FIC: crushing situations for a very lucky few. (Harry/Draco - NC-17 - 5967)
Title: crushing situations for a very lucky few.
Author/Artist: ???
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Prompt: Harry/Draco - Christmastime Eighth year, Draco keeps eating candy canes in class, in the great hall, in the library, constantly sucking on them and licking his lips. Harry becomes rapidly obsessed all over again... Blowjob fic! (Not est relationship please)(Don't ignore the balls haha, ball worship ftw) Here
Word Count: 5,967
Rating: NC-17
Contains (Highlight to view): *Explicit sexual content: oral sex, frotting, handjobs. It gets heavy about the war for a moment.*
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: I started this for last year's minifest, got sick, missed the deadline, and let it languish in my google docs for 10 months. I hope it hits the spot! Title taken from my favorite work of performance art.
Summary: Draco Malfoy eats a candy cane, eats a candy cane, eats a candy cane, and Harry watches, and watches, and watches.
(READ ON AO3)
In the chill of the corridors, in the quiet of the 8th year study room, or in cauldron-hazy humidity of the Potions classroom, one truth of Hogwarts remains the same: Draco Malfoy is driving Harry Potter mad.
It started on December first, after a delivery from his mother's owl-the usual care packages. Harry is used to the sight. How could he not be, after so many years? But then came the unending crunching, and the pervasive smell of peppermint.
Malfoy sits towards the back of most of the classes he shares with Harry, so Harry at least doesn't have to watch him gnaw on the things, but he has had a steady supply of candy canes for the last week, and it seems he can't help but chew the damn things.
"I'm going mad," Harry says. It's Sunday, and he and Ron are attempting to do their homework in the Gryffindor common room like it's 1994. Hermione is in the grounds learning about the castle's warding with McGonagall and Flitwick.
Ron just grunts at him in response, his nose a scant two inches from his parchment.
"It's like Neville's sleep chewing, but all day."
Ron shrugs. "I just tune it out."
"The chewing?"
"And the crunching."
Harry groans, and slouches all the way down in the armchair. He starts to feel that creeping sense of purposelessness if he stops studying for too long, so he props his Charms textbook up on his stomach and continues to read about elemental conjuring.
Hermione returns an hour later, windswept and bubbling with new knowledge, and they spend the evening teasing her about when she will be publishing the revised edition of Hogwarts, A History, instead of getting any real work done.
On Monday, the Malfoy problem gets worse.
History of Magic is the only class Harry and Malfoy share in which Malfoy sits in front of Harry, and half an hour in, Malfoy changes his game. Harry would have paid a hundred galleons for Malfoy to be crunching and chewing his candy canes, because the alternative is a spectacle.
Malfoy, apparently oblivious to his actions, is taking half-hearted notes from Professor Binns' lecture while he snacks on yet another red and white striped candy cane, and from Harry's seat-two rows over, one row back-he has an unobstructed view of Malfoy... sucking.
He pulls it out of his mouth by the hook and sucks it back in, his cheeks hollowing dramatically. His lips pucker around the candy. Harry can smell the peppermint across the classroom. He drags it all the way out and rests the tip on his lips, running it along them and staining them slightly redder from the food color as he bends down to write something with his stupidly extravagant eagle-feather quill.
He looks up at Professor Binns with that ever-so-bored expression and slides the candy cane all the way into his mouth, until the hook of it hits the side of his cheek. Harry watches, absolutely transfixed, as his mouth and throat shift minutely, apparently with the movement of swiping his tongue back and forth along the candy inside his mouth. He looks down at his fingers, touching his first finger and thumb together and then licking them, shifting the candy to the other side of his mouth for a moment.
Harry feels distinctly warm around the edges, and he doubles his effort to pay attention to Professor Binns' lecture. This, unfortunately, has always been a fruitless endeavor.
When class finally ends, Harry bolts out of his chair, stuffs his notes and pen into his bag, and practically runs out of the room. Neither Ron nor Hermione share that class with him, and he's glad. Today's escapades were distracting in a completely new and confusing way.
To his annoyance and slight desperation, the sucking continues. In class, in the 8th year study room, in the Great Hall after lunch and after dinner, and even in the corridors; it seems that Malfoy is almost never without a candy cane.
The worst part might be that he doesn't seem to realize what he's doing. He's just eating candy. Harry's never thought about Malfoy's mouth that way before, or in fact, any part of Malfoy. The worst part might be the sounds he makes-soft and wet, sometimes a slurping noise. It should just be gross. Harry has seen Astoria Greengrass scolding him for being disgusting a few times in the corridors and at mealtimes, but Harry's objection is no longer due to annoyance alone.
Maybe the worst part is how his lips get stained redder and redder as the day progresses.
Probably, the worst part is that Harry can't look away. Malfoy has caught him staring a couple of times now, which is always greeted with a scowl, and Malfoy looking away.
But really, the worst part is that after a week of this, Harry finds himself in the Charms Corridor boys' bathroom with Draco Malfoy.
Alone.
Seeing Harry enter over the shoulder, reflected in the mirror, Malfoy immediately tenses.
The past two weeks of candy crunching and cane sucking evaporate from Harry's mind. The mental image of his red lips and the scent memory of sugar and peppermint are replaced by the memory of blood on the floor. His skin torn open under Harry's hands. His ears ring.
This isn't that bathroom, but it might as well be. His blood running cold, Harry goes to the stall furthest from the sinks.
He can almost feel Malfoy thinking of something to say. He half expects it to be, "Come to finish me off?" or "I've seen you staring at me, Potter."
Malfoy is still standing at the sink with his hands curled around the sides of the basin when Harry leaves the stall. Harry can't help but meet his eyes in the mirror.
Instead of any of the cutting words for which Harry is already composing retorts, Malfoy says, "I don't think you meant to hurt me that badly."
Standing next to him like this, it's suddenly inescapable that they're no longer children. Sixteen seems like an era past. Malfoy might be taller than his father, now. He's certainly taller than Harry. It's impossible to break eye contact.
"You're too good for that," Malfoy finishes, like it's a joke he's used to hearing.
Harry feels the passage of time like a staircase moving under his feet; like Apparition.
"I didn't know what it did," Harry says. Malfoy looks at him in the mirror with a terrible intensity. Harry doesn't know what to expect in return. A sneer? A laughing "of course not, an implication of Harry's stupidity. Certainly not humility-not civility.
Malfoy looks away and washes his hands. Harry does the same.
It feels wrong, with the words unfinished between them, to just leave. Harry wants to leave, to not be standing in this narrow, torch lit bathroom with Draco Malfoy and eight years of bad blood between them.
Malfoy doesn't seem to feel the same weight in that moment. He flicks his hands dry and goes to rummage in his school bag on the hooks by the door.
"Well, bye," Harry says, but before he can rush out the door, Malfoy tosses something to him. Harry might not be on the house Quidditch team anymore, but his Seeker reflexes are sharp regardless, and he snatches it out of the air before he even registers that it's another one of those fucking candy canes.
By the time his brain has caught up to the object in his hand, the air is full of the sweet smell of peppermint candy, and Malfoy is looking over at him with his stupid thin lips puckered around another one, his eyebrows raised.
He slides the candy out of his mouth slowly until it pops free of his lips, and says, "See you around, Potter."
Harry's dick twitches in his trousers, and he knows he's in trouble.
That night, after he's settled in his familiar four-poster-after he can hear the deep breathing of sleep around him-Harry lets himself really think about it. In the dark of the dormitory, Malfoy's mouth seems to loom singularly in his mind, blocking out all of his other concerns. During the day it is difficult to take his discomfort and give it context, but in the night, alone, unwatched, he can admit it: he can't stop imagining Malfoy's mouth on his dick.
