Drarry Fic...nothing special
Title: Live
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1253
Warnings: Bossy Draco, thinking Harry, PWP
Disclaimer: JKRs sandbox; I like to play.
Summary: A glimpse into Harry's bedroom...when Draco's in it.
"I swear, Potter, if you don't fuck me now--"
Harry looked up from his belt, which he was fumbling with hastily. "Oh, do shut up," he said gruffly, undoing the buckle. "Or I'll find something to keep your mouth occupied."
Malfoy's teeth gleamed white in the dark. "Is that a promise?"
Harry didn't bother responding; he was quite used to Malfoy's inherent need to have the last word, and concentrated on ridding himself of his trousers instead. They were kicked away without another thought, and he crawled onto the bed, over Malfoy, who was sprawled out like he owned the bloody thing.
"Glasses off."
Demanding prick. Inhaling deeply through his nose, Harry pulled off his glasses and set them on the nightstand. He wouldn't encourage him, and didn't need his glasses to see the smirk on Malfoy's face; he could hear it. For the umpteenth time, he wondered what dour circumstances had led him to this position, not that it was a bad position, in the literal sense, but clearly he was off his nut and Oh. Malfoy moved purposely beneath him so that their cocks brushed together. Fuck, thought Harry, squeezing his eyes shut. He was doomed.
Without a word, he lowered his mouth to Malfoy's, or where he expected it to be, only he ended up bumping his nose against a sharp-edged cheekbone and kissing the curl of Malfoy's mouth. Malfoy trembled beneath him--a laugh, Harry thought, not anything related to the feel of skin on skin--and he crushed their mouths together before Malfoy had a chance to say something. It was a rough kiss, with demanding tongues and harsh teeth, and when Harry finally pulled away his lips were swollen and he was panting. He slid one hand down Malfoy's torso, digging the pads of his fingers in almost unkindly. The Slytherin keened low in his throat, a nonverbal whine if ever there was one.
Harry dropped his head so that his mouth was near Malfoy's ear. This was what it was all about, really. Malfoy could be demanding as much as he wanted, but when he was being fucked, Harry was in control. Malfoy's prick, rigid with want, pressed into Harry's stomach as Harry slid lower, dragging his palm over Malfoy's hip, tracing the crease between groin and thigh with his fingers. A hand tugged at Harry's hair and he smiled, running his tongue across the edge of his teeth. When he was through, Malfoy wouldn't be able to string two words together, let alone be a smug son of a bitch. The only tolerable Malfoy was a well-shagged one. The things Harry Potter did for the wizarding world.
Malfoy writhed beneath him now, alternating between holding his breath and groaning, hands fisted into the covers. Harry offered no mercy, wrapping his hand around Malfoy's prick, running his thumb over its sticky tip. He stroked him once, twice - keeping on it that vein until Malfoy was getting used to the motion, canting his hips against it - and then he let go, reaching for his wand.
"Bastard," Malfoy growled in a voice that barely registered. His fingers dug into Harry's scalp.
Harry paid him no mind, performing several useful charms that he hadn't learned in school or from Hermione, nor from reading his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. Malfoy groaned; the only time he ever made pleased sounds when Harry held him at wandpoint was when they were in bed together. Harry's cock twitched at the sound, desire sweeping through him again, and he discarded his wand, readily surrendering himself to his senses. It was easier to do, when he wasn't wearing his glasses. He lost himself in the taste of Malfoy's skin, reveled in the heat between their bodies. The air was heavy with the smell of sweat and the fancy cologne Malfoy insisted on wearing; Harry was convinced Malfoy sprayed it around his prick, too, and hoped it wasn't for his benefit. He didn't think it was; Malfoy rarely did anything for his benefit, other than let Harry fuck him, and if there weren't selfish motives there, Harry'd be buggered next time, not the buggerer.
His fingers blazed a familiar trail over Malfoy's arse, gliding over the curve of moon-pale skin and into newly lubricated areas. Teasing Malfoy with deliberately slow movements, Harry stroked circles and applied pressure, doing his best to ignore the aching tension in his groin. Tormenting Malfoy was worth it, and while Harry couldn't make up for over seven years, he could damn well try.
Malfoy rutted against him, muttering oaths as he wrapped his hand around his own cock desperately. Their limbs were tangled and Harry's prick pressed into Malfoy's thigh. He knew he couldn't hold out much longer, but, he thought, finally indulging Malfoy with a finger--and after a moment, two--he'd been through worse.
