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“Don’t—” Malfoy said, as soon as he stepped through the door, hand held up, palm out.
Harry’s mouth was already open in the shape of an objection.
“No! Not you—anyone but you—”
“I said ‘don’t’, Potter, what do you think that meant?” Malfoy asked as he shut the door and deposited sanitizer into his hand, exhaling a deep breath as he approached the examination chair where Harry sat.
“What about ‘no’ don’t you understand? Anyone else! Literally find someone in the waiting room to look inside me, I don’t care—just not you—”
“I’m the only one who has experience with transgender bodies. If you’d like someone else, I can get them for you, but I’m the best-educated option. It would be foolish to let a long-forgotten childhood feud obstruct your medical care. Are you a fool, Potter?”
Harry’s jaw worked, feeling his lips thin as he took a breath through his nose and chewed his answer.
“No,” he murmured, fisting his hands in the paper gown he wore, eyeing the pile of clothes he’d left in the chair nearby, noticing his boxers were in plain sight and felt his face redden.
“So, we’re good then?” Malfoy asked as he sat on the rolling stool, his gaze still on Harry even as he held the clipboard out like he were reading it.
“Yes,” Harry said through his teeth, and Malfoy’s mouth quirked as his eyes dropped and he took a long breath, flipping a page, making the silence stretch.
Harry hardly dared breathe—his paper gown loud with every movement, noticed his knees were parted wide and thought to close them, but didn’t want to draw attention to himself.
“Last appointment five years ago, is that correct?” Malfoy asked, his face neutral.
“Yes,” Harry murmured, looking away. “I…was busy.”
“And you’ve come today because your menstrual cycle started unexpectedly?”
“Yes,” Harry said, and Malfoy set the clipboard down, crossed his legs neatly, fingers interlaced on one knee.
“Tell me about that.”
“What’s there to say? I started bleeding,” Harry said, then folded his arms and closed his legs, propping his feet up on the footstool. Malfoy was silent, and Harry glanced at him, saw his smooth brow, his calm eyes, felt his shoulders relax. “It was heavy for a day and then I spotted for a week or so…I heard this thing once about, like…sudden, unexpected periods could mean cervical cancer and got freaked out.”
“You made the right choice, coming here,” Malfoy said, and Harry dipped his chin. “It’s my responsibility to encourage you to get biennial exams to monitor your health—”
“I know,” Harry snapped, pulse spiking, hot with shame. Malfoy’s expression remained calm, hands still interlaced, posture relaxed. “Last time I was here, there wasn’t—the only OBGYN you had hadn’t worked with a trans person before—it was—I—”
Harry’s lips pressed tight together and shook his head, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses.
“I’m sorry,” Malfoy said, and Harry stilled. “That must have been frustrating. It’s not your job to educate ignorant healers.”
“I know,” Harry said, and immediately his throat went tight, air halted as pressure built in the corners of his eyes, and he fisted his paper gown again.
Harry swallowed and took a breath that hurt his lungs, straightening as he settled his glasses back on his nose and ignoring the quiver in his voice as he spoke.
“So, are we doing this or what?” Harry asked, eyeing the stirrups at the end of the examination chair, feeling his stomach swoop.
Malfoy stood to grab a pair of gloves, his back turned, showing his long braid that went almost to his waist.
“I know you’re here for a pelvic exam, but since it’s been five years, I’d like to examine your chest tissue as well.”
“Fine,” Harry said, followed by a breath of relief as he sat up straight and tugged at the collar of his gown, exposing his chest.
Malfoy turned around, cleared his throat and adjusted the end of his glove as he approached.
“Sit back.”
The paper beneath Harry crunched as he twisted, cold against his back, the silence that followed more deafening. Malfoy’s fingertips were warm even through the gloves, and Harry stared at the ceiling past Malfoy’s forehead as he felt his chest being prodded.
“Any discomfort?” Malfoy asked.
“No,” Harry murmured, glancing at him—seeing his grey eyes, the slight creases at the corners—the laugh lines around his mouth.
“Was your surgery periareolar?”
“Yes,” Harry said in surprise. “Before my last year in school…well—I suppose you’d know that.”
Malfoy smiled. He had a dimple in his chin Harry had forgotten would be there. Their eyes met as he nodded.
