Fic: Wishful Thinking - Cliche Fest 2013
Title: Wishful Thinking
Author: winterdaffodils
Cliche prompts: Big gay Hogwarts, Morning after, Polyjuice fic
Word Count: ~2600
Rating: NC-17 for safety sake
Warning(s) (Highlight to view): *does it count as dub-con for the beginning?, hardcore gay sex should be implied from the cliché prompts*
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: So much love to my teapot for the willing ear and happily given abuse. I went a little overboard with the cliché, mostly because I figured 'eh, why the hell not?', but I hope everyone likes it anyway.
Summary: There may be only one way for Harry to get what he really wants.
It's alright, Harry tells himself as his fingertips slide over pale thighs. It's alright because it's not really Malfoy.
“Potter,” not-Malfoy gasps, long fingers clenching in Harry's red sheets.
It's a blessed reminder, because the real Malfoy would never consent to do this in Harry's bed in Gryffindor Tower, if he even agreed to do it in the first place.
He doesn't have to feel guilty or self-conscious. This is not Malfoy.
“Fuck me,” not-Malfoy gasps, his narrow hips shifting eagerly, rucking up Harry's sheets and leaving him looking entirely too wanting.
He's so used to seeing Malfoy all buttoned up, but Harry knows he'll never forget the sight of him coming undone.
“You sure,” he asks breathily, hating himself but wanting to be sure anyway, hating the idea of making even a false Malfoy do something he doesn't want to. Somewhere in the back of his mind Harry knows there's been too much of that in the current generation of wizards.
“Please,” the imposter agrees quickly, slim fingers catching in and tugging on Harry's robes. “I've wanted it for years.”
Harry's groan seems to originate in his bollocks and he would be embarrassed except a deeper flush suffuses his bedmate's cheeks and those exploring hands become even more greedy.
“You don't want to do me instead,” he offers, because he's fantasised about being taken by Draco Malfoy too and missing this opportunity leaves a heavy weight in his stomach.
“Yes, either, both,” the other boy agrees, blond hair a mess from his vigourous nodding.
“Have you...” Harry flushes, hoping for a negative response and almost forgetting that it's not the real Malfoy in his bed.
“Yeah, yes. Once,” he says, looking almost remorseful as he meets Harry's eyes. “Pansy.”
Harry nods, approving the lie, the extra detail his polyjuiced companion had remembered to add.
“Ginny,” Harry answers honestly. “Just a wank though.”
The smile he receives is entirely too smug and for a moment Harry worries Ginny has gotten a hold of a lock of hair. She knew how he felt and had made no secret of her displeasure.
“You should probably top me then,” not-Malfoy offers, hands smoothing up and down Harry's arms but lying still otherwise. “Give you a bit of experience with it.”
Concerns of this being Ginny or even Seamus flare in Harry's gut again, but it's Malfoy's face and Malfoy's eyes regarding him too fondly to even pretend, Malfoy's hands touching and caressing as much of Harry as they can reach.
Harry wants it to be Malfoy.
“Can we just-” he presses his lips together, grimacing but trying to smile. “How about we just wank and snog,” he offers lamely, his own hands on Malfoy's hips bruisingly tight and his libido shouting curses at his conscience because he really, truly wants to fuck and be fucked by Draco Malfoy and that is every kind of wrong and only makes him want it more.
If this was really Malfoy...
“We don't have much time after all,” he tacks on, because polyjuice only lasts so long and Hermione had never shared her improvements.
Grey eyes cloud over and for a moment Harry feels like he's looking at the same old Malfoy.
“My dormmates,” he says feebly, wishing that was the only reason to rush this encounter. “Maybe we could, later?”
Not-Malfoy nods, eyes clearing and hands returning to their previous occupation of trying to make Harry come in his pants. “Another time with you, I never thought,” he bites his lip and shakes his head, drawing Harry down into a leisurely kiss.
It's slow, tentative, testing, as though expecting a hex rather than a snog. It's bloody brilliant.
Harry groans, pushing forward for more, more kisses, more friction against his trapped cock as he rocks between his one-time enemy's thighs.
Malfoy moans, an almost sound of pain that Harry has heard from the real Malfoy more than once over the years.
