(no subject)
Title: Assault, Trespass and Vandalism - PART FOUR!
Author: moonflower_rose
Pairing: HP/DM
Genre/Rating: NC-17 overall
Warnings: The usual...also, don't run with scissors...
Length: 2700(ish) words
Summary: Sequel to the fic Disturbing The Peace - written for my darling silentauror!!!
Disclaimer: Please see my disclaimer here.
Sorry for the delay, for anyone who was waiting - I went back to work this week and zombies ate my brain.
Miss PART ONE? Click here. Recap of PART TWO? Click here. One last gander at PART THREE? Click here.
Harry stared at Malfoy with a gobsmacked grin on his face. Malfoy looked back, then frowned.
“Potter, you may not have noticed this about me, but I’m not really a patient man. No, really. So I’m only going to say this once - if you don’t stop looking at me like you’ve received a blunt trauma to the skull, I’m not going to fuck you. Now, unless your problem is that you’ve forgotten your way to the bathroom, and are hoping for the assistance of a large stick, a Sherpa, a donkey and a flagon of sour goat’s milk to help you get there and back again, in which case I want you to get the fuck away from me because I don’t do bestiality, or you have in fact suffered a blunt trauma, in which case please die quietly and out of my sight, then I suggest you get up, get the goddamn lube, and get your arse back here ready to do my bidding.”
Well. What was he waiting for?
Harry scrambled to his feet, his body moving where his brain was still struggling to catch up. Sex? More sex? With Malfoy! Oh blimey. Immediately inside the bathroom door, he tripped on a pile of towels. What the bloody hell was with all these towels? Why couldn’t Malfoy put the damn things away in cupboard, like normal people did, instead of having them piled around like this was some kind of spa resort, complete with oatmeal soaps, environmentally friendly toilet paper, and masseurs named Sven and Inga, towels ready to topple at a moments notice and turn the place into a goddamn death trap so as innocent visitors, who just wanted to get to the sodding lube, would be forced to run a veritable gauntlet every time!
You’re getting hysterical Potter. Snap out of it.
Harry took a deep breath, stepped carefully over the admittedly insane quantity of towels, and picked the lube up from where it had landed on the floor.
“I’m an adult,” he muttered to his reflection, studiously ignoring the physical evidence of his recent tussle with Malfoy on the mirror’s surface, not to mention the cupboard doors. “I’m an Auror. Why am I behaving like I’m back at the Yule Ball? I never make this much of a fool of myself, especially not over sex. It’s just a shag, Harry,” he shook his head at his looking-glass counterpart remonstratively, “It’s nothing you haven’t done before, and nothing you won’t do again…touch wood.” He grabbed his crotch briefly, and continued. “Calm down. Be suave. You’re charming, remember? Witch Weekly always says so. Just chill out. Malfoy wants a piece of your arse.” He shrugged coolly and flicked his hair out of his eyes. “Damn right he does. But he’s going to have to do more than just order you around to get it. You’re in charge - you just fucked him into a jelly-legged mess. You can say no. Malfoy needs to hear that once in a while so he knows it’s not all about him. Tell him that thing about it being impulsive, make your apologies, and go to leave - he’ll be slobbering all over you in no time to convince you to stay, and then the snitch is in your fist again. Easy.”
Lube in hand, Harry winked at his reflection confidently, and walked out of the bathroom.
Malfoy was sprawled across his bed, one forefinger travelling over his own torso slowly to tease at his cock. Everything Harry had just told himself evaporated immediately.
“I love impulsive!”
Malfoy looked at him strangely. “You what? Honestly Potter, if we’re ever going to shag again, you’ll need to start speaking in complete sentences.”
Harry cringed. Blurting out random phrases is great, Harry, really brilliant. Merlin. “Sorry, erm…”
“Nevermind,” Malfoy seemed impatient. “Get on the bed.”
Harry sat, pulling his legs up hurriedly and laying down flat, the jar of lube cool and round in his palm. Malfoy was going to fuck him. And hadn’t Harry dreamed of that, too, along with everything else. He let his eyes travel the length of Malfoy’s body, which was moving, cat-like, as Malfoy picked himself up from his lazy sprawl and began to crawl on his hands and knees towards Harry. Malfoy’s cock - Harry swallowed, his mouth filling inexplicably with saliva - was hard again, red, ready, pointing at him. Malfoy slung a leg over Harry’s hips, straddling him, and Harry blushed at the involuntary sound he made. Malfoy’s knees were hard against Harry’s flank, and the jar of lube fell out of his slack grip almost without his notice. The heat of his body was palpable at this distance, and Harry could smell him, something musky and wonderful and eminently lickable. Malfoy had a hand either side of Harry’s head, propping himself up to better smirk down at him.