“I do,” he said, gaze returning to Harry’s chest, leaving Harry’s heart to race—confused—relieved—head spinning with thoughts that he’d long repressed—pretended had never been there. “Any complications with surgery? Remaining numbness? Revision surgeries?”
“No,” Harry said, lifting his chin as Draco raised the collar of his gown, took a step back.
“Looks good. No lumps or redness. Sit up for me so I can lower the chair flat for your abdominal exam.”
Harry’s back was exposed to the air as he sat forward, and Draco took off his gloves to handle the chair equipment.
“Who did your surgery? Muggle or someone here at Mungo’s?” Draco asked.
“Muggle. You probably wouldn’t know them.”
“Which hospital?” Draco asked as he grabbed another pair of gloves and Harry lay down, legs hanging off the edge of the chair between the stirrups.
“Charing Cross Hospital,” Harry said. “Doctor Stern.”
“Oh, Ethan—” Draco said, smiling as he lifted the side of Harry’s gown, sliding both hands underneath, pressing Harry’s stomach. “He’s a good surgeon. No wonder your results were so successful. I’m glad.”
Harry tried to keep his muscles from tensing, staring up at Draco’s profile—his tense brow as he looked at the wall across prodding Harry’s stomach beneath his gown.
“Have you pursued any other medical intervention aside from testosterone?” Draco asked, and Harry shook his head before he realised Draco wasn’t looking at him.
“No,” he murmured, and Draco took his hands away, settling the gown.
“Were you interested in discussing your options while you were here?”
“No, I—I’m—I’m good. I’m—good.” Harry murmured, wondering if he could sit up, feeling exposed with Draco’s towering height.
They stared at each other, and Harry felt sweat prick his back, fidgeting, then stilling again when the paper crinkled.
“If you’re not comfortable discussing it with me, I can give you pamphlets with muggle and magical transgender healthcare—”
“No,” Harry said, sitting up on an elbow, holding his other hand out, laughing as he shook his head. “No, I just don’t want any more right now. Maybe ever—who knows. It’s not you.”
Draco’s shoulders lowered as he dipped his chin, his gloved hands interlaced as he cleared his throat.
“Alright. First, I’ll do an external exam to check your tissue health and ensure your lymph nodes aren’t swollen. Then, I’ll use the speculum to examine and swab your cervix, followed by a bimanual exam so that I can feel your internal organs, check the size and ensure you don’t have any tenderness. Any questions?”
Harry shook his head, and Draco nodded, cleared his throat as he moved toward the end of the chair where Harry’s legs were hanging off.
“You’ll need to move to the edge of the chair and lean back, feet in the stirrups when you’re ready.”
Harry scooted, gritting his teeth as he hauled one foot into the left stirrup, then went to raise his other, but Draco put his hand out, let it hover an inch above his bent knee.
“Take a breath,” Draco said, and Harry looked up, met his soft gaze, the dimple hiding on his chin.
Harry did it involuntarily, breathing at the same time Draco did, feeling the tenseness in his shoulders ease.
“Good,” Draco said, and Harry’s eyes fell to the speculum that sat on a tray near his stirrup’d foot. “Lay back when you’re ready. If you experience any discomfort, there are plenty of accommodations that can easily be made.”
“If only Ron knew I was about to spread my legs for Draco Malfoy…”
Draco’s laugh was throaty—dimple revealing itself, eyes crinkled at the corners as he sat on his stool. Harry’s other foot came up.
“I’m going to lift your gown now to check your positioning,” Draco said, eyes on Harry’s face, his expression calm—pleasant.
Harry nodded, wondering if he should lay down, feeling his face burn and his breath hold as his gown was lifted and he felt air rush between his legs. Draco’s expression stayed the same, like he were deciding which bundle of bananas seemed the nicest.
“Come forward a bit more for me—line up with the edge,” Draco said, and Harry did, forced to lay down when he felt like he might slip off. “Perfect. You’ll feel my touch on your thigh…” Harry jolted when he felt it, huffed out a laugh of embarrassment, shutting his eyes. “It’s okay. Just try to relax. There won’t be insertion, just the exterior exam, and I’ll tell you when I’m preparing the speculum.”
