Fic: Because It's Raining (Draco/Harry, NC-17)
Title: Because It's Raining
Author: gracerene
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Draco, background Ron/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~3,050
Content/Warnings: eighth year, Quidditch fic, outdoors sex, semi public!sex, slight glove!kink, hand jobs, frottage
Summary: Harry doesn't care if it's raining and it's "not a real game", he's not letting Draco catch the Snitch.
Notes: I'm thinking that "Because it's Raining" was probably meant as a "so let's stay inside and do it" type deal, but I liked this better. ;) Thanks to capitu and lauren3210 for looking this over for me! I played around with it a bit since, so all remaining mistakes are my own.
50 Reasons to Have Sex Masterlist
Read on AO3
"Harry, mate, come on! Everybody is heading inside," Ron called out through the pouring rain, hovering on his broom several yards below Harry. The rest of the eighth-year players were already trudging back towards the castle.
"Not everybody," Harry muttered under his breath, eyes tracking the blond figure swooping at the far end of the field.
"You guys go ahead," he yelled back. "I'll join up later. I'm not going have Malfoy bragging for the next few weeks, claiming he 'won' because I was too afraid to play in a little rain."
Ron looked conflicted. "I think this is the part where I'm supposed to tell you that this was just a casual scrimmage, and that the points don't matter. So if Hermione asks, I tried to discourage you from, erm, our childish rivalry with Malfoy." He paused, grinning at Harry before adding, "But I say we should be taking any chance we have to beat the ferrety bastard! I'd stay and help you thrash him myself, but ‘Mione reckons she can take a study break for the next few hours."
Harry grinned back.
"Don't worry about me, mate. He hasn't beat me yet and I doubt he'll try anything."
Ron nodded. "Well, good luck. And be sure to rub your win in his pointy face," he encouraged, flying back towards the ground.
Harry resumed his patrol, scanning the air for a flash of gold. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Malfoy casually flying towards him.
He had to admit that he'd been a bit surprised to see Malfoy back at Hogwarts to redo his seventh year, along with several other Slytherins. All the eighth-year students were set up together with a separate common room, and while he wouldn't say that all the old animosities were completely buried, they had all seemed to reach a sort of reluctant truce. Malfoy was still a complete prat, but there seemed to be less malice behind his barbs, and if he still believed in all that pure-blood superiority crap, he wisely kept his opinions to himself.
The downside of this slightly less horrible Malfoy, was that Harry couldn't help noticing things. Sure, he'd found himself watching Malfoy a lot over the years, and maybe he had gone a bit overboard in sixth year (though Harry maintained that his suspicion was obviously warranted), but he was pretty sure that the watching was never quite like this.
Before, he'd never noticed how high and defined Draco's cheekbones were or how the grey of his eyes seemed to change with his moods. These days, Harry continuously found his gaze drawn to the fine bones in Malfoy's wrist whenever he reached for his morning tea, or tracing across the tight stretch of his crisp, white uniform shirt over his chest. And now, as Malfoy drew nearer, he couldn't help noticing the strong muscles of his thighs as they flexed beneath his Quidditch uniform, and the almost obscene sight of the tips of his dexterous fingers peeking out of their black leather encasing, gripping the handle of his broom.
"Still playing, Potter?" Malfoy asked with a raised brow. His hair was shorter this year and he'd been wearing it looser, but now it was slicked back with the rain in a parody of his earlier style.
Even that managed to be sexy. Merlin, what was wrong with him? Harry glared at Malfoy as he shook the inappropriate thoughts out of his head.
"Obviously, Malfoy. We doing this or not?"
"You're on, Potter." Malfoy sneered in response, speeding off.
Great. Okay. He could do this. He hadn't lost to Malfoy yet. He just needed to focus. Focus on finding the Snitch, and not let himself get distracted by Malfoy and his ridiculously graceful body. Clad in that form-fitting quidditch uniform. Flying around gripping that hard, wooden broom between his legs with his sexy gloved hands. Soaking wet. Fuck.
