quickly as one of his many wistful thinking, afraid of the ache it will bring if he kept nursing that thought.
A heavy silence fell upon them as they quietly observed each other from a distance and it was Draco who broke the silence. With his heart still thumping in his ribcage and adrenaline still running fast in his veins, Draco opened his blasted lips, “Pretty mouth, huh?”
Fuck. It sounded raspy. Draco felt the air suddenly crackled with staggering electricity and whatever they had before has shifted into something dense, as if it would suffocate Draco if he stayed too long.
“Figures of speech,” Potter straightened his back, looking stiff and rigid and there was a slight strike of fuchsia hues and raspberry burns, a rising blaze creeping upon his cheeks. “I didn't mean that, obviously.”
Well, because Draco could never resist a challenge, “Bollocks. So do you think my mouth is petite and pretty then, Potter?"
Potter looked even more flustered and God, he could kiss those plush lips right here and now. Wait, what?
"What? You've been fantasizing about me too? Wanking to the thoughts of my arse every night? Oh, I bet you're eager to fu—” Draco continued in a mocking tone, indulging in the sudden surge of courage from adrenaline blooming in his chest, running haywire in his veins.
“Shut the fuck up, Malfoy.” He heard Potter growled in annoyance. Oh, the adrenaline from riling up this boy is definitely addicting.
With that warning, Draco should have known any better than adding more fuel to a dwindling flame, especially if that flame was Harry Potter himself, but how could he live without annoying Potter more?
So instead of doing exactly what Potter told him to, Draco replied in his most daring tone, “Make me.”
It was supposed to be threatening and yet, it sounded... challenging. Draco knew how daring it sounded, even to his own ears. Meddling with this sort of game was as tricky as a double-edged sword, and for this time, he secretly wished that Potter will do something else instead of bolting off or punching him in the gut or worse, break his jaw to shut him up.
Potter's head snapped back to him in a crack, his dilated pupils piercing Draco with the heavy intensity of something dark, and Draco felt small under his scrutiny. The sound that came out from Potter's throat was low and thick, and it went straight to flare the heat in Draco's groin, “What good would that mouth be, hm?”
“Oh, for so many things,” Draco replied, voice as rough as him. He clenched his sweaty palms to a fist and hide it behind his body, a bit abashed to show his trembling hands from the growing arousal. Draco then raised his eyebrow in a more challenging manner, the corner of his lips twitched up to a faint smirk that he knew would get into Potter's nerves in a second. “Why don't you find out?”
Potter stepped forward and Draco's back hit the sturdy solid wall once more. Draco was intoxicated, elated from the addicting smell of fresh grass and clean air, Potter's own captivating musk, prodding Draco's personal space into his nose through the sternum and straight to his pounding heart. He bit his lower lips, noting the flicker that came from Potter's eyes to his lips before going back to his ash-grey eyes in a split second, “Scared, Potter?”
Potter let an amused huff out and with a roll of his eyes, he replied in a heartbeat, “You fucking wish.”
With that, Potter closed the distance and Draco met him halfway.