He rocks harder, rubbing their covered pricks together and hopelessly praying to see this person again, polyjuiced Malfoy is better than no Malfoy at all.
“I've wanted this,” he manages between harsh breaths and needy kisses.
Malfoy nods, silent but for his erratic breaths and soft sounds of pleasure.
“It's completely mental,” Harry groans, his hips jerking along with Malfoy's emphatic physical response.
“Nutters, the both of us,” Malfoy agrees, arching his hips and digging his fingertips into Harry's back. “Make me come anyway,” he demands.
Harry nods, slipping his hand into Malfoy's pants and curling his fingers around the stiff prick he's been dreaming about. He strokes it tentatively, learning the bumps and ridges, what makes the person beneath him huff and curse, what might please Malfoy the most.
“I wish we had time,” Harry breathes, mouthing along Malfoy's neck and giving his prick an experimental squeeze.
Malfoy nearly shouts, shuddering and jerking in Harry's arms before slumping, limp but for his slowly softening erection. “Harry,” he breathes, like it's the answer to everything and Harry wishes it was.
He smiles anyway, pleased with himself even if it's not Malfoy he's with, even though it's not Malfoy taking him in hand and returning the favour.
Harry groans, tightening his eyelids against the cruel invasion of sunlight, shifting under the familiar weight of his blankets, intent on turning over except something blocks his way.
“Wha'?” he blinks carefully, no longer blinded by the light now that it's behind him. He almost falls asleep again, eyes grateful for the increased darkness, but the something in bed with him shifts and he startles. “'the fuck,” he mutters, settling on his elbow and leaning closer for a better look- “Bloody buggering hell,” he gasps, staring in bitter shock at the blond hair spread across his pillow.
“Malfoy,” he asks cautiously, sure that he must still be asleep and torn between pinching himself and poking what appears to be Draco Malfoy.
“Mmph,” the Malfoy-shaped thing whines, burying those familiarly pointed features deeper into Harry's pillow.
“Hello,” Harry tries, sliding his hand over the slope of one pale shoulder.
“Hmm,” Malfoy sighs, shuffling back into Harry's side and settling into deeper sleep.
“Malfoy,” Harry barks, jerking back when Malfoy bolts nearly upright and narrowly avoiding a cracked skull or broken nose.
“What?” Malfoy asks, blinking like the early light is painful and slowly sinking back into the bedding.
“What are you doing here,” Harry fires back, wincing at the stupid question but willing Malfoy to answer anyway.
Malfoy breathes deeply, sighing through a full-body stretch. “You invited me up. Or one of your mates pretending to be you did. Either way, it's too early.”
Harry stares, embarrassingly slack-jawed as Malfoy wiggles into a more comfortable position, hardening at the feeling of bare and nearly bare skin brushing, pressing, sliding against his own. “Malfoy,” he gasps before he can stop himself.
“Are you willing to fuck me now,” Malfoy mutters, his face serene but for one sceptically raised eyebrow.
“Did you know it was really me,” Harry demands, forcing himself away from the other boy's promising heat.
“Of course not,” Malfoy snaps, glaring all too familiarly as he sits up to regard Harry from a bit of distance. “I never would have...” he frowns, looking away and curling his fingers in the sheets bunched around his waist. “I mean, the thought did occur and I hoped, well I thought, maybe. You brought me to the tower after all.
Harry nods, though the only reason they had come up was because Harry hadn't believed it could really be Malfoy coming along willingly. “I was half afraid you were Ginny. Or Seamus,” he admits, staring at his own hands, limp in his lap.
“I thought you knew, when you refused to fuck me,” Malfoy whispers. “But then you touched me anyway. I figured you weren't you.”
“How could you,” Harry sputters, shaking his head almost painfully fast. “I wanted you to fuck me,” he points out, embarrassed to feel his cock stirring in agreement.
“Because you thought I wasn't me,” Malfoy snaps again, angry colour suffusing his cheeks, his grey eyes hard as flint as he glares.
“Because I hoped you were,” Harry breathes shamefully.
Pale hands grip Harry's shoulders and he suddenly has a lap full of Draco Malfoy. The real Draco Malfoy.
Harry groans, dragging the other boy into a painfully hungry kiss.