Harry circled slowly, keeping one eye on Malfoy's movements (purely for strategic reasons, of course) and one eye scanning for the Snitch through the sheets of rain. Thank goodness for the Impervious charm, keeping his glasses rain free and his vision clear. Unfortunately it didn't work on the rest of him, and he could feel icy rivulets of water sliding down the back of his neck, his normally unruly hair plastered flat against his forehead.
Suddenly, a flash of gold caught his eye near the ground, half-way across the pitch. Without even thinking, he raced towards it, noticing grimly that Malfoy had seen it as well and was coming at him from the opposite direction.
They quickly gained ground, both approaching the Snitch rapidly and heading straight at one another. This was looking increasingly like a game of Snitch-chicken, but Harry would be damned if he was going to pull away first and miss the opportunity to win the "game".
Malfoy leaned flat against his broom handle, reaching out his arm, and Harry put on a burst of speed, willing his broom faster.
Harry lifted a hand from the handle, eyes darting from the Snitch to Malfoy's focused gaze. For a second, it looked like Malfoy might beat him to it, but Harry could see Malfoy's broom waver in hesitation. Harry could practically see Malfoy's internal struggle, his desire to win warring with his instinct to move out of the way of danger. It was just a moment's indecision before Malfoy recommitted to the course, but that was all Harry needed to swipe the Snitch out of the air.
Unfortunately, it didn't allow him time to maneuver away from the path of Malfoy's broom and their shoulders collided, sending their brooms careening off in opposite directions towards the ground. Luckily, they were only a few feet up, so the tumble was only bruising as they crashed into the wet grass, Harry landing several feet away from the the stands.
Harry lay on the field for a few beats, letting the rain pour down onto his face as he clutched the Snitch tightly in his right hand and caught his breath. He winced as he stumbled to his feet. Harry could already feel the bruises forming down his right side where he'd hit the hardest.
"What the fuck, Potter!" Malfoy screamed, storming over and pushing Harry roughly, causing him to back away and stumble under the awning of the stands.
Malfoy's breath was coming in ragged gulps, his cheeks red with exertion and anger. The fall had mussed up his rain slicked hair, and it was sticking up in patches. There were no obvious signs of injury, but Harry was sure he'd be covered in marks of his own tomorrow. That pale skin of his probably bruised like a peach.
"Don't be a sore loser, Malfoy. I caught the Snitch, fair and square." He held out the fluttering ball in triumph.
"Fair and square, my arse! You nearly fucking killed me!" Malfoy advanced on Harry, expression livid, and Harry backed up a few more paces.
"I don't know if you noticed, but you weren't the only one who crashed. I hardly did it on purpose." Harry replied, only half paying attention to the conversation. The rest of him was trying desperately to control his arousal. A few years ago this confrontation would have set his blood boiling in anger, but now his blood was boiling for an entirely different reason and all he could focus on was how attractive Malfoy was in his rage. Harry's gaze was helplessly drawn to Malfoy's gloved hands as they cut furiously through the air.
Malfoy opened his mouth, likely to give a nasty retort, but nothing came out, his eyes scanning Harry's face in apparent surprise. The surprise only lasted for a few brief moments, before a sly expression slid over his face.
"Harry Potter," he began, his voice infused with amusement. He stepped even closer to Harry, backing him into the wooden wall, and Harry could feel the warmth pouring off of his body, a sharp contrast to the cold rain. "You know, I had wondered why you and the girl Weasley never got back together. I suppose this rather clarifies things."
"Wh -- What?" Harry stuttered out, heart racing in his chest as Malfoy placed one of his hands against the rough wooden side of the stands beside Harry's head. It wasn't a secret that Ginny and he had decided not to resume their relationship after the war. They were both different people after that year apart, and they just didn't feel right together anymore. But he wasn't sure why Malfoy was bringing it up.
Harry was pulled from his musings as Malfoy brought up his other hand and traced a leather-clad finger across Harry's cheekbone. He blushed furiously at the feel of the rough leather against his skin, wondering how Malfoy's gloved hands managed to be even sexier than they were bare.
