There was something soothing about being shaved by another person. The soft, dangerous slide of the razor over your flesh, the warm lather and warmer water, the sense of being cared for. It was more intimate, in some ways, than mere kissing, the trust involved in allowing another human being so close to your flesh with such a sharp blade, in allowing them inside the shield of your personal vanity. Not only admitting to someone that you wanted to alter an inherent part of your appearance, but permitting them to do it for you.

The straight razor that was sliding up Draco's calf had, according to his father, been in the family for many years. Its bone handle was a deep, rich ivory colour, worn smooth with handling, the blade magically kept sharp as the day it was made. The hand wielding it was steady and confident, each stroke a caress and tacit benediction. His legs were almost completely denuded, fine blond hairs lost to foam and razor, leaving only creamy flesh and the scent of lemons behind.

"You're going to be beautiful like this, Draco," said Harry, carefully getting a last few stray wisps from behind Draco's right knee.

Draco bit his lip to keep still, aware as never before of the thrum of blood so close to the surface, feeling his pulse knocking against the blade in passing, asking to be let free. He stood quite still, hands braced against the shower wall as Harry worked with care and precision to make his skin as smooth as Draco had always imagined. He spread his legs a little wider, allowing Harry access, suppressing a shiver at the gentle scrape, scrape between his tense thighs.

"Almost done with your legs. Are you sure you want to do it all?" said Harry quietly, razor lingering blood-warm in the high crease of Draco's thigh.

"Yes, everything," hissed Draco. He was already impossibly hard, and they weren't even done with the shaving, let alone everything else that he had planned. In the interest of time, he'd depilated his upper body with a potion himself, but they had both agreed that the legs -- and what lay between them -- were far better off in Harry's agile hands.

A brief caress of lather, and the razor continued upwards, scraping away the fine hairs on each cheek, strokes steadily moving inward until he felt as though his nerves were being uncovered, his skin was being so sensitized by the experience. His nipples were taut even in the sleepy heat of the room, tugging at his attention like movement in his peripheral vision, just enough to keep his concentration in glittering pieces. He barely managed to react properly when Harry's deep, quiet voice came drifting up, ordering quietly, "Bend over and spread wider."

Draco complied languidly, his limbs heavy with desire and tingling with need. He wanted this to go on forever, longed for it to be over so he could get on with the next part, and the part after that. His balls were loose and heavy in their sac, and his cock bobbed and leaked yet more fluid into the steamy air as Harry lathered his cleft. The razor crept inwards, taking away those golden tufts that Harry had so often admired just before ravishing the opening they surrounded. This time was no exception; as soon as the blade was lifted away, it was replaced with a too-brief swipe of Harry's talented tongue, a soft kiss from that luscious mouth.

"I'll miss those until they grow back," said Harry softly, breath puffing over Draco's newly-bared skin like a hot caress. "I think you're going to have to lay down for this last bit."

Draco turned and arranged himself in the large, empty tub, the porcelain cool against his back. He spread his legs obligingly, offering the last of his body hair up for sacrifice to this new ritual, endless trust in Harry's steady hands. Harry smoothed them up Draco's thighs first, empty and slightly rough on the newly-bared skin. Draco shivered, his prick twitching, as Harry's thumbs slid, one chasing the other, over his entrance. His balls were cupped in one Quidditch-callused palm, while warm fingers scooped up a handful of rich, creamy shaving foam.

The foam was warm and the lemon scent bright and almost overwhelming as Harry lathered Draco's balls and the short-trimmed golden curls surrounding his rampant prick. A soft lick to the head drew a whimper from Draco's throat, and Harry smiled predatorily, rinsing his hands and brandishing the razor. "Hold very still."

Draco nodded, wondering where his own voice had gone. All he could manage were small gasps and moans as his tender sac was stretched tight, the fuzz carefully removed with short, even swipes of the razor. His wit had been cut away with his body hair, and he felt a bit like a treasured plaything, a beautiful doll laid out for his lover's whim. He was unsurprised but slightly disconcerted by how much he enjoyed the feeling. He lost himself in the sensation of Harry's careful hands and the sharp, warm blade, moving upwards now to get the hair that curled in the crease of hip and thigh.

"Put your knees down," said Harry quietly, and Draco blinked when he realized there was only a small patch of foam left, a palm-sized thicket of hair above his cock. Draco complied, then whimpered again when Harry carefully pulled his erection away from his body. Harry tucked the tip beneath his chin so he'd have two hands to work with; it was absurd, ridiculous, and utterly sexy to see him like that, biting his lip in concentration as he worked. Draco closed his eyes and concentrated on the slight scrape of stubble against his cockhead, trying not to come.

He was therefore surprised when he saw that there was still some hair left, after Harry stood him up and rinsed him off. Harry had shaved a precise pattern into that last palm-sized patch, a spiral of short blond hair in the shape, of all things, of a coiled snake. "What...?" Draco began to ask, pointing.