Harry licked his lips and hummed, his hands clasped across his stomach, elbows resting down on the paper beneath him. He felt Draco’s fingers carefully prodding his groin, moving inward, Harry’s feet pressing into the stirrups, feeling Draco part his skin. He shut his eyes, clamped his jaw, the emotions rolling in his chest as if they were drawing to a boil, and Harry had to focus to keep the heat down.
“Tissue is healthy,” Draco said in a light voice, and Harry swallowed, his body easing as Draco took his hands away. “I’m preparing the speculum now. I’ll insert it, you’ll feel a twist, and then I’ll open it to do the cervical swab. Any sign of discomfort—”
“I know, I know,” Harry murmured, squeezing his hands, making his knuckles pop.
“Harry, I mean it,” Draco said, and Harry opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling.
“I…” Harry licked his lips, felt his face grow hotter. “I had pain last time, but I was angry—I was tense—I…I think I’ll be fine this time.”
“I’ll go slow,” Draco said, and Harry nodded, throat tight, pressure at the corners of his eyes again.
His glasses were fogging from the heat of his face, wanting to close his knees, forcing himself to keep them spread. His nails dug into his knuckles, bracing for a touch—hoping Draco would tell him before he did it, like last time. He held his breath, felt his eyelashes go damp as he blinked, his insides writhing hot and sharp. He heard the creak of Draco’s stool, the snap of latex, then a warm hand found the back of his, a hand on his shoulder, drawing him up. The hug was awkward—Harry’s face hot—his breath too painful to catch. Draco’s healer badge pressed into his cheek, able to smell his sweet cologne now that he was so close. It made the air come easier—distracted him—his lungs aching in relief as they expanded and brought in Draco’s smell.
“It’s okay,” Draco murmured, smoothing down Harry’s curls, holding the back of his neck.
Harry had turned into him, in a near fetal position, trying to get a grip.
“Pretty sure this isn’t listed on the services page,” Harry murmured into his chest, hearing his huffed laugh, picturing his smile.
“I think it falls under ‘patient care’.”
“Do this with all your patients, then?”
Draco’s hand paused mid-stroke, gave a quiet tut and Harry smiled, took another breath and leaned back, realised they were holding hands, promptly let go.
“Thanks,” Harry said, wiping his face, clearing his throat as he lay down again.
Draco pushed Harry’s fringe off his sweaty forehead, went to get a new pair of gloves as Harry seated his feet in the stirrups again.
“Alright?” Draco asked before he rounded the end of the chair where Harry’s knees were spread wide.
“Yeah,” Harry said, meeting his gaze, smiling at him, and Draco smiled back as he sat.
“You’ll feel my hand, then I’ll position the speculum. I’ll tell you before I insert it.”
“Okay,” Harry said, exhaling a long breath when he felt Draco’s fingers settle in the crook of his groin, careful—tender—the cool press of the device at his entrance. Harry felt himself tense up, then Draco’s fingers stroked his thigh to calm him.
“Slow breath. Relax,” Draco murmured, and Harry shut his eyes, focused on Draco’s hand, unclenched his jaw as he exhaled. “Good. Pressure now as I slide in.”
A strangled noise leapt from Harry’s throat before he could shut his mouth again, cheeks burning hot, heart pounding.
“Alright?” Draco asked at once.
“Yes,” Harry panted, reaching for his face, wanting to cover his mouth—his eyes.
“Harry—” Draco said as he stood, the speculum nudging inside him, making Harry’s toes hug the edge of the stirrups.
“Yes, I swear—no pain.”
Harry struggled to steady his breath, feeling his pulse beat around the intrusion, filling his cock with interest as he looked into Draco’s eyes and wondered if he knew.
“Here comes the twist,” Draco said, but his gaze merely seemed doubtful, as if he thought Harry was a second away from kicking him off.
Harry’s mouth flattened as he felt it, pressing into the stirrups, his stomach muscles tensing as he struggled to quieten himself. Draco’s searching eyes remained speculative.
“You can tell me if it hurts.”
“It doesn’t. Swear.”
Draco’s gaze narrowed the slightest amount, but he eased back, disappeared behind Harry’s gown which was stretched over his knees.
“I’m opening the speculum now,” Draco said, and Harry heard a click, but didn’t feel it. “There might be a tickle as the swab brushes your cervix.”
Harry focused on his breathing, not feeling much aside from the pressure and his heartbeat in his cock, hoping it wasn’t noticeable.