"I'm not an idiot, Potter, and I know what it looks like when somebody is imagining what I'm like in bed." He leaned in close, nose grazing gently against Harry's. "Sort of like that look you're giving me right now."
"Fuck," Harry whispered, looking up at him with stunned eyes as his hands moved of their own free will to grip at Malfoy's shirt. Malfoy gave a quick predatory grin, before tilting his head forward and bringing his lips firmly against Harry's.
Harry gasped in surprise, still not totally sure if this was real, or if he had actually knocked himself unconscious in that crash, and was now hallucinating this entire encounter.
But no, Malfoy's tongue was slithering into his open mouth, stroking lightly against the back of his teeth, curling sensuously around his own, and there was no way he could imagine the the soft slide of Malfoy's lips and the unique way he tasted with such clarity.
Harry's head was pounding, the blood rushing loudly through his ears. He could hear the rain pelting down onto the awning above them and everything felt wet and hot. His hands flew to Malfoy's back, rubbing into his damp shirt and sliding down to grab a handful of his firm arse.
Malfoy pressed against Harry, fitting their bodies together like puzzle pieces and bringing their hips into contact. Harry hadn't even realized that he was hard until he felt the solid pressure of Malfoy rubbing against him, his erection a thick line pressing insistently into Harry's groin. He'd never really gotten this far with Ginny, everything had felt so sweet and pure with her, innocent. But there was nothing innocent about the feel of Malfoy's hard body pressing roughly into him, the feel of his hot, demanding mouth sucking seductively on his tongue.
"Merlin," Harry moaned, breaking away from the slick, slide of their mouths to catch his breath, feeling Malfoy kiss a burning line across his rain-frozen cheek.
Malfoy's hands drifted to Harry's waist, squeezing briefly, before he backed away a half step and turned Harry swiftly around to face the wall.
"What?" Harry asked reflexively, hands immediately reaching out to brace himself against the painted wood of the stands.
Malfoy stepped back into Harry, plastering himself firmly against his back. Harry could feel his hard cock nestled into the cleft of his arse, and had to physically hold himself back from rocking into the heat of it. He never would've imagined that this position would turn him on so much, but he couldn't deny that being pressed into a wall by Draco sodding Malfoy was giving him wank material for the next several weeks.
And didn't that sound good in his head, Draco, he could almost feel the hard "k" sound of the last syllable rolling around deliciously in his throat. Fuck it, he thought, if I'm getting off with him, I'm damn well going to refer to him by his first name.
Draco grazed his teeth against the shell of Harry's ear, as he slipped a hand underneath his soggy shirt. Harry shivered at the slight coolness of the glove against his sensitive stomach. Draco's other hand slipped down to the band of Harry's trousers, deftly undoing the button and sliding down the zip, his hips rocking slightly against Harry's arse.
Harry barely had a chance to blink, before he felt Draco's gloved hand sliding into his pants and pulling out his aching prick.
"Bloody, buggering, fuck!" Harry yelled, as Draco pulled firmly on his erection, overwhelmed by the unexpected pleasure combined with the sudden sting of the cold air against his blood-hot cock.
"Hmm," Draco hummed in response, hand maintaining a slow and steady pace. Merlin, nobody had ever touched him like that before, and it was clear Draco knew his way around a cock, maintaining a perfect, firm pressure and he slid his hand up and down. The leather of his glove against his foreskin provided a heavenly friction that bordered just on the right side of painful.
"You know what else I noticed, Potter?"
"What?" Harry questioned, a little nervous about what else he had given away.
"Well, I couldn't help but notice your slight...preoccupation with my gloves." Draco's voice was smug in his ears, breath puffing against his ear in warm pants.
Harry let out an embarrassing whimper, and he could practically feel Draco's triumphant smile.
The hand pressed against his belly disappeared, and suddenly two gloved fingers were tracing the curve of his lips.
"Open up, Potter," Draco whispered, pressing the pads of his fingers against Harry's plush bottom lip.