“You know Potter, I thought of this once or twice when we were in school. Never guessed that I’d actually get you like this, though. Lucky me.” Malfoy dropped his hips to settle down against Harry’s, and he couldn’t help but moan again. Malfoy’s cock was lovely and hard alongside his own, his balls pleasantly hot and heavy and resting right on top of Harrys; and he lowered his head now too, sinking his teeth into Harry’s chin slowly. He rocked his hips once - yes. Harry’s hands were on Malfoy’s arse before he had time to register the command to move, pulling his hips down hard and grinding up. Malfoy growled a little, a tight rumbling sound in his throat, and he moved his mouth to nip at Harry’s neck. The jar of lubricant knocked into his side gently as the bed dipped in time to the pace of agonising thrusts - Harry found his legs spreading wider of their own accord. Malfoy laughed, sucking at Harry’s throat now.
“I wouldn’t get too comfortable, Potter.”
“Why’s that?” Harry allowed one hand to leave Malfoy’s arse for just long enough to guide his face up from where it was engaged in biting his collarbone, to his mouth, pulling Malfoy’s face close and crushing their lips together. If Malfoy was displeased, he wasn’t showing it very well - between the two of them, they’d be lucky if someone didn’t lose a tooth, or a sizeable portion of lip. Harry loved the way Malfoy kissed: like he really wanted to. Like there was nothing he’d like better than to crawl inside Harry’s mouth, tongue first, and hang about for the next three or four million years.
“Because - mmmff - you’re not going to be on your back for long.”
What does he mean by that?
Malfoy ground his hips hard against Harry’s once more, before pulling away. “Get on all fours.”
Harry swallowed. “Oh. Right…” He slid out from under Malfoy, who was watching him with the faintest of smirks. Harry cleared his throat. On all fours. I can do that. He rolled onto his knees, turning away from Malfoy for a moment to squeeze his cock briefly, just to make sure he was still awake, and hadn’t died and gone to heaven, or was lying passed out on Malfoy’s bathroom floor after tripping over. Nope…I seem awake. Brilliant! He adjusted his knees and dropped forward to rest his weight on his hands. Harry looked over his shoulder. Malfoy was eyeing him with a great deal of interest, one hand on his prick, stroking slowly.
“All the way down on your elbows, Potter.” Harry turned again and faced forward, and complied, lowering himself down onto his forearms. He wondered what he looked like, to Malfoy, all stretched out like this. Wanton. Hermione had explained to him once that the word didn’t just refer to an item on the yum cha menu at the Shark Fin Inn. “Spread your legs further - further - good.” Harry forced himself to breathe normally. It would do no good to anyone if he hyperventilated before Malfoy even got in the head. “Ready for me?”
“Oh, God yes,” Harry breathed.
Then Malfoy did something completely unexpected, for what must have been the fourth time since Harry arrived in his flat. Malfoy licked him right from the root of his cock, over his balls - stopping to suck one entirely into his mouth before moving on - and up his crack.
“Oh, GOD yes!”
“You’ve said that already,” Malfoy murmured into his arse.
“Sorry,” Harry wheezed back, “I - oh GOD!”
Malfoy wasn’t mucking around. He’d hardly licked Harry once between the cheeks before he was wriggling his tongue against his hole, a hand spread over each arsecheek, spreading Harry open and pressing his lips closer. Harry took hold of two fists-full of the duvet and practically bit his tongue in half. He’d only had this done to him once or twice - he always blushed too hard when he thought of it, and stammered too much to ask for it. But Merlin, it was as good as he remembered it, it was better, Malfoy was better. Malfoy was kissing his hole like he’d kissed his mouth, like he couldn’t imagine not doing it, like he wanted to so badly that he might not be able to help doing it. Pressing his tongue inside like it was his right to, like he owned the spot and all the rest of Harry too. Malfoy’s tongue was pointy, and slippery, and hot; his breath tingled where it puffed against Harry’s saliva-wet skin, so sensitive already. Malfoy, God bless him and all his ancestors, yes, even the evil ones, was sealing those sinful lips around Harry’s happy pucker and was sucking, sucking and stabbing and licking and sucking. Harry was making noises, not quite sure what sort they were, and he could only hope it wasn’t something Malfoy might hassle him about later.