Malfoy shuddered beneath him as he eased his fingers in and out. Harry was being much kinder than was deserved. A little slower, too.
"Don't," said Malfoy in a strained voice. "Don't make me beg, you--" Malfoy's words turned into an explosive exhalation as Harry withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the tip of his prick, entering him.
His eyes nearly crossed from the sensation, the tightness and heat, and he paused to let them both adjust, spreading Malfoy's legs wider. "Shut. Up."
And Malfoy did, in a sense, rocking against Harry as he began to move. If there was one solid thing in their relationship, and it was far from that kind of relationship, it was that the sex was good. Harry had had bad sex before, and sex with women (which he didn't pair together as a norm but had, unfortunately, experienced), but the sex with Malfoy was, well, pretty fucking brilliant. On the occasions he let himself think about it, he boggled.
Now was not the time for thinking, however. He thrust his hips furiously and Malfoy wanked himself with frenzied hands. They were groaning and breathing roughly, and Harry felt sweat begin to trickle down his temple. He wouldn't finish first. He never did. There was something satisfying about knowing he'd outlasted Malfoy, and he even as he felt the tension building, he continued to fuck Malfoy steadily, fully intending to push pass the apex of everything if necessary.
Except that it wasn't necessary. Malfoy let out a strangled sound, sharp and brittle. His body twitched and tensed and then he came, spurting between them, sticky and hot against Harry's skin. "Fu- fuck," he muttered in gasping breaths.
"Fuck," Harry echoed. Malfoy's orgasms did things to him he'd never be able to admit, or even find the words to describe, and his movement became more frenzied. The need for release made his insides taut, like a stretched band; if he didn't come he'd surely snap. But come he did, and with a hoarse cry, his rigid muscles tensing and relaxing as pleasure spiraled through him. He could think of nothing; his head was filled with the bleary fuzz of well-shagged nothingness, and then he collapsed. The two men were tangled together, but there was no embrace; neither liked the other enough to offer any more comfort than he already had. It was enough. Malfoy expected no more, and Harry could give no less.
It was the way things ought to be, and shouldn't be, and Thank God they were both good at keeping secrets, because Harry wasn't sure he'd be able to live it down, let alone look Ron in the eye. But damn it, he was the Boy Who Lived--twice--and if he was going to live--twice--then he might as well fucking live.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1253
Warnings: Bossy Draco, thinking Harry, PWP
Disclaimer: JKRs sandbox; I like to play.
Summary: A glimpse into Harry's bedroom...when Draco's in it.
"I swear, Potter, if you don't fuck me now--"
Harry looked up from his belt, which he was fumbling with hastily. "Oh, do shut up," he said gruffly, undoing the buckle. "Or I'll find something to keep your mouth occupied."
Malfoy's teeth gleamed white in the dark. "Is that a promise?"
Harry didn't bother responding; he was quite used to Malfoy's inherent need to have the last word, and concentrated on ridding himself of his trousers instead. They were kicked away without another thought, and he crawled onto the bed, over Malfoy, who was sprawled out like he owned the bloody thing.
"Glasses off."
Demanding prick. Inhaling deeply through his nose, Harry pulled off his glasses and set them on the nightstand. He wouldn't encourage him, and didn't need his glasses to see the smirk on Malfoy's face; he could hear it. For the umpteenth time, he wondered what dour circumstances had led him to this position, not that it was a bad position, in the literal sense, but clearly he was off his nut and Oh. Malfoy moved purposely beneath him so that their cocks brushed together. Fuck, thought Harry, squeezing his eyes shut. He was doomed.
Without a word, he lowered his mouth to Malfoy's, or where he expected it to be, only he ended up bumping his nose against a sharp-edged cheekbone and kissing the curl of Malfoy's mouth. Malfoy trembled beneath him--a laugh, Harry thought, not anything related to the feel of skin on skin--and he crushed their mouths together before Malfoy had a chance to say something. It was a rough kiss, with demanding tongues and harsh teeth, and when Harry finally pulled away his lips were swollen and he was panting. He slid one hand down Malfoy's torso, digging the pads of his fingers in almost unkindly. The Slytherin keened low in his throat, a nonverbal whine if ever there was one.
Harry dropped his head so that his mouth was near Malfoy's ear. This was what it was all about, really. Malfoy could be demanding as much as he wanted, but when he was being fucked, Harry was in control. Malfoy's prick, rigid with want, pressed into Harry's stomach as Harry slid lower, dragging his palm over Malfoy's hip, tracing the crease between groin and thigh with his fingers. A hand tugged at Harry's hair and he smiled, running his tongue across the edge of his teeth. When he was through, Malfoy wouldn't be able to string two words together, let alone be a smug son of a bitch. The only tolerable Malfoy was a well-shagged one. The things Harry Potter did for the wizarding world.