Harry kept his lips pressed firmly together, and Draco tsked sadly before the hand on his cock stop moving, holding it loosely at the base while his hips stilled their gyrating motions.
Nervously, Harry opened his mouth, sucking in the leather-clad digits. Draco's hand immediately resumed its previous ministrations, and Harry moaned against the fingers in his mouth at the pleasurable sensation. The hips against his arse started up again at a steady pace, and that long, thick cock pressed tantalizingly into the crack of Harry's arse, pressing his trousers firmly into his skin, rubbing the seam against his sensitive hole. Harry pushed back into the pressure, rubbing his backside against Draco in an effort to increase the friction.
Draco gave a guttural groan in response, and Harry felt the sound reverberate against his back. The fingers in his mouth were thrusting in and out lewdly, occasionally pressing and stroking against his tongue. Harry sucked on them enthusiastically, wetting the leather and occasionally nipping at the bare fingertips with his teeth, the salty taste of Draco's skin a delicious contrast to the synthetic flavor of the gloves. He felt owned, pinned by the heavy press of Draco's hips against his and the weight of Draco's fingers in his mouth.
He imagined what it would feel like to have Draco's cock in his mouth instead of his fingers. Imagined the press of it flattening his tongue, the ache in his jaw from having to stretch his mouth even wider, the taste of Draco's skin, and he couldn't help moaning at the thought.
Draco swore lowly and picked up his pace, thrusting his hips faster, the force of his hips pushing Harry's cock into the circle of his gloved fist. Harry could feel his arousal spiraling higher, felt the tell-tale tingling at the base of his spine, signaling his impending orgasm.
Draco's fingers drove into his mouth and curled down, pressing suggestively against his tongue, and Harry couldn't help but imagine those fingers sliding into his arse, stretching him open and curling against his prostate. Harry had recently discovered just how sensitive his prostate was during a particularly inventive wank session, and the thought of being speared open on Draco's fingers as he teased that glorious bundle of nerves had him coming with a shout, shuddering as ropes of come splattered the wall in front of him and dripped through Draco's black, leather-clad fingers.
Harry slumped forward against the wall, and Draco quickly removed his fingers from Harry's mouth, moving to grip Harry's hips tightly with both hands as he began rubbing frantically against the curve of Harry's arse. He pulled Harry against him frantically, moving into him until he came in his pants with a shivery moan, and collapsed against the wall next to Harry.
Harry reached down with shaking fingers, tucking himself back in and doing up his trousers.
"So, erm, that..." he trailed off, having no idea what to actually say about this turn of events. He definitely hadn't expected anything like that to happen, and he wasn't totally sure how he felt about the whole thing, other than really bloody satisfied.
"Yes, quite," Draco responded, wryly, reaching for his wand and casting a quick cleaning charm on himself, likely clearing out the mess in his pants.
"So…"
"So, I guess I'll be seeing you in Potions tomorrow," Draco finished for him, walking out into the still-pouring rain to grab his broom, as if they hadn't just gotten off in the middle of the Quidditch pitch.
"Is that all you have to say?" Harry demanded, walking over to collect his own broom and glaring at Draco.
"For now," Draco responded, with a coy smile and a wink. "I'll see you tomorrow, Potter," he called out, hopping onto his broom and flying off toward the castle.
Bloody hell, Harry thought, trudging through the rain, not sure if he trusted himself to get on a broom just yet. His orgasm had been intense and he still felt a bit shaky and loose.
Draco hadn't said anything about it being a mistake or making sure it never happened again, and Harry knew he should probably be a bit embarrassed and horrified by what just happened. His childhood rival had just had him in a very compromising situation, and he shouldn't be trusting him not to run off to the Prophet and tell the world about Harry's weird glove fetish.
But all he could think about was the feel of Draco's hard cock against his arse and how his hand felt on his cock and his cheeky goodbye.
He knew he should be plotting to make sure this never happened again, but he wasn't ready to give up on whatever this was just yet. Harry sighed. He had a feeling that the year was about to get very interesting.
