(no subject)
New fic!
Title: Rumours
Prequel to: Watching
Pairing: DM/HP
Genre/Rating: Porn; NC-17
Length: 3,355 words
Summary: Draco finds himself stuck at a wedding and longing for distraction in nearly any form...
Warnings: Though nowhere near as explicit as in Watching, there are hints of urophilia (watersports) in this story. But apparently my flist is full of closet pervs anyway, so no worries. :P
Read it at Skyehawke or below.
Rumours
Draco stifled a yawn and tried not to look at his watch. A tempus would be far too conspicuous, but damn, why did every wedding these days have to have one of those bloody slide shows? As if he needed to see Susan Bones in diapers or Ernie Macmillan half-naked and asleep with a sausage clutched to his chubby four-year-old cheek.
He picked up the programme on the table and discreetly searched for a point at which he could leave without being rude. Or at least get some fresh air and then come back inside. The hall was stuffy, and it was his third wedding of the summer. He’d already come to the conclusion that he hated the things. Great, there were still the speeches from the parents of both families. And they were Hufflepuffs to boot, so add in extra time there. Draco stifled a moan and attempted to distract himself by casting an eye around the room.
His gaze landed on Potter, naturally. As it had many times already that evening, a thought which made Draco scowl. It was just the rumours, he reminded himself crossly. Too many rumours circulating about Potter and his unstable mental condition, Potter and his unpredictable behaviour, Potter and his strange proclivities. The latter was the one that had caught Draco’s attention in particular; the others had been around since the war had ended the year before. Only lately had he begun to hear whispers about Potter and various people, occasionally more than one at once, and the things that had transpired. But it was never repeated. Potter apparently did not do relationships. The flipside of which, Draco thought, was that he only did one-night stands. Predominantly men, but there had been a sprinkling of women, too. Of course Potter couldn’t even do sexuality the conventional way. Draco felt his brows lowering and reminded himself that it had nothing to do with him. Plain old homosexuality wouldn’t do for Potter, oh no - just as nothing else had ever happened in anything like the standard way with him.
Draco saw him on occasion, though rarely on their own. Chance meetings here and there, and working for the Ministry lent them a certain circle of common acquaintances. Potter had been bounced around from department to department in the past year (people were still talking about his refusal to sign on for Auror training, but that was old news), but Draco was fairly sure that Potter would never end up in Experimental Potions, so it was really none of his concern.
It didn’t mean a person couldn’t be intrigued, though.
Perish the thought. Draco focused on the birdsnest which was presumably Potter’s hair, unless he’d managed to get his head caught in a rogue tumbleweed on his way into the hall, and the scowl deepened. So what if Potter liked to fuck people blindfolded. Who knew if that was even true? And what about the story of Potter and the Puddlemere United Seeker? So Potter liked it rough. Maybe it had been the Seeker’s idea. Draco crossed his legs at the knee, uncomfortable, and decided to think about something else.
The night of the one-year memorial two weeks ago came to mind unbidden as he watched Potter fidget, fussing with his napkin from three tables away. Beside him, Granger appeared unaware of his obvious boredom, fingers linked with Weasley’s on the table. Probably planning her own wedding and how much better colour-coordinated it would be than this one. Granted, it wouldn’t have been difficult. Hufflepuffs should never be allowed to do their own decorating. The one-year must have been difficult for Potter. It was now a well-known fact that Potter hated being photographed, hated the media spotlight. All the more cause for rumours, naturally. A person couldn’t help but hear some of them. Potter’s public behaviour had calmed down some recently, but that tied in easily with the rise of the underground rumours concerning Potter’s more interesting exploits.
On the night of the evening in question, there had also been speeches. Potter had left in the middle of one of them, a long-winded thing about sacrifice and personal choice, and his departure had been quite conspicuous. The speaker had paused awkwardly, then made the decision to continue, though it fell rather flat. Draco, curious, had slipped out unnoticed as the speaker wrapped up in an obviously truncated ending.
The door to the men’s room down the hall had just banged, and he had followed Potter, pushing the door silently inward. There was a short hallway and the rest of the room was around the corner at the end. Potter had been alone, standing at the leftmost urinal, hurriedly unzipping his fly. He was mumbling to himself, and Draco moved closer, trying to hear what he was saying. Maybe Potter really was crazy and he should keep his distance, but for the moment, he was far too intrigued.