Malfoy meets him touch for touch, rocking his hips with a single-minded focus that threatens to send Harry into violent orgasm against him.
It's several long seconds before Harry has enough brain cells to rub together let alone form a coherent thought and that thought is that kissing and touching the real Malfoy when he knows it is so much better than wishing and pretending.
“Potter,” Malfoy mutters when Harry has spent too long in a dreamy haze and not in the relative haze of reality.
“Brilliant,” Harry points out, his fingers gripping Malfoy's flexing arse and pushing him down into the slow grind of his cock.
“Potter,” Malfoy breathes again, his fingers twisting in Harry's hair until he has the leverage to jerk Harry's head back and gain his undivided attention. “If you plan to Hufflepuff out about fucking me, again, you should tell me now.”
Harry shook his head carefully, wincing as a few hairs pull free in Malfoy's grip.
“Good,” Malfoy moans with a nod of his own. “Then get me out of these pants like a good little Gryffindor.”
Harry shoves the other boy out of his lap, scrabbling at the waistband of his underwear and tearing the soft seams. He waits for at least a vague scolding but Malfoy moans instead.
“Don't stop now,” he gasps, hard prick peeking through the rip and glistening in anticipation.
Harry swallows against a sudden rush of saliva, his hands shaking as he reaches to remove that last flimsy barrier.
Malfoy shifts restlessly, soft sounds loud in the spelled quiet of Harry's bed, his erection flushing a deeper pink as Harry slides the ruined garment off of his hips.
“Can I--,” Harry swallows again, wetting his lips and meeting Malfoy's gaze pointedly.
Malfoy's cheeks turn an almost Gryffindor red, his breath harsh and loud suddenly. “Better not,” he mumbles hoarsely. “But next time, if--”
Harry can tell he doesn't believe there will be a next time and as always, he loves to prove Draco Malfoy wrong. “You still owe me a shag after this,” he promises, pushing his own pants down his legs.
Malfoy's eyes go wide, his hands clenching in Harry's sheets. “You mean you'll let me-you really wanted me to?”
“For ages now,” Harry grunts, pushing him down on his back and reaching for the lube they hadn't needed the night before. “Have you ever done this much before,” he asks as he slicks his fingers.
Malfoy nods eagerly, spreading his thighs without Harry's prompting.
“Good,” Harry whispers, pressing his middle finger as deep inside Malfoy as it will go.
Malfoy arches and cries out, accepting the first finger with obvious pleasure.
“More,” Harry asks immediately, his own cock hot and heavy against his belly and nearly dripping.
“Yes,” Malfoy hisses, jerking himself off with one hand and using the other to twist and pinch his nipples.
Harry's second finger pushes inside that tight heat with a bit more care, his eyes on Malfoy's face, terrified he will change his mind.
“Move them,” Malfoy breathes, clenching so tight it takes a moment for Harry to comply.
And then his fingers are thrusting in and out of Malfoy's arse like they had done this loads of times, twisting and spreading, opening Malfoy for a third which he accepts with a ragged moan and his hand quickly gripping the base of his cock.
“I'm going to come, Potter,” he warns when Harry doesn't take the hint, his entire body tense and still as he breathes and calms himself down.
“Do you want me to go ahead then? Be inside you when you come?”
Malfoy moans, clenching even tighter around him. “Yes,” he gasps, his cock a needy, angry red.
“Okay,” Harry breathes, drawing his fingers out slowly, fascinated by the way Malfoy's hole tries to take them back. “Okay.” He slicks his own cock with a moan, watching Malfoy watch. “Ready,” he asks when he feels like he's about to pop and only cares about being inside of Malfoy when he does it.
“Merlin, yes,” Malfoy nearly shouts, sliding his hands behind his knees and drawing them up and out, baring himself to Harry.
“Merlin,” Harry agrees, taking himself in hand and pushing against Malfoy's tight pink opening.
“Do it,” Malfoy demands, meeting Harry's uncertainty with a fierceness of his own.
Harry nods vaguely, leaning down for a kiss as he drives himself forward.
Malfoy's sounds are loud, muffled only by their joined mouths, and his hands scratch and grip Harry's shoulders.
“Alright,” Harry asks, breathless and so ready to fuck and come.
