Eye of the Storm - R - Harry/Draco
Title: Eye of the Storm
Author: poetic_licence
Rating: R
Summary: A stormy encounter.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and other trademarks are © by JK Rowling, Little Literacy Agency, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, Arthur A. Levine, & Warner Brothers. No profit is being made, it's all good clean fun. Really.
Eye of the Storm
- for zed_adams, who broke me out of nice safe sap and fluff for this -
Harry would strut, taunting him. He'd say 'I hate you' when he meant 'I want you'. Say 'I want you' when he meant 'I need you'. Say 'I need you' when he meant 'I l…'
Too bad he only said 'I need you' when he was being pushed over the edge of sanity, Draco's legs around his waist and blunt fingernails digging painfully into Harry's shoulder blades as he arched back into the hard stone wall, his trousers puddled around his ankles.
They had spent six and a half years trying to fuck each other over, and as they'd grown older, the passion had grown deeper, with four legs, four hands, two mouths and a thirst for sex. So, they had given into it. They plotted and planned and researched. They fought like cats during the day with steel and ice; they fucked during the night with passion and fire. They kissed with anger, took each other with hatred.
Between them, they created quite a storm.
Draco would press a startled Harry against the rough bricks, his hand on the back of Harry's head making sure the stones tore at Harry's skin with their rough bite.
Outside, an owl hooted.
Draco's nails bit into the flesh of Harry's warm shoulder as his mouth ripped into the bruised hollows of bare back, ravaging him until he tasted blood. Harry's life tasted metallic and slightly stale, and the rare flavour stick to the roof of Draco's mouth and under his tongue with sublime impatience. It was a reminder of why they did this. Why they continued to rip each other to shreds as soon as the sun vanished beyond the horizon. Why they were so impatiently tearing at each other, tripping over branches and discarded school issue chairs in the lust of bare bodies and fiery completion.
They both knew how to draw on each other's passion. Whether it was spitting at each other in the corridors; battling for the Snitch in Quidditch Games; glaring at each other from across the classrooms. Or whether it was while they were gasping and sweaty in an erotic tussle on the other side of the lake in the long grass. Or underneath the Hufflepuff Quidditch stand. Or whether it was in the wings of a cobwebbed and deserted classroom full of dust and the lingering smell of arousal and sweat.
This, this passion, this wasn't new. They'd always had the passion to push each other to the absolute limits, but to combine that with a healthy libido and a more-than-willing attitude and you've got a sex-ridden cocktail of lust, late-night-sex and the willingness to try anything once.
This storm was older than themselves. It was called up by them, indeed, but it travelled back generations, it could be traced further than time could be travelled, and it was addictive. It could sweep them and their reservations up and make them bleed from its hail and violence, bruise them with its caress and thunder rolls.
This storm was far from passing.
Harry turned the tables suddenly, his warm hand to Draco's throat, forcing him back, back, jade eyes glazed with manic lust that burnt itself into Draco's stomach. Fingers were pushed into Draco's mouth and sucked on avidly, tasting a hint of chocolate mousse that had been served for dessert that very night and consequently devoured, those fingers swirled around the rim of the low bowl and sucked on tauntingly, promisingly. Draco knew the taste of promises now. They were bittersweet and heated and Draco was way past gone by now.
Harry pressed Draco's knees up to his elbows as his inserted his spit-cooled fingers into Draco. One, fast and quick; two, pressing and scissoring; three, invading and stretching. Draco's body opened to him as a tongue rimmed his nipples, as the passion was invaded on him and Harry forced him open with a thrust and a bite and a whirl of an unsteady head.
The storm raged around him.
The only time Draco was totally calm was when Harry was buried so deep inside him he could practically taste him on his tongue. His mind would still with the perfection, with the loss of movements to his limbs through pure pleasure, his breathing thick. Harry would still above him, the tip of his erection pressed against Draco's prostrate so hard that the pleasure was so intense that it felt like pain, outdoing the pain from Harry pulling his hair back while he devoured the slim neck beneath him. His blunt teeth felt like a bold of lightning dashing across his skin.