“Gotta go,” Potter had breathed, hand disappearing down his front. He drew out his bits, which Draco could just glimpse in Potter’s hand, heavy and full - not a particularly small handful, either. Draco swallowed. “God… I really have to go,” Potter muttered.
Potter should have started going then, just pissed and left, but he didn’t. There was a long pause, during which all Draco could hear was breathing. Potter’s breathing, audible in the echoing room. He heard the familiar sound of palm on flesh instead, and knew that Potter was touching himself. While he had to piss. Interesting. Far too interesting, in fact. He could see the erection forcing Potter’s hands further from his body, heard the contained almost-sob as the need to piss took priority. The stream hit the back wall of the urinal with force, steady and hard and probably completely uncontrollable by that point, and Draco realised that his trousers had become uncomfortably tight. Potter’s exhale had been everything but a moan, hands still on himself as the stream continued. Draco’s mind had filled with unimaginably filthy thoughts of Potter turning that hot spray on him, imagined it running over his cock, dripping from his balls. What would that feel like? He’d pushed his hips against the stone wall, unable to keep himself from rubbing against the cool stone as he watched Potter piss from around the corner.
The stream flagged, slowed and then stopped, and Potter’s hands were moving again, breath even quicker. He was pulling himself off with both hands, one moving in a rhythmic back-and-forth over his cock while the other roved, cupping his balls, snaked up under his shirt to pinch his nipples, even came back to slap himself on the arse while he fucked his hand. Draco, humping the wall as silently as he could, knew that he hadn’t been that hard in a long time, and was longing to take out his cock right there and rub himself raw, but at this rate, it wasn’t even going to take that long. Potter’s mumbling continued under his breath, a steady flow of things that couldn’t have been anything but completely dirty, considering his hands, the forward snap of his hips. He did moan when the orgasm hit, his come splattering onto the urinal to slide down, leaving a viscous trail. He stood still a moment, panting, and Draco knew that he had to leave before Potter did. He couldn’t possibly walk in his condition, so he forced himself to Disapparate. Not even caring if Potter heard the pop, he took himself to another hallway outside the men’s room and around a corner in the opposite direction of the auditorium. He heard the door bang as Potter departed, and returned immediately. The bathroom was empty, his hands furious on his bare cock. His own come splashed onto the place where Potter’s had, anointing the urinal doubly.
He’d returned to the speeches in time for the dessert reception, and avoided Potter thoroughly.
Around Draco, people began to clap for Macmillan’s father, who kissed Bones effusively and began to shuffle back to his seat, brick-red in the face. Potter sprang to his feet, coughing, and edged toward the door, covering ground more quickly than it looked. Draco glanced around to see if anyone else was leaving, if Potter had an assignation somewhere. If that had been the reason for his fidgets. Or maybe he had to take a piss. Draco’s face grew warm, but his curiosity overcame him. He forced a cough of his own, threw an apologetic look at the other occupants of his table, ignored Blaise’s strange look and slipped out after Potter.
Potter was just standing outside the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes closed. When the door closed behind Draco, the eyes opened and located Draco. A look of surprised interest flickered briefly over those transparent features, then disappeared. “Malfoy.”
“Potter.” Draco nodded at him, trying to appear casual. He had to say something to explain his presence. “What are you doing?”
Potter’s eyebrows arched, looking so… normal… that Draco wondered for a moment if the rumours of Potter’s erratic behaviour hadn’t been rather exaggerated. “I hate weddings. Just had to get out for a minute, you know?”
Draco nodded, trying to keep his eyes on Potter’s face. “Yeah, I know.” He thought of Potter pissing and pulling himself off at the same time, and regained a firm grip on his former opinion.
“You?” The interest made a brief reappearance, Potter’s eyes travelling the length of Draco’s light grey suit - not overt, per se, but there was no attempt made to hide it. It was as though Draco’s opinion was entirely unimportant
He did not like feeling unimportant. “Too straight for me,” Draco said, very deliberately. He had no idea whether or not Potter knew he was gay, but it was about time he put it out there.
The interest returned and stayed put this time. “I assumed,” Potter said, with customary bluntness. “I’d heard, in fact.”
