FIC: A Fox's Bargain (NC-17)
Title: A Fox’s Bargain
Author: raitala
Prompt: # 11
Summary: Harry made a bargain with Draco. He knew it was going to come back and bite him on the arse, he just didn’t think about what exactly Draco would ask for. Draco would say that Harry must have known deep down what he was agreeing to, but then Draco is a prick and what would he know?
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): Non-con kiss (at the beginning), dub-con sex, fingering, rimming, orgasm denial, D/s dynamics, unredeemed!draco (he’s an arsehole).
Word Count: 6000
Author's Notes: Had such fun writing this! Wicked Draco is wicked and stubborn Harry is stubborn, only he caves in so beautifully :D Many thanks to L. for the thoughtful beta!
A Fox’s Bargain
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Harry said, with a start. “Can’t you even knock?”
Malfoy walked across his office, unhooking his cloak and throwing it carelessly onto a chair. “Seal the door, Harry, and tell your assistant to take all Floo calls.”
“Fuck off, Malfoy.”
Predictably, Malfoy did no such thing. He gave Harry a slow smile and began to prowl around his office, making himself at home.
Harry closed his eyes briefly. He was extremely bloody tired and this really was the last thing he needed. “Get out of my office now, before I call one of the duty Aurors to come and remove you. I don’t even know why Williamson let you in.”
“Oh, I told him I had an important matter regarding the Kreuzer case to discuss,” Malfoy said sweetly.
“We have nothing further to discuss about Kreuzer. You and I both know you’ve already given me everything you had.”
“Oh, I know. I’ve come for my hour, Potter.”
“What?”
“My hour.” And Malfoy smiled, not like the cat who’s got the cream, but like a fox covered in the blood of someone else’s chickens.
“We’re not doing it here,” Harry said flatly.
“Now, Potter, we made a magically binding contract. You bought what I knew with just an hour of your time,” chided Draco.
“I know that. We’re not doing it here.”
“Oh, Potter!” Malfoy was clearly enjoying himself vastly. “There were so many, dull stipulations. I wasn’t to physically hurt you. I wasn’t to do anything that would directly or indirectly cause hurt to another person. I wasn’t to do anything that was against the law or anything that in any way prejudiced the smooth running of the Auror department. I wasn’t to do anything that would tarnish you or your department’s reputation.” Malfoy stepped softly round to perch on Harry’s desk. “All so boring!”
“Get off my desk,” Harry snapped.
“What, out of curiosity, did you think I was going to do with my hour, with so many options lost to me?” Malfoy asked.
“Oh, I don’t know, ponce around the place pontificating at me like a cheap villain in a mini-drama? What do you damn well want, Malfoy?”
Malfoy leaned forward until the point of his nose was brushing the shell of Harry’s ear and whispered, “I’m going to fuck you, here, on this desk.”
Harry froze as he got a grip on his temper. “No. You’re not.”
“Magically binding contract, Potter.”
“We’re not doing it here, Malfoy.”
“You made no mention, contractually, of a mutually convenient time and place.”
“We are not doing it here,” Harry repeated firmly.
“Potter, if you refuse to hold up your side of the bargain then I shall invoke the contract and the information I have given shall be struck from the record. The case against Kreuzer will collapse and it is coming before the Wizengamot so very soon.” Malfoy leaned back nonchalantly on the desk, swinging one long leg sheathed in fine grey wool.
“It’s no skin off my nose, of course, but Kreuzer isn’t a very nice man, is he? Those poor people!” Malfoy’s face shifted briefly into an unconvincing mask of compassion.
Harry tamped down on the rage boiling up inside him. He was Head Auror. He had responsibilities. He couldn’t kill Malfoy, no matter how much of a public service it might be. “Get out of my fucking office, right now Malfoy,” he said, his voice laden with menace.
Malfoy just hummed appreciatively and murmured, “The door, Potter. I am obliged by the contract to consider your reputation,” he said, running his ankle lazily up Harry’s leg. “But if you choose to waive your rights I am not responsible. You can’t use your obstinacy on this point to evade the terms of the contract.”
Harry was too busy concentrating on the act of not throttling Malfoy with his bare hands to pay him much attention.
“Very well, Potter.” Malfoy straightened up, from where he had been lounging. He took a small metal token from his pocket and held it up. “I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, invoke the contract made with Harry James Potter. I claim this hour as my own,” he intoned.
He lent towards Harry with the token in his hand. With a snarl, Harry caught up his wrist before Malfoy could touch him. Malfoy just smiled his infuriating smile.
“I’ve invoked the contract, Potter,” he said, his voice measured, soft, reasonable. “Think of your case. Think of all the work you and your men put in. He’s got to be stopped, hasn’t he, Potter?” Malfoy coaxed. “Whatever it takes.”
Harry slowly relaxed his grip and Malfoy pressed the token to the back of his neck. It felt cold and a tingle of magic shot down his spine. Fuck! And he hadn’t warded the door or the Floo, fuck!
Without further warning Malfoy used the hand on the back of his neck to haul him forward into a long covetous kiss. Harry kept his lips firmly closed, refusing to respond, until Malfoy pinched at the back of his neck. Fine! He parted his lips and Malfoy’s tongue slipped in hungrily. There’s nothing more disgusting than being kissed by someone you despise. What would be nice under other circumstances, the sharing of breath, saliva, the taste and texture of another mouth, is vile.
When Malfoy finally pulled away his breathing rapid and his face alive with anarchic glee, Harry stared at him full of loathing. Malfoy sat back in the middle of his desk, dangling his legs between Harry’s knees and regarding him with anticipation. He took a deep breath and released it. “Oh, Harry, look at you!” he crowed. “So much hate!” And he leaned forward and scratched one thumbnail lightly down the line of Harry’s jaw.
“One day I will get enough on you, Malfoy, and it will be such a pleasure taking you down,” Harry ground out.
“Taking me down, Potter? I don’t run an evil empire. I run a small business.”
“You’re a blackmailer!”
“I deal in information. The reason you have not and never will ‘get anything on me’ is because I provide a service that people … require. Everybody has secrets. Things they need returned to them. Things they need forgotten, permanently. They may not always be entirely happy with the price they have to pay, but in the end it is always a price they agree is commensurate with the value of what they purchase.”
Harry snorted in disgust.
“And I never renege on a deal. I never make anyone pay twice. I am utterly trustworthy and discreet.”
“You’re a bastard.”
“The Ministry did not leave many avenues for employment open to me. I am refused a licence as a Potions-Maker. What am I supposed to do? I should sweep roads and wait tables very badly, Harry. Can you imagine?” Malfoy smiled conspiratorially at him and Harry was forced to concede that he could not imagine him doing either of these jobs.
“I am very modest in my ambitions and in my demands. I just use my skills to generate a little income. I live in a pleasant apartment, buy a few nice things, enjoy travel, but that is all. You must come and see my place someday. I am really very proud of what I have done with it.”
“You burnt the manor down, I heard?”
“It was burnt, certainly,” Malfoy conceded. “Actually, I sold permission to burn it to a gentleman whose wife had been killed there. He purchased it alongside the memories I held of the actual event, the murder. I happened to be there at the time you see. He viewed the memories and burned the manor down. Very cathartic. Very moving.”
Harry surged up out of his chair, furious, only to be stopped by Malfoy’s boot planted firmly in his chest.
“Sit down, Potter!”
“You fucking bastard!” Harry spat.
“He’s quite moved on now, I’ve heard. Re-married. Two kiddies. Who have I wronged … through the sale of my property, my memories?”
“You profit from the suffering of others.”
“Very modestly, as I have said. I never ask more than people can reasonably afford. I do not push people to despair. People suffer, Potter, it’s what they do. In many cases I help to end that suffering. Closure. An enlightened model of business.”
Harry glared at Malfoy and fantasised about what he would look like with his nose broken.
“Now,” said Malfoy, hopping down from the table, “enough chit chat. You may get up, but I warn you, if you hit me I shall regard the contract as broken. Oh, don’t look like that. I don’t need to use Legilimency to see what you are thinking.
