ravengirl76: What it is (Draco/Harry, NC-17)
Title: What it is
Author: ravengirl76
Rating: NC-17
Prompt Set: 50.1
Prompt: wrong
Word Count: 808
Warnings: oral, rimming, er... rough, unapologetic m/m shower smut?
Disclaimer: This fic is written strictly for my own entertainment, not fiscal gain. The characters belong to JKR and various publishers.
Summary: Is it wrong when both of you enjoy it?
Hands shove ruthlessly hard, slamming you into the shower stall. Your head connects with a sickening crack and you slump dizzily against slick tile, hot water pouring down around you. If not for the callused fingers circling your neck, you’d be on the floor.
You’re not sure why you’re still upright - on your knees at his feet is where he best likes to see you - but you’re not about to ask. You learned very quickly that your voice only enrages him further.
“Look at me,” he hisses, and you open your eyes, falling, sinking, drowning in furious green.
He kisses you then, his mouth merciless, and you taste coppery defeat as his nails dig painful crescents into your skin. When he finally lets you go, you are both breathless, panting. His fingers release your throat and you slide bonelessly to the ground, but it’s not a reprieve, oh no.
Brutal digits fist your hair, yanking your head back, and tears of pain spring inadvertently to your eyes. He holds you there, pulling lazily on his heavy cock with his other hand, flaunting its generous length before your watery vision.
A cruel smirk tilts the corners of his lips, and you wonder just how badly fucked in the head you are that your own expression on the Boy Who Lived’s face can make you hard enough to hurt in less than a minute.
“You know what to do, don’t you Malfoy?” he tells you, and you nod frantically, leaning eagerly forward even before his hold eases in tacit permission.
Your mouth knows the shape of him already, but you pause to savor anyway; nuzzling your cheek along velvety-soft skin stretched taut over engorged flesh, and licking a slow line from base to tip. His breath hitches and his hands grip your shoulders as your tongue rubs briefly at the sweet spot just below the crown.
You smile, the expression hidden against his skin, and open your mouth, swallowing him down in one long, wet slide.
His groan vibrates all the way to where his prick is lodged in your throat, and you swallow, once, twice, muscles expanding and contracting around him. Your fingers cup the tightly-drawn sac, massaging gently and lightly stroking the sensitive perineum.
A fine shiver runs through him and his entire body clenches, so you back off, mouthing the head, dipping your tongue into its leaking hole. The taste of clean sweat and male musk inundates you; the heady scent filling your senses is intrinsically his.
Your own cock is rock hard and slippery, the pulse of your blood throbbing insistently for relief. It won’t be yours any time soon, though, not until he’s done.
That end in mind, you suck him down once more, encircling the base firmly with your hand, synchronizing the movements of your fingers and mouth until he grabs your head and pulls you off his cock, moaning quietly and coming all over your face in hot spurts.
No sooner has the stream of liquid heat ceased than you are down all fours, his bony fingers spreading your ass wide, his tongue shoving itself deep inside you.
There is no finesse to his technique, never has been, never will be, but you don’t give one bloody good damn, not with his tongue stroking the walls of your anus and his fingers around your cock tugging you relentlessly towards orgasm.
You come on a strangled sob, collapsing forward on folded arms, shaking uncontrollably, and he follows you down, a dead weight against your back.
You’re not sure how long you both lay there, but eventually the water still streaming over you grows tiresome and his thin frame becomes heavy. You shift uncomfortably beneath him.
“Eurgh. Gerroff, wanker, can’t breathe.”
He rolls to one side, waving the shower off as he does, and watches worriedly as you loll across drenched marble in a sated heap.
“Shit, Malfoy, you’re all over in bruises!”
Cracking your lids, you run your gaze lazily down your body. There are finger marks and scratches everywhere, most of them guaranteed to turn black and blue overnight. You prod one sluggishly-bleeding scrape with great satisfaction.
“Yeah, so? Getting ‘em was bloody brilliant.”
“That is so wrong,” Potter mutters, rolling to his feet and grabbing a towel. “You’re sick, Malfoy.”
You snicker at him, fingers trailing through the water on your chest and stomach.
“Pot, kettle. Admit it Potter… you love making me suck your cock. That’s what this is really about.”
He rolls his eyes, dropping his damp towel on your face as he leaves the stall.
“Whatever, Malfoy,” he calls over your indignant yelps. “I don’t give a fuck what this is, or how bad you want Ron to catch us… next time you feel like playing, we’re doing it in the Prefect’s bathroom instead of the Tower.”