Every performance with those candy canes gives him more fuel; from the way his lips close around the candy, the obvious movement of his tongue inside his mouth, the wet noises, the slurping. The hollow of his cheeks when he sucks. Harry feels like he might really be losing his mind this time.
He tries not to think about it too hard as he pushes his pajama bottoms down around his thighs and takes his cock in hand. He tries not to feel like a traitor or an idiot imagining Malfoy between his legs. How would that mouth feel on him? He doesn't know. He's never had anyone blow him before.
He just remembers the way Malfoy sticks his tongue out and drags the tip of a candy cane down the center, and wonders what it might feel like if he rubbed his dick on Malfoy's tongue. Hot, for sure. He spits in his palm and gets back to stroking himself, wondering.
The fantasy is a patchwork of memories from the past few weeks, and Harry finishes when he remembers the low timbre of Malfoy's voice as he called him "good."
It takes Harry a while to fall asleep afterwards.
At breakfast, Harry feels exposed by Hermione's multiple shrewd looks. There's no way she knows what he was doing last night. Sure, maybe someone heard him tugging one out, but she won't stop throwing him these considering glances. Like she knows.
"What?" he finally says, putting down his goblet as she looks away from him. "Hermione, what?"
Ron, who has been reading a housing pamphlet and doing math on the margin with one of Hermione's Muggle pens, looks up. "What's she done?" he asks.
"Nothing!" she says. "Harry just has that look about him."
Harry stares at her. "What look?"
"You know," she says. She looks to Ron, then back at Harry a little apologetically. "You look… focused." This is clearly a euphemism for something, and Harry is starting to lose his patience. There's no way either of them knows what's been going on in his head.
Ron looks at the both of them for a minute more, then folds up his pamphlet. He hums, studying Harry's face. Harry busies himself with his breakfast, but he can feel them both watching him.
Ginny arrives at this moment, absorbed in a conversation with a Hufflepuff Harry doesn't know. She sits down next to Ron, helps herself to juice, and then looks over at her brother. Then at Harry and Hermione.
"What's wrong with you lot?" she asks. She starts piling hotcakes and bacon onto her plate.
"I apparently look too focused, whatever that means."
"Hmm," Ginny says, squinting at him. "Like, finally starting to take notes in History of Magic focused, or stalking Malfoy around the school focused?"
"I didn't stalk him!"
"More like stalking Malfoy focused," Hermione says, ignoring Harry's splutter of protest. "This isn't about Malfoy, is it?"
"No!"
Ron and Ginny both laugh, but Hermione looks at him seriously, trying to find a lie. Harry wonders desperately if she might have taken up Legilimency in her spare time. For some light reading, on top of her 9 NEWTs.
They spend the day studying, mostly quiet except for a trip down to Hagrid's. Ron and Hermione leave for dinner as early as possible, as they have a firecall with a real estate witch planned for afterwards. Harry stays in the common room, working on a diagram for Herbology.
Ginny is sitting nearby, and after a while, Harry feels her watching him.
"Can I help you?" he asks.
"Are you stalking Malfoy?" she asks.
Harry feels his face heat. Is this really such a recurring problem? "No."
She looks at him, shrugs, then gets up and moves her books to the table he's been using.
They work together in comfortable silence for a while, and Harry wonders if she resents him for their lost romance. He doesn't feel capable of bringing it up, and his mind wanders-to the future, to the uncertainty of it. To Ron and Hermione looking for a flat together for the new year. To Draco Malfoy, sucking off a new candy cane every class period.
A thought he hadn't considered before strikes him.
"Gin, do you think he's… you know?"
"Evil?" she asks, not bothering to look up from her Defense essay. "Not really."
"Gay."
She snorts with laughter and looks over at him. "Oh, is that what this is about?"
"What do you mean?" he asks. She rolls her eyes and does not answer him immediately, instead tickling her chin with her quill as she stares into the fire.
"If he is, that's good news. No new tiny prats down the line. No Malfoy junior." She looks at him. "I thought for sure you were going to ask me if he was… I don't know, still trying to achieve You-Know-Who's creed or something."
This hadn't even occurred to Harry, and Ginny can probably tell from the look on his face because she laughs again, shaking her head.
They leave to get dinner as Hermione and Ron are crawling back through the portrait hole, and they don't talk about Malfoy at all.
The next week of classes-the final week before the winter holidays-is far more excruciating than the previous two. Malfoy must be on to Harry by now, because he's just outright fellating the candy canes in History of Magic.
Harry's attention span for History of Magic has never been great, but with Malfoy doing what he's doing, it's worthless. He spends the class staring ahead to actively avoid watching Malfoy, but he can't avoid hearing Malfoy with all the smacking and clicking. If he could hear the lecture, at least he'd have that to focus on, but his ears betray him. All he can hear is the smacks, licks, and awful suction noises Malfoy is making. He's gotten so much more theatrical about it that Harry has even seen some of the other students looking over at him, bald annoyance in their eyes.
The worst is when Malfoy catches him looking, a smile or a smirk in his eyes. He always kicks it up a notch when Harry meets his eyes.
His mouth is usually busy.
It goes on for the whole week, but Sunday morning the Hogwarts Express is heading back to London, and Harry is due at the Weasley's. The castle goes into disarray, as almost no one will be staying, and there's packing to be done. The younger students' energy has Harry feeling decrepit by Saturday afternoon. The holiday will be nice, but difficult. It'll be the first for the Weasleys without Fred, and Ginny and Ron's moods have steadily dropped over the past few days.
At least, he thinks, he will be free from Malfoy for a couple weeks.
He's in the second floor corridor, making his way back up to Gryffindor tower from the kitchens. Kreacher absolutely loved his gift but made sure to call Harry a few uncharitable things anyway. The other elves were delighted to see Harry but insulted that he wouldn't accept more than a full tea service.
Harry has finally escaped after an hour, and who should he run into except Malfoy.
He's eating another fucking candy cane.
Malfoy doesn't even bother with hello. He just sticks his tongue out and drags the tip of his candy cane down the length of it-and Harry has officially had enough of whatever this game is. He stomps towards Malfoy, ignoring the rising problem in his trousers, and yanks the candy out of his hand.
"What is your problem!" he demands. Malfoy splutters, and makes a grab for the candy.
"I don't have a problem, Potter!" he says, voice rising. "Clearly you're the one with a problem!"
"You are my problem!" Harry shouts. Malfoy laughs, a horrible fake and drawling thing. This close, Harry can see the ugly splotches of color rising in his face.
"What, because I dared to come back this year?"
"What? No!"
Malfoy looks like he's missed the trick stair.
Harry waves the candy in his face. "I can't concentrate at all with you sucking off a candy cane every hour of every fucking day!"
Malfoy's face flushes further than Harry has ever seen it before. His eyes go wide in apparent panic.
"I--Well!" he splutters. "Potter, I thought you were annoyed with me! I thought it was funny!" Malfoy says, clearly horrified, then, "Merlin, are you gay?"
"I am annoyed! It's very annoying!" Harry is forced to consider the possibility that Malfoy really did not mean to sexually arouse him, in which case he feels much worse about certain activities. "Are you gay?"
Malfoy looks at him with a mix of incredulity and condescension, and then says, "Hmm."
Harry feels something break in him. He's tired of being yanked around. Having Malfoy make his life more complicated, more ridiculous and difficult-that's nothing new. He shoves at Malfoy's shoulders, furious at his relative calm. "What do you mean, 'Hmm'?" Harry asks, working himself into a good shout.