“You’d like to hurt me, wouldn’t you? Slice me open from throat to groin perhaps? You did that once, or have you forgotten?” Harry restricted his reaction to a single slow blink. He remembered.
“I was nearly your first kill, Harry.” Malfoy traced the lines of Harry’s chest and shoulders through his jacket. He was just an inch or two taller than Harry, when they stood nose to nose. Malfoy was lean and rangy though, where Harry was compact and effective.
“You’ve killed plenty of times since then, haven’t you? Am I the one who got away?” Malfoy spoke softly, lightly, his head on one side, considering. “I’ve never killed anyone, you know. But then, I am a coward, so I somehow end up being the morally bankrupt one regardless.” He shrugged. Harry stayed silent. There was no sense in getting drawn into some sort of pointless debate with the little shit.
“I must admit,” he said, running his forefingers around the line of Harry’s collar, “I do have a special weakness for uniforms. All those lovely buttons.” Malfoy began to unbutton Harry’s jacket with deliberate care. Harry stared stiffly ahead, his jaw clenched. It must have been at least ten minutes into this hour by now. He just needed to not engage in Malfoy’s little games, endure and it would all be over and done with.
Malfoy slid his jacket down his arms and deposited it on the floor and began to work on his shirt. Harry kept his gaze on the bookshelf opposite, trying to see if he could recall the title of each book from just its spine. With his shirt open, Malfoy began to explore Harry’s chest with long subtle fingers. When he scratched lightly over that particularly sensitive spot above Harry’s hip bone Harry did not react in time to stop himself blinking rapidly and he knew Malfoy had clocked it.
Collar bone. Nipples. The old scar above his right ribs. The even older scar in the centre of his chest. Malfoy’s touch was light, but not ticklish. Too self-absorbed to be gentle. Entirely covetous, like a child turning a long-desired toy over and over in his hands.
“Mmm.” Malfoy let out a pleased hum as he stood almost chest to chest with Harry. “Perfect, Harry. So perfect.” His voice was laden with smug satisfaction. He took something from his pocket and, enlarging it, set a generous sized glass jar down on the table. “I came prepared,” he smirked. “This stuff is divine. Smell it.” And he opened the jar, dabbed his finger in and then held it up to Harry’s nose.
It smelled sort of citrusy and smoky. Bloody expensive too, of course. “It’s rather special. I brew it myself. Purely for personal use. Taste it.” Malfoy offered his finger to Harry’s lips. Harry, who had remained staring stonily ahead, shot Malfoy a suspicious glare.
“Oh, honestly, Harry!” Malfoy laughed. “If I wanted to poison you, do you really think I would go through all this as an insane charade? And I’d like to think that our relationship has progressed beyond my perpetrating some sort of juvenile trick just to get you to taste something nasty.”
“I’m not sure I call being blackmailed into buggery ‘progress’, Malfoy,” said Harry sourly.
Malfoy smirked again, damn him. “Taste it,” he repeated.
Harry opened his mouth and sucked some of the gloop off Malfoy’s finger. Oranges. And spices. Despite its apparent viscosity, the stuff wasn’t sticky on his tongue but dissolved into liquid. Even more surprisingly it turned cold like iced water. Harry’s eyes widened a fraction and Malfoy laughed. He whispered something and the inside of Harry’s mouth warmed up, like the first mouthful of hot tea on a cold morning.
“Trousers down!” Malfoy ordered cheerfully. Harry complied grudgingly, sliding his trousers and pants down to mid-thigh. “Now lean forward, forearms on the desk.” Harry did so, experiencing the odd feeling of being painfully exposed and at the same time utterly murderous.
Malfoy stepped back from the desk and surveyed Harry. Harry could feel his eyes all over him. Stepping forward again, Malfoy twitched his shirt up his back so that it lay in folds about his armpits. He ran his hands over Harry’s flanks and arse a few times. “You have no idea,” Malfoy breathed, “no idea how glorious you look.” From behind he ran the very tips of his fingers over that point where groin meets hipbone and Harry couldn’t suppress the quiver of his body it called in response. “If only I could see your face,” Malfoy sighed.
Then he stepped back again and did indeed come round the desk to view Harry from the front. Harry could hear the soft pad of his steps on the carpet and he stared down at the mug rings on his desk. Maybe there was some way he could kill Malfoy and make it look like an accident. “Look at me, Harry,” Malfoy almost whispered from a few feet away and there was something reverential in his voice.
Harry looked up and glowered. He saw Malfoy’s lips part slightly and Malfoy’s hand pressed hard to his own groin, containing himself. There were patches of pink high on his cheeks and his eyes bore into Harry, raking over his body and then staring in rapt silence at Harry’s face. It should have been just plain weird, being stared at by Malfoy like that, but there was something undeniably erotic about being wanted with that intensity.
After a few more moments Harry saw Malfoy turn and walk back around the desk. There was something different about him now, less flippant and facetious and more focussed. Harry did not feel a flutter of anticipation. Not in the least.
“I’m going to vanish your trousers now. Though you look utterly delectable with them strained between your legs, I’m going to need you spread further than this. I hope you haven’t got anything valuable in your pockets?” Malfoy said, suiting the action to the words and not actually leaving Harry any time to answer. And what had Harry been thinking? It was not actually possible for Malfoy to be anything less than a facetious wanker.
With his trousers gone, Harry felt more exposed than ever. Malfoy kicked lightly at each foot, spreading Harry’s stance. Harry jarred against the desk and a precarious pile of files cascaded onto the floor. Both of them stilled, Harry’s eyes flying to the door. They waited a moment, listening, but no one came. Harry let out the breath he was holding. He really did not want anyone walking in right now.
He took a deep breath, “Malfoy, can you please ward the door and the Floo?”
“I did give you the chance to do that before,” Malfoy chided gently.
“I know you did,” Harry conceded tightly, “but can you … please?” Harry knew that his bargaining position at this moment, naked and spread before his own desk, was not a particularly strong one.
“Say, ‘I understand that you operate your business in a way that is both fair and reasonable.’”
“What?”
“Say it.”
Oh for fuck’s sake! “I understand that you operate your business in a way that is, um … ,” Harry paused to recall the ridiculous wording.
“Both fair and reasonable,” Malfoy prompted.
“Both fair and reasonable,” Harry continued grudgingly.
“Darling,” Malfoy prompted again.
Harry clamped his mouth shut and Malfoy chuckled. “But I promised you, didn’t I, that I never asked for terms people could not meet,” and Harry heard the muttered spell warding the door and Floo and relaxed.
“I said the price was always commensurate with the value of what was purchased. A few silly words that cost you nothing, for the assurance that we will not be disturbed; I’d call that generous.”
“Are you going to stand there, wittering nonsense and perving over me, or are you going to fuck me, Malfoy?”
“So eager, Potter!” Malfoy crowed. And that was not what Harry had meant, but the anticipation was starting to get on his nerves.
Malfoy resumed stroking him. Standing just behind him, he stroked his back and sides and up his thighs and over his buttocks. Harry heard the chink of the lid of the jar again and then felt one slick finger run up the back of his balls and into the crack of his arse. It disappeared again and the stroking continued, but every now and again the finger returned, teasing him. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut. He opened them and concentrated on the surface of his desk: scratches, ink blots, mug rings.
After a little while the touches became more frequent, rubbing smoothly against the rim of his arsehole and spreading the slick around. Eventually Malfoy had hold of one buttock, pressing them lightly apart, and penetrated Harry shallowly with his finger. Then back to the rubbing, then penetrating again, gentle but relentless.
Harry held himself still and tried not to think about what was happening. The room was silent apart from the quiet, sticky sounds coming from between his legs. Adding more lube from the jar, surely more than was needed, Malfoy was finger fucking him in earnest now and there was nothing Harry could do to stop the electric pulse that ran down his legs to the backs of his knees each time Malfoy’s knuckle slid out of his arse.