Malfoy writhed beneath him now, alternating between holding his breath and groaning, hands fisted into the covers. Harry offered no mercy, wrapping his hand around Malfoy's prick, running his thumb over its sticky tip. He stroked him once, twice - keeping on it that vein until Malfoy was getting used to the motion, canting his hips against it - and then he let go, reaching for his wand.
"Bastard," Malfoy growled in a voice that barely registered. His fingers dug into Harry's scalp.
Harry paid him no mind, performing several useful charms that he hadn't learned in school or from Hermione, nor from reading his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. Malfoy groaned; the only time he ever made pleased sounds when Harry held him at wandpoint was when they were in bed together. Harry's cock twitched at the sound, desire sweeping through him again, and he discarded his wand, readily surrendering himself to his senses. It was easier to do, when he wasn't wearing his glasses. He lost himself in the taste of Malfoy's skin, reveled in the heat between their bodies. The air was heavy with the smell of sweat and the fancy cologne Malfoy insisted on wearing; Harry was convinced Malfoy sprayed it around his prick, too, and hoped it wasn't for his benefit. He didn't think it was; Malfoy rarely did anything for his benefit, other than let Harry fuck him, and if there weren't selfish motives there, Harry'd be buggered next time, not the buggerer.
His fingers blazed a familiar trail over Malfoy's arse, gliding over the curve of moon-pale skin and into newly lubricated areas. Teasing Malfoy with deliberately slow movements, Harry stroked circles and applied pressure, doing his best to ignore the aching tension in his groin. Tormenting Malfoy was worth it, and while Harry couldn't make up for over seven years, he could damn well try.
Malfoy rutted against him, muttering oaths as he wrapped his hand around his own cock desperately. Their limbs were tangled and Harry's prick pressed into Malfoy's thigh. He knew he couldn't hold out much longer, but, he thought, finally indulging Malfoy with a finger--and after a moment, two--he'd been through worse.
Malfoy shuddered beneath him as he eased his fingers in and out. Harry was being much kinder than was deserved. A little slower, too.
"Don't," said Malfoy in a strained voice. "Don't make me beg, you--" Malfoy's words turned into an explosive exhalation as Harry withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the tip of his prick, entering him.
His eyes nearly crossed from the sensation, the tightness and heat, and he paused to let them both adjust, spreading Malfoy's legs wider. "Shut. Up."
And Malfoy did, in a sense, rocking against Harry as he began to move. If there was one solid thing in their relationship, and it was far from that kind of relationship, it was that the sex was good. Harry had had bad sex before, and sex with women (which he didn't pair together as a norm but had, unfortunately, experienced), but the sex with Malfoy was, well, pretty fucking brilliant. On the occasions he let himself think about it, he boggled.
Now was not the time for thinking, however. He thrust his hips furiously and Malfoy wanked himself with frenzied hands. They were groaning and breathing roughly, and Harry felt sweat begin to trickle down his temple. He wouldn't finish first. He never did. There was something satisfying about knowing he'd outlasted Malfoy, and he even as he felt the tension building, he continued to fuck Malfoy steadily, fully intending to push pass the apex of everything if necessary.
Except that it wasn't necessary. Malfoy let out a strangled sound, sharp and brittle. His body twitched and tensed and then he came, spurting between them, sticky and hot against Harry's skin. "Fu- fuck," he muttered in gasping breaths.
"Fuck," Harry echoed. Malfoy's orgasms did things to him he'd never be able to admit, or even find the words to describe, and his movement became more frenzied. The need for release made his insides taut, like a stretched band; if he didn't come he'd surely snap. But come he did, and with a hoarse cry, his rigid muscles tensing and relaxing as pleasure spiraled through him. He could think of nothing; his head was filled with the bleary fuzz of well-shagged nothingness, and then he collapsed. The two men were tangled together, but there was no embrace; neither liked the other enough to offer any more comfort than he already had. It was enough. Malfoy expected no more, and Harry could give no less.
It was the way things ought to be, and shouldn't be, and Thank God they were both good at keeping secrets, because Harry wasn't sure he'd be able to live it down, let alone look Ron in the eye. But damn it, he was the Boy Who Lived--twice--and if he was going to live--twice--then he might as well fucking live.