And without giving him time to process what is happening, Malfoy leans in and kisses Harry, and it tastes like a hundred peppermints. Candy aside, it's not a sweet kiss. Malfoy presses hard against him and Harry kisses back, lightheaded with the absurdity of what's happening, but he's not about to lose.
"In there," Malfoy says, and he grabs Harry by the wrist and drags him into a nearby classroom.
Malfoy doesn't waste a minute. He shoves Harry into the room, slams the door shut, and turns to look him up and down. Harry can't catch his breath, and it escapes him entirely as Malfoy reaches down to his trousers and yanks the zip open. Harry pushes his trousers and pants down around his thighs in one movement, and his dick, already half hard, springs free.
It's been a while since anyone touched his dick. He didn't think the next time would be Draco Malfoy. Especially not like this, leaning against a desk in an empty classroom, with Malfoy fumbling with his own trousers until he shoves them down and his cock bounces out. It's hard to see in the stupid, poorly lit room, but the feeling of Malfoy's hands on either side of his face as he presses another hard, furious kiss is wonderful and inadequate.
They kiss with their dicks out for another few minutes until the tease of their bodies almost pressed together becomes too much. Barely aware of himself, Harry starts to shift his hips, rubbing his cock against Malfoy's thigh, and Malfoy whispers, "I cannot believe this is happening."
"You started this," Harry says, a little offended, and Malfoy gets that familiar and terrible glint in his eyes. Harry kicks his trousers off all the way.
Harry feels his breath compress out of him as Malfoy crouches down and takes Harry's dick in his hand. Harry hears Malfoy's breath catch.
Harry has imagined this so many times now, and it's so much better than anything he's fantasized. Malfoy spends a minute sliding his closed fingers up and down the shaft, watching his dickhead appear and disappear into his foreskin, before he closes his eyes and touches his tongue to the tip. He can't help but push forward into the heat of it a little bit, and Malfoy groans, opening his eyes to look up at Harry.
And then he gags a bit, and Harry's cock falls out of his mouth, covered in spit. "This is harder than I thought."
"Oh, is it?" Harry says. Malfoy tugs on his dick again, almost contemplative. His face is still extraordinarily flushed.
"Shut up and let me suck your cock," he says. He opens his mouth and presses his tongue to the underside of Harry's cock, swiping it back and forth like Harry has imagined. He can't fit the whole of it in his mouth without gagging, but he keeps trying anyway, and the attentiveness of it makes Harry feel lightheaded. Malfoy's mouth is hot and perfect and wet, and when Harry can't help but move his hips, the friction is incredible. The feeling of Malfoy humming in disapproval around his cock is electric.
Malfoy alternates between keeping his eyes screwed shut, like he can't bear to look at what he's doing, and staring directly into Harry's eyes. It takes Harry a minute to realize that he's watching for reactions.
He moves his tongue down, out of the way, and slides his lips further down the shaft, still watching, and Harry allows the compulsion to touch Malfoy's cheeks to win. He presses on either side, wanting to feel his own dick inside Malfoy's mouth, and Malfoy breaks the suction he's had on Harry's dick to whine. From the look on his face, it might have been an involuntary noise. Malfoy's face is ever so slightly stubbled under his fingers, and he relishes the drag of the short hairs on his fingertips as he slips his hand into Malfoy's hair.
Malfoy's not skilled, but he is enthusiastic. Harry can feel him rubbing his own dick-his hand keeps hitting Harry's leg. He keeps his mouth open for a minute and uses the hand not jacking himself to push Harry's shirt up, to feel his stomach, and then to brace against his hip as Harry slides his dick past his lips on the slick bed of Malfoy's tongue.
After a while, Malfoy pushes him away by the hip, shoving a little when Harry doesn't immediately get the idea. "Potter, stop," he says.
Harry leans back until his knees bump into a chair and reaches down to cover his dick. "Are you alright?"
"My knees hurt," Malfoy says.
Harry stares at him, then looks down at his dick, and back up at him. "I want to do this, Potter, just not on the floor," he says. Then, "Sit up on the desk."
Harry does.
At eye level again, Harry can see how blown out Malfoy's pupils are. He can see the shine of spit on Malfoy's chin, the slow tilt of his hips as he palms his own dick.
"How long have you wanted my cock?" Harry asks, watching for a reaction as Malfoy drags another desk closer, positioning it behind the one Harry is seated on.
The look Malfoy gives him is full of desperation. "I like you better when you're not talking," he says. "Lay down, Potter."
"I like you better with my dick in your mouth," Harry tells him. He leans back, propped up on his elbows.
Malfoy sneers, but he takes hold of Harry's cock again, this time with his left hand, and starts licking at the base of it, his tongue warm and incredible on Harry's balls. He uses his right hand to pull at his own cock, and it's a view Harry never expected to have, much less to like, but he does like it. He can't help the jerk of his hips when thinks that he's the reason for Malfoy's arousal, that Malfoy is getting off on having his mouth on Harry's dick.
"Lay back," Malfoy says, his breath hot and wet on Harry's thighs and balls, and then applies his mouth there directly. He pushes his tongue against the sensitive, thin skin of his balls like he's making out with them. Harry feels the planes and ridges of Malfoy's face on the underside of his dick, feels the stubbled skin of his jaw pressed against his thigh, and again, his hips shift without his control. Malfoy removes his mouth and hisses, "I said, lay down."
Harry lays back down, his arms straight by his sides for a moment. He'd rather see Malfoy's face while he licks the base of his cock, his fingertips brushing up the shaft and over the head of it, but he's afraid that Malfoy will stop if he sits up again. So, he lays back and he feels.
The hot stripe of Malfoy's tongue on his body, the pressure of his palm, of his long fingers. He feels and he hears Malfoy's little, abbreviated breaths, the whine in his throat when Harry's hips jerk up yet again.
"Potter," Malfoy starts to say, sounding beleaguered, but Harry cuts him off.
"I can't help it, sorry, don't stop," he says, "I can't-"
"My jaw hurts," Malfoy says, and he climbs up on the desks on top of Harry.
The last time Harry had this vantage point, Malfoy broke his nose. He feels the vulnerability like a chill in the air, but Malfoy just kneels down on his hips, his knees either side of Harry's stomach.
Malfoy grabs Harry's hand and brings it to his cock while he wraps his hand back around Harry's erection. With Malfoy's cock in full view of the light now, Harry finds that he can’t tear his eyes away.
He squeezes his hand shut a little tighter, enjoying the soft, helpless noise Malfoy makes, and sits up, wrapping his legs in criss-cross behind Malfoy so he's just sitting in Harry's lap, their dicks pressed together. He watches the head of it appear through the circle of his fingers.
The room feels airless and warm. Harry can smell Malfoy's sweat on him, his spit, and his own arousal. His own sweat. Malfoy is looking at his face with shiny eyes and shiny lips. There is a pube stuck to his chin, and Harry reaches up to brush it away with his thumb. Malfoy presses his face into the feel of his hand, and Harry can't help himself.
He leans forward and catches Malfoy's lips against his own, shivering at the slide of their cocks against one another as their bodies move closer together. Malfoy wraps his hand around both of them and tugs, and Harry's hips jerk hard enough that the desk they're seated on moves forward with a loud creak. The room is full of the sound of their heavy breathing, of Malfoy's whimpers, Harry's helpless laughs and groans.
Harry kisses him again, or continues to, and Draco Malfoy lets him, still learning into the hand on his face. Wanting to feel more of his skin, Harry wraps his other hand around Malfoy's shoulder, across his back, and then down his spine, pressing Malfoy closer to him.