Harry’s diaphragm was tensed, controlling his breathing so that no huff or sigh could escape and his back rigid. Malfoy added a second finger, twisting and teasing and inexorably opening Harry up. Harry willed his hips not to respond.
Malfoy whispered something and the lube turned cold. Harry was suddenly aware of exactly where the lube was. His balls, his arse cheeks, a patch on his side where Malfoy had momentarily gripped him with a sticky hand, but most of it inside him. Malfoy’s fingers, when he resumed fingering him were, in contrast, hot, not burning, but intense. Harry’s breath stuttered briefly and Malfoy hummed low in appreciation.
“I’m ready,” Harry ground out. “You can just fuck me now.” Get it over with.
“Oh no,” Malfoy murmured. “I’m bound by the contract not to cause you any physical hurt. I want to make, quite, quite sure. I’m going to get you so wet, so ready for me, that there isn’t a moment’s burn. It’s going to be so good. You’re going to take it so sweetly.” Harry swallowed.
Malfoy muttered the spell again and the sensations switched: his skin bathed in heat and Malfoy’s fingers cool and definite inside him. Every touch magnified and every impression lingering.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Harry, since you took it like this? But you don’t need to worry. I’m going to make you feel so good. So slow that you ache for me to fill you. You’re aching already aren’t you?” Harry didn’t deign to reply as Malfoy’s hot, clever fingers rubbed him inside and out.
“I spoke to the boys at Anton’s,” Malfoy said, softly, conversationally, not breaking the rhythm of his ministrations. Harry’s shoulders tensed again. When had they relaxed?
“They said you hardly ever took it like this. And it has been a while, hasn’t it Harry? You’re so tight and so responsive. You needn’t worry, you know. I’ve no intension of telling anyone about Anton’s.”
“I’m not ashamed of my sexual preferences. It’s not a matter of public record, because it’s no one else’s bloody business where I like to stick it. You won’t get any leverage there, Malfoy.”
“That’s not my intention, Harry. I just wanted you to rest assured that I know what you like. I know exactly what you like.” And with that, Malfoy withdrew his fingers and, pulling up Harry’s office chair, positioned himself between Harry’s legs.
“I do think it is so important,” and Harry could feel his warm breath ghosting over his cold skin, “for lube to taste tolerable. Don’t you?” And he licked a hot swipe over Harry’s arse cheek.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Harry closed his eyes and marshalled his willpower, locking the muscles in his legs, diaphragm and shoulders. Holding himself completely still. Malfoy’s tongue swiped again over his arsehole and he began licking away the smooth coating of lube till Harry could feel the rough hot surface of his tongue on the sensitive skin there.
And Malfoy was right, Harry did like this. Really like this. And he was going to kill whoever it was at Anton’s who told Malfoy. It was important, he realised, not to think about Malfoy’s face pressed up against his arse. Not to remember the flush on his cheeks he had seen or think about what he must look like with lube and saliva on his face as he pushed his tongue into Harry’s arse. He pressed his lips tight together and his thighs were starting the shake slightly with the effort of holding still. The strain of not moaning and rocking into this sensation was causing a sweat to break out on his back.
Then Malfoy whispered something else and everything ignited, because Harry could feel his hot tongue, but also the memory of cold fingers inside him. A strangled sound escaped Harry’s lips and he couldn’t quite stop himself from pushing his arse back into Malfoy’s face. At least Malfoy couldn’t say anything. Small mercies.
And Harry was going to bloody come from this, he knew. The fingers he could feel stroking inside him at the same time as Malfoy sucked and probed with his tongue. Though he managed to keep quiet and still his hips, his breath was coming faster and more pronounced. He was hard too, his neglected cock jutting in front of him. His fingers flexed against the grain of his desk as he fought the urge to just give in and touch himself.
He should probably visit Anton’s more often, because it had been a long time and that was surely the reason why he was coming apart like this. Why Malfoy, of all people, was making him feel so good.
Harry couldn’t stop a small sound of protest escaping him when Malfoy’s tongue and fingers were suddenly withdrawn. Malfoy made some soothing noises. Harry’s arse felt empty and bereft.
“Malfoy!” He did not whine. Not even slightly.
“Shhh, Harry. I’m going to take care of you. You trust me, don’t you?”
Harry snorted dismissively.
“But you do, you know,” Malfoy purred. “You are awfully vulnerable like this, but you have never for a moment felt fear. You gave yourself to me for this hour. You weren’t happy about it, but you never felt a second of real misgiving.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Malfoy.”
“No. We know each other, you and I, don’t we Harry?” Malfoy was back to stroking his palms over Harry’s thighs and buttocks. “You may not like my morality, but you know my limits. Nothing I do is really a surprise to you. Deep down, you must have known what I was asking for, when we made this bargain. And you gave it to me.”
Harry snorted again, but less convincingly. “I did what was necessary.”
“You always do, don’t you,” Malfoy’s voice was soft and understanding. “Make the sacrifice for the greater good. It isn’t really fair, is it? Always giving. You never get what you want. Do you? But I’m going to give it to you. I’m going to give you exactly want you need.”
Harry was going to demur that there was nothing he needed from Malfoy, when Malfoy pushed three fingers into his arse and they were hot this time, hotter than his tongue. The noise Harry made might not have been entirely dignified.
Malfoy brought up his other hand, his fingers loosely circling Harry’s cock and they were hot and wet too. It was too much. Malfoy’s fingers thrusting into his arse and his grip light and teasing around his prick. Harry propelled his hips forward trying to get more, but Malfoy denied him, and as his fingers withdrew Harry couldn’t stop himself following him back, trying to retain the sensation of snug heat.
Malfoy’s thrust his fingers back inside Harry, but his grip slipped off Harry’s cock so that he was forced to rut forwards again to regain the touch he needed. Needed more of. Harry groaned bitterly.
“So good, Harry,” Malfoy murmured, low and intimate. “You need it so badly, don’t you? Need to be filled, need to be touched. You need more, don’t you? Just a bit more.” And Malfoy’s grip tightened infinitesimally and Harry moaned again.
Malfoy’s voice hadn’t sounded like this when they were at school. His reedy bitching had been a constant irritant. Somewhere along the line he’d developed a smooth steely tenor with some sort of direct connection to Harry’s nervous system. The voice wrapped around him and Harry struggled to ignore just how readily he wanted to respond to it, to win more of that silken approval.
Harry’s fingers flexed against his desk, his palms slick with sweat now, as he thrust again and again back and forth between the slick heat around his cock and that filling his arse. He was making small stifled noises with each thrust. So close now, if Malfoy would just give him a little more friction, Harry was ready to quite forget the whole thing and let him live. Come on, Malfoy!
Just as he neared the edge, his balls drawn up tight and his nerves singing all the way down to his toes, Malfoy’s fingers disappeared from his arse and he gripped Harry’s balls tightly, reining him in. Harry let out a stream of expletives.
“Not just yet, Harry,” Malfoy gentled him. “You’ve been so good. But now I want you to do something else for me.”
Merlin! Fuckety fuck! Why couldn’t Malfoy just fuck him like a normal person?
He heard the chair creak behind him and the rustle of clothes. Malfoy had finally taken something off then. The chair creaked again and Malfoy’s hands were placed lightly on his hips.
“Sit down, Harry. I want you to sit yourself in my lap and ride my cock.”
Well, screw that! “No!” Harry bit out.
“Oh come on,” Malfoy cajoled. “It’s not as if you weren’t just moaning like a whore with three of my fingers up your arse a minute ago.”
He had not been moaning like a whore, but perhaps Malfoy had a point.
“Why stand on your dignity now, Harry? You know it’s what you want. You’re aching for it. Go on, palms on the desk. Lower yourself back. I’ll help you.” And Harry found himself coaxed back, off his forearms and, Malfoy with one hand on his hip and one hand on his own prick, guided him down.