Author: gracerene
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Draco, background Ron/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~3,050
Content/Warnings: eighth year, Quidditch fic, outdoors sex, semi public!sex, slight glove!kink, hand jobs, frottage
Summary: Harry doesn't care if it's raining and it's "not a real game", he's not letting Draco catch the Snitch.
Notes: I'm thinking that "Because it's Raining" was probably meant as a "so let's stay inside and do it" type deal, but I liked this better. ;) Thanks to capitu and lauren3210 for looking this over for me! I played around with it a bit since, so all remaining mistakes are my own.
50 Reasons to Have Sex Masterlist
Read on AO3
"Harry, mate, come on! Everybody is heading inside," Ron called out through the pouring rain, hovering on his broom several yards below Harry. The rest of the eighth-year players were already trudging back towards the castle.
"Not everybody," Harry muttered under his breath, eyes tracking the blond figure swooping at the far end of the field.
"You guys go ahead," he yelled back. "I'll join up later. I'm not going have Malfoy bragging for the next few weeks, claiming he 'won' because I was too afraid to play in a little rain."
Ron looked conflicted. "I think this is the part where I'm supposed to tell you that this was just a casual scrimmage, and that the points don't matter. So if Hermione asks, I tried to discourage you from, erm, our childish rivalry with Malfoy." He paused, grinning at Harry before adding, "But I say we should be taking any chance we have to beat the ferrety bastard! I'd stay and help you thrash him myself, but ‘Mione reckons she can take a study break for the next few hours."
Harry grinned back.
"Don't worry about me, mate. He hasn't beat me yet and I doubt he'll try anything."
Ron nodded. "Well, good luck. And be sure to rub your win in his pointy face," he encouraged, flying back towards the ground.
Harry resumed his patrol, scanning the air for a flash of gold. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Malfoy casually flying towards him.
He had to admit that he'd been a bit surprised to see Malfoy back at Hogwarts to redo his seventh year, along with several other Slytherins. All the eighth-year students were set up together with a separate common room, and while he wouldn't say that all the old animosities were completely buried, they had all seemed to reach a sort of reluctant truce. Malfoy was still a complete prat, but there seemed to be less malice behind his barbs, and if he still believed in all that pure-blood superiority crap, he wisely kept his opinions to himself.
The downside of this slightly less horrible Malfoy, was that Harry couldn't help noticing things. Sure, he'd found himself watching Malfoy a lot over the years, and maybe he had gone a bit overboard in sixth year (though Harry maintained that his suspicion was obviously warranted), but he was pretty sure that the watching was never quite like this.
Before, he'd never noticed how high and defined Draco's cheekbones were or how the grey of his eyes seemed to change with his moods. These days, Harry continuously found his gaze drawn to the fine bones in Malfoy's wrist whenever he reached for his morning tea, or tracing across the tight stretch of his crisp, white uniform shirt over his chest. And now, as Malfoy drew nearer, he couldn't help noticing the strong muscles of his thighs as they flexed beneath his Quidditch uniform, and the almost obscene sight of the tips of his dexterous fingers peeking out of their black leather encasing, gripping the handle of his broom.
"Still playing, Potter?" Malfoy asked with a raised brow. His hair was shorter this year and he'd been wearing it looser, but now it was slicked back with the rain in a parody of his earlier style.
Even that managed to be sexy. Merlin, what was wrong with him? Harry glared at Malfoy as he shook the inappropriate thoughts out of his head.
"Obviously, Malfoy. We doing this or not?"
"You're on, Potter." Malfoy sneered in response, speeding off.
Great. Okay. He could do this. He hadn't lost to Malfoy yet. He just needed to focus. Focus on finding the Snitch, and not let himself get distracted by Malfoy and his ridiculously graceful body. Clad in that form-fitting quidditch uniform. Flying around gripping that hard, wooden broom between his legs with his sexy gloved hands. Soaking wet. Fuck.
