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Summary
Draco spun around, his eyes were blazing, his cheeks flushed. He looked furious. And he looked absolutely, completely aroused, his own scent was pouring out of him now, unchecked, mingling with Harry’s in the cramped space, creating a thick, intoxicating fog. “Me? Have you smelled yourself? Fucking ripe for the taking. It should be illegal to walk around smelling like that, Potter. Like a fucking banquet. When did it happen?"