Harry’s mouth fell open, his breath coming in shallow pants as he felt Malfoy’s cock slide into him. Malfoy had been right. There was no burn, no discomfort, only an intense feeling of fullness and satiation.
Seated, he could feel the breath from Malfoy’s nostrils, sharp and uneven, against the back of his neck and Malfoy’s finger’s clamped round his hips in a vice-like grip. At last the bastard was struggling to control himself. They both sat for a moment, each fighting to manage the sensations washing through their bodies.
“Now move,” Malfoy said, finally, his voice only slightly breathless. Harry raised himself up and forwards, taking his weight onto his hands and thighs. The slide of Malfoy’s prick inside him firing off nerve endings down his legs and up into his belly. When just the head of Malfoy’s cock was caught inside his rim, Malfoy gave him a cue with a squeeze of his hips and Harry sank back down. They both groaned in unison.
“Now fuck yourself,” Malfoy ordered, his voice now definitely strained and breathless. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”
Harry warred with himself briefly. Deciding he just wanted to get this over with, he pulled himself forward again. He couldn’t quite get the leverage or angle he wanted, but the feeling of Malfoy’s cock as he rocked in his lap, the drag, the friction, the fullness, hard inside him was bringing him close again. He was properly panting now and Malfoy too was breathing hard. He wished he could see his face, lips parted and damp, flushed and glazed eyed as he panted.
“That’s it, Harry. You need this, don’t you? Need me filling you. You’re taking it so beautifully. I knew you would. So hungry for it. Riding my cock, just like I told you. Needy and filthy and hungry for it.”
Malfoy snaked one of his arms around him and began to fondle his balls. Harry tipped his head back, gripping the edge of the desk as he sped up. So close. And, God, he needed this! Just needed and he’d deal with the whole Malfoy thing later, if he could just ….
“Now stop,” Malfoy ordered. “Stop, I said stop, Potter!” And he pinched Harry’s balls firmly. Harry let out a strangled groan and stilled. “Up,” said Malfoy and with his hands on Harry’s hips again he guided him slowly up. As before and stopped him with just the very tip of his cock still inside him.
“Hold yourself there,” Malfoy commanded. “I know it’s hard, Harry, but you can do it. So good! You’re so good Harry!”
Harry’s thigh’s and stomach were cramped with the effort of holding his weight like that. He bit his lip hard, breathing sharply through his nose. He didn’t have the focus left for anger. He just needed Malfoy to get on with whatever bullshit nonsense he had planned so that Harry could get on with coming till his brain bled out through his ears.
“You’re so strong, aren’t you? So much self-control,” Malfoy was murmuring admiringly, stroking down Harry’s thighs, which were starting to shake slightly with the effort. “You can feel me, just inside you, can’t you? The rim of your arse just gripping my head. Flex, Harry, with your muscles there. Feel me.” And Harry clenched himself tight.
“So good. You’re such a good slut, aren’t you Harry. I bet no one else knows what a good slut you are,” Malfoy purred. “Can you remember me licking you just there? My tongue just there, around the rim of your arse? Licking you, licking into you and you so soft and hot as you opened up to me. You’re open now, aren’t you? Ready to take anything I want to put into you. You’ll take it all, my hand, my mouth, my cock. But most of all my cock, Harry. You’re such a slut for it, aren’t you? You want it so badly, filling you, taking your hot, wet, little slut arse.”
Harry let out a sound, half moan, half whine.
“You’ve been so good, Harry. You’re always so good. You give everyone what they want and they all want something. No one ever gives you what you need, do they, Harry?” Malfoy’s voice was a warm, seductive murmur, his hands stroking Harry hypnotically even while half of Harry’s brain was screaming at him to shut the fuck up and get on with it. He was losing his grip, listening to Malfoy’s voice.
“It’s not fair, is it, Harry? You work so hard. You try so hard, all the time.” And it was true, it wasn’t fair. “People are always taking from you, have always taken from you. And you just keep giving, because it is the right thing to do. Because you are so good.”
Malfoy was pushing him up now and Harry gave a soft cry of loss when Malfoy’s cock slipped free, but Malfoy’s hands were urging him forward over the desk again and his voice was purring steadily in his ear. “But I’m not going to take anything from you. I’m not going to take anything. I’m going to give you what you need. I know what you need and I’m going to give it to you. This is what you need, isn’t it?”
Malfoy thrust into him, slow and sure. His hand’s held Harry’s hips and Harry could feel the warmth of his body behind him. Malfoy thrust again and kept up that steady stream of honeyed words. “There, that’s what you need. You can take a bit more, can’t you. You want it so badly. Just take a bit more. So good!”
And Harry didn’t need to say anything, his spine a long line of supplication stretched out across his desk and he would take it. Everything that Malfoy could give him. He was moaning now with each thrust. His hands sliding in the sweat on his desk, struggling to find purchase, to push back against Malfoy and get more.
“You love it, don’t you? My cock inside you, filling you. You can’t get enough. That’s it, Harry. So good. Just stretch a bit more, take a little bit more.” Malfoy’s praise washed over him.
“I wish you could hear yourself. Moaning so beautifully. Such a slut for it. You’re taking it so sweetly. What you needed. What you wanted. I’ll give it to you. Taking my hard cock and loving it. Moan for me. That’s it. So good for me. You just need a bit more, don’t you?” And Harry did. Just a bit more. He could feel the pleas bubbling up his throat.
And Malfoy muttered something else and the spell in the lube was triggered and suddenly Harry could feel the ghost of every touch. Everywhere Malfoy had touched him that day: his chest, shoulders, his nipples, his buttocks, thighs and balls. He could feel the kiss Malfoy had given him at the beginning: the hungry thrusting of tongue into his mouth. And he hadn’t needed to ask. Malfoy was giving him everything he needed.
Harry cried out, “Malfoy! Fuck, Malfoy!”
“Draco,” Malfoy corrected. “Draco. Say my name when you come.”
“Draco, fuck!” Harry cried hoarsely as he finally tipped over the edge. “Draco, Draco, Draco!” he panted in time with the pulses.
He came so hard his knees buckled and he collapsed forward. At the same time, Draco drove forward into him with a snap of his hips. Harry could feel the throbbing in his arse and knew that Draco was coming too, could hear his voice break over Harry’s name, and his whole body sang with ecstatic electricity as he rode Draco’s orgasm too.
They stayed there, panting in unison, incapable of further movement. Harry slumped over his desk. Draco, with his hands planted either side of Harry’s body, leaning over him. Harry could feel his heavy breaths cooling the sweat between his shoulder blades.
Eventually Malfoy slowly righted himself. He swiped one hand through the mess leaking out between Harry’s legs and smeared it deliberately down Harry’s back. Distantly Harry registered that he was pissed off about this, but not enough to do anything about it just now.
Malfoy stepped back and there was a rustle of clothing. Harry struggled slowly upright. He tugged himself out of his shirt, which hung limply from his shoulders, and used it roughly to clean himself up a bit. Then he slumped down into his desk chair with a resolutely post-coital squelch and threw the shirt aside.
He leaned back and raked his fingers through his hair, staring at the ceiling and trying not to grin. He can’t have been that successful because he heard Malfoy comment wryly, “You really did need that, didn’t you, Potter?
“Fuck off!” said Harry cheerfully.
Malfoy was fully dressed again. And fuck it if he didn’t look as immaculate as he had when he’d arrived. His colour maybe a little high, but otherwise ….
“Here,” said Malfoy, tossing the little token onto the mess on Harry’s desk. “Keep it, as a souvenir,” he smirked.
Harry looked at it with vague suspicion. “It doesn’t do anything, anymore, right?”
“Oh, Harry”, Malfoy laughed, “you’re so delightfully credulous! It never did anything. My testimony is in the ledgers of the Wizengamot. Nothing we did or didn’t do here could affect that.”
Harry stared at him for a long minute.
“You utter cunt.”
Malfoy gave him his slow, fox’s smile and slipped out of his office as quietly as he had entered.