“I’ve heard some things about you, too,” Draco said. He decided to go a little closer. “Are you meeting someone out here?”
“I just did,” Potter said, and there was a sudden twist of a grin. Draco smelled the wine on his breath, not unpleasant but warm and woozy. A lot of wine. Potter was pissed. Perfect. He leered at Draco. “You?”
“I just did, too,” Draco said simply, making his decision. He looked around. “Where’s the…”
“That way,” Potter said, interrupting and nodding down the corridor. “Around the corner to the left. Come on.”
When had he lost his footing? He did not take suggestions; he made them. “No,” Draco said. “There’ll be people. Wedding, you know. Outside.” He pointed at the open door at the end of the hall in the opposite direction.
Potter shrugged, unperturbed. “How romantic.” He came over, somewhat unsteady on his feet, and threw an arm around Draco’s waist, hand sliding immediately down Draco’s side and then back around to his arse.
Draco was almost taken aback, but Potter’s easy confidence (however abrupt) was alluring. Plus, he’d always been of the private opinion that Potter had a mouth made for giving head, and he fully intended to discover whether or not that little theory was accurate. Thanks to Potter’s loose but heavy arm, Draco was pulled into the unsteady cadence of Potter’s drunken, lurching gait and this annoyed him as much as he found it even more arousing. Potter’s hand tightened on his arse, though, and Draco shot a quick look back over his shoulder, uneasy and wondering if the bathroom might not have been the best course of action after all. Too late now. Potter was propelling him through the door and Draco found himself pushed up against the brick wall.
The night was cool. Not uncomfortably so, but there was a light breeze that stirred his skin, prickling against goosebumps. “I like your mouth,” Potter said, out of the blue, eyes focused most intently on Draco’s face.
Draco licked his lower lip deliberately, letting it catch in his teeth. “Do you.” His brows crooked up in blatant suggestion, and Potter took it easily.
“Yeah, I do,” he said, and unbuttoned his trousers.
Damned if he was going to go first. Draco treated Potter to a calculated smile, determined to keep a firm hand on the situation. “I rather like yours, too, Potter. How talented are you?”
Potter swayed forward, eyes still on Draco’s mouth or chin or somewhere thereabouts, and gave a low laugh, one which hit Draco in the gut and began to curl itself around his inner organs like smoke, like snake-like ropes, and he began to realise just how accurate the rumours were. Potter’s power, all of it, was currently focused on solely himself, and when Potter got like this, what he wanted, he usually got. Or so Draco had been told. He’d never really experienced it personally (he’d been nowhere near Potter during the actual war; the Order had found work for him in other areas), but Potter’s power was legendary. “Very talented,” Potter said, an odd light in his eyes, which flicked up once to catch Draco’s meaningfully. “Were you looking for proof?”
Draco saw the trap: how he’d lost this round to Potter. If he said yes now, then Potter would know just how curious Draco really was about him. If he said no, then he sucked Potter off first. It was a lose/lose situation. He didn’t lose. Except to Potter. Damn it. Since when had Potter gained the necessary skills to manipulate a situation this well? He didn’t say a word, but fixed his eyes on Potter’s with an intensity that Potter couldn’t have missed and let his intentions be known. His left hand caught the top of Potter’s zip and pulled it down with a distinct lack of haste, a lazy assurance that Draco would set the pace here. That Potter would come only when and if Draco allowed him to.
Potter’s eyes didn’t move from his, though his breathing deepened, quickening. After a moment, he dropped his gaze to watch Draco leisurely pull the elastic waistband of his undergarments down below his cock but not his balls, watched him hold the latter through the damp cotton. His cock was a thing of beauty, Draco noted. His glimpse in the bathroom two weeks earlier had not been mistaken, nor played up in his memory. Thick and straight and a solid six-and-a-half inches of stiff flesh demanding his attention. Draco eyed it for a long moment, letting Potter stew.