“Move,” Malfoy whines, shifting his hips around the thick pressure of Harry's cock. “Please,” he adds when Harry only stares incredulously.
“Oh fuck,” Harry hisses, pulling out carefully and thrusting again. “Oh Merlin, oh God,” he mutters.
“Just don't stop,” Draco wheezes, his hands busy between them, stroking his cock, fondling his bollocks, desperate to come from the too full sensation.
Harry nods, his hands tight on Malfoy's hips and the sounds of their joining loud in his ears, echoing his frantic pulse. “Malfoy,” he gasps, warning of his pathetically impending release.
“Ok,” Malfoy nods, wanking faster and pinching a nipple, clamping down tighter around Harry's movements.
“Malfoy,” Harry gasps again, squeezing his eyes shut and counting to ten, to twenty, he mentally recites what he remembers of the Tenth Goblin Rebellion, but it's no use. “Malfoy,” he shouts, hips jerking as he empties himself inside of Malfoy.
It's all he can do not to collapse on Malfoy for a quick nap, Harry grunts as he continues to thrust, shivering and over-stimulated and embarrassed because Malfoy hasn't come and if he doesn't enjoy himself then he'll never give Harry another go and-
“Potter,” Malfoy gasps, knees jerking tight around Harry's hips as he shudders and comes, his entire body tensing rather than experiencing the immediate relaxation Harry had felt.
Harry sighs contentedly, laying down beside Malfoy, wet spot or no, and fighting not to nod off.
“I should go back to my dorm...” Malfoy says hesitantly, refusing to meet Harry's eyes when he opens them and stares.
“You can stay,” he offers, reaching out to clasp his hand around one pale shoulder. “If you want,” Harry adds hastily.
“I, I mean,” Malfoy casts around for some obvious sign, willing to go but ready to stay and Harry can only grin and push him back into the pillows and blankets.
“Stay,” he commands, flopping down beside Malfoy.
Malfoy doesn't move for a long moment, staring up at Harry's canopy before turning onto his side and edging back into Harry's arms. “Potter,” he says softly, waiting silently for Harry's vague 'hmm', “you should probably call me Draco.”
Originally posted on hd_cliche
Author: winterdaffodils
Cliche prompts: Big gay Hogwarts, Morning after, Polyjuice fic
Word Count: ~2600
Rating: NC-17 for safety sake
Warning(s) (Highlight to view): *does it count as dub-con for the beginning?, hardcore gay sex should be implied from the cliché prompts*
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: So much love to my teapot for the willing ear and happily given abuse. I went a little overboard with the cliché, mostly because I figured 'eh, why the hell not?', but I hope everyone likes it anyway.
Summary: There may be only one way for Harry to get what he really wants.
It's alright, Harry tells himself as his fingertips slide over pale thighs. It's alright because it's not really Malfoy.
“Potter,” not-Malfoy gasps, long fingers clenching in Harry's red sheets.
It's a blessed reminder, because the real Malfoy would never consent to do this in Harry's bed in Gryffindor Tower, if he even agreed to do it in the first place.
He doesn't have to feel guilty or self-conscious. This is not Malfoy.
“Fuck me,” not-Malfoy gasps, his narrow hips shifting eagerly, rucking up Harry's sheets and leaving him looking entirely too wanting.
He's so used to seeing Malfoy all buttoned up, but Harry knows he'll never forget the sight of him coming undone.
“You sure,” he asks breathily, hating himself but wanting to be sure anyway, hating the idea of making even a false Malfoy do something he doesn't want to. Somewhere in the back of his mind Harry knows there's been too much of that in the current generation of wizards.
“Please,” the imposter agrees quickly, slim fingers catching in and tugging on Harry's robes. “I've wanted it for years.”
Harry's groan seems to originate in his bollocks and he would be embarrassed except a deeper flush suffuses his bedmate's cheeks and those exploring hands become even more greedy.
“You don't want to do me instead,” he offers, because he's fantasised about being taken by Draco Malfoy too and missing this opportunity leaves a heavy weight in his stomach.
“Yes, either, both,” the other boy agrees, blond hair a mess from his vigourous nodding.
“Have you...” Harry flushes, hoping for a negative response and almost forgetting that it's not the real Malfoy in his bed.