Every thing was right in the world in that split second, Harry throbbing, tasting, thrusting relentless; Draco aching, arching, annihilated in the atmosphere of Harry's skin and mouth and sweat.
Harry enclosed his hand around Draco's pale and throbbing erection, no doubt feeling the muscle pulse angrily under the rub of his callused thumb. He no doubt felt the storm clouds rush around them and pelt their soaked skin with flames that have broken many ships, boats, vessels; to run them from their former glory and left them destroyed on the shore for the scavengers to pick at their shattered bones.
Draco gasped, the fire taking over, his legs sore, knees to shoulders, gasping again. Harry pounded harder inside him, rocking their conjoined bodies all of the messy robes that served as their makeshift sheets. Draco convulsed, the ground rushing up to meet him as he ejaculated - hard - as his voice was torn from him, eyes closed, thrashing with silent curses and ragged gasps. His vision blotted out with the intensity, and wasn't sure if he imagined or really felt the hot, demanding tongue sliding into his mouth.
Their kisses were always fierce, teeth meeting teeth in violent clashes, Draco lynching Harry's bottom lip until the metallic taste of addictive blood spilled down their throats. This kiss was fiery, but Harry was coaxing him along, lapping his tongue over teeth and cheeks and taste buds. Draco moaned, deeply, tangling his fingers through Harry's unruly hair, the orgasm fading away to a distant memory.
This kiss, this perfect kiss, was new.
This kiss was passionate and moving. This kiss was lonely, and inviting, opening its door to them and holding it open form them to get out of the storm. Their mouths slid away, and looking into the eyes of passion that was now ship wreaked.
They stood in one movement, shakily. Dressed in crumpled robes. Parted ways at the door without a backwards glance, never speaking a word, never speaking the three words that both knew were a total lie, a total truth.
The storm could waste until another day.
- finished -
Author: poetic_licence
Rating: R
Summary: A stormy encounter.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and other trademarks are © by JK Rowling, Little Literacy Agency, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, Arthur A. Levine, & Warner Brothers. No profit is being made, it's all good clean fun. Really.
Eye of the Storm
- for zed_adams, who broke me out of nice safe sap and fluff for this -
Harry would strut, taunting him. He'd say 'I hate you' when he meant 'I want you'. Say 'I want you' when he meant 'I need you'. Say 'I need you' when he meant 'I l…'
Too bad he only said 'I need you' when he was being pushed over the edge of sanity, Draco's legs around his waist and blunt fingernails digging painfully into Harry's shoulder blades as he arched back into the hard stone wall, his trousers puddled around his ankles.
They had spent six and a half years trying to fuck each other over, and as they'd grown older, the passion had grown deeper, with four legs, four hands, two mouths and a thirst for sex. So, they had given into it. They plotted and planned and researched. They fought like cats during the day with steel and ice; they fucked during the night with passion and fire. They kissed with anger, took each other with hatred.
Between them, they created quite a storm.
Draco would press a startled Harry against the rough bricks, his hand on the back of Harry's head making sure the stones tore at Harry's skin with their rough bite.
Outside, an owl hooted.
Draco's nails bit into the flesh of Harry's warm shoulder as his mouth ripped into the bruised hollows of bare back, ravaging him until he tasted blood. Harry's life tasted metallic and slightly stale, and the rare flavour stick to the roof of Draco's mouth and under his tongue with sublime impatience. It was a reminder of why they did this. Why they continued to rip each other to shreds as soon as the sun vanished beyond the horizon. Why they were so impatiently tearing at each other, tripping over branches and discarded school issue chairs in the lust of bare bodies and fiery completion.