Harry leaned in, breath ghosting over the spot and stirring the tiny hairs, making Draco's muscles flutter and twitch. Then he began speaking, not in English, but the soft, sensual hissing of Parseltongue. The sound slithered into Draco's ears and slid down his spine, electric tingles of desire that curled and writhed in his belly. "Oh, Merlin," Draco moaned, as Harry continued to speak to his creation. "If you don't want me to come, you'd better stop," Draco admitted, panting through the tension coiling in his balls.

Harry looked up at him, grinning, and said, "You're 19, you'll recover soon enough." He leaned back down with a smug little smile, deliberately gliding those hisses over the flesh of Draco's cock, Parseltongue riding on a stream of cool/warm air. Draco felt himself dragged to the edge as he became hyperaware of other air currents, the steam rising up and caressing his newly-bared flesh until his whole body screamed for a single real touch. Harry's lips were millimetres from his needy flesh, sliding their strange words up and down his length in careful designs.

One single press of Harry's lips to the tip, and Draco came all over his lover's face. Harry accepted it with enthusiasm, wrapping his hand around the base and opening his mouth so that most of the cream fell on his tongue, pausing to swallow and getting himself a jet to the glasses for his troubles. Draco laughed at the little wrinkle of Harry's nose, the slight moue of displeasure he made before shoving his face under the running water and rinsing the seed away. "Your fault."

"Yeah, yeah," Harry replied. "And now that we've got your fantasy taken care of, how about we dress you up in mine?" His eyes gleamed with lust, mouth betraying the slightest edge of lingering uncertainty. It had been difficult for them both to admit what they wanted, Draco hating the gold curls that, to him, marred the alabaster perfection of his aristocratic complexion. Harry had stammered out his own request amidst blushes and bitten lips, and the result was waiting in their bedroom.

They'd set up in one corner of the room, five full-length mirrors making up an infinity of Dracos, and he admired his denuded body in them while Harry retrieved his outfit. He'd agreed to let Harry play the valet and dress him, adding to the feeling of being a doll. Still, he frankly enjoyed the pampering, and there was something comforting about being the object of such care and attention. Draco lifted one carefully manicured foot at Harry's urging, and let out a soft sigh of pleasure as familiar warm hands drew unfamiliar cool silk up his leg.

The black lace at the stocking's top was just stretchy enough to hold it up, as long as Draco didn't move too much. The sheer material made his leg seem even shapelier, the shadows deeper and flesh shimmering whiter beneath the translucent black silk. Harry carefully slid the other stocking up Draco's left leg, settling the lace on his thigh and saying, "Stay still, or they'll fall before I can get the garters on."

Draco nodded, fascinated by the subtle change in his appearance. His cock was already beginning to rise, looking larger and somehow more masculine without its nest of curls. He longed to move, to feel the fabric pull and stretch against his skin, but instead he settled for standing obediently and contemplating his transformation. He raised his arms on Harry's command, admiring the bare flesh of his chest and underarms. He'd really hated the hair there, wiry dark gold that gathered sweat and always felt slightly unclean. Now everything was smooth as marble, perfect for the heavy black silk of the corset being carefully laced onto his body with green ribbons.

It started just below his nipples, the top curving slightly to emphasize his pectorals in a way that would cup breasts if he had them, forcing them up and out. As it was, it merely outlined how very male he was, his chest flat and smooth, nipples pink and taut and tiny. His waist was pulled in, giving him the illusion of a womanly shape, making his hipbones jut below the edge of the corset. A point in front rested just above the little spiral snake, pointing down at his prick in the same way the curves above highlighted his lack of feminine assets.

All in all, Draco loved the effect, not transforming him into a girl but instead using the trappings of it to showcase his very maleness, the slight androgyny of his build and delicacy of his features adding to the beautiful dissonance of his image. Harry carefully smoothed the stockings upwards one more time before fastening them to the garters that dangled off the corset, green ribbons with little silver snake-heads at the ends that eagerly gripped the lace in their tiny magical teeth.

Next came the panties, a little wisp of matching silk that tied at the hips with more ribbons. Draco's erection, once trapped, strained at the delicate fabric, a damp spot already forming where he leaked precome. The head kept trying to poke out of the top, and he turned, admiring the way the soft fabric stretched over his own taut, smooth skin, inviting the viewer to speculate on the places hidden by its opaque veil.

Next, there were old-fashioned ankle boots, obscenely high heels made of embroidered suede, which zipped up the side and then laced with yet more of the shining green. The penultimate accessory was a choker of black silk with an emerald-and-silver snake broach covering his Adam's apple, furthering the sense of androgyny. Harry pulled out the finishing touch, a makeup kit, and Draco allowed his eyes to be edged with kohl, his lips slicked with red gloss, his cheeks brushed with the subtlest shimmering powder.