“Cervix looks healthy. I’ll submit the swabs for testing, and you’ll get results in the mail soon. Here comes the withdrawal.”
Harry’s teeth creaked as he held back a noise, shutting his eyes, going to take his foot from the stirrup.
“Just the bimanual exam left,” Draco said as he stood between Harry’s legs looking at his face. “I’ll insert two fingers and palpate your abdomen. Tell me if there’s any tenderness.” Draco stepped forward, hand lowering. “You’ll feel my touch.” Slick fingers against his entrance—Harry’s nails punctured the paper below his hands as he dug into the chair. “Pressure as I slide in.”
“Draco,” Harry moaned, his shoulders lifting, embarrassment burning hot up his spine, pooling in his face—between his legs—having intended it to come out differently. A warning—a plea—he didn’t know, but not like that. It hung in the air above his panted breaths, unable to ease back down—to look at him—to see his disgust or whatever else might be on his face.
Instead, he stayed still—Draco’s fingers rigid, but still buried deep. Harry felt dizzy even though he was lying down.
“Sorry,” Harry gasped, daring himself to relax, huff out a laugh, clear his throat. “Go on, then. Palpitate or whatever you said.”
He stared at the ceiling, seeing the shape of Draco’s blond head in his periphery. He shut his eyes.
“You’ll feel me withdraw,” Draco said, and Harry exhaled in loss and relief, feeling empty without Draco’s warm fingers inside him, wishing he’d paid better attention to how they’d felt. His walls clenched as if trying to remember. “Pressure as I slide in again.”
Harry’s heart leapt hopefully, spreading his knees wider, feeling Draco’s fingers brace for a beat before he pushed forward with slightly more force than last time. Harry’s spine arched, holding back his groan, but just barely. A breathy rasp escaped instead, and he ripped the paper beneath his hands to shreds.
“You’ll feel my other hand on your abdomen.”
Harry’s thighs trembled, wondering if the gentle nudging that Draco was doing inside him was part of the exam. Something brushed Harry’s cock feather-light and his whole body jolted, knees clamping on Draco’s arm for a brief moment.
“Sorry,” Harry gasped, spreading his legs again, raising both hands to his hair, licking his lips, trying to focus.
His breaths were shallow, dry things, not knowing how much longer he could hold on. He was so busy analysing the tiny, slow thrusts inside him he hadn’t noticed Draco’s other hand had gone still—resting on his pelvis. Harry opened his eyes and braced as he looked down, saw Draco’s gaze on him, moaned so quietly it could have been ignored.
“Have I completely lost my mind?” Draco asked, breathless.
“Are you asking me or yourself?”
“Both, maybe.”
Harry felt Draco’s fingers gently press up, shutting his eyes as he abandoned sense. “You feel so good.”
He closed his legs, clenching around Draco’s fingers, pressing into the stirrups to lift his hips up. Draco seemed to come to life—his fingers were stronger than Harry thought they’d be—stretching deep inside him, thrusting as best they could with the limited movement of his wrist. Harry moaned loudly, hoped Draco had his wand on him to cast silencing and locking charms, if only to protect his own career.
“Yes—” Harry gasped, feeling his mouth upturn into a smile, a manic laugh bubbling out of him.
“My glove,” Draco said, and Harry looked down, forced his legs to part, watched Draco scramble to shed them both, sliding his fingers back in, leaning forward, pressing against the back of his hand as he fucked Harry with it, and Harry sat up, his paper gown sliding down his arms. He couldn’t reach Draco’s face—stared at it instead—moaned as he felt a third finger press in and studied the flush across Draco’s cheeks—the tips of his ears.
“Fuck me,” Harry said, his shame gone, knowing that Draco wanted him as much as he wanted Draco.
“I could lose my job—I’ve already blemished my oath, I—”
“I won’t tell,” Harry said, trying to lean closer, feeling like he might slip off the edge of the chair if he did. “Please.”
Draco was breathing hard, leaning forward against the back of Harry’s thigh, and Harry smelled his cologne again.
“Draco, please.”
Their faces neared, eyes on each other’s mouths, space between them filled with hot, panting breaths.
“Oh, damn it all,” Draco said, withdrawing his hand, yanking apart his robes, undoing his belt with shaky hands.