Potter shifted ever so slightly, but didn’t speak, and Draco admired his restraint. He rewarded Potter with a bit of tongue - just a dart to the divot that lay at the base of the head of Potter’s cock, his breath drifting over the head itself. Potter stiffened noticeably at that and his fingers curled into fists, standing perfectly erect, unsupported. Draco felt the power balance tilt in his favour, and suppressed a smile. Perfect. He let his tongue press against the leaking slit, slide around the underside of the head like a lolly. Potter’s hips shunted forward just a little, trying to get the head fully into Draco’s mouth, but Draco held him off. His terms. He lipped at it, almost playful, and simultaneously slid his hands up Potter’s thighs to his arse, pulled his trousers down to his knees. Next, the balls caught his attention. Gripping Potter by the backs of his now-bare calves, Draco mouthed Potter’s sac through his pants. Using his teeth, he pulled them carefully down all the way and let the elastic slap back against Potter just hard enough to cause a little pain, which was about to become a lot more pleasure.
Potter was breathing hard now, and the backs of his knees were sweating lightly. Draco gave his full attention to the job at last and took Potter’s cock into his mouth. Sucking hard on the upslides and releasing on the way back down, lips pulled down tightly over his teeth. Faster on the way up, and hard, his mouth so tight he’d have difficulty smiling for the next week. Potter caved and grabbed Draco’s head, fingers clenching in his hair, but he was too far gone to even be able to pump himself into Draco’s mouth; his balance was too unsteady, leaving him helpless but to stand there and let Draco be the one to suck his orgasm from the depths of his gut and into his mouth. Draco cupped his tongue around Potter’s most sensitive skin and savoured the fact. His left hand moved up the length of Potter’s thigh to nestle just in the cleft of Potter’s arse, thumb stroking lightly over his balls.
Potter finally made a sound, a tight, constricted sound in the back of his throat that sounded almost painful, and the precome pooling on Draco’s tongue increased. He was close. Draco sped up, letting Potter’s cock into his throat, forcing his muscles to cooperate and swallowed the precome, the swallow clamping down all around the head of Potter’s cock and Draco pulled back just in time to keep Potter from coming directly down his throat, preferring to catch it in his mouth and swallow on his own terms. Potter gave a choked cry, just a short, sharp sound, and spilled himself freely, the muscles in his arse bunching and flexing under Draco’s hands as he did so.
It was so hot that Draco doubted he would last more than about thirty seconds, especially if Potter was anywhere near as talented as Draco suspected. Hoped. He sat back and wiped his mouth, rubbed his jaw. Potter opened his eyes and held out a hand which Draco refused, getting to his feet unassisted. He unzipped his own trousers and brought out his cock, caught Potter’s eye.
He needn’t have; Potter was already dropping to his knees, ready to worship Draco’s cock at will. His mouth was hot and Draco imagined it tasted like wine, alcoholic and a little sour, and his tongue was soft and strong and wet. Potter’s hands had him by the hips, pinning him against the wall and Draco was as powerless as he had been. Potter was stronger than he looked, but his mouth was working Draco hungrily, and Draco’s every suspicion about said mouth was turning out to be gloriously true. Potter even had good rhythm; he could sense when Draco wanted to thrust and anticipated it, his face coming forward to let Draco’s cock enter his mouth like a body, like an arse, hot and tight and there was tongue and more suction than he could handle and he was about to come. He grabbed Potter’s head and fought against the grip on his hips, thrusting into Potter’s mouth without thought for decorum or anything but the need to just fuck him, fuck Potter’s mouth until he blacked out from the sheer power of his orgasm. It rose up and choked him, the breath suspended in his lungs, vision hazing as he came and came and came, Potter’s mouth like a vise around his cock. His cock was still spasming, spitting out afterthought dribbles of come, and Potter took it, throat bobbing as he swallowed, swallowed again.
Finally, it was over, and Draco felt so deliciously sated he could hardly hold himself upright. Potter stood, putting his bits back into his trousers and zipping. Draco watched him and made his hands do the same, though it felt like he could hardly move. Potter leaned forward and brushed a distant-seeming kiss over Draco’s cheek. “Nice one,” he said, oh-so-casually, and with that, he turned and sauntered back through the doors and down the corridor. Draco took a long minute to gather his scattered thoughts, wait for his breathing to slow to normal, then ran fingers through his tangled hair and followed.
Draco watched him down the corridor, just turning and disappearing from his sight. It was going to be difficult to forget this. And that, more than anything else, signalled the fact that Potter had just won.
For now, at least.