Harry was going to kill Draco Malfoy. Just as soon as he regained use of his legs.
Author: raitala
Prompt: # 11
Summary: Harry made a bargain with Draco. He knew it was going to come back and bite him on the arse, he just didn’t think about what exactly Draco would ask for. Draco would say that Harry must have known deep down what he was agreeing to, but then Draco is a prick and what would he know?
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): Non-con kiss (at the beginning), dub-con sex, fingering, rimming, orgasm denial, D/s dynamics, unredeemed!draco (he’s an arsehole).
Word Count: 6000
Author's Notes: Had such fun writing this! Wicked Draco is wicked and stubborn Harry is stubborn, only he caves in so beautifully :D Many thanks to L. for the thoughtful beta!
A Fox’s Bargain
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Harry said, with a start. “Can’t you even knock?”
Malfoy walked across his office, unhooking his cloak and throwing it carelessly onto a chair. “Seal the door, Harry, and tell your assistant to take all Floo calls.”
“Fuck off, Malfoy.”
Predictably, Malfoy did no such thing. He gave Harry a slow smile and began to prowl around his office, making himself at home.
Harry closed his eyes briefly. He was extremely bloody tired and this really was the last thing he needed. “Get out of my office now, before I call one of the duty Aurors to come and remove you. I don’t even know why Williamson let you in.”
“Oh, I told him I had an important matter regarding the Kreuzer case to discuss,” Malfoy said sweetly.
“We have nothing further to discuss about Kreuzer. You and I both know you’ve already given me everything you had.”
“Oh, I know. I’ve come for my hour, Potter.”
“What?”
“My hour.” And Malfoy smiled, not like the cat who’s got the cream, but like a fox covered in the blood of someone else’s chickens.
“We’re not doing it here,” Harry said flatly.
“Now, Potter, we made a magically binding contract. You bought what I knew with just an hour of your time,” chided Draco.
“I know that. We’re not doing it here.”
“Oh, Potter!” Malfoy was clearly enjoying himself vastly. “There were so many, dull stipulations. I wasn’t to physically hurt you. I wasn’t to do anything that would directly or indirectly cause hurt to another person. I wasn’t to do anything that was against the law or anything that in any way prejudiced the smooth running of the Auror department. I wasn’t to do anything that would tarnish you or your department’s reputation.” Malfoy stepped softly round to perch on Harry’s desk. “All so boring!”
“Get off my desk,” Harry snapped.
“What, out of curiosity, did you think I was going to do with my hour, with so many options lost to me?” Malfoy asked.
“Oh, I don’t know, ponce around the place pontificating at me like a cheap villain in a mini-drama? What do you damn well want, Malfoy?”
Malfoy leaned forward until the point of his nose was brushing the shell of Harry’s ear and whispered, “I’m going to fuck you, here, on this desk.”
Harry froze as he got a grip on his temper. “No. You’re not.”
“Magically binding contract, Potter.”
“We’re not doing it here, Malfoy.”
“You made no mention, contractually, of a mutually convenient time and place.”
“We are not doing it here,” Harry repeated firmly.
“Potter, if you refuse to hold up your side of the bargain then I shall invoke the contract and the information I have given shall be struck from the record. The case against Kreuzer will collapse and it is coming before the Wizengamot so very soon.” Malfoy leaned back nonchalantly on the desk, swinging one long leg sheathed in fine grey wool.
“It’s no skin off my nose, of course, but Kreuzer isn’t a very nice man, is he? Those poor people!” Malfoy’s face shifted briefly into an unconvincing mask of compassion.
Harry tamped down on the rage boiling up inside him. He was Head Auror. He had responsibilities. He couldn’t kill Malfoy, no matter how much of a public service it might be. “Get out of my fucking office, right now Malfoy,” he said, his voice laden with menace.
Malfoy just hummed appreciatively and murmured, “The door, Potter. I am obliged by the contract to consider your reputation,” he said, running his ankle lazily up Harry’s leg. “But if you choose to waive your rights I am not responsible. You can’t use your obstinacy on this point to evade the terms of the contract.”
Harry was too busy concentrating on the act of not throttling Malfoy with his bare hands to pay him much attention.
“Very well, Potter.” Malfoy straightened up, from where he had been lounging. He took a small metal token from his pocket and held it up. “I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, invoke the contract made with Harry James Potter. I claim this hour as my own,” he intoned.
He lent towards Harry with the token in his hand. With a snarl, Harry caught up his wrist before Malfoy could touch him. Malfoy just smiled his infuriating smile.
“I’ve invoked the contract, Potter,” he said, his voice measured, soft, reasonable. “Think of your case. Think of all the work you and your men put in. He’s got to be stopped, hasn’t he, Potter?” Malfoy coaxed. “Whatever it takes.”
Harry slowly relaxed his grip and Malfoy pressed the token to the back of his neck. It felt cold and a tingle of magic shot down his spine. Fuck! And he hadn’t warded the door or the Floo, fuck!
Without further warning Malfoy used the hand on the back of his neck to haul him forward into a long covetous kiss. Harry kept his lips firmly closed, refusing to respond, until Malfoy pinched at the back of his neck. Fine! He parted his lips and Malfoy’s tongue slipped in hungrily. There’s nothing more disgusting than being kissed by someone you despise. What would be nice under other circumstances, the sharing of breath, saliva, the taste and texture of another mouth, is vile.
When Malfoy finally pulled away his breathing rapid and his face alive with anarchic glee, Harry stared at him full of loathing. Malfoy sat back in the middle of his desk, dangling his legs between Harry’s knees and regarding him with anticipation. He took a deep breath and released it. “Oh, Harry, look at you!” he crowed. “So much hate!” And he leaned forward and scratched one thumbnail lightly down the line of Harry’s jaw.
“One day I will get enough on you, Malfoy, and it will be such a pleasure taking you down,” Harry ground out.
“Taking me down, Potter? I don’t run an evil empire. I run a small business.”
“You’re a blackmailer!”
“I deal in information. The reason you have not and never will ‘get anything on me’ is because I provide a service that people … require. Everybody has secrets. Things they need returned to them. Things they need forgotten, permanently. They may not always be entirely happy with the price they have to pay, but in the end it is always a price they agree is commensurate with the value of what they purchase.”
Harry snorted in disgust.
“And I never renege on a deal. I never make anyone pay twice. I am utterly trustworthy and discreet.”
“You’re a bastard.”
“The Ministry did not leave many avenues for employment open to me. I am refused a licence as a Potions-Maker. What am I supposed to do? I should sweep roads and wait tables very badly, Harry. Can you imagine?” Malfoy smiled conspiratorially at him and Harry was forced to concede that he could not imagine him doing either of these jobs.
“I am very modest in my ambitions and in my demands. I just use my skills to generate a little income. I live in a pleasant apartment, buy a few nice things, enjoy travel, but that is all. You must come and see my place someday. I am really very proud of what I have done with it.”
“You burnt the manor down, I heard?”
“It was burnt, certainly,” Malfoy conceded. “Actually, I sold permission to burn it to a gentleman whose wife had been killed there. He purchased it alongside the memories I held of the actual event, the murder. I happened to be there at the time you see. He viewed the memories and burned the manor down. Very cathartic. Very moving.”
Harry surged up out of his chair, furious, only to be stopped by Malfoy’s boot planted firmly in his chest.
“Sit down, Potter!”
“You fucking bastard!” Harry spat.
“He’s quite moved on now, I’ve heard. Re-married. Two kiddies. Who have I wronged … through the sale of my property, my memories?”
“You profit from the suffering of others.”
“Very modestly, as I have said. I never ask more than people can reasonably afford. I do not push people to despair. People suffer, Potter, it’s what they do. In many cases I help to end that suffering. Closure. An enlightened model of business.”
Harry glared at Malfoy and fantasised about what he would look like with his nose broken.
“Now,” said Malfoy, hopping down from the table, “enough chit chat. You may get up, but I warn you, if you hit me I shall regard the contract as broken. Oh, don’t look like that. I don’t need to use Legilimency to see what you are thinking.