When Draco opened his eyes and caught his own image, he could barely breathe, and Harry was doing no better. The creature in the mirror seemed made of lust and magic, incubus and succubus in one exquisite package. His legs were impossibly long and shapely in their casings, his ass high and tight below a tiny, feminine waist, his cock obvious and masculine where it pressed into its constraints. His chest was an expanse of subtle, creamy planes, each nipple a jewel set in the alabaster flesh, and the choker perfectly adorned the graceful length of his neck. His face, always delicate, had been pushed into beauty, his smoky grey eyes and red, shining lips an invitation to sin.

"You need to fuck me now," said Draco, trying out the words through these new lips. His voice had gone low and sultry, breathy from the constriction and rough from his own renewed lust.

Harry shook himself, visibly wrenching his gaze away from the fantastic mirror image to the reality he'd created. "I can't think of the spells," he said, his eyes glazed. Harry's own cock rose magnificently out of wild black curls, and he seemed almost confused by it, as though he'd forgotten the purpose for his own nudity. Draco carefully took the eye pencil from his limp fingers and led him to the bed, grateful for the stabilising spell on the otherwise outrageously high heels.

Harry watched him walk, trailing as far behind as their clasped hands would let him, and Draco couldn't help but smile. All the preparations were worth the expression on Harry's face, the fascinated lust and possessive need. Draco grabbed his own wand off the nightstand and cast the preparation spells, then bent over the edge of the bed, looking back over his shoulder and offering himself. He caught a glimpse in the mirror, of black seams running up the backs of taut legs, black silk cradling his heavy balls below the perfect curve of his bottom, and smiled seductively.

Harry shook himself again, and moved forward, running his hands lovingly up those legs, calluses catching in the silk just enough to add a thrill to the caress but not, thankfully, enough to tear the delicate fabric. His hands roamed upwards, first over then under the silk panties, cradling his narrowed waist through the stiff corset, trailing the ribbons teasingly over Draco's sensitive flesh. He untied the panties at each hip and let them fall away, revealing Draco's readied entrance, freeing the trapped erection.

"Beautiful," Harry whispered, cupping his spread cheeks lovingly, "So smooth."

"Yes," said Draco softly, plea, permission and agreement, feeling unbearably aroused. He was rewarded with the slide and press of Harry's cock, the head smooth against his entrance. "Yesss," he said again, drawing out the final letter as Harry's hips pushed forward, thrusting into his body. Harry breached Draco's opening with a hiss of his own, more sinuous Parseltongue directed at any one of the snakes adorning their room, the words sending a frisson of pleasure through Draco's already raw nerves.

"Perfect," said Harry in English, slipping back into Parseltongue as coarse curls brushed against Draco's bare ass, making him jump and squirm. The caress of Harry's furred balls on Draco's freshly-shaved ones was flawlessly maddening, precisely what Draco had wanted and everything they both needed. Neither of them were going to last long, sparks of pleasure making Draco's skin twitch and shudder as Harry pulled back out, cock dragging purposefully over his prostate.

The next stroke was deeper, harder, the scrape of hair rough and inflammatory. Draco's whole body lit up, the caress of silk against so many parts, the press of his cock into the velvet bedspread, the taut stretch of his legs and back in the heels and corset, and of course that same exhilarating caress of air against newly hairless skin. Harry's hands were warm and comforting where they curled around Draco's waist and hips, his thrusts deep and quick and slightly ragged, erratically hitting Draco's prostate. Draco's breathing was shallow and his head grew light, oxygen at a premium with his ribs gorgeously, faultlessly constricted by the corset.

He bit lips already red and tasting of sin and strawberries, bent his head in his arms in perfect supplication and grew so distracted by the need for breath in his lungs that his orgasm took him by surprise, all the tingles colliding at the base of his spine to explode outward with a force that made him scream, eyesight going golden white for long minutes as he spilled onto the bedspread. Harry kept thrusting, babbled words switching languages at random, cock feeling larger than life inside Draco.

"Love you," said Draco softly, words they rarely spoke aloud, and he felt Harry tense behind him, one final, deep thrust before barely-perceptible heat filled him with seed and contentment.

"Love you too," Harry whispered, lips wet and warm against his ear. "Thank you."

He pulled out and away, cast a cleaning charm with Draco's wand and sat on the edge of the bed. Draco simply crawled into the bed and curled around Harry's body, heedless of the shoes, resting his cheek on one thigh. "You're beautiful like this, you know," said Harry, affectionately smoothing the hair out of Draco's face.

Draco's eyes flicked automatically to the mirrors, where a handsome young man sat in the embrace of some wicked, lovely androgyne, ensnared by charms and magic. "You're mine now," said Draco, curling further to nose at the musky curls at Harry's groin. He felt a thread of real happiness, curled up in all his kinky, sated glory, head in the lap of his long-ago rival. At fifteen, he never would have thought he'd be here four years later, tarted up in women's lingerie and happily well-fucked by the Boy Who Lived, but, he reflected, he'd been rather a prat at fifteen anyway.

"Always was," said Harry, leaning down for an awkward, perfect kiss.