Harry circled slowly, keeping one eye on Malfoy's movements (purely for strategic reasons, of course) and one eye scanning for the Snitch through the sheets of rain. Thank goodness for the Impervious charm, keeping his glasses rain free and his vision clear. Unfortunately it didn't work on the rest of him, and he could feel icy rivulets of water sliding down the back of his neck, his normally unruly hair plastered flat against his forehead.
Suddenly, a flash of gold caught his eye near the ground, half-way across the pitch. Without even thinking, he raced towards it, noticing grimly that Malfoy had seen it as well and was coming at him from the opposite direction.
They quickly gained ground, both approaching the Snitch rapidly and heading straight at one another. This was looking increasingly like a game of Snitch-chicken, but Harry would be damned if he was going to pull away first and miss the opportunity to win the "game".
Malfoy leaned flat against his broom handle, reaching out his arm, and Harry put on a burst of speed, willing his broom faster.
Harry lifted a hand from the handle, eyes darting from the Snitch to Malfoy's focused gaze. For a second, it looked like Malfoy might beat him to it, but Harry could see Malfoy's broom waver in hesitation. Harry could practically see Malfoy's internal struggle, his desire to win warring with his instinct to move out of the way of danger. It was just a moment's indecision before Malfoy recommitted to the course, but that was all Harry needed to swipe the Snitch out of the air.
Unfortunately, it didn't allow him time to maneuver away from the path of Malfoy's broom and their shoulders collided, sending their brooms careening off in opposite directions towards the ground. Luckily, they were only a few feet up, so the tumble was only bruising as they crashed into the wet grass, Harry landing several feet away from the the stands.
Harry lay on the field for a few beats, letting the rain pour down onto his face as he clutched the Snitch tightly in his right hand and caught his breath. He winced as he stumbled to his feet. Harry could already feel the bruises forming down his right side where he'd hit the hardest.
"What the fuck, Potter!" Malfoy screamed, storming over and pushing Harry roughly, causing him to back away and stumble under the awning of the stands.
Malfoy's breath was coming in ragged gulps, his cheeks red with exertion and anger. The fall had mussed up his rain slicked hair, and it was sticking up in patches. There were no obvious signs of injury, but Harry was sure he'd be covered in marks of his own tomorrow. That pale skin of his probably bruised like a peach.
"Don't be a sore loser, Malfoy. I caught the Snitch, fair and square." He held out the fluttering ball in triumph.
"Fair and square, my arse! You nearly fucking killed me!" Malfoy advanced on Harry, expression livid, and Harry backed up a few more paces.
"I don't know if you noticed, but you weren't the only one who crashed. I hardly did it on purpose." Harry replied, only half paying attention to the conversation. The rest of him was trying desperately to control his arousal. A few years ago this confrontation would have set his blood boiling in anger, but now his blood was boiling for an entirely different reason and all he could focus on was how attractive Malfoy was in his rage. Harry's gaze was helplessly drawn to Malfoy's gloved hands as they cut furiously through the air.
Malfoy opened his mouth, likely to give a nasty retort, but nothing came out, his eyes scanning Harry's face in apparent surprise. The surprise only lasted for a few brief moments, before a sly expression slid over his face.
"Harry Potter," he began, his voice infused with amusement. He stepped even closer to Harry, backing him into the wooden wall, and Harry could feel the warmth pouring off of his body, a sharp contrast to the cold rain. "You know, I had wondered why you and the girl Weasley never got back together. I suppose this rather clarifies things."
"Wh -- What?" Harry stuttered out, heart racing in his chest as Malfoy placed one of his hands against the rough wooden side of the stands beside Harry's head. It wasn't a secret that Ginny and he had decided not to resume their relationship after the war. They were both different people after that year apart, and they just didn't feel right together anymore. But he wasn't sure why Malfoy was bringing it up.
Harry was pulled from his musings as Malfoy brought up his other hand and traced a leather-clad finger across Harry's cheekbone. He blushed furiously at the feel of the rough leather against his skin, wondering how Malfoy's gloved hands managed to be even sexier than they were bare.