Fin.
Author: ravengirl76
Rating: NC-17
Prompt Set: 50.1
Prompt: wrong
Word Count: 808
Warnings: oral, rimming, er... rough, unapologetic m/m shower smut?
Disclaimer: This fic is written strictly for my own entertainment, not fiscal gain. The characters belong to JKR and various publishers.
Summary: Is it wrong when both of you enjoy it?
Hands shove ruthlessly hard, slamming you into the shower stall. Your head connects with a sickening crack and you slump dizzily against slick tile, hot water pouring down around you. If not for the callused fingers circling your neck, you’d be on the floor.
You’re not sure why you’re still upright - on your knees at his feet is where he best likes to see you - but you’re not about to ask. You learned very quickly that your voice only enrages him further.
“Look at me,” he hisses, and you open your eyes, falling, sinking, drowning in furious green.
He kisses you then, his mouth merciless, and you taste coppery defeat as his nails dig painful crescents into your skin. When he finally lets you go, you are both breathless, panting. His fingers release your throat and you slide bonelessly to the ground, but it’s not a reprieve, oh no.
Brutal digits fist your hair, yanking your head back, and tears of pain spring inadvertently to your eyes. He holds you there, pulling lazily on his heavy cock with his other hand, flaunting its generous length before your watery vision.
A cruel smirk tilts the corners of his lips, and you wonder just how badly fucked in the head you are that your own expression on the Boy Who Lived’s face can make you hard enough to hurt in less than a minute.
“You know what to do, don’t you Malfoy?” he tells you, and you nod frantically, leaning eagerly forward even before his hold eases in tacit permission.
Your mouth knows the shape of him already, but you pause to savor anyway; nuzzling your cheek along velvety-soft skin stretched taut over engorged flesh, and licking a slow line from base to tip. His breath hitches and his hands grip your shoulders as your tongue rubs briefly at the sweet spot just below the crown.
You smile, the expression hidden against his skin, and open your mouth, swallowing him down in one long, wet slide.
His groan vibrates all the way to where his prick is lodged in your throat, and you swallow, once, twice, muscles expanding and contracting around him. Your fingers cup the tightly-drawn sac, massaging gently and lightly stroking the sensitive perineum.
A fine shiver runs through him and his entire body clenches, so you back off, mouthing the head, dipping your tongue into its leaking hole. The taste of clean sweat and male musk inundates you; the heady scent filling your senses is intrinsically his.
Your own cock is rock hard and slippery, the pulse of your blood throbbing insistently for relief. It won’t be yours any time soon, though, not until he’s done.
That end in mind, you suck him down once more, encircling the base firmly with your hand, synchronizing the movements of your fingers and mouth until he grabs your head and pulls you off his cock, moaning quietly and coming all over your face in hot spurts.
No sooner has the stream of liquid heat ceased than you are down all fours, his bony fingers spreading your ass wide, his tongue shoving itself deep inside you.
There is no finesse to his technique, never has been, never will be, but you don’t give one bloody good damn, not with his tongue stroking the walls of your anus and his fingers around your cock tugging you relentlessly towards orgasm.
You come on a strangled sob, collapsing forward on folded arms, shaking uncontrollably, and he follows you down, a dead weight against your back.
You’re not sure how long you both lay there, but eventually the water still streaming over you grows tiresome and his thin frame becomes heavy. You shift uncomfortably beneath him.
“Eurgh. Gerroff, wanker, can’t breathe.”
He rolls to one side, waving the shower off as he does, and watches worriedly as you loll across drenched marble in a sated heap.
“Shit, Malfoy, you’re all over in bruises!”
Cracking your lids, you run your gaze lazily down your body. There are finger marks and scratches everywhere, most of them guaranteed to turn black and blue overnight. You prod one sluggishly-bleeding scrape with great satisfaction.
“Yeah, so? Getting ‘em was bloody brilliant.”
“That is so wrong,” Potter mutters, rolling to his feet and grabbing a towel. “You’re sick, Malfoy.”
You snicker at him, fingers trailing through the water on your chest and stomach.
“Pot, kettle. Admit it Potter… you love making me suck your cock. That’s what this is really about.”
He rolls his eyes, dropping his damp towel on your face as he leaves the stall.
“Whatever, Malfoy,” he calls over your indignant yelps. “I don’t give a fuck what this is, or how bad you want Ron to catch us… next time you feel like playing, we’re doing it in the Prefect’s bathroom instead of the Tower.”
Fin.