“Open wide, Potter…” Malfoy paused just long enough to fit a sneaky finger around his tongue, and push it insistently against Harry’s hole. Ecstatic minutes blended into one another as Malfoy fingered and licked and generally reduced Harry to a quivering, whimpering mess. When Malfoy pulled away, Harry practically shouted at him to come back.
“Don’t stop Malfoy, please!”
He could almost hear the smirk in Malfoy’s low chuckle. “Oh, I don’t intend to Potter. This is just a brief intermission - very brief.”
Malfoy didn’t disappoint. It was only a second later that Harry registered the sound of the lube jar unscrewing, a second after that that he felt the soft thud as it was discarded again. Then Malfoy was rubbing one finger against Harry’s entrance, sliding inside and out almost too slowly for Harry’s liking. I wonder if the anti-wrinkle agent in that stuff would make my bumhole smoother? He abandoned the thought when Malfoy deliberately pressed a fingertip against his prostate. No more thinking, only feeling - only fucking.
Malfoy teased Harry’s arse for a few seconds longer, until presumably even he couldn’t wait anymore. His fingers were gone, replaced almost right away with the unmistakable press of the head of his cock to Harry’s entrance, and with hardly a pause, he was sinking inside, with one, slow, smooth thrust. “Yeah,” he grunted, bending forward and bracketing Harry’s body with his own, settling a hand just beside each of Harry’s before nipping gently at Harry’s shoulder.
“Malfoy,” Harry’s voice was a hoarse whisper, “move, dammit. Please.”
Malfoy didn’t need to be asked twice. He was relentless, moving so fast and so suddenly that the first thrust pushed what little air was left in Harry’s lungs right out of him. Malfoy didn’t pause. It took only a few moments for him to hit Harry right, find just the right spot and focus on it, never missing it again. Harry didn’t dare lift a hand to touch himself, and he reckoned he mightn’t even need to, like this. He found himself pushing back, slamming their bodies together every time Malfoy drove forward - he could feel sharp hip bones collide with his arse again and again. Sweat prickled down the length of his spine. Malfoy’s heart was pounding between his shoulders, his nipples hard and rubbing now and then against Harry’s back. He made a noise, something strangled and desperate sounding, and it only served to push Harry closer to the edge he was already barely hanging onto. Harry’s hips jerked forward into empty air, and back again hard onto Malfoy’s cock.
“Jesus, Potter, we should’ve done this years ago, fuck!”
Harry couldn’t respond. It wasn’t going to take very much more, not much more at all -
“I - ahhh!”
He brushed a hand over his balls, up the length of his cock. That was the end of it. Harry came. His body clenched, come pulsing thick and hot from his cock, his vision swimming until the duvet below him became a blur. He came, and it didn’t stop. His body was on fire, or so it seemed, blood hot and rushing to the surface of his skin; fingers and toes clenched impossibly tight. Malfoy was still fucking him, every pummel of his cock against Harry’s prostate wrenching a new moan from his throat, a new jerk from his cock. Malfoy’s hands closed over his, fingers twisting tight between Harry’s, and he was mouthing desperately at the scruff of Harry’s neck, at his shoulder and just below his ear - Malfoy must have been almost ready to lose it. His hips were jerking now without the smooth rhythm they had before.
“Potter, Potter, Potter-”
Malfoy’s hips collided with his, pushing his cock as deeply as possible into Harry, and stilled. “Potter-” Harry felt his cock twitch again, barely able to do more than produce a few drops - there couldn’t possibly be another ounce of come left in him, or moisture of any kind, in fact. He would hardly be surprised if he left Malfoy’s flat looking less like a man, and more like a man-shaped raisin. Malfoy’s arms seemed to give out, and his weight was abruptly entirely on Harry’s back. Harry pitched forward onto the bed, taking Malfoy down on top of him with a slight ‘oof’, and they both lay there, panting in unison, for several minutes before either of them spoke.