-fin-
*cough* I'd love to know what you thought. :D
Title: Rumours
Prequel to: Watching
Pairing: DM/HP
Genre/Rating: Porn; NC-17
Length: 3,355 words
Summary: Draco finds himself stuck at a wedding and longing for distraction in nearly any form...
Warnings: Though nowhere near as explicit as in Watching, there are hints of urophilia (watersports) in this story. But apparently my flist is full of closet pervs anyway, so no worries. :P
Read it at Skyehawke or below.
Rumours
Draco stifled a yawn and tried not to look at his watch. A tempus would be far too conspicuous, but damn, why did every wedding these days have to have one of those bloody slide shows? As if he needed to see Susan Bones in diapers or Ernie Macmillan half-naked and asleep with a sausage clutched to his chubby four-year-old cheek.
He picked up the programme on the table and discreetly searched for a point at which he could leave without being rude. Or at least get some fresh air and then come back inside. The hall was stuffy, and it was his third wedding of the summer. He’d already come to the conclusion that he hated the things. Great, there were still the speeches from the parents of both families. And they were Hufflepuffs to boot, so add in extra time there. Draco stifled a moan and attempted to distract himself by casting an eye around the room.
His gaze landed on Potter, naturally. As it had many times already that evening, a thought which made Draco scowl. It was just the rumours, he reminded himself crossly. Too many rumours circulating about Potter and his unstable mental condition, Potter and his unpredictable behaviour, Potter and his strange proclivities. The latter was the one that had caught Draco’s attention in particular; the others had been around since the war had ended the year before. Only lately had he begun to hear whispers about Potter and various people, occasionally more than one at once, and the things that had transpired. But it was never repeated. Potter apparently did not do relationships. The flipside of which, Draco thought, was that he only did one-night stands. Predominantly men, but there had been a sprinkling of women, too. Of course Potter couldn’t even do sexuality the conventional way. Draco felt his brows lowering and reminded himself that it had nothing to do with him. Plain old homosexuality wouldn’t do for Potter, oh no - just as nothing else had ever happened in anything like the standard way with him.
Draco saw him on occasion, though rarely on their own. Chance meetings here and there, and working for the Ministry lent them a certain circle of common acquaintances. Potter had been bounced around from department to department in the past year (people were still talking about his refusal to sign on for Auror training, but that was old news), but Draco was fairly sure that Potter would never end up in Experimental Potions, so it was really none of his concern.
It didn’t mean a person couldn’t be intrigued, though.
Perish the thought. Draco focused on the birdsnest which was presumably Potter’s hair, unless he’d managed to get his head caught in a rogue tumbleweed on his way into the hall, and the scowl deepened. So what if Potter liked to fuck people blindfolded. Who knew if that was even true? And what about the story of Potter and the Puddlemere United Seeker? So Potter liked it rough. Maybe it had been the Seeker’s idea. Draco crossed his legs at the knee, uncomfortable, and decided to think about something else.
The night of the one-year memorial two weeks ago came to mind unbidden as he watched Potter fidget, fussing with his napkin from three tables away. Beside him, Granger appeared unaware of his obvious boredom, fingers linked with Weasley’s on the table. Probably planning her own wedding and how much better colour-coordinated it would be than this one. Granted, it wouldn’t have been difficult. Hufflepuffs should never be allowed to do their own decorating. The one-year must have been difficult for Potter. It was now a well-known fact that Potter hated being photographed, hated the media spotlight. All the more cause for rumours, naturally. A person couldn’t help but hear some of them. Potter’s public behaviour had calmed down some recently, but that tied in easily with the rise of the underground rumours concerning Potter’s more interesting exploits.
On the night of the evening in question, there had also been speeches. Potter had left in the middle of one of them, a long-winded thing about sacrifice and personal choice, and his departure had been quite conspicuous. The speaker had paused awkwardly, then made the decision to continue, though it fell rather flat. Draco, curious, had slipped out unnoticed as the speaker wrapped up in an obviously truncated ending.
The door to the men’s room down the hall had just banged, and he had followed Potter, pushing the door silently inward. There was a short hallway and the rest of the room was around the corner at the end. Potter had been alone, standing at the leftmost urinal, hurriedly unzipping his fly. He was mumbling to himself, and Draco moved closer, trying to hear what he was saying. Maybe Potter really was crazy and he should keep his distance, but for the moment, he was far too intrigued.