“Yeah, yes. Once,” he says, looking almost remorseful as he meets Harry's eyes. “Pansy.”
Harry nods, approving the lie, the extra detail his polyjuiced companion had remembered to add.
“Ginny,” Harry answers honestly. “Just a wank though.”
The smile he receives is entirely too smug and for a moment Harry worries Ginny has gotten a hold of a lock of hair. She knew how he felt and had made no secret of her displeasure.
“You should probably top me then,” not-Malfoy offers, hands smoothing up and down Harry's arms but lying still otherwise. “Give you a bit of experience with it.”
Concerns of this being Ginny or even Seamus flare in Harry's gut again, but it's Malfoy's face and Malfoy's eyes regarding him too fondly to even pretend, Malfoy's hands touching and caressing as much of Harry as they can reach.
Harry wants it to be Malfoy.
“Can we just-” he presses his lips together, grimacing but trying to smile. “How about we just wank and snog,” he offers lamely, his own hands on Malfoy's hips bruisingly tight and his libido shouting curses at his conscience because he really, truly wants to fuck and be fucked by Draco Malfoy and that is every kind of wrong and only makes him want it more.
If this was really Malfoy...
“We don't have much time after all,” he tacks on, because polyjuice only lasts so long and Hermione had never shared her improvements.
Grey eyes cloud over and for a moment Harry feels like he's looking at the same old Malfoy.
“My dormmates,” he says feebly, wishing that was the only reason to rush this encounter. “Maybe we could, later?”
Not-Malfoy nods, eyes clearing and hands returning to their previous occupation of trying to make Harry come in his pants. “Another time with you, I never thought,” he bites his lip and shakes his head, drawing Harry down into a leisurely kiss.
It's slow, tentative, testing, as though expecting a hex rather than a snog. It's bloody brilliant.
Harry groans, pushing forward for more, more kisses, more friction against his trapped cock as he rocks between his one-time enemy's thighs.
Malfoy moans, an almost sound of pain that Harry has heard from the real Malfoy more than once over the years.
He rocks harder, rubbing their covered pricks together and hopelessly praying to see this person again, polyjuiced Malfoy is better than no Malfoy at all.
“I've wanted this,” he manages between harsh breaths and needy kisses.
Malfoy nods, silent but for his erratic breaths and soft sounds of pleasure.
“It's completely mental,” Harry groans, his hips jerking along with Malfoy's emphatic physical response.
“Nutters, the both of us,” Malfoy agrees, arching his hips and digging his fingertips into Harry's back. “Make me come anyway,” he demands.
Harry nods, slipping his hand into Malfoy's pants and curling his fingers around the stiff prick he's been dreaming about. He strokes it tentatively, learning the bumps and ridges, what makes the person beneath him huff and curse, what might please Malfoy the most.
“I wish we had time,” Harry breathes, mouthing along Malfoy's neck and giving his prick an experimental squeeze.
Malfoy nearly shouts, shuddering and jerking in Harry's arms before slumping, limp but for his slowly softening erection. “Harry,” he breathes, like it's the answer to everything and Harry wishes it was.
He smiles anyway, pleased with himself even if it's not Malfoy he's with, even though it's not Malfoy taking him in hand and returning the favour.
Harry groans, tightening his eyelids against the cruel invasion of sunlight, shifting under the familiar weight of his blankets, intent on turning over except something blocks his way.
“Wha'?” he blinks carefully, no longer blinded by the light now that it's behind him. He almost falls asleep again, eyes grateful for the increased darkness, but the something in bed with him shifts and he startles. “'the fuck,” he mutters, settling on his elbow and leaning closer for a better look- “Bloody buggering hell,” he gasps, staring in bitter shock at the blond hair spread across his pillow.
“Malfoy,” he asks cautiously, sure that he must still be asleep and torn between pinching himself and poking what appears to be Draco Malfoy.
“Mmph,” the Malfoy-shaped thing whines, burying those familiarly pointed features deeper into Harry's pillow.
“Hello,” Harry tries, sliding his hand over the slope of one pale shoulder.
“Hmm,” Malfoy sighs, shuffling back into Harry's side and settling into deeper sleep.