"I'm not an idiot, Potter, and I know what it looks like when somebody is imagining what I'm like in bed." He leaned in close, nose grazing gently against Harry's. "Sort of like that look you're giving me right now."
"Fuck," Harry whispered, looking up at him with stunned eyes as his hands moved of their own free will to grip at Malfoy's shirt. Malfoy gave a quick predatory grin, before tilting his head forward and bringing his lips firmly against Harry's.
Harry gasped in surprise, still not totally sure if this was real, or if he had actually knocked himself unconscious in that crash, and was now hallucinating this entire encounter.
But no, Malfoy's tongue was slithering into his open mouth, stroking lightly against the back of his teeth, curling sensuously around his own, and there was no way he could imagine the the soft slide of Malfoy's lips and the unique way he tasted with such clarity.
Harry's head was pounding, the blood rushing loudly through his ears. He could hear the rain pelting down onto the awning above them and everything felt wet and hot. His hands flew to Malfoy's back, rubbing into his damp shirt and sliding down to grab a handful of his firm arse.
Malfoy pressed against Harry, fitting their bodies together like puzzle pieces and bringing their hips into contact. Harry hadn't even realized that he was hard until he felt the solid pressure of Malfoy rubbing against him, his erection a thick line pressing insistently into Harry's groin. He'd never really gotten this far with Ginny, everything had felt so sweet and pure with her, innocent. But there was nothing innocent about the feel of Malfoy's hard body pressing roughly into him, the feel of his hot, demanding mouth sucking seductively on his tongue.
"Merlin," Harry moaned, breaking away from the slick, slide of their mouths to catch his breath, feeling Malfoy kiss a burning line across his rain-frozen cheek.
Malfoy's hands drifted to Harry's waist, squeezing briefly, before he backed away a half step and turned Harry swiftly around to face the wall.
"What?" Harry asked reflexively, hands immediately reaching out to brace himself against the painted wood of the stands.
Malfoy stepped back into Harry, plastering himself firmly against his back. Harry could feel his hard cock nestled into the cleft of his arse, and had to physically hold himself back from rocking into the heat of it. He never would've imagined that this position would turn him on so much, but he couldn't deny that being pressed into a wall by Draco sodding Malfoy was giving him wank material for the next several weeks.
And didn't that sound good in his head, Draco, he could almost feel the hard "k" sound of the last syllable rolling around deliciously in his throat. Fuck it, he thought, if I'm getting off with him, I'm damn well going to refer to him by his first name.
Draco grazed his teeth against the shell of Harry's ear, as he slipped a hand underneath his soggy shirt. Harry shivered at the slight coolness of the glove against his sensitive stomach. Draco's other hand slipped down to the band of Harry's trousers, deftly undoing the button and sliding down the zip, his hips rocking slightly against Harry's arse.
Harry barely had a chance to blink, before he felt Draco's gloved hand sliding into his pants and pulling out his aching prick.
"Bloody, buggering, fuck!" Harry yelled, as Draco pulled firmly on his erection, overwhelmed by the unexpected pleasure combined with the sudden sting of the cold air against his blood-hot cock.
"Hmm," Draco hummed in response, hand maintaining a slow and steady pace. Merlin, nobody had ever touched him like that before, and it was clear Draco knew his way around a cock, maintaining a perfect, firm pressure and he slid his hand up and down. The leather of his glove against his foreskin provided a heavenly friction that bordered just on the right side of painful.
"You know what else I noticed, Potter?"
"What?" Harry questioned, a little nervous about what else he had given away.
"Well, I couldn't help but notice your slight...preoccupation with my gloves." Draco's voice was smug in his ears, breath puffing against his ear in warm pants.
Harry let out an embarrassing whimper, and he could practically feel Draco's triumphant smile.
The hand pressed against his belly disappeared, and suddenly two gloved fingers were tracing the curve of his lips.
"Open up, Potter," Draco whispered, pressing the pads of his fingers against Harry's plush bottom lip.