“Gotta go,” Potter had breathed, hand disappearing down his front. He drew out his bits, which Draco could just glimpse in Potter’s hand, heavy and full - not a particularly small handful, either. Draco swallowed. “God… I really have to go,” Potter muttered.
Potter should have started going then, just pissed and left, but he didn’t. There was a long pause, during which all Draco could hear was breathing. Potter’s breathing, audible in the echoing room. He heard the familiar sound of palm on flesh instead, and knew that Potter was touching himself. While he had to piss. Interesting. Far too interesting, in fact. He could see the erection forcing Potter’s hands further from his body, heard the contained almost-sob as the need to piss took priority. The stream hit the back wall of the urinal with force, steady and hard and probably completely uncontrollable by that point, and Draco realised that his trousers had become uncomfortably tight. Potter’s exhale had been everything but a moan, hands still on himself as the stream continued. Draco’s mind had filled with unimaginably filthy thoughts of Potter turning that hot spray on him, imagined it running over his cock, dripping from his balls. What would that feel like? He’d pushed his hips against the stone wall, unable to keep himself from rubbing against the cool stone as he watched Potter piss from around the corner.
The stream flagged, slowed and then stopped, and Potter’s hands were moving again, breath even quicker. He was pulling himself off with both hands, one moving in a rhythmic back-and-forth over his cock while the other roved, cupping his balls, snaked up under his shirt to pinch his nipples, even came back to slap himself on the arse while he fucked his hand. Draco, humping the wall as silently as he could, knew that he hadn’t been that hard in a long time, and was longing to take out his cock right there and rub himself raw, but at this rate, it wasn’t even going to take that long. Potter’s mumbling continued under his breath, a steady flow of things that couldn’t have been anything but completely dirty, considering his hands, the forward snap of his hips. He did moan when the orgasm hit, his come splattering onto the urinal to slide down, leaving a viscous trail. He stood still a moment, panting, and Draco knew that he had to leave before Potter did. He couldn’t possibly walk in his condition, so he forced himself to Disapparate. Not even caring if Potter heard the pop, he took himself to another hallway outside the men’s room and around a corner in the opposite direction of the auditorium. He heard the door bang as Potter departed, and returned immediately. The bathroom was empty, his hands furious on his bare cock. His own come splashed onto the place where Potter’s had, anointing the urinal doubly.
He’d returned to the speeches in time for the dessert reception, and avoided Potter thoroughly.
Around Draco, people began to clap for Macmillan’s father, who kissed Bones effusively and began to shuffle back to his seat, brick-red in the face. Potter sprang to his feet, coughing, and edged toward the door, covering ground more quickly than it looked. Draco glanced around to see if anyone else was leaving, if Potter had an assignation somewhere. If that had been the reason for his fidgets. Or maybe he had to take a piss. Draco’s face grew warm, but his curiosity overcame him. He forced a cough of his own, threw an apologetic look at the other occupants of his table, ignored Blaise’s strange look and slipped out after Potter.
Potter was just standing outside the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes closed. When the door closed behind Draco, the eyes opened and located Draco. A look of surprised interest flickered briefly over those transparent features, then disappeared. “Malfoy.”
“Potter.” Draco nodded at him, trying to appear casual. He had to say something to explain his presence. “What are you doing?”
Potter’s eyebrows arched, looking so… normal… that Draco wondered for a moment if the rumours of Potter’s erratic behaviour hadn’t been rather exaggerated. “I hate weddings. Just had to get out for a minute, you know?”
Draco nodded, trying to keep his eyes on Potter’s face. “Yeah, I know.” He thought of Potter pissing and pulling himself off at the same time, and regained a firm grip on his former opinion.
“You?” The interest made a brief reappearance, Potter’s eyes travelling the length of Draco’s light grey suit - not overt, per se, but there was no attempt made to hide it. It was as though Draco’s opinion was entirely unimportant
He did not like feeling unimportant. “Too straight for me,” Draco said, very deliberately. He had no idea whether or not Potter knew he was gay, but it was about time he put it out there.
The interest returned and stayed put this time. “I assumed,” Potter said, with customary bluntness. “I’d heard, in fact.”