“You’d like to hurt me, wouldn’t you? Slice me open from throat to groin perhaps? You did that once, or have you forgotten?” Harry restricted his reaction to a single slow blink. He remembered.
“I was nearly your first kill, Harry.” Malfoy traced the lines of Harry’s chest and shoulders through his jacket. He was just an inch or two taller than Harry, when they stood nose to nose. Malfoy was lean and rangy though, where Harry was compact and effective.
“You’ve killed plenty of times since then, haven’t you? Am I the one who got away?” Malfoy spoke softly, lightly, his head on one side, considering. “I’ve never killed anyone, you know. But then, I am a coward, so I somehow end up being the morally bankrupt one regardless.” He shrugged. Harry stayed silent. There was no sense in getting drawn into some sort of pointless debate with the little shit.
“I must admit,” he said, running his forefingers around the line of Harry’s collar, “I do have a special weakness for uniforms. All those lovely buttons.” Malfoy began to unbutton Harry’s jacket with deliberate care. Harry stared stiffly ahead, his jaw clenched. It must have been at least ten minutes into this hour by now. He just needed to not engage in Malfoy’s little games, endure and it would all be over and done with.
Malfoy slid his jacket down his arms and deposited it on the floor and began to work on his shirt. Harry kept his gaze on the bookshelf opposite, trying to see if he could recall the title of each book from just its spine. With his shirt open, Malfoy began to explore Harry’s chest with long subtle fingers. When he scratched lightly over that particularly sensitive spot above Harry’s hip bone Harry did not react in time to stop himself blinking rapidly and he knew Malfoy had clocked it.
Collar bone. Nipples. The old scar above his right ribs. The even older scar in the centre of his chest. Malfoy’s touch was light, but not ticklish. Too self-absorbed to be gentle. Entirely covetous, like a child turning a long-desired toy over and over in his hands.
“Mmm.” Malfoy let out a pleased hum as he stood almost chest to chest with Harry. “Perfect, Harry. So perfect.” His voice was laden with smug satisfaction. He took something from his pocket and, enlarging it, set a generous sized glass jar down on the table. “I came prepared,” he smirked. “This stuff is divine. Smell it.” And he opened the jar, dabbed his finger in and then held it up to Harry’s nose.
It smelled sort of citrusy and smoky. Bloody expensive too, of course. “It’s rather special. I brew it myself. Purely for personal use. Taste it.” Malfoy offered his finger to Harry’s lips. Harry, who had remained staring stonily ahead, shot Malfoy a suspicious glare.
“Oh, honestly, Harry!” Malfoy laughed. “If I wanted to poison you, do you really think I would go through all this as an insane charade? And I’d like to think that our relationship has progressed beyond my perpetrating some sort of juvenile trick just to get you to taste something nasty.”
“I’m not sure I call being blackmailed into buggery ‘progress’, Malfoy,” said Harry sourly.
Malfoy smirked again, damn him. “Taste it,” he repeated.
Harry opened his mouth and sucked some of the gloop off Malfoy’s finger. Oranges. And spices. Despite its apparent viscosity, the stuff wasn’t sticky on his tongue but dissolved into liquid. Even more surprisingly it turned cold like iced water. Harry’s eyes widened a fraction and Malfoy laughed. He whispered something and the inside of Harry’s mouth warmed up, like the first mouthful of hot tea on a cold morning.
“Trousers down!” Malfoy ordered cheerfully. Harry complied grudgingly, sliding his trousers and pants down to mid-thigh. “Now lean forward, forearms on the desk.” Harry did so, experiencing the odd feeling of being painfully exposed and at the same time utterly murderous.
Malfoy stepped back from the desk and surveyed Harry. Harry could feel his eyes all over him. Stepping forward again, Malfoy twitched his shirt up his back so that it lay in folds about his armpits. He ran his hands over Harry’s flanks and arse a few times. “You have no idea,” Malfoy breathed, “no idea how glorious you look.” From behind he ran the very tips of his fingers over that point where groin meets hipbone and Harry couldn’t suppress the quiver of his body it called in response. “If only I could see your face,” Malfoy sighed.
Then he stepped back again and did indeed come round the desk to view Harry from the front. Harry could hear the soft pad of his steps on the carpet and he stared down at the mug rings on his desk. Maybe there was some way he could kill Malfoy and make it look like an accident. “Look at me, Harry,” Malfoy almost whispered from a few feet away and there was something reverential in his voice.
Harry looked up and glowered. He saw Malfoy’s lips part slightly and Malfoy’s hand pressed hard to his own groin, containing himself. There were patches of pink high on his cheeks and his eyes bore into Harry, raking over his body and then staring in rapt silence at Harry’s face. It should have been just plain weird, being stared at by Malfoy like that, but there was something undeniably erotic about being wanted with that intensity.
After a few more moments Harry saw Malfoy turn and walk back around the desk. There was something different about him now, less flippant and facetious and more focussed. Harry did not feel a flutter of anticipation. Not in the least.
“I’m going to vanish your trousers now. Though you look utterly delectable with them strained between your legs, I’m going to need you spread further than this. I hope you haven’t got anything valuable in your pockets?” Malfoy said, suiting the action to the words and not actually leaving Harry any time to answer. And what had Harry been thinking? It was not actually possible for Malfoy to be anything less than a facetious wanker.
With his trousers gone, Harry felt more exposed than ever. Malfoy kicked lightly at each foot, spreading Harry’s stance. Harry jarred against the desk and a precarious pile of files cascaded onto the floor. Both of them stilled, Harry’s eyes flying to the door. They waited a moment, listening, but no one came. Harry let out the breath he was holding. He really did not want anyone walking in right now.
He took a deep breath, “Malfoy, can you please ward the door and the Floo?”
“I did give you the chance to do that before,” Malfoy chided gently.
“I know you did,” Harry conceded tightly, “but can you … please?” Harry knew that his bargaining position at this moment, naked and spread before his own desk, was not a particularly strong one.
“Say, ‘I understand that you operate your business in a way that is both fair and reasonable.’”
“What?”
“Say it.”
Oh for fuck’s sake! “I understand that you operate your business in a way that is, um … ,” Harry paused to recall the ridiculous wording.
“Both fair and reasonable,” Malfoy prompted.
“Both fair and reasonable,” Harry continued grudgingly.
“Darling,” Malfoy prompted again.
Harry clamped his mouth shut and Malfoy chuckled. “But I promised you, didn’t I, that I never asked for terms people could not meet,” and Harry heard the muttered spell warding the door and Floo and relaxed.
“I said the price was always commensurate with the value of what was purchased. A few silly words that cost you nothing, for the assurance that we will not be disturbed; I’d call that generous.”
“Are you going to stand there, wittering nonsense and perving over me, or are you going to fuck me, Malfoy?”
“So eager, Potter!” Malfoy crowed. And that was not what Harry had meant, but the anticipation was starting to get on his nerves.
Malfoy resumed stroking him. Standing just behind him, he stroked his back and sides and up his thighs and over his buttocks. Harry heard the chink of the lid of the jar again and then felt one slick finger run up the back of his balls and into the crack of his arse. It disappeared again and the stroking continued, but every now and again the finger returned, teasing him. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut. He opened them and concentrated on the surface of his desk: scratches, ink blots, mug rings.
After a little while the touches became more frequent, rubbing smoothly against the rim of his arsehole and spreading the slick around. Eventually Malfoy had hold of one buttock, pressing them lightly apart, and penetrated Harry shallowly with his finger. Then back to the rubbing, then penetrating again, gentle but relentless.
Harry held himself still and tried not to think about what was happening. The room was silent apart from the quiet, sticky sounds coming from between his legs. Adding more lube from the jar, surely more than was needed, Malfoy was finger fucking him in earnest now and there was nothing Harry could do to stop the electric pulse that ran down his legs to the backs of his knees each time Malfoy’s knuckle slid out of his arse.