“Potter. That was was very satisfying. Very satisfying indeed.”
Harry wasn’t sure whether he nodded or not. He was far too dazed to be having a conversation. Malfoy slipped off his back, rolling onto his side and taking Harry along with him, their hands still entwined. Malfoy let him go, but not entirely - his hands slid around Harry’s hips, pulling him against Malfoy’s chest where he could feel the rise and fall with every slightly rasping breath. It seemed Malfoy wasn’t about to boot him out - in fact, all indications pointed to Malfoy actually wanting to snuggle.
May wonders never cease.
Harry swallowed, exhausted and leaden-limbed, and still partly tangled between Malfoy’s legs. That had been something close to miraculous, and he’d have written it off as pure fancy, a dream, if it had happened any other night. But here he was, covered in come and sweat, and Malfoy’s saliva, his thighs slightly burning, throbbing along with the ache of his hole. Minutes passed. Malfoy’s breathing steadied, slowed - and finally, he appeared to drop off to sleep. Harry couldn’t move, and didn’t want to. He’d wait, and sleep, here in Malfoy’s bed, his warm breath puffing gently against his neck as he snored, smelling not just of whiskey now, but also of sex. It was nearly morning - it was getting lighter outside the thin venetians, according to the shadows and slivers of brightness, and who knew how Malfoy would be in the light of day. Hungover, probably. He might not be feeling quite as affectionate. Malfoy would hopefully sleep until it was late, and give Harry time to come up with a plan. Now that he’d had Malfoy once - twice, actually - he couldn’t possibly not have him again…and his job…the concern he’d felt earlier in the evening had been pushed to the side, but was beginning to resurface. What he needed was to convince Malfoy to do it again, tomorrow, today, and sober. Malfoy couldn’t complain to the Ministry of assault if he willingly participated again while in possession of all his wits. And more importantly, he wanted Malfoy to remember every suck, every bite, every inch of him, and want more. Harry would just have to be smooth…he could be smooth. Could he be smooth? He could probably be smooth enough. And if he played his cards right, he might walk out of this thing not only with his job, but with Malfoy, too…
Harry closed his eyes, and began to plot his seduction of Draco Malfoy.
...more to come...
Author: moonflower_rose
Pairing: HP/DM
Genre/Rating: NC-17 overall
Warnings: The usual...also, don't run with scissors...
Length: 2700(ish) words
Summary: Sequel to the fic Disturbing The Peace - written for my darling silentauror!!!
Disclaimer: Please see my disclaimer here.
Sorry for the delay, for anyone who was waiting - I went back to work this week and zombies ate my brain.
Miss PART ONE? Click here. Recap of PART TWO? Click here. One last gander at PART THREE? Click here.
Harry stared at Malfoy with a gobsmacked grin on his face. Malfoy looked back, then frowned.
“Potter, you may not have noticed this about me, but I’m not really a patient man. No, really. So I’m only going to say this once - if you don’t stop looking at me like you’ve received a blunt trauma to the skull, I’m not going to fuck you. Now, unless your problem is that you’ve forgotten your way to the bathroom, and are hoping for the assistance of a large stick, a Sherpa, a donkey and a flagon of sour goat’s milk to help you get there and back again, in which case I want you to get the fuck away from me because I don’t do bestiality, or you have in fact suffered a blunt trauma, in which case please die quietly and out of my sight, then I suggest you get up, get the goddamn lube, and get your arse back here ready to do my bidding.”
Well. What was he waiting for?
Harry scrambled to his feet, his body moving where his brain was still struggling to catch up. Sex? More sex? With Malfoy! Oh blimey. Immediately inside the bathroom door, he tripped on a pile of towels. What the bloody hell was with all these towels? Why couldn’t Malfoy put the damn things away in cupboard, like normal people did, instead of having them piled around like this was some kind of spa resort, complete with oatmeal soaps, environmentally friendly toilet paper, and masseurs named Sven and Inga, towels ready to topple at a moments notice and turn the place into a goddamn death trap so as innocent visitors, who just wanted to get to the sodding lube, would be forced to run a veritable gauntlet every time!
You’re getting hysterical Potter. Snap out of it.
Harry took a deep breath, stepped carefully over the admittedly insane quantity of towels, and picked the lube up from where it had landed on the floor.