Malfoy seems to be reaching the edge as they kiss, pumping his hand around their erections. He rolls his hip against Harry's lap, and the friction of his cock against Harry's is even sweeter that way.
Harry can't think properly. He can't imagine how they will go back to normal after this. He can't imagine wanking about anything else, or maybe about anyone else. He thinks of Malfoy's lips stained pink from candy canes, the slide of candy in and out of Malfoy's puckered mouth, and he swipes his tongue across Malfoy's parted lips more aggressively than he's done so far.
Malfoy's mouth opens at once, his eyes fluttering shut with a moan, and Harry pulls him too close to continue stroking, far up into his lap. He drags his hand from Malfoy's face down to his back, down to hold his arse.
Harry kisses him again, tentatively passing his tongue along Malfoy's teeth as he squeezes his butt in his hands, and Malfoy jerks against him.
"Fuck!" he says. "Potter, lay down," he says. His voice is dire as he says, "Lay down."
This time, it doesn't occur to him to disobey. He lays back down, and Malfoy goes with him. The continuous shift of his hips with the added pressure of gravity is delicious, and Harry finds himself searching for Malfoy's mouth with his own, his hands still kneading at Malfoy's arse.
Malfoy kisses him with all his remaining attention, his tongue dipping into Harry's open mouth. Harry holds him down hard with his hands, and he feels his arousal building as Malfoy's movements become more and more frantic. He feels the tension in his own body winch tighter with every slide of Malfoy's skin on his.
He comes with a hoarse whimper, his hands clutching at Harry's shirt, his arse tight underneath Harry's hands. Harry feels the wet of Malfoy's come on his stomach and on his own dick, pooling there until Malfoy's dick slides through it, riding out the last of his orgasm.
Harry feels so close, he just needs a little more, and he tries to tell Malfoy, but Malfoy is now boneless on him. He shifts his hips, tilting them up against Malfoy, but he just gets a pinch for his efforts.
"Malfoy, fuck," he says, unable to access the words he needs. I'm so close, want to feel you on me, want to be in you, he thinks, and what comes out is just, "Come on, come on, come on."
When Malfoy does get up, he stumbles once to Harry's immense gratification, (I did that, Harry thinks.) and pushes the last desk away. He leans over Harry and lowers his mouth over Harry's cock again. It feels different this time, softer and more intense at once, and Harry brings his hands up to Malfoy's head, fingers curling in his hair. When his fingers tug the strands taut, Malfoy's breath comes out in a shudder against Harry's cock.
"Fuck," he says. "Malfoy. Merlin."
He feels Malfoy's laughter against him, and this time, when Malfoy closes his lips around Harry's cock, he holds Harry's gaze. Harry watches him slide his cock further into his mouth, feels Malfoy's chin and his fingers on his balls, and he comes, without warning, against the back of Malfoy's mouth. His eyes go wide in surprise and he opens his mouth, Harry's come falling from his lips and tongue in a single string as he coughs. Harry tugs his face closer again, rutting his cock against Malfoy's cheek, and the next spurt of come lands in his hair and against the flushed shell of his ear. He shudders as he finishes, and Malfoy removes the come from his mouth with a swipe of his hand, reaching up to wipe it on Harry's stomach.
"Wow," Harry says.
"Hmm." Malfoy's legs slide outwards from where he's been kneeling, and he presses his forehead against Harry's right knee. There's still come in his hair. Harry doesn't want him to remove it yet; he wants to remember the view for later.
"So… you do this often?" He remembers Malfoy saying "This is harder than I thought," and reconsiders. "Or… just me?"
"You caught me," says Malfoy. He sounds a little hoarse, and after a second he coughs. Harry waits, expecting one of his usual quips, but instead Malfoy just rests more of his face against Harry's leg and releases a shuddering breath.
"I've never - you know," Harry admits. He traces his fingers through the come on his stomach, watching it stretch between his fingertips and slide down. He wonders what it would feel like in his mouth. He wonders what it would taste like. The dim light of the classroom and the stillness seem to invite confidences.
"With a man?"
"Anyone," Harry says. Malfoy makes a sound halfway between a whine and a snort.
"Anyone. Merlin and Morgana," he says. "What's wrong with you, Potter? Giving your first blow away to the ponce you hate."
"So you are gay," Harry says.
"No, I just sucked off my schoolyard nemesis for the novelty." He looks up at Harry with that same expression of condescending incredulity, like it would be hard to believe he was this stupid, except that he's Harry, and this is what he should expect. The effect is ruined slightly by the gob of Harry's come stuck to his mussed hair. His shirt is half unbuttoned, his pants and trousers crumpled around one ankle, caught on one shiny shoe.
His hair is sticking up where Harry held onto it. The skin around his mouth is wet and slightly raw looking.
Outside, the clock chimes for 5. They both turn their heads towards the noise, counting the chimes. Harry remembers the world outside this classroom abruptly. He had been on his way to Gryffindor tower. He struggles to remember what he had been doing before… this.
"I should go," Harry says, but he can't bring himself to move. He should get dressed. He should clean the come off himself, at least. When did he take his shoes off? The post-orgasmic haze around them is a pleasant bubble. Malfoy, of course, cannot help but ruin this.
"I hope that you don't think this makes us friends, Potter," Malfoy says.
Harry's stomach sinks. Malfoy is still Malfoy, whether or not he's got Harry's come on his shirt, in his hair. Whether or not he's put his mouth on Harry's cock. "Wouldn't dream of it," he says.
Malfoy says nothing. It feels like they've had this conversation before.
Ignoring the returning tension in the room and in his body, Harry retrieves his wand from where his trousers got kicked-whether by himself or Malfoy, he doesn't remember. He vanishes the come from his stomach, the skin there prickling with the magic. He wonders how he looks.
If it's anything like Malfoy's looking, he might need to go for a bath, or a cold shower, before he shows his face at dinner.
Malfoy is buttoning up his shirt, not looking at Harry, and his shoulders are winched tight again. Harry almost hates to see it, after seeing the loose, recently fucked Malfoy.
Even with Malfoy's prickliness, he doesn't regret it, yet. He's sure it will hit him by tonight, or maybe by the time he gets to Gryffindor Tower, or when he's in a closed carriage with his friends for 6 hours tomorrow, weathering Hermione's questioning looks and Ginny's continued ribbing about Malfoy.
He's never been a very good liar.
Right now, Malfoy is doing up his trousers, his school tie draped across his shoulders-when did they even take that off? He's cleaned the come off his face and his ear while Harry's been putting himself to rights, as well as off the desk and floor. The last thing they need is Filch on their case. Harry shrugs his robes back on, then shoves his wand into a pocket.
"Well," Malfoy says, grabbing his own robes from the floor and shaking them out. He looks like he's struggling to say something, or not say it, but he keeps his mouth shut. Not looking at Harry's face, he turns for the door.
"Hold on," Harry says, his conscience giving a twinge. "Malfoy, hold on." He grabs Malfoy's wrist when he doesn't stop, and Malfoy spins, his face contorting meanly. He snatches his wrist out of Harry's grip.
"What?"
Harry reaches up and pulls the come off his hair and holds it up between them, showing him. He can't help the smirk that grows on his face as Malfoy flushes deeply, staring at him.
"Let's do this again," Harry says, feeling bolder from his reaction. "I had fun."
Malfoy knocks his hand away and drags him forward by the tie for one last, pressing kiss, and then he's gone, leaving Harry with his own come on his hand, a classroom smelling like sex, and a lot to think about over Christmas holidays. Harry, intending to vanish the come off his fingers, reaches into his pocket.