Harry’s diaphragm was tensed, controlling his breathing so that no huff or sigh could escape and his back rigid. Malfoy added a second finger, twisting and teasing and inexorably opening Harry up. Harry willed his hips not to respond.
Malfoy whispered something and the lube turned cold. Harry was suddenly aware of exactly where the lube was. His balls, his arse cheeks, a patch on his side where Malfoy had momentarily gripped him with a sticky hand, but most of it inside him. Malfoy’s fingers, when he resumed fingering him were, in contrast, hot, not burning, but intense. Harry’s breath stuttered briefly and Malfoy hummed low in appreciation.
“I’m ready,” Harry ground out. “You can just fuck me now.” Get it over with.
“Oh no,” Malfoy murmured. “I’m bound by the contract not to cause you any physical hurt. I want to make, quite, quite sure. I’m going to get you so wet, so ready for me, that there isn’t a moment’s burn. It’s going to be so good. You’re going to take it so sweetly.” Harry swallowed.
Malfoy muttered the spell again and the sensations switched: his skin bathed in heat and Malfoy’s fingers cool and definite inside him. Every touch magnified and every impression lingering.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Harry, since you took it like this? But you don’t need to worry. I’m going to make you feel so good. So slow that you ache for me to fill you. You’re aching already aren’t you?” Harry didn’t deign to reply as Malfoy’s hot, clever fingers rubbed him inside and out.
“I spoke to the boys at Anton’s,” Malfoy said, softly, conversationally, not breaking the rhythm of his ministrations. Harry’s shoulders tensed again. When had they relaxed?
“They said you hardly ever took it like this. And it has been a while, hasn’t it Harry? You’re so tight and so responsive. You needn’t worry, you know. I’ve no intension of telling anyone about Anton’s.”
“I’m not ashamed of my sexual preferences. It’s not a matter of public record, because it’s no one else’s bloody business where I like to stick it. You won’t get any leverage there, Malfoy.”
“That’s not my intention, Harry. I just wanted you to rest assured that I know what you like. I know exactly what you like.” And with that, Malfoy withdrew his fingers and, pulling up Harry’s office chair, positioned himself between Harry’s legs.
“I do think it is so important,” and Harry could feel his warm breath ghosting over his cold skin, “for lube to taste tolerable. Don’t you?” And he licked a hot swipe over Harry’s arse cheek.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Harry closed his eyes and marshalled his willpower, locking the muscles in his legs, diaphragm and shoulders. Holding himself completely still. Malfoy’s tongue swiped again over his arsehole and he began licking away the smooth coating of lube till Harry could feel the rough hot surface of his tongue on the sensitive skin there.
And Malfoy was right, Harry did like this. Really like this. And he was going to kill whoever it was at Anton’s who told Malfoy. It was important, he realised, not to think about Malfoy’s face pressed up against his arse. Not to remember the flush on his cheeks he had seen or think about what he must look like with lube and saliva on his face as he pushed his tongue into Harry’s arse. He pressed his lips tight together and his thighs were starting the shake slightly with the effort of holding still. The strain of not moaning and rocking into this sensation was causing a sweat to break out on his back.
Then Malfoy whispered something else and everything ignited, because Harry could feel his hot tongue, but also the memory of cold fingers inside him. A strangled sound escaped Harry’s lips and he couldn’t quite stop himself from pushing his arse back into Malfoy’s face. At least Malfoy couldn’t say anything. Small mercies.
And Harry was going to bloody come from this, he knew. The fingers he could feel stroking inside him at the same time as Malfoy sucked and probed with his tongue. Though he managed to keep quiet and still his hips, his breath was coming faster and more pronounced. He was hard too, his neglected cock jutting in front of him. His fingers flexed against the grain of his desk as he fought the urge to just give in and touch himself.
He should probably visit Anton’s more often, because it had been a long time and that was surely the reason why he was coming apart like this. Why Malfoy, of all people, was making him feel so good.
Harry couldn’t stop a small sound of protest escaping him when Malfoy’s tongue and fingers were suddenly withdrawn. Malfoy made some soothing noises. Harry’s arse felt empty and bereft.
“Malfoy!” He did not whine. Not even slightly.
“Shhh, Harry. I’m going to take care of you. You trust me, don’t you?”
Harry snorted dismissively.
“But you do, you know,” Malfoy purred. “You are awfully vulnerable like this, but you have never for a moment felt fear. You gave yourself to me for this hour. You weren’t happy about it, but you never felt a second of real misgiving.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Malfoy.”
“No. We know each other, you and I, don’t we Harry?” Malfoy was back to stroking his palms over Harry’s thighs and buttocks. “You may not like my morality, but you know my limits. Nothing I do is really a surprise to you. Deep down, you must have known what I was asking for, when we made this bargain. And you gave it to me.”
Harry snorted again, but less convincingly. “I did what was necessary.”
“You always do, don’t you,” Malfoy’s voice was soft and understanding. “Make the sacrifice for the greater good. It isn’t really fair, is it? Always giving. You never get what you want. Do you? But I’m going to give it to you. I’m going to give you exactly want you need.”
Harry was going to demur that there was nothing he needed from Malfoy, when Malfoy pushed three fingers into his arse and they were hot this time, hotter than his tongue. The noise Harry made might not have been entirely dignified.
Malfoy brought up his other hand, his fingers loosely circling Harry’s cock and they were hot and wet too. It was too much. Malfoy’s fingers thrusting into his arse and his grip light and teasing around his prick. Harry propelled his hips forward trying to get more, but Malfoy denied him, and as his fingers withdrew Harry couldn’t stop himself following him back, trying to retain the sensation of snug heat.
Malfoy’s thrust his fingers back inside Harry, but his grip slipped off Harry’s cock so that he was forced to rut forwards again to regain the touch he needed. Needed more of. Harry groaned bitterly.
“So good, Harry,” Malfoy murmured, low and intimate. “You need it so badly, don’t you? Need to be filled, need to be touched. You need more, don’t you? Just a bit more.” And Malfoy’s grip tightened infinitesimally and Harry moaned again.
Malfoy’s voice hadn’t sounded like this when they were at school. His reedy bitching had been a constant irritant. Somewhere along the line he’d developed a smooth steely tenor with some sort of direct connection to Harry’s nervous system. The voice wrapped around him and Harry struggled to ignore just how readily he wanted to respond to it, to win more of that silken approval.
Harry’s fingers flexed against his desk, his palms slick with sweat now, as he thrust again and again back and forth between the slick heat around his cock and that filling his arse. He was making small stifled noises with each thrust. So close now, if Malfoy would just give him a little more friction, Harry was ready to quite forget the whole thing and let him live. Come on, Malfoy!
Just as he neared the edge, his balls drawn up tight and his nerves singing all the way down to his toes, Malfoy’s fingers disappeared from his arse and he gripped Harry’s balls tightly, reining him in. Harry let out a stream of expletives.
“Not just yet, Harry,” Malfoy gentled him. “You’ve been so good. But now I want you to do something else for me.”
Merlin! Fuckety fuck! Why couldn’t Malfoy just fuck him like a normal person?
He heard the chair creak behind him and the rustle of clothes. Malfoy had finally taken something off then. The chair creaked again and Malfoy’s hands were placed lightly on his hips.
“Sit down, Harry. I want you to sit yourself in my lap and ride my cock.”
Well, screw that! “No!” Harry bit out.
“Oh come on,” Malfoy cajoled. “It’s not as if you weren’t just moaning like a whore with three of my fingers up your arse a minute ago.”
He had not been moaning like a whore, but perhaps Malfoy had a point.
“Why stand on your dignity now, Harry? You know it’s what you want. You’re aching for it. Go on, palms on the desk. Lower yourself back. I’ll help you.” And Harry found himself coaxed back, off his forearms and, Malfoy with one hand on his hip and one hand on his own prick, guided him down.
Harry’s mouth fell open, his breath coming in shallow pants as he felt Malfoy’s cock slide into him. Malfoy had been right. There was no burn, no discomfort, only an intense feeling of fullness and satiation.