“Malfoy,” Harry barks, jerking back when Malfoy bolts nearly upright and narrowly avoiding a cracked skull or broken nose.
“What?” Malfoy asks, blinking like the early light is painful and slowly sinking back into the bedding.
“What are you doing here,” Harry fires back, wincing at the stupid question but willing Malfoy to answer anyway.
Malfoy breathes deeply, sighing through a full-body stretch. “You invited me up. Or one of your mates pretending to be you did. Either way, it's too early.”
Harry stares, embarrassingly slack-jawed as Malfoy wiggles into a more comfortable position, hardening at the feeling of bare and nearly bare skin brushing, pressing, sliding against his own. “Malfoy,” he gasps before he can stop himself.
“Are you willing to fuck me now,” Malfoy mutters, his face serene but for one sceptically raised eyebrow.
“Did you know it was really me,” Harry demands, forcing himself away from the other boy's promising heat.
“Of course not,” Malfoy snaps, glaring all too familiarly as he sits up to regard Harry from a bit of distance. “I never would have...” he frowns, looking away and curling his fingers in the sheets bunched around his waist. “I mean, the thought did occur and I hoped, well I thought, maybe. You brought me to the tower after all.
Harry nods, though the only reason they had come up was because Harry hadn't believed it could really be Malfoy coming along willingly. “I was half afraid you were Ginny. Or Seamus,” he admits, staring at his own hands, limp in his lap.
“I thought you knew, when you refused to fuck me,” Malfoy whispers. “But then you touched me anyway. I figured you weren't you.”
“How could you,” Harry sputters, shaking his head almost painfully fast. “I wanted you to fuck me,” he points out, embarrassed to feel his cock stirring in agreement.
“Because you thought I wasn't me,” Malfoy snaps again, angry colour suffusing his cheeks, his grey eyes hard as flint as he glares.
“Because I hoped you were,” Harry breathes shamefully.
Pale hands grip Harry's shoulders and he suddenly has a lap full of Draco Malfoy. The real Draco Malfoy.
Harry groans, dragging the other boy into a painfully hungry kiss.
Malfoy meets him touch for touch, rocking his hips with a single-minded focus that threatens to send Harry into violent orgasm against him.
It's several long seconds before Harry has enough brain cells to rub together let alone form a coherent thought and that thought is that kissing and touching the real Malfoy when he knows it is so much better than wishing and pretending.
“Potter,” Malfoy mutters when Harry has spent too long in a dreamy haze and not in the relative haze of reality.
“Brilliant,” Harry points out, his fingers gripping Malfoy's flexing arse and pushing him down into the slow grind of his cock.
“Potter,” Malfoy breathes again, his fingers twisting in Harry's hair until he has the leverage to jerk Harry's head back and gain his undivided attention. “If you plan to Hufflepuff out about fucking me, again, you should tell me now.”
Harry shook his head carefully, wincing as a few hairs pull free in Malfoy's grip.
“Good,” Malfoy moans with a nod of his own. “Then get me out of these pants like a good little Gryffindor.”
Harry shoves the other boy out of his lap, scrabbling at the waistband of his underwear and tearing the soft seams. He waits for at least a vague scolding but Malfoy moans instead.
“Don't stop now,” he gasps, hard prick peeking through the rip and glistening in anticipation.
Harry swallows against a sudden rush of saliva, his hands shaking as he reaches to remove that last flimsy barrier.
Malfoy shifts restlessly, soft sounds loud in the spelled quiet of Harry's bed, his erection flushing a deeper pink as Harry slides the ruined garment off of his hips.
“Can I--,” Harry swallows again, wetting his lips and meeting Malfoy's gaze pointedly.
Malfoy's cheeks turn an almost Gryffindor red, his breath harsh and loud suddenly. “Better not,” he mumbles hoarsely. “But next time, if--”
Harry can tell he doesn't believe there will be a next time and as always, he loves to prove Draco Malfoy wrong. “You still owe me a shag after this,” he promises, pushing his own pants down his legs.
Malfoy's eyes go wide, his hands clenching in Harry's sheets. “You mean you'll let me-you really wanted me to?”
“For ages now,” Harry grunts, pushing him down on his back and reaching for the lube they hadn't needed the night before. “Have you ever done this much before,” he asks as he slicks his fingers.