“I’ve heard some things about you, too,” Draco said. He decided to go a little closer. “Are you meeting someone out here?”
“I just did,” Potter said, and there was a sudden twist of a grin. Draco smelled the wine on his breath, not unpleasant but warm and woozy. A lot of wine. Potter was pissed. Perfect. He leered at Draco. “You?”
“I just did, too,” Draco said simply, making his decision. He looked around. “Where’s the…”
“That way,” Potter said, interrupting and nodding down the corridor. “Around the corner to the left. Come on.”
When had he lost his footing? He did not take suggestions; he made them. “No,” Draco said. “There’ll be people. Wedding, you know. Outside.” He pointed at the open door at the end of the hall in the opposite direction.
Potter shrugged, unperturbed. “How romantic.” He came over, somewhat unsteady on his feet, and threw an arm around Draco’s waist, hand sliding immediately down Draco’s side and then back around to his arse.
Draco was almost taken aback, but Potter’s easy confidence (however abrupt) was alluring. Plus, he’d always been of the private opinion that Potter had a mouth made for giving head, and he fully intended to discover whether or not that little theory was accurate. Thanks to Potter’s loose but heavy arm, Draco was pulled into the unsteady cadence of Potter’s drunken, lurching gait and this annoyed him as much as he found it even more arousing. Potter’s hand tightened on his arse, though, and Draco shot a quick look back over his shoulder, uneasy and wondering if the bathroom might not have been the best course of action after all. Too late now. Potter was propelling him through the door and Draco found himself pushed up against the brick wall.
The night was cool. Not uncomfortably so, but there was a light breeze that stirred his skin, prickling against goosebumps. “I like your mouth,” Potter said, out of the blue, eyes focused most intently on Draco’s face.
Draco licked his lower lip deliberately, letting it catch in his teeth. “Do you.” His brows crooked up in blatant suggestion, and Potter took it easily.
“Yeah, I do,” he said, and unbuttoned his trousers.
Damned if he was going to go first. Draco treated Potter to a calculated smile, determined to keep a firm hand on the situation. “I rather like yours, too, Potter. How talented are you?”
Potter swayed forward, eyes still on Draco’s mouth or chin or somewhere thereabouts, and gave a low laugh, one which hit Draco in the gut and began to curl itself around his inner organs like smoke, like snake-like ropes, and he began to realise just how accurate the rumours were. Potter’s power, all of it, was currently focused on solely himself, and when Potter got like this, what he wanted, he usually got. Or so Draco had been told. He’d never really experienced it personally (he’d been nowhere near Potter during the actual war; the Order had found work for him in other areas), but Potter’s power was legendary. “Very talented,” Potter said, an odd light in his eyes, which flicked up once to catch Draco’s meaningfully. “Were you looking for proof?”
Draco saw the trap: how he’d lost this round to Potter. If he said yes now, then Potter would know just how curious Draco really was about him. If he said no, then he sucked Potter off first. It was a lose/lose situation. He didn’t lose. Except to Potter. Damn it. Since when had Potter gained the necessary skills to manipulate a situation this well? He didn’t say a word, but fixed his eyes on Potter’s with an intensity that Potter couldn’t have missed and let his intentions be known. His left hand caught the top of Potter’s zip and pulled it down with a distinct lack of haste, a lazy assurance that Draco would set the pace here. That Potter would come only when and if Draco allowed him to.
Potter’s eyes didn’t move from his, though his breathing deepened, quickening. After a moment, he dropped his gaze to watch Draco leisurely pull the elastic waistband of his undergarments down below his cock but not his balls, watched him hold the latter through the damp cotton. His cock was a thing of beauty, Draco noted. His glimpse in the bathroom two weeks earlier had not been mistaken, nor played up in his memory. Thick and straight and a solid six-and-a-half inches of stiff flesh demanding his attention. Draco eyed it for a long moment, letting Potter stew.