Harry kept his lips pressed firmly together, and Draco tsked sadly before the hand on his cock stop moving, holding it loosely at the base while his hips stilled their gyrating motions.
Nervously, Harry opened his mouth, sucking in the leather-clad digits. Draco's hand immediately resumed its previous ministrations, and Harry moaned against the fingers in his mouth at the pleasurable sensation. The hips against his arse started up again at a steady pace, and that long, thick cock pressed tantalizingly into the crack of Harry's arse, pressing his trousers firmly into his skin, rubbing the seam against his sensitive hole. Harry pushed back into the pressure, rubbing his backside against Draco in an effort to increase the friction.
Draco gave a guttural groan in response, and Harry felt the sound reverberate against his back. The fingers in his mouth were thrusting in and out lewdly, occasionally pressing and stroking against his tongue. Harry sucked on them enthusiastically, wetting the leather and occasionally nipping at the bare fingertips with his teeth, the salty taste of Draco's skin a delicious contrast to the synthetic flavor of the gloves. He felt owned, pinned by the heavy press of Draco's hips against his and the weight of Draco's fingers in his mouth.
He imagined what it would feel like to have Draco's cock in his mouth instead of his fingers. Imagined the press of it flattening his tongue, the ache in his jaw from having to stretch his mouth even wider, the taste of Draco's skin, and he couldn't help moaning at the thought.
Draco swore lowly and picked up his pace, thrusting his hips faster, the force of his hips pushing Harry's cock into the circle of his gloved fist. Harry could feel his arousal spiraling higher, felt the tell-tale tingling at the base of his spine, signaling his impending orgasm.
Draco's fingers drove into his mouth and curled down, pressing suggestively against his tongue, and Harry couldn't help but imagine those fingers sliding into his arse, stretching him open and curling against his prostate. Harry had recently discovered just how sensitive his prostate was during a particularly inventive wank session, and the thought of being speared open on Draco's fingers as he teased that glorious bundle of nerves had him coming with a shout, shuddering as ropes of come splattered the wall in front of him and dripped through Draco's black, leather-clad fingers.
Harry slumped forward against the wall, and Draco quickly removed his fingers from Harry's mouth, moving to grip Harry's hips tightly with both hands as he began rubbing frantically against the curve of Harry's arse. He pulled Harry against him frantically, moving into him until he came in his pants with a shivery moan, and collapsed against the wall next to Harry.
Harry reached down with shaking fingers, tucking himself back in and doing up his trousers.
"So, erm, that..." he trailed off, having no idea what to actually say about this turn of events. He definitely hadn't expected anything like that to happen, and he wasn't totally sure how he felt about the whole thing, other than really bloody satisfied.
"Yes, quite," Draco responded, wryly, reaching for his wand and casting a quick cleaning charm on himself, likely clearing out the mess in his pants.
"So…"
"So, I guess I'll be seeing you in Potions tomorrow," Draco finished for him, walking out into the still-pouring rain to grab his broom, as if they hadn't just gotten off in the middle of the Quidditch pitch.
"Is that all you have to say?" Harry demanded, walking over to collect his own broom and glaring at Draco.
"For now," Draco responded, with a coy smile and a wink. "I'll see you tomorrow, Potter," he called out, hopping onto his broom and flying off toward the castle.
Bloody hell, Harry thought, trudging through the rain, not sure if he trusted himself to get on a broom just yet. His orgasm had been intense and he still felt a bit shaky and loose.
Draco hadn't said anything about it being a mistake or making sure it never happened again, and Harry knew he should probably be a bit embarrassed and horrified by what just happened. His childhood rival had just had him in a very compromising situation, and he shouldn't be trusting him not to run off to the Prophet and tell the world about Harry's weird glove fetish.
But all he could think about was the feel of Draco's hard cock against his arse and how his hand felt on his cock and his cheeky goodbye.
He knew he should be plotting to make sure this never happened again, but he wasn't ready to give up on whatever this was just yet. Harry sighed. He had a feeling that the year was about to get very interesting.