Malfoy nods eagerly, spreading his thighs without Harry's prompting.
“Good,” Harry whispers, pressing his middle finger as deep inside Malfoy as it will go.
Malfoy arches and cries out, accepting the first finger with obvious pleasure.
“More,” Harry asks immediately, his own cock hot and heavy against his belly and nearly dripping.
“Yes,” Malfoy hisses, jerking himself off with one hand and using the other to twist and pinch his nipples.
Harry's second finger pushes inside that tight heat with a bit more care, his eyes on Malfoy's face, terrified he will change his mind.
“Move them,” Malfoy breathes, clenching so tight it takes a moment for Harry to comply.
And then his fingers are thrusting in and out of Malfoy's arse like they had done this loads of times, twisting and spreading, opening Malfoy for a third which he accepts with a ragged moan and his hand quickly gripping the base of his cock.
“I'm going to come, Potter,” he warns when Harry doesn't take the hint, his entire body tense and still as he breathes and calms himself down.
“Do you want me to go ahead then? Be inside you when you come?”
Malfoy moans, clenching even tighter around him. “Yes,” he gasps, his cock a needy, angry red.
“Okay,” Harry breathes, drawing his fingers out slowly, fascinated by the way Malfoy's hole tries to take them back. “Okay.” He slicks his own cock with a moan, watching Malfoy watch. “Ready,” he asks when he feels like he's about to pop and only cares about being inside of Malfoy when he does it.
“Merlin, yes,” Malfoy nearly shouts, sliding his hands behind his knees and drawing them up and out, baring himself to Harry.
“Merlin,” Harry agrees, taking himself in hand and pushing against Malfoy's tight pink opening.
“Do it,” Malfoy demands, meeting Harry's uncertainty with a fierceness of his own.
Harry nods vaguely, leaning down for a kiss as he drives himself forward.
Malfoy's sounds are loud, muffled only by their joined mouths, and his hands scratch and grip Harry's shoulders.
“Alright,” Harry asks, breathless and so ready to fuck and come.
“Move,” Malfoy whines, shifting his hips around the thick pressure of Harry's cock. “Please,” he adds when Harry only stares incredulously.
“Oh fuck,” Harry hisses, pulling out carefully and thrusting again. “Oh Merlin, oh God,” he mutters.
“Just don't stop,” Draco wheezes, his hands busy between them, stroking his cock, fondling his bollocks, desperate to come from the too full sensation.
Harry nods, his hands tight on Malfoy's hips and the sounds of their joining loud in his ears, echoing his frantic pulse. “Malfoy,” he gasps, warning of his pathetically impending release.
“Ok,” Malfoy nods, wanking faster and pinching a nipple, clamping down tighter around Harry's movements.
“Malfoy,” Harry gasps again, squeezing his eyes shut and counting to ten, to twenty, he mentally recites what he remembers of the Tenth Goblin Rebellion, but it's no use. “Malfoy,” he shouts, hips jerking as he empties himself inside of Malfoy.
It's all he can do not to collapse on Malfoy for a quick nap, Harry grunts as he continues to thrust, shivering and over-stimulated and embarrassed because Malfoy hasn't come and if he doesn't enjoy himself then he'll never give Harry another go and-
“Potter,” Malfoy gasps, knees jerking tight around Harry's hips as he shudders and comes, his entire body tensing rather than experiencing the immediate relaxation Harry had felt.
Harry sighs contentedly, laying down beside Malfoy, wet spot or no, and fighting not to nod off.
“I should go back to my dorm...” Malfoy says hesitantly, refusing to meet Harry's eyes when he opens them and stares.
“You can stay,” he offers, reaching out to clasp his hand around one pale shoulder. “If you want,” Harry adds hastily.
“I, I mean,” Malfoy casts around for some obvious sign, willing to go but ready to stay and Harry can only grin and push him back into the pillows and blankets.
“Stay,” he commands, flopping down beside Malfoy.
Malfoy doesn't move for a long moment, staring up at Harry's canopy before turning onto his side and edging back into Harry's arms. “Potter,” he says softly, waiting silently for Harry's vague 'hmm', “you should probably call me Draco.”
Originally posted on hd_cliche