“I’m an adult,” he muttered to his reflection, studiously ignoring the physical evidence of his recent tussle with Malfoy on the mirror’s surface, not to mention the cupboard doors. “I’m an Auror. Why am I behaving like I’m back at the Yule Ball? I never make this much of a fool of myself, especially not over sex. It’s just a shag, Harry,” he shook his head at his looking-glass counterpart remonstratively, “It’s nothing you haven’t done before, and nothing you won’t do again…touch wood.” He grabbed his crotch briefly, and continued. “Calm down. Be suave. You’re charming, remember? Witch Weekly always says so. Just chill out. Malfoy wants a piece of your arse.” He shrugged coolly and flicked his hair out of his eyes. “Damn right he does. But he’s going to have to do more than just order you around to get it. You’re in charge - you just fucked him into a jelly-legged mess. You can say no. Malfoy needs to hear that once in a while so he knows it’s not all about him. Tell him that thing about it being impulsive, make your apologies, and go to leave - he’ll be slobbering all over you in no time to convince you to stay, and then the snitch is in your fist again. Easy.”
Lube in hand, Harry winked at his reflection confidently, and walked out of the bathroom.
Malfoy was sprawled across his bed, one forefinger travelling over his own torso slowly to tease at his cock. Everything Harry had just told himself evaporated immediately.
“I love impulsive!”
Malfoy looked at him strangely. “You what? Honestly Potter, if we’re ever going to shag again, you’ll need to start speaking in complete sentences.”
Harry cringed. Blurting out random phrases is great, Harry, really brilliant. Merlin. “Sorry, erm…”
“Nevermind,” Malfoy seemed impatient. “Get on the bed.”
Harry sat, pulling his legs up hurriedly and laying down flat, the jar of lube cool and round in his palm. Malfoy was going to fuck him. And hadn’t Harry dreamed of that, too, along with everything else. He let his eyes travel the length of Malfoy’s body, which was moving, cat-like, as Malfoy picked himself up from his lazy sprawl and began to crawl on his hands and knees towards Harry. Malfoy’s cock - Harry swallowed, his mouth filling inexplicably with saliva - was hard again, red, ready, pointing at him. Malfoy slung a leg over Harry’s hips, straddling him, and Harry blushed at the involuntary sound he made. Malfoy’s knees were hard against Harry’s flank, and the jar of lube fell out of his slack grip almost without his notice. The heat of his body was palpable at this distance, and Harry could smell him, something musky and wonderful and eminently lickable. Malfoy had a hand either side of Harry’s head, propping himself up to better smirk down at him.
“You know Potter, I thought of this once or twice when we were in school. Never guessed that I’d actually get you like this, though. Lucky me.” Malfoy dropped his hips to settle down against Harry’s, and he couldn’t help but moan again. Malfoy’s cock was lovely and hard alongside his own, his balls pleasantly hot and heavy and resting right on top of Harrys; and he lowered his head now too, sinking his teeth into Harry’s chin slowly. He rocked his hips once - yes. Harry’s hands were on Malfoy’s arse before he had time to register the command to move, pulling his hips down hard and grinding up. Malfoy growled a little, a tight rumbling sound in his throat, and he moved his mouth to nip at Harry’s neck. The jar of lubricant knocked into his side gently as the bed dipped in time to the pace of agonising thrusts - Harry found his legs spreading wider of their own accord. Malfoy laughed, sucking at Harry’s throat now.
“I wouldn’t get too comfortable, Potter.”
“Why’s that?” Harry allowed one hand to leave Malfoy’s arse for just long enough to guide his face up from where it was engaged in biting his collarbone, to his mouth, pulling Malfoy’s face close and crushing their lips together. If Malfoy was displeased, he wasn’t showing it very well - between the two of them, they’d be lucky if someone didn’t lose a tooth, or a sizeable portion of lip. Harry loved the way Malfoy kissed: like he really wanted to. Like there was nothing he’d like better than to crawl inside Harry’s mouth, tongue first, and hang about for the next three or four million years.
“Because - mmmff - you’re not going to be on your back for long.”
What does he mean by that?
Malfoy ground his hips hard against Harry’s once more, before pulling away. “Get on all fours.”