They both knew how to draw on each other's passion. Whether it was spitting at each other in the corridors; battling for the Snitch in Quidditch Games; glaring at each other from across the classrooms. Or whether it was while they were gasping and sweaty in an erotic tussle on the other side of the lake in the long grass. Or underneath the Hufflepuff Quidditch stand. Or whether it was in the wings of a cobwebbed and deserted classroom full of dust and the lingering smell of arousal and sweat.
This, this passion, this wasn't new. They'd always had the passion to push each other to the absolute limits, but to combine that with a healthy libido and a more-than-willing attitude and you've got a sex-ridden cocktail of lust, late-night-sex and the willingness to try anything once.
This storm was older than themselves. It was called up by them, indeed, but it travelled back generations, it could be traced further than time could be travelled, and it was addictive. It could sweep them and their reservations up and make them bleed from its hail and violence, bruise them with its caress and thunder rolls.
This storm was far from passing.
Harry turned the tables suddenly, his warm hand to Draco's throat, forcing him back, back, jade eyes glazed with manic lust that burnt itself into Draco's stomach. Fingers were pushed into Draco's mouth and sucked on avidly, tasting a hint of chocolate mousse that had been served for dessert that very night and consequently devoured, those fingers swirled around the rim of the low bowl and sucked on tauntingly, promisingly. Draco knew the taste of promises now. They were bittersweet and heated and Draco was way past gone by now.
Harry pressed Draco's knees up to his elbows as his inserted his spit-cooled fingers into Draco. One, fast and quick; two, pressing and scissoring; three, invading and stretching. Draco's body opened to him as a tongue rimmed his nipples, as the passion was invaded on him and Harry forced him open with a thrust and a bite and a whirl of an unsteady head.
The storm raged around him.
The only time Draco was totally calm was when Harry was buried so deep inside him he could practically taste him on his tongue. His mind would still with the perfection, with the loss of movements to his limbs through pure pleasure, his breathing thick. Harry would still above him, the tip of his erection pressed against Draco's prostrate so hard that the pleasure was so intense that it felt like pain, outdoing the pain from Harry pulling his hair back while he devoured the slim neck beneath him. His blunt teeth felt like a bold of lightning dashing across his skin.
Every thing was right in the world in that split second, Harry throbbing, tasting, thrusting relentless; Draco aching, arching, annihilated in the atmosphere of Harry's skin and mouth and sweat.
Harry enclosed his hand around Draco's pale and throbbing erection, no doubt feeling the muscle pulse angrily under the rub of his callused thumb. He no doubt felt the storm clouds rush around them and pelt their soaked skin with flames that have broken many ships, boats, vessels; to run them from their former glory and left them destroyed on the shore for the scavengers to pick at their shattered bones.
Draco gasped, the fire taking over, his legs sore, knees to shoulders, gasping again. Harry pounded harder inside him, rocking their conjoined bodies all of the messy robes that served as their makeshift sheets. Draco convulsed, the ground rushing up to meet him as he ejaculated - hard - as his voice was torn from him, eyes closed, thrashing with silent curses and ragged gasps. His vision blotted out with the intensity, and wasn't sure if he imagined or really felt the hot, demanding tongue sliding into his mouth.
Their kisses were always fierce, teeth meeting teeth in violent clashes, Draco lynching Harry's bottom lip until the metallic taste of addictive blood spilled down their throats. This kiss was fiery, but Harry was coaxing him along, lapping his tongue over teeth and cheeks and taste buds. Draco moaned, deeply, tangling his fingers through Harry's unruly hair, the orgasm fading away to a distant memory.
This kiss, this perfect kiss, was new.
This kiss was passionate and moving. This kiss was lonely, and inviting, opening its door to them and holding it open form them to get out of the storm. Their mouths slid away, and looking into the eyes of passion that was now ship wreaked.
They stood in one movement, shakily. Dressed in crumpled robes. Parted ways at the door without a backwards glance, never speaking a word, never speaking the three words that both knew were a total lie, a total truth.
The storm could waste until another day.
- finished -