Potter shifted ever so slightly, but didn’t speak, and Draco admired his restraint. He rewarded Potter with a bit of tongue - just a dart to the divot that lay at the base of the head of Potter’s cock, his breath drifting over the head itself. Potter stiffened noticeably at that and his fingers curled into fists, standing perfectly erect, unsupported. Draco felt the power balance tilt in his favour, and suppressed a smile. Perfect. He let his tongue press against the leaking slit, slide around the underside of the head like a lolly. Potter’s hips shunted forward just a little, trying to get the head fully into Draco’s mouth, but Draco held him off. His terms. He lipped at it, almost playful, and simultaneously slid his hands up Potter’s thighs to his arse, pulled his trousers down to his knees. Next, the balls caught his attention. Gripping Potter by the backs of his now-bare calves, Draco mouthed Potter’s sac through his pants. Using his teeth, he pulled them carefully down all the way and let the elastic slap back against Potter just hard enough to cause a little pain, which was about to become a lot more pleasure.
Potter was breathing hard now, and the backs of his knees were sweating lightly. Draco gave his full attention to the job at last and took Potter’s cock into his mouth. Sucking hard on the upslides and releasing on the way back down, lips pulled down tightly over his teeth. Faster on the way up, and hard, his mouth so tight he’d have difficulty smiling for the next week. Potter caved and grabbed Draco’s head, fingers clenching in his hair, but he was too far gone to even be able to pump himself into Draco’s mouth; his balance was too unsteady, leaving him helpless but to stand there and let Draco be the one to suck his orgasm from the depths of his gut and into his mouth. Draco cupped his tongue around Potter’s most sensitive skin and savoured the fact. His left hand moved up the length of Potter’s thigh to nestle just in the cleft of Potter’s arse, thumb stroking lightly over his balls.
Potter finally made a sound, a tight, constricted sound in the back of his throat that sounded almost painful, and the precome pooling on Draco’s tongue increased. He was close. Draco sped up, letting Potter’s cock into his throat, forcing his muscles to cooperate and swallowed the precome, the swallow clamping down all around the head of Potter’s cock and Draco pulled back just in time to keep Potter from coming directly down his throat, preferring to catch it in his mouth and swallow on his own terms. Potter gave a choked cry, just a short, sharp sound, and spilled himself freely, the muscles in his arse bunching and flexing under Draco’s hands as he did so.
It was so hot that Draco doubted he would last more than about thirty seconds, especially if Potter was anywhere near as talented as Draco suspected. Hoped. He sat back and wiped his mouth, rubbed his jaw. Potter opened his eyes and held out a hand which Draco refused, getting to his feet unassisted. He unzipped his own trousers and brought out his cock, caught Potter’s eye.
He needn’t have; Potter was already dropping to his knees, ready to worship Draco’s cock at will. His mouth was hot and Draco imagined it tasted like wine, alcoholic and a little sour, and his tongue was soft and strong and wet. Potter’s hands had him by the hips, pinning him against the wall and Draco was as powerless as he had been. Potter was stronger than he looked, but his mouth was working Draco hungrily, and Draco’s every suspicion about said mouth was turning out to be gloriously true. Potter even had good rhythm; he could sense when Draco wanted to thrust and anticipated it, his face coming forward to let Draco’s cock enter his mouth like a body, like an arse, hot and tight and there was tongue and more suction than he could handle and he was about to come. He grabbed Potter’s head and fought against the grip on his hips, thrusting into Potter’s mouth without thought for decorum or anything but the need to just fuck him, fuck Potter’s mouth until he blacked out from the sheer power of his orgasm. It rose up and choked him, the breath suspended in his lungs, vision hazing as he came and came and came, Potter’s mouth like a vise around his cock. His cock was still spasming, spitting out afterthought dribbles of come, and Potter took it, throat bobbing as he swallowed, swallowed again.
Finally, it was over, and Draco felt so deliciously sated he could hardly hold himself upright. Potter stood, putting his bits back into his trousers and zipping. Draco watched him and made his hands do the same, though it felt like he could hardly move. Potter leaned forward and brushed a distant-seeming kiss over Draco’s cheek. “Nice one,” he said, oh-so-casually, and with that, he turned and sauntered back through the doors and down the corridor. Draco took a long minute to gather his scattered thoughts, wait for his breathing to slow to normal, then ran fingers through his tangled hair and followed.
Draco watched him down the corridor, just turning and disappearing from his sight. It was going to be difficult to forget this. And that, more than anything else, signalled the fact that Potter had just won.
For now, at least.
-fin-
*cough* I'd love to know what you thought. :D