Harry swallowed. “Oh. Right…” He slid out from under Malfoy, who was watching him with the faintest of smirks. Harry cleared his throat. On all fours. I can do that. He rolled onto his knees, turning away from Malfoy for a moment to squeeze his cock briefly, just to make sure he was still awake, and hadn’t died and gone to heaven, or was lying passed out on Malfoy’s bathroom floor after tripping over. Nope…I seem awake. Brilliant! He adjusted his knees and dropped forward to rest his weight on his hands. Harry looked over his shoulder. Malfoy was eyeing him with a great deal of interest, one hand on his prick, stroking slowly.
“All the way down on your elbows, Potter.” Harry turned again and faced forward, and complied, lowering himself down onto his forearms. He wondered what he looked like, to Malfoy, all stretched out like this. Wanton. Hermione had explained to him once that the word didn’t just refer to an item on the yum cha menu at the Shark Fin Inn. “Spread your legs further - further - good.” Harry forced himself to breathe normally. It would do no good to anyone if he hyperventilated before Malfoy even got in the head. “Ready for me?”
“Oh, God yes,” Harry breathed.
Then Malfoy did something completely unexpected, for what must have been the fourth time since Harry arrived in his flat. Malfoy licked him right from the root of his cock, over his balls - stopping to suck one entirely into his mouth before moving on - and up his crack.
“Oh, GOD yes!”
“You’ve said that already,” Malfoy murmured into his arse.
“Sorry,” Harry wheezed back, “I - oh GOD!”
Malfoy wasn’t mucking around. He’d hardly licked Harry once between the cheeks before he was wriggling his tongue against his hole, a hand spread over each arsecheek, spreading Harry open and pressing his lips closer. Harry took hold of two fists-full of the duvet and practically bit his tongue in half. He’d only had this done to him once or twice - he always blushed too hard when he thought of it, and stammered too much to ask for it. But Merlin, it was as good as he remembered it, it was better, Malfoy was better. Malfoy was kissing his hole like he’d kissed his mouth, like he couldn’t imagine not doing it, like he wanted to so badly that he might not be able to help doing it. Pressing his tongue inside like it was his right to, like he owned the spot and all the rest of Harry too. Malfoy’s tongue was pointy, and slippery, and hot; his breath tingled where it puffed against Harry’s saliva-wet skin, so sensitive already. Malfoy, God bless him and all his ancestors, yes, even the evil ones, was sealing those sinful lips around Harry’s happy pucker and was sucking, sucking and stabbing and licking and sucking. Harry was making noises, not quite sure what sort they were, and he could only hope it wasn’t something Malfoy might hassle him about later.
“Open wide, Potter…” Malfoy paused just long enough to fit a sneaky finger around his tongue, and push it insistently against Harry’s hole. Ecstatic minutes blended into one another as Malfoy fingered and licked and generally reduced Harry to a quivering, whimpering mess. When Malfoy pulled away, Harry practically shouted at him to come back.
“Don’t stop Malfoy, please!”
He could almost hear the smirk in Malfoy’s low chuckle. “Oh, I don’t intend to Potter. This is just a brief intermission - very brief.”
Malfoy didn’t disappoint. It was only a second later that Harry registered the sound of the lube jar unscrewing, a second after that that he felt the soft thud as it was discarded again. Then Malfoy was rubbing one finger against Harry’s entrance, sliding inside and out almost too slowly for Harry’s liking. I wonder if the anti-wrinkle agent in that stuff would make my bumhole smoother? He abandoned the thought when Malfoy deliberately pressed a fingertip against his prostate. No more thinking, only feeling - only fucking.
Malfoy teased Harry’s arse for a few seconds longer, until presumably even he couldn’t wait anymore. His fingers were gone, replaced almost right away with the unmistakable press of the head of his cock to Harry’s entrance, and with hardly a pause, he was sinking inside, with one, slow, smooth thrust. “Yeah,” he grunted, bending forward and bracketing Harry’s body with his own, settling a hand just beside each of Harry’s before nipping gently at Harry’s shoulder.
“Malfoy,” Harry’s voice was a hoarse whisper, “move, dammit. Please.”