Harry huffed out a laugh as he watched, heart pounding, breathing hard as Draco tugged his cock out and scrambled with the equipment on the tray beside them, finding the lube, coating himself.
“Not sure you need it,” Harry said as Draco lined up, feeling the clench of anticipation in his gut, Draco’s body heat on the back of his legs.
“Dont want to hurt you,” Draco said, reaching with his clean hand to grab Harry’s face—pull him into a kiss, his tip slipping in as Harry’s greedy body ached to take him.
They both moaned, and Harry tried and failed to scoot himself forward, reaching between his legs instead, finding Draco’s hip, pulling him forward. Draco sunk to the hilt, letting out a surprised moan, searching Harry’s face when he pulled back, brow pinched.
“Come on—you won’t break me. Please,” Harry whispered.
Draco’s first thrust was hesitant, encouraged by Harry’s relieved moan, harder in the next.
“Yeah—like that—” Harry said, nodding, leaning back into his hands as Draco held both hips, steadying him on the edge of the chair.
Harry smiled as he eased back onto his elbows, knees spread as wide as they could go, feet settled into the stirrups as Draco built his pace and sent the chair creaking.
“Fuck, yes—that’s perfect—” Harry moaned, the paper crinkling beneath him as he settled down, finally feeling at ease completely, letting himself be taken apart, staring at Draco’s concentrated expression—his parted robes— his hardly shoved down trousers.
Draco yanked the paper gown away, shoving it to the floor. He reached between Harry’s legs, slick fingers finding Harry’s short cock, stroking it carefully and Harry’s head bent back.
“Oh, fuck—” Harry groaned, hands in his hair again, holding on at the root. “Don’t stop—that feels incredible—fuck me harder—”
The examination chair protested, stirrups swaying beneath Harry’s feet as he pressed into them, trying to lift up and take Draco deeper.
“Merlin, you look so good like this,” Draco groaned, eyes glassy, strands falling from his braid clinging to his parted lips. “You take me so well—look at you—fuck—I love your cock—love how you feel around me—”
Harry’s toes curled, rolling his hips into each thrust, Draco’s fingers working his cock, his thrusts losing rhythm, but becoming fiercer as he fell apart at the seams.
“Shouldn’t be doing this—” Draco panted, thrusting slower but deeper. “I swore—”
“I want it—” Harry gasped, and Draco’s bleary eyes met his. “Unless—it would be better if I—”
Draco’s brow creased, seeming distracted by Harry’s mouth, though his hips were still plunging, hand still gripped on Harry’s hip.
“Stop,” Harry said, and Draco paused, sunk to the hilt as his eyes became clearer, searching Harry’s face. Harry sat up, brought one foot from it’s stirrup to dig into the back of Draco’s thigh, pulling him forward. “Please, don’t—”
He cut off when Draco snapped his hips, feeling the effects of his words rush through his own body—flaming hot—his pulse beating around the length of Draco’s cock. Draco’s eyebrows peaked, lips parted, heaving a breath.
“Stop!” Harry begged as Draco thrust harder, gripping the tops of Harry’s thighs to accommodate his change in speed, abandoning Harry’s cock, but Harry didn’t need it. “We could be caught—you can’t—please!”
“You know you want it—” Draco gasped, and Harry’s head tipped back.
“No!” Harry moaned. “I don’t—don’t want it—please—!”
“Look at you. Such a—” Draco paused, and Harry met his gaze, ears perked, stomach twitching as it clenched around each of Draco’s thrusts. “Such a slut—” Harry moaned, head spinning, nodding his head as he reached down and tugged at his own cock.
“Get off—” Harry gasped as his spine arched. “Don’t want it—please—!”
“You are so fucking desperate for my cock,” Draco said, eyes locked on Harry’s flitting hand, breathing hard. “Want you to try and fuck me later. Want to know how it feels inside me—was trying not to picture it—”
“Oh, fuck—” Harry gasped, feeling the swell of his orgasm rush over him, his jaw falling slack, groaning loudly, his foot slipping from the stirrup as he went rigid.
Draco whimpered as he came, bowing forward, knees knocking into the hard front of the examination chair. He held himself up on shaky arms, trying to keep himself up and then eventually giving in, sweaty forehead resting near Harry’s collarbone as he lay in the cradle of Harry’s thighs.
“Did that fall under ‘patient care’, too?”