Seated, he could feel the breath from Malfoy’s nostrils, sharp and uneven, against the back of his neck and Malfoy’s finger’s clamped round his hips in a vice-like grip. At last the bastard was struggling to control himself. They both sat for a moment, each fighting to manage the sensations washing through their bodies.
“Now move,” Malfoy said, finally, his voice only slightly breathless. Harry raised himself up and forwards, taking his weight onto his hands and thighs. The slide of Malfoy’s prick inside him firing off nerve endings down his legs and up into his belly. When just the head of Malfoy’s cock was caught inside his rim, Malfoy gave him a cue with a squeeze of his hips and Harry sank back down. They both groaned in unison.
“Now fuck yourself,” Malfoy ordered, his voice now definitely strained and breathless. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”
Harry warred with himself briefly. Deciding he just wanted to get this over with, he pulled himself forward again. He couldn’t quite get the leverage or angle he wanted, but the feeling of Malfoy’s cock as he rocked in his lap, the drag, the friction, the fullness, hard inside him was bringing him close again. He was properly panting now and Malfoy too was breathing hard. He wished he could see his face, lips parted and damp, flushed and glazed eyed as he panted.
“That’s it, Harry. You need this, don’t you? Need me filling you. You’re taking it so beautifully. I knew you would. So hungry for it. Riding my cock, just like I told you. Needy and filthy and hungry for it.”
Malfoy snaked one of his arms around him and began to fondle his balls. Harry tipped his head back, gripping the edge of the desk as he sped up. So close. And, God, he needed this! Just needed and he’d deal with the whole Malfoy thing later, if he could just ….
“Now stop,” Malfoy ordered. “Stop, I said stop, Potter!” And he pinched Harry’s balls firmly. Harry let out a strangled groan and stilled. “Up,” said Malfoy and with his hands on Harry’s hips again he guided him slowly up. As before and stopped him with just the very tip of his cock still inside him.
“Hold yourself there,” Malfoy commanded. “I know it’s hard, Harry, but you can do it. So good! You’re so good Harry!”
Harry’s thigh’s and stomach were cramped with the effort of holding his weight like that. He bit his lip hard, breathing sharply through his nose. He didn’t have the focus left for anger. He just needed Malfoy to get on with whatever bullshit nonsense he had planned so that Harry could get on with coming till his brain bled out through his ears.
“You’re so strong, aren’t you? So much self-control,” Malfoy was murmuring admiringly, stroking down Harry’s thighs, which were starting to shake slightly with the effort. “You can feel me, just inside you, can’t you? The rim of your arse just gripping my head. Flex, Harry, with your muscles there. Feel me.” And Harry clenched himself tight.
“So good. You’re such a good slut, aren’t you Harry. I bet no one else knows what a good slut you are,” Malfoy purred. “Can you remember me licking you just there? My tongue just there, around the rim of your arse? Licking you, licking into you and you so soft and hot as you opened up to me. You’re open now, aren’t you? Ready to take anything I want to put into you. You’ll take it all, my hand, my mouth, my cock. But most of all my cock, Harry. You’re such a slut for it, aren’t you? You want it so badly, filling you, taking your hot, wet, little slut arse.”
Harry let out a sound, half moan, half whine.
“You’ve been so good, Harry. You’re always so good. You give everyone what they want and they all want something. No one ever gives you what you need, do they, Harry?” Malfoy’s voice was a warm, seductive murmur, his hands stroking Harry hypnotically even while half of Harry’s brain was screaming at him to shut the fuck up and get on with it. He was losing his grip, listening to Malfoy’s voice.
“It’s not fair, is it, Harry? You work so hard. You try so hard, all the time.” And it was true, it wasn’t fair. “People are always taking from you, have always taken from you. And you just keep giving, because it is the right thing to do. Because you are so good.”
Malfoy was pushing him up now and Harry gave a soft cry of loss when Malfoy’s cock slipped free, but Malfoy’s hands were urging him forward over the desk again and his voice was purring steadily in his ear. “But I’m not going to take anything from you. I’m not going to take anything. I’m going to give you what you need. I know what you need and I’m going to give it to you. This is what you need, isn’t it?”
Malfoy thrust into him, slow and sure. His hand’s held Harry’s hips and Harry could feel the warmth of his body behind him. Malfoy thrust again and kept up that steady stream of honeyed words. “There, that’s what you need. You can take a bit more, can’t you. You want it so badly. Just take a bit more. So good!”
And Harry didn’t need to say anything, his spine a long line of supplication stretched out across his desk and he would take it. Everything that Malfoy could give him. He was moaning now with each thrust. His hands sliding in the sweat on his desk, struggling to find purchase, to push back against Malfoy and get more.
“You love it, don’t you? My cock inside you, filling you. You can’t get enough. That’s it, Harry. So good. Just stretch a bit more, take a little bit more.” Malfoy’s praise washed over him.
“I wish you could hear yourself. Moaning so beautifully. Such a slut for it. You’re taking it so sweetly. What you needed. What you wanted. I’ll give it to you. Taking my hard cock and loving it. Moan for me. That’s it. So good for me. You just need a bit more, don’t you?” And Harry did. Just a bit more. He could feel the pleas bubbling up his throat.
And Malfoy muttered something else and the spell in the lube was triggered and suddenly Harry could feel the ghost of every touch. Everywhere Malfoy had touched him that day: his chest, shoulders, his nipples, his buttocks, thighs and balls. He could feel the kiss Malfoy had given him at the beginning: the hungry thrusting of tongue into his mouth. And he hadn’t needed to ask. Malfoy was giving him everything he needed.
Harry cried out, “Malfoy! Fuck, Malfoy!”
“Draco,” Malfoy corrected. “Draco. Say my name when you come.”
“Draco, fuck!” Harry cried hoarsely as he finally tipped over the edge. “Draco, Draco, Draco!” he panted in time with the pulses.
He came so hard his knees buckled and he collapsed forward. At the same time, Draco drove forward into him with a snap of his hips. Harry could feel the throbbing in his arse and knew that Draco was coming too, could hear his voice break over Harry’s name, and his whole body sang with ecstatic electricity as he rode Draco’s orgasm too.
They stayed there, panting in unison, incapable of further movement. Harry slumped over his desk. Draco, with his hands planted either side of Harry’s body, leaning over him. Harry could feel his heavy breaths cooling the sweat between his shoulder blades.
Eventually Malfoy slowly righted himself. He swiped one hand through the mess leaking out between Harry’s legs and smeared it deliberately down Harry’s back. Distantly Harry registered that he was pissed off about this, but not enough to do anything about it just now.
Malfoy stepped back and there was a rustle of clothing. Harry struggled slowly upright. He tugged himself out of his shirt, which hung limply from his shoulders, and used it roughly to clean himself up a bit. Then he slumped down into his desk chair with a resolutely post-coital squelch and threw the shirt aside.
He leaned back and raked his fingers through his hair, staring at the ceiling and trying not to grin. He can’t have been that successful because he heard Malfoy comment wryly, “You really did need that, didn’t you, Potter?
“Fuck off!” said Harry cheerfully.
Malfoy was fully dressed again. And fuck it if he didn’t look as immaculate as he had when he’d arrived. His colour maybe a little high, but otherwise ….
“Here,” said Malfoy, tossing the little token onto the mess on Harry’s desk. “Keep it, as a souvenir,” he smirked.
Harry looked at it with vague suspicion. “It doesn’t do anything, anymore, right?”
“Oh, Harry”, Malfoy laughed, “you’re so delightfully credulous! It never did anything. My testimony is in the ledgers of the Wizengamot. Nothing we did or didn’t do here could affect that.”
Harry stared at him for a long minute.
“You utter cunt.”
Malfoy gave him his slow, fox’s smile and slipped out of his office as quietly as he had entered.
Harry was going to kill Draco Malfoy. Just as soon as he regained use of his legs.