Next to his wand, there is a red and white striped candy cane.
Author/Artist: ???
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Prompt: Harry/Draco - Christmastime Eighth year, Draco keeps eating candy canes in class, in the great hall, in the library, constantly sucking on them and licking his lips. Harry becomes rapidly obsessed all over again... Blowjob fic! (Not est relationship please)(Don't ignore the balls haha, ball worship ftw) Here
Word Count: 5,967
Rating: NC-17
Contains (Highlight to view): *Explicit sexual content: oral sex, frotting, handjobs. It gets heavy about the war for a moment.*
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: I started this for last year's minifest, got sick, missed the deadline, and let it languish in my google docs for 10 months. I hope it hits the spot! Title taken from my favorite work of performance art.
Summary: Draco Malfoy eats a candy cane, eats a candy cane, eats a candy cane, and Harry watches, and watches, and watches.
(READ ON AO3)
In the chill of the corridors, in the quiet of the 8th year study room, or in cauldron-hazy humidity of the Potions classroom, one truth of Hogwarts remains the same: Draco Malfoy is driving Harry Potter mad.
It started on December first, after a delivery from his mother's owl-the usual care packages. Harry is used to the sight. How could he not be, after so many years? But then came the unending crunching, and the pervasive smell of peppermint.
Malfoy sits towards the back of most of the classes he shares with Harry, so Harry at least doesn't have to watch him gnaw on the things, but he has had a steady supply of candy canes for the last week, and it seems he can't help but chew the damn things.
"I'm going mad," Harry says. It's Sunday, and he and Ron are attempting to do their homework in the Gryffindor common room like it's 1994. Hermione is in the grounds learning about the castle's warding with McGonagall and Flitwick.
Ron just grunts at him in response, his nose a scant two inches from his parchment.
"It's like Neville's sleep chewing, but all day."
Ron shrugs. "I just tune it out."
"The chewing?"
"And the crunching."
Harry groans, and slouches all the way down in the armchair. He starts to feel that creeping sense of purposelessness if he stops studying for too long, so he props his Charms textbook up on his stomach and continues to read about elemental conjuring.
Hermione returns an hour later, windswept and bubbling with new knowledge, and they spend the evening teasing her about when she will be publishing the revised edition of Hogwarts, A History, instead of getting any real work done.
On Monday, the Malfoy problem gets worse.
History of Magic is the only class Harry and Malfoy share in which Malfoy sits in front of Harry, and half an hour in, Malfoy changes his game. Harry would have paid a hundred galleons for Malfoy to be crunching and chewing his candy canes, because the alternative is a spectacle.
Malfoy, apparently oblivious to his actions, is taking half-hearted notes from Professor Binns' lecture while he snacks on yet another red and white striped candy cane, and from Harry's seat-two rows over, one row back-he has an unobstructed view of Malfoy... sucking.
He pulls it out of his mouth by the hook and sucks it back in, his cheeks hollowing dramatically. His lips pucker around the candy. Harry can smell the peppermint across the classroom. He drags it all the way out and rests the tip on his lips, running it along them and staining them slightly redder from the food color as he bends down to write something with his stupidly extravagant eagle-feather quill.
He looks up at Professor Binns with that ever-so-bored expression and slides the candy cane all the way into his mouth, until the hook of it hits the side of his cheek. Harry watches, absolutely transfixed, as his mouth and throat shift minutely, apparently with the movement of swiping his tongue back and forth along the candy inside his mouth. He looks down at his fingers, touching his first finger and thumb together and then licking them, shifting the candy to the other side of his mouth for a moment.
Harry feels distinctly warm around the edges, and he doubles his effort to pay attention to Professor Binns' lecture. This, unfortunately, has always been a fruitless endeavor.
When class finally ends, Harry bolts out of his chair, stuffs his notes and pen into his bag, and practically runs out of the room. Neither Ron nor Hermione share that class with him, and he's glad. Today's escapades were distracting in a completely new and confusing way.
To his annoyance and slight desperation, the sucking continues. In class, in the 8th year study room, in the Great Hall after lunch and after dinner, and even in the corridors; it seems that Malfoy is almost never without a candy cane.
The worst part might be that he doesn't seem to realize what he's doing. He's just eating candy. Harry's never thought about Malfoy's mouth that way before, or in fact, any part of Malfoy. The worst part might be the sounds he makes-soft and wet, sometimes a slurping noise. It should just be gross. Harry has seen Astoria Greengrass scolding him for being disgusting a few times in the corridors and at mealtimes, but Harry's objection is no longer due to annoyance alone.
Maybe the worst part is how his lips get stained redder and redder as the day progresses.
Probably, the worst part is that Harry can't look away. Malfoy has caught him staring a couple of times now, which is always greeted with a scowl, and Malfoy looking away.
But really, the worst part is that after a week of this, Harry finds himself in the Charms Corridor boys' bathroom with Draco Malfoy.
Alone.
Seeing Harry enter over the shoulder, reflected in the mirror, Malfoy immediately tenses.
The past two weeks of candy crunching and cane sucking evaporate from Harry's mind. The mental image of his red lips and the scent memory of sugar and peppermint are replaced by the memory of blood on the floor. His skin torn open under Harry's hands. His ears ring.
This isn't that bathroom, but it might as well be. His blood running cold, Harry goes to the stall furthest from the sinks.
He can almost feel Malfoy thinking of something to say. He half expects it to be, "Come to finish me off?" or "I've seen you staring at me, Potter."
Malfoy is still standing at the sink with his hands curled around the sides of the basin when Harry leaves the stall. Harry can't help but meet his eyes in the mirror.
Instead of any of the cutting words for which Harry is already composing retorts, Malfoy says, "I don't think you meant to hurt me that badly."
Standing next to him like this, it's suddenly inescapable that they're no longer children. Sixteen seems like an era past. Malfoy might be taller than his father, now. He's certainly taller than Harry. It's impossible to break eye contact.
"You're too good for that," Malfoy finishes, like it's a joke he's used to hearing.
Harry feels the passage of time like a staircase moving under his feet; like Apparition.
"I didn't know what it did," Harry says. Malfoy looks at him in the mirror with a terrible intensity. Harry doesn't know what to expect in return. A sneer? A laughing "of course not, an implication of Harry's stupidity. Certainly not humility-not civility.
Malfoy looks away and washes his hands. Harry does the same.
It feels wrong, with the words unfinished between them, to just leave. Harry wants to leave, to not be standing in this narrow, torch lit bathroom with Draco Malfoy and eight years of bad blood between them.
Malfoy doesn't seem to feel the same weight in that moment. He flicks his hands dry and goes to rummage in his school bag on the hooks by the door.
"Well, bye," Harry says, but before he can rush out the door, Malfoy tosses something to him. Harry might not be on the house Quidditch team anymore, but his Seeker reflexes are sharp regardless, and he snatches it out of the air before he even registers that it's another one of those fucking candy canes.
By the time his brain has caught up to the object in his hand, the air is full of the sweet smell of peppermint candy, and Malfoy is looking over at him with his stupid thin lips puckered around another one, his eyebrows raised.
He slides the candy out of his mouth slowly until it pops free of his lips, and says, "See you around, Potter."
Harry's dick twitches in his trousers, and he knows he's in trouble.
That night, after he's settled in his familiar four-poster-after he can hear the deep breathing of sleep around him-Harry lets himself really think about it. In the dark of the dormitory, Malfoy's mouth seems to loom singularly in his mind, blocking out all of his other concerns. During the day it is difficult to take his discomfort and give it context, but in the night, alone, unwatched, he can admit it: he can't stop imagining Malfoy's mouth on his dick.