Malfoy didn’t need to be asked twice. He was relentless, moving so fast and so suddenly that the first thrust pushed what little air was left in Harry’s lungs right out of him. Malfoy didn’t pause. It took only a few moments for him to hit Harry right, find just the right spot and focus on it, never missing it again. Harry didn’t dare lift a hand to touch himself, and he reckoned he mightn’t even need to, like this. He found himself pushing back, slamming their bodies together every time Malfoy drove forward - he could feel sharp hip bones collide with his arse again and again. Sweat prickled down the length of his spine. Malfoy’s heart was pounding between his shoulders, his nipples hard and rubbing now and then against Harry’s back. He made a noise, something strangled and desperate sounding, and it only served to push Harry closer to the edge he was already barely hanging onto. Harry’s hips jerked forward into empty air, and back again hard onto Malfoy’s cock.
“Jesus, Potter, we should’ve done this years ago, fuck!”
Harry couldn’t respond. It wasn’t going to take very much more, not much more at all -
“I - ahhh!”
He brushed a hand over his balls, up the length of his cock. That was the end of it. Harry came. His body clenched, come pulsing thick and hot from his cock, his vision swimming until the duvet below him became a blur. He came, and it didn’t stop. His body was on fire, or so it seemed, blood hot and rushing to the surface of his skin; fingers and toes clenched impossibly tight. Malfoy was still fucking him, every pummel of his cock against Harry’s prostate wrenching a new moan from his throat, a new jerk from his cock. Malfoy’s hands closed over his, fingers twisting tight between Harry’s, and he was mouthing desperately at the scruff of Harry’s neck, at his shoulder and just below his ear - Malfoy must have been almost ready to lose it. His hips were jerking now without the smooth rhythm they had before.
“Potter, Potter, Potter-”
Malfoy’s hips collided with his, pushing his cock as deeply as possible into Harry, and stilled. “Potter-” Harry felt his cock twitch again, barely able to do more than produce a few drops - there couldn’t possibly be another ounce of come left in him, or moisture of any kind, in fact. He would hardly be surprised if he left Malfoy’s flat looking less like a man, and more like a man-shaped raisin. Malfoy’s arms seemed to give out, and his weight was abruptly entirely on Harry’s back. Harry pitched forward onto the bed, taking Malfoy down on top of him with a slight ‘oof’, and they both lay there, panting in unison, for several minutes before either of them spoke.
“Potter. That was was very satisfying. Very satisfying indeed.”
Harry wasn’t sure whether he nodded or not. He was far too dazed to be having a conversation. Malfoy slipped off his back, rolling onto his side and taking Harry along with him, their hands still entwined. Malfoy let him go, but not entirely - his hands slid around Harry’s hips, pulling him against Malfoy’s chest where he could feel the rise and fall with every slightly rasping breath. It seemed Malfoy wasn’t about to boot him out - in fact, all indications pointed to Malfoy actually wanting to snuggle.
May wonders never cease.
Harry swallowed, exhausted and leaden-limbed, and still partly tangled between Malfoy’s legs. That had been something close to miraculous, and he’d have written it off as pure fancy, a dream, if it had happened any other night. But here he was, covered in come and sweat, and Malfoy’s saliva, his thighs slightly burning, throbbing along with the ache of his hole. Minutes passed. Malfoy’s breathing steadied, slowed - and finally, he appeared to drop off to sleep. Harry couldn’t move, and didn’t want to. He’d wait, and sleep, here in Malfoy’s bed, his warm breath puffing gently against his neck as he snored, smelling not just of whiskey now, but also of sex. It was nearly morning - it was getting lighter outside the thin venetians, according to the shadows and slivers of brightness, and who knew how Malfoy would be in the light of day. Hungover, probably. He might not be feeling quite as affectionate. Malfoy would hopefully sleep until it was late, and give Harry time to come up with a plan. Now that he’d had Malfoy once - twice, actually - he couldn’t possibly not have him again…and his job…the concern he’d felt earlier in the evening had been pushed to the side, but was beginning to resurface. What he needed was to convince Malfoy to do it again, tomorrow, today, and sober. Malfoy couldn’t complain to the Ministry of assault if he willingly participated again while in possession of all his wits. And more importantly, he wanted Malfoy to remember every suck, every bite, every inch of him, and want more. Harry would just have to be smooth…he could be smooth. Could he be smooth? He could probably be smooth enough. And if he played his cards right, he might walk out of this thing not only with his job, but with Malfoy, too…
Harry closed his eyes, and began to plot his seduction of Draco Malfoy.
...more to come...