Every performance with those candy canes gives him more fuel; from the way his lips close around the candy, the obvious movement of his tongue inside his mouth, the wet noises, the slurping. The hollow of his cheeks when he sucks. Harry feels like he might really be losing his mind this time.
He tries not to think about it too hard as he pushes his pajama bottoms down around his thighs and takes his cock in hand. He tries not to feel like a traitor or an idiot imagining Malfoy between his legs. How would that mouth feel on him? He doesn't know. He's never had anyone blow him before.
He just remembers the way Malfoy sticks his tongue out and drags the tip of a candy cane down the center, and wonders what it might feel like if he rubbed his dick on Malfoy's tongue. Hot, for sure. He spits in his palm and gets back to stroking himself, wondering.
The fantasy is a patchwork of memories from the past few weeks, and Harry finishes when he remembers the low timbre of Malfoy's voice as he called him "good."
It takes Harry a while to fall asleep afterwards.
At breakfast, Harry feels exposed by Hermione's multiple shrewd looks. There's no way she knows what he was doing last night. Sure, maybe someone heard him tugging one out, but she won't stop throwing him these considering glances. Like she knows.
"What?" he finally says, putting down his goblet as she looks away from him. "Hermione, what?"
Ron, who has been reading a housing pamphlet and doing math on the margin with one of Hermione's Muggle pens, looks up. "What's she done?" he asks.
"Nothing!" she says. "Harry just has that look about him."
Harry stares at her. "What look?"
"You know," she says. She looks to Ron, then back at Harry a little apologetically. "You look… focused." This is clearly a euphemism for something, and Harry is starting to lose his patience. There's no way either of them knows what's been going on in his head.
Ron looks at the both of them for a minute more, then folds up his pamphlet. He hums, studying Harry's face. Harry busies himself with his breakfast, but he can feel them both watching him.
Ginny arrives at this moment, absorbed in a conversation with a Hufflepuff Harry doesn't know. She sits down next to Ron, helps herself to juice, and then looks over at her brother. Then at Harry and Hermione.
"What's wrong with you lot?" she asks. She starts piling hotcakes and bacon onto her plate.
"I apparently look too focused, whatever that means."
"Hmm," Ginny says, squinting at him. "Like, finally starting to take notes in History of Magic focused, or stalking Malfoy around the school focused?"
"I didn't stalk him!"
"More like stalking Malfoy focused," Hermione says, ignoring Harry's splutter of protest. "This isn't about Malfoy, is it?"
"No!"
Ron and Ginny both laugh, but Hermione looks at him seriously, trying to find a lie. Harry wonders desperately if she might have taken up Legilimency in her spare time. For some light reading, on top of her 9 NEWTs.
They spend the day studying, mostly quiet except for a trip down to Hagrid's. Ron and Hermione leave for dinner as early as possible, as they have a firecall with a real estate witch planned for afterwards. Harry stays in the common room, working on a diagram for Herbology.
Ginny is sitting nearby, and after a while, Harry feels her watching him.
"Can I help you?" he asks.
"Are you stalking Malfoy?" she asks.
Harry feels his face heat. Is this really such a recurring problem? "No."
She looks at him, shrugs, then gets up and moves her books to the table he's been using.
They work together in comfortable silence for a while, and Harry wonders if she resents him for their lost romance. He doesn't feel capable of bringing it up, and his mind wanders-to the future, to the uncertainty of it. To Ron and Hermione looking for a flat together for the new year. To Draco Malfoy, sucking off a new candy cane every class period.
A thought he hadn't considered before strikes him.
"Gin, do you think he's… you know?"
"Evil?" she asks, not bothering to look up from her Defense essay. "Not really."
"Gay."
She snorts with laughter and looks over at him. "Oh, is that what this is about?"
"What do you mean?" he asks. She rolls her eyes and does not answer him immediately, instead tickling her chin with her quill as she stares into the fire.
"If he is, that's good news. No new tiny prats down the line. No Malfoy junior." She looks at him. "I thought for sure you were going to ask me if he was… I don't know, still trying to achieve You-Know-Who's creed or something."
This hadn't even occurred to Harry, and Ginny can probably tell from the look on his face because she laughs again, shaking her head.
They leave to get dinner as Hermione and Ron are crawling back through the portrait hole, and they don't talk about Malfoy at all.
The next week of classes-the final week before the winter holidays-is far more excruciating than the previous two. Malfoy must be on to Harry by now, because he's just outright fellating the candy canes in History of Magic.
Harry's attention span for History of Magic has never been great, but with Malfoy doing what he's doing, it's worthless. He spends the class staring ahead to actively avoid watching Malfoy, but he can't avoid hearing Malfoy with all the smacking and clicking. If he could hear the lecture, at least he'd have that to focus on, but his ears betray him. All he can hear is the smacks, licks, and awful suction noises Malfoy is making. He's gotten so much more theatrical about it that Harry has even seen some of the other students looking over at him, bald annoyance in their eyes.
The worst is when Malfoy catches him looking, a smile or a smirk in his eyes. He always kicks it up a notch when Harry meets his eyes.
His mouth is usually busy.
It goes on for the whole week, but Sunday morning the Hogwarts Express is heading back to London, and Harry is due at the Weasley's. The castle goes into disarray, as almost no one will be staying, and there's packing to be done. The younger students' energy has Harry feeling decrepit by Saturday afternoon. The holiday will be nice, but difficult. It'll be the first for the Weasleys without Fred, and Ginny and Ron's moods have steadily dropped over the past few days.
At least, he thinks, he will be free from Malfoy for a couple weeks.
He's in the second floor corridor, making his way back up to Gryffindor tower from the kitchens. Kreacher absolutely loved his gift but made sure to call Harry a few uncharitable things anyway. The other elves were delighted to see Harry but insulted that he wouldn't accept more than a full tea service.
Harry has finally escaped after an hour, and who should he run into except Malfoy.
He's eating another fucking candy cane.
Malfoy doesn't even bother with hello. He just sticks his tongue out and drags the tip of his candy cane down the length of it-and Harry has officially had enough of whatever this game is. He stomps towards Malfoy, ignoring the rising problem in his trousers, and yanks the candy out of his hand.
"What is your problem!" he demands. Malfoy splutters, and makes a grab for the candy.
"I don't have a problem, Potter!" he says, voice rising. "Clearly you're the one with a problem!"
"You are my problem!" Harry shouts. Malfoy laughs, a horrible fake and drawling thing. This close, Harry can see the ugly splotches of color rising in his face.
"What, because I dared to come back this year?"
"What? No!"
Malfoy looks like he's missed the trick stair.
Harry waves the candy in his face. "I can't concentrate at all with you sucking off a candy cane every hour of every fucking day!"
Malfoy's face flushes further than Harry has ever seen it before. His eyes go wide in apparent panic.
"I--Well!" he splutters. "Potter, I thought you were annoyed with me! I thought it was funny!" Malfoy says, clearly horrified, then, "Merlin, are you gay?"
"I am annoyed! It's very annoying!" Harry is forced to consider the possibility that Malfoy really did not mean to sexually arouse him, in which case he feels much worse about certain activities. "Are you gay?"
Malfoy looks at him with a mix of incredulity and condescension, and then says, "Hmm."
Harry feels something break in him. He's tired of being yanked around. Having Malfoy make his life more complicated, more ridiculous and difficult-that's nothing new. He shoves at Malfoy's shoulders, furious at his relative calm. "What do you mean, 'Hmm'?" Harry asks, working himself into a good shout.
And without giving him time to process what is happening, Malfoy leans in and kisses Harry, and it tastes like a hundred peppermints. Candy aside, it's not a sweet kiss. Malfoy presses hard against him and Harry kisses back, lightheaded with the absurdity of what's happening, but he's not about to lose.
"In there," Malfoy says, and he grabs Harry by the wrist and drags him into a nearby classroom.
Malfoy doesn't waste a minute. He shoves Harry into the room, slams the door shut, and turns to look him up and down. Harry can't catch his breath, and it escapes him entirely as Malfoy reaches down to his trousers and yanks the zip open. Harry pushes his trousers and pants down around his thighs in one movement, and his dick, already half hard, springs free.
It's been a while since anyone touched his dick. He didn't think the next time would be Draco Malfoy. Especially not like this, leaning against a desk in an empty classroom, with Malfoy fumbling with his own trousers until he shoves them down and his cock bounces out. It's hard to see in the stupid, poorly lit room, but the feeling of Malfoy's hands on either side of his face as he presses another hard, furious kiss is wonderful and inadequate.
They kiss with their dicks out for another few minutes until the tease of their bodies almost pressed together becomes too much. Barely aware of himself, Harry starts to shift his hips, rubbing his cock against Malfoy's thigh, and Malfoy whispers, "I cannot believe this is happening."
"You started this," Harry says, a little offended, and Malfoy gets that familiar and terrible glint in his eyes. Harry kicks his trousers off all the way.
Harry feels his breath compress out of him as Malfoy crouches down and takes Harry's dick in his hand. Harry hears Malfoy's breath catch.
Harry has imagined this so many times now, and it's so much better than anything he's fantasized. Malfoy spends a minute sliding his closed fingers up and down the shaft, watching his dickhead appear and disappear into his foreskin, before he closes his eyes and touches his tongue to the tip. He can't help but push forward into the heat of it a little bit, and Malfoy groans, opening his eyes to look up at Harry.
And then he gags a bit, and Harry's cock falls out of his mouth, covered in spit. "This is harder than I thought."
"Oh, is it?" Harry says. Malfoy tugs on his dick again, almost contemplative. His face is still extraordinarily flushed.
"Shut up and let me suck your cock," he says. He opens his mouth and presses his tongue to the underside of Harry's cock, swiping it back and forth like Harry has imagined. He can't fit the whole of it in his mouth without gagging, but he keeps trying anyway, and the attentiveness of it makes Harry feel lightheaded. Malfoy's mouth is hot and perfect and wet, and when Harry can't help but move his hips, the friction is incredible. The feeling of Malfoy humming in disapproval around his cock is electric.
Malfoy alternates between keeping his eyes screwed shut, like he can't bear to look at what he's doing, and staring directly into Harry's eyes. It takes Harry a minute to realize that he's watching for reactions.
He moves his tongue down, out of the way, and slides his lips further down the shaft, still watching, and Harry allows the compulsion to touch Malfoy's cheeks to win. He presses on either side, wanting to feel his own dick inside Malfoy's mouth, and Malfoy breaks the suction he's had on Harry's dick to whine. From the look on his face, it might have been an involuntary noise. Malfoy's face is ever so slightly stubbled under his fingers, and he relishes the drag of the short hairs on his fingertips as he slips his hand into Malfoy's hair.
Malfoy's not skilled, but he is enthusiastic. Harry can feel him rubbing his own dick-his hand keeps hitting Harry's leg. He keeps his mouth open for a minute and uses the hand not jacking himself to push Harry's shirt up, to feel his stomach, and then to brace against his hip as Harry slides his dick past his lips on the slick bed of Malfoy's tongue.
After a while, Malfoy pushes him away by the hip, shoving a little when Harry doesn't immediately get the idea. "Potter, stop," he says.
Harry leans back until his knees bump into a chair and reaches down to cover his dick. "Are you alright?"
"My knees hurt," Malfoy says.
Harry stares at him, then looks down at his dick, and back up at him. "I want to do this, Potter, just not on the floor," he says. Then, "Sit up on the desk."
Harry does.
At eye level again, Harry can see how blown out Malfoy's pupils are. He can see the shine of spit on Malfoy's chin, the slow tilt of his hips as he palms his own dick.
"How long have you wanted my cock?" Harry asks, watching for a reaction as Malfoy drags another desk closer, positioning it behind the one Harry is seated on.
The look Malfoy gives him is full of desperation. "I like you better when you're not talking," he says. "Lay down, Potter."
"I like you better with my dick in your mouth," Harry tells him. He leans back, propped up on his elbows.
Malfoy sneers, but he takes hold of Harry's cock again, this time with his left hand, and starts licking at the base of it, his tongue warm and incredible on Harry's balls. He uses his right hand to pull at his own cock, and it's a view Harry never expected to have, much less to like, but he does like it. He can't help the jerk of his hips when thinks that he's the reason for Malfoy's arousal, that Malfoy is getting off on having his mouth on Harry's dick.
"Lay back," Malfoy says, his breath hot and wet on Harry's thighs and balls, and then applies his mouth there directly. He pushes his tongue against the sensitive, thin skin of his balls like he's making out with them. Harry feels the planes and ridges of Malfoy's face on the underside of his dick, feels the stubbled skin of his jaw pressed against his thigh, and again, his hips shift without his control. Malfoy removes his mouth and hisses, "I said, lay down."
Harry lays back down, his arms straight by his sides for a moment. He'd rather see Malfoy's face while he licks the base of his cock, his fingertips brushing up the shaft and over the head of it, but he's afraid that Malfoy will stop if he sits up again. So, he lays back and he feels.
The hot stripe of Malfoy's tongue on his body, the pressure of his palm, of his long fingers. He feels and he hears Malfoy's little, abbreviated breaths, the whine in his throat when Harry's hips jerk up yet again.
"Potter," Malfoy starts to say, sounding beleaguered, but Harry cuts him off.
"I can't help it, sorry, don't stop," he says, "I can't-"
"My jaw hurts," Malfoy says, and he climbs up on the desks on top of Harry.
The last time Harry had this vantage point, Malfoy broke his nose. He feels the vulnerability like a chill in the air, but Malfoy just kneels down on his hips, his knees either side of Harry's stomach.
Malfoy grabs Harry's hand and brings it to his cock while he wraps his hand back around Harry's erection. With Malfoy's cock in full view of the light now, Harry finds that he can’t tear his eyes away.
He squeezes his hand shut a little tighter, enjoying the soft, helpless noise Malfoy makes, and sits up, wrapping his legs in criss-cross behind Malfoy so he's just sitting in Harry's lap, their dicks pressed together. He watches the head of it appear through the circle of his fingers.
The room feels airless and warm. Harry can smell Malfoy's sweat on him, his spit, and his own arousal. His own sweat. Malfoy is looking at his face with shiny eyes and shiny lips. There is a pube stuck to his chin, and Harry reaches up to brush it away with his thumb. Malfoy presses his face into the feel of his hand, and Harry can't help himself.
He leans forward and catches Malfoy's lips against his own, shivering at the slide of their cocks against one another as their bodies move closer together. Malfoy wraps his hand around both of them and tugs, and Harry's hips jerk hard enough that the desk they're seated on moves forward with a loud creak. The room is full of the sound of their heavy breathing, of Malfoy's whimpers, Harry's helpless laughs and groans.
Harry kisses him again, or continues to, and Draco Malfoy lets him, still learning into the hand on his face. Wanting to feel more of his skin, Harry wraps his other hand around Malfoy's shoulder, across his back, and then down his spine, pressing Malfoy closer to him.
Malfoy seems to be reaching the edge as they kiss, pumping his hand around their erections. He rolls his hip against Harry's lap, and the friction of his cock against Harry's is even sweeter that way.
Harry can't think properly. He can't imagine how they will go back to normal after this. He can't imagine wanking about anything else, or maybe about anyone else. He thinks of Malfoy's lips stained pink from candy canes, the slide of candy in and out of Malfoy's puckered mouth, and he swipes his tongue across Malfoy's parted lips more aggressively than he's done so far.
Malfoy's mouth opens at once, his eyes fluttering shut with a moan, and Harry pulls him too close to continue stroking, far up into his lap. He drags his hand from Malfoy's face down to his back, down to hold his arse.
Harry kisses him again, tentatively passing his tongue along Malfoy's teeth as he squeezes his butt in his hands, and Malfoy jerks against him.
"Fuck!" he says. "Potter, lay down," he says. His voice is dire as he says, "Lay down."
This time, it doesn't occur to him to disobey. He lays back down, and Malfoy goes with him. The continuous shift of his hips with the added pressure of gravity is delicious, and Harry finds himself searching for Malfoy's mouth with his own, his hands still kneading at Malfoy's arse.
Malfoy kisses him with all his remaining attention, his tongue dipping into Harry's open mouth. Harry holds him down hard with his hands, and he feels his arousal building as Malfoy's movements become more and more frantic. He feels the tension in his own body winch tighter with every slide of Malfoy's skin on his.
He comes with a hoarse whimper, his hands clutching at Harry's shirt, his arse tight underneath Harry's hands. Harry feels the wet of Malfoy's come on his stomach and on his own dick, pooling there until Malfoy's dick slides through it, riding out the last of his orgasm.
Harry feels so close, he just needs a little more, and he tries to tell Malfoy, but Malfoy is now boneless on him. He shifts his hips, tilting them up against Malfoy, but he just gets a pinch for his efforts.
"Malfoy, fuck," he says, unable to access the words he needs. I'm so close, want to feel you on me, want to be in you, he thinks, and what comes out is just, "Come on, come on, come on."
When Malfoy does get up, he stumbles once to Harry's immense gratification, (I did that, Harry thinks.) and pushes the last desk away. He leans over Harry and lowers his mouth over Harry's cock again. It feels different this time, softer and more intense at once, and Harry brings his hands up to Malfoy's head, fingers curling in his hair. When his fingers tug the strands taut, Malfoy's breath comes out in a shudder against Harry's cock.
"Fuck," he says. "Malfoy. Merlin."
He feels Malfoy's laughter against him, and this time, when Malfoy closes his lips around Harry's cock, he holds Harry's gaze. Harry watches him slide his cock further into his mouth, feels Malfoy's chin and his fingers on his balls, and he comes, without warning, against the back of Malfoy's mouth. His eyes go wide in surprise and he opens his mouth, Harry's come falling from his lips and tongue in a single string as he coughs. Harry tugs his face closer again, rutting his cock against Malfoy's cheek, and the next spurt of come lands in his hair and against the flushed shell of his ear. He shudders as he finishes, and Malfoy removes the come from his mouth with a swipe of his hand, reaching up to wipe it on Harry's stomach.
"Wow," Harry says.
"Hmm." Malfoy's legs slide outwards from where he's been kneeling, and he presses his forehead against Harry's right knee. There's still come in his hair. Harry doesn't want him to remove it yet; he wants to remember the view for later.
"So… you do this often?" He remembers Malfoy saying "This is harder than I thought," and reconsiders. "Or… just me?"
"You caught me," says Malfoy. He sounds a little hoarse, and after a second he coughs. Harry waits, expecting one of his usual quips, but instead Malfoy just rests more of his face against Harry's leg and releases a shuddering breath.
"I've never - you know," Harry admits. He traces his fingers through the come on his stomach, watching it stretch between his fingertips and slide down. He wonders what it would feel like in his mouth. He wonders what it would taste like. The dim light of the classroom and the stillness seem to invite confidences.
"With a man?"
"Anyone," Harry says. Malfoy makes a sound halfway between a whine and a snort.
"Anyone. Merlin and Morgana," he says. "What's wrong with you, Potter? Giving your first blow away to the ponce you hate."
"So you are gay," Harry says.
"No, I just sucked off my schoolyard nemesis for the novelty." He looks up at Harry with that same expression of condescending incredulity, like it would be hard to believe he was this stupid, except that he's Harry, and this is what he should expect. The effect is ruined slightly by the gob of Harry's come stuck to his mussed hair. His shirt is half unbuttoned, his pants and trousers crumpled around one ankle, caught on one shiny shoe.
His hair is sticking up where Harry held onto it. The skin around his mouth is wet and slightly raw looking.
Outside, the clock chimes for 5. They both turn their heads towards the noise, counting the chimes. Harry remembers the world outside this classroom abruptly. He had been on his way to Gryffindor tower. He struggles to remember what he had been doing before… this.
"I should go," Harry says, but he can't bring himself to move. He should get dressed. He should clean the come off himself, at least. When did he take his shoes off? The post-orgasmic haze around them is a pleasant bubble. Malfoy, of course, cannot help but ruin this.
"I hope that you don't think this makes us friends, Potter," Malfoy says.
Harry's stomach sinks. Malfoy is still Malfoy, whether or not he's got Harry's come on his shirt, in his hair. Whether or not he's put his mouth on Harry's cock. "Wouldn't dream of it," he says.
Malfoy says nothing. It feels like they've had this conversation before.
Ignoring the returning tension in the room and in his body, Harry retrieves his wand from where his trousers got kicked-whether by himself or Malfoy, he doesn't remember. He vanishes the come from his stomach, the skin there prickling with the magic. He wonders how he looks.
If it's anything like Malfoy's looking, he might need to go for a bath, or a cold shower, before he shows his face at dinner.
Malfoy is buttoning up his shirt, not looking at Harry, and his shoulders are winched tight again. Harry almost hates to see it, after seeing the loose, recently fucked Malfoy.
Even with Malfoy's prickliness, he doesn't regret it, yet. He's sure it will hit him by tonight, or maybe by the time he gets to Gryffindor Tower, or when he's in a closed carriage with his friends for 6 hours tomorrow, weathering Hermione's questioning looks and Ginny's continued ribbing about Malfoy.
He's never been a very good liar.
Right now, Malfoy is doing up his trousers, his school tie draped across his shoulders-when did they even take that off? He's cleaned the come off his face and his ear while Harry's been putting himself to rights, as well as off the desk and floor. The last thing they need is Filch on their case. Harry shrugs his robes back on, then shoves his wand into a pocket.
"Well," Malfoy says, grabbing his own robes from the floor and shaking them out. He looks like he's struggling to say something, or not say it, but he keeps his mouth shut. Not looking at Harry's face, he turns for the door.
"Hold on," Harry says, his conscience giving a twinge. "Malfoy, hold on." He grabs Malfoy's wrist when he doesn't stop, and Malfoy spins, his face contorting meanly. He snatches his wrist out of Harry's grip.
"What?"
Harry reaches up and pulls the come off his hair and holds it up between them, showing him. He can't help the smirk that grows on his face as Malfoy flushes deeply, staring at him.
"Let's do this again," Harry says, feeling bolder from his reaction. "I had fun."
Malfoy knocks his hand away and drags him forward by the tie for one last, pressing kiss, and then he's gone, leaving Harry with his own come on his hand, a classroom smelling like sex, and a lot to think about over Christmas holidays. Harry, intending to vanish the come off his fingers, reaches into his pocket.
Next to his wand, there is a red and white striped candy cane.