(no subject)
New fic!
Title: For the Win
Sequel to: Rumours and Watching (third in the series!)
Pairing: DM/HP
Genre/Rating: Porn; NC-17
Length: 5,620 words
Warning: Watersports (urophilia, not water polo!)/GS!!
Summary: It's been a week since the last time. Potter is avoiding him, and Draco won't have it.
Read it at Skyehawke or below.
For the Win
Draco set down his martini and abandoned it there on the window sill, his eyes tracking across the large hall to the far door. Potter had finally arrived.
He looked a little worse for the wear, hair dishevelled - never mind dishevelled, it was an unmitigated disaster - and his clothes were slightly rumpled-looking. Of course he had disdained wizard’s robes for the occasion, preferring Muggle attire that would have been nice enough had it not looked like he had just slept in it. Draco felt his brow furrowing and deliberately unpursed his mouth. What Potter had been doing was none of his business. Yet.
He started across the hall, eyes fixed on Potter the entire while. He had won the second round, to be sure, but he wasn’t even certain that Potter knew that. If Potter even remembered it, for that matter. This time, Potter would remember. If he could get that far. The senior Weasel - no, scratch that, second from the top, the Quidditch player - had just spied the git and was moving toward him with a grin the size of Paris on his face. Draco clenched his fist around his wand and loitered by the bar for a moment, watching warily.
Potter nodded at something the Weasel said, eyes focused somewhere in the distance, and then he gave a short laugh. Weasley clapped him on the shoulder, very hail-man-well-met sort of thing, and Potter gave him a wan smile. The instant he was alone, he made for the bar.
Draco turned to face him just as Potter arrived. “Hello,” he said evenly.
Potter stopped in his tracks, apparently startled. In a bad way. His eyes shuttered, his posture stiffening. “Malfoy,” he said, sounding a bit like his jaw was clenched.
Draco felt his pulse speeding up subtly and cursed it. “Buy you a drink?” he asked, forcing the words out as calmly as possible.
Potter’s eyes were already searching for the nearest escape. “Uh - well - actually, I - ”
“For God’s sake, Potter, it’s just a drink.” Draco rolled his eyes, drumming his fingers nervously - no, he was perfectly calm, damn it - on the bar.
Potter took a deep breath, swallowed, and looked him in the eye. “I don’t need a drink from you,” he said firmly. “I’d rather get my own.”
Draco’s patience thinned noticeably. “That’s a very roundabout way of saying you’d rather buy mine,” he said coolly. “I accept. I’ll have a - ” he thought quickly, trying to remember what Potter had had the last time they’d encountered one another at one of these innumerable public affairs - “gin and tonic, twist of lime.”
Potter’s eyebrows jerked up and a muscle in his cheek twitched. There was a moment’s pause. “Fine,” he said. He turned to the barman. “I’ll have two gin and tonics, twist of lime.”
As the drinks were being poured, he didn’t look at Draco. “Is this some sort of follow-up procedure I’m unaware of, or what can I do for you, Malfoy?”
Draco leaned an elbow on the counter top. “No follow-up. I just wanted to talk to you.”
The brows lifted again, cool. “Dare I ask what about?”
“Dare away,” Draco returned. He accepted his drink from the barman, watched as Potter dropped a Galleon on the counter and turned away. “Why didn’t you answer my owl?”
“What owl?” Potter scanned the room, eyes evasive.
“Don’t play stupid with me. The owl I sent you after the Ministry party last week.”
Potter took another slow, measured breath. “I was very drunk at the time.”
“I know you were. You were also drunk at the Hufflepuff wedding.”
Potter’s eyes flashed. “Which one?” he asked irritably.
Draco’s patience gave way. Potter was edging away from the bar, so he followed. “The one where you gave me a blow job,” he said through gritted teeth. “Remember that?”
“Vaguely,” Potter said. He took a large sip of his drink, swallowing about half of it in one go. “I was hoping you’d forgotten that.”
He glanced at Draco and Draco treated him to a thin smile. “Not likely,” he said. “Good try, Potter. Tell me why you’ve been avoiding me. You’re not embarrassed, are you?”
“Why should I be embarrassed?” Potter shot back, but his cheeks were blooming with colour.
Draco moved in, hardly perceptibly. “I’ve heard you’re never with the same person twice,” he said, lowering his voice. “Would you deny that rumour?”
Potter snorted. “No.” He took another long sip, avoiding Draco’s gaze.
Draco caught his elbow, tired of the game. “Then what’s so different about me?” he demanded. God, now it sounded like he was begging. Maybe he was. He winced inwardly, but he had to hear Potter’s answer. “Why did you let it happen again?”
Potter’s mouth opened, eyes darting in all directions. The mouth closed again, his tongue coming out to wet the lower lip, his chest heaving. “I - I - look, Malfoy, we can’t talk about this here. I don’t want to talk about it, full stop.”
Draco ignored him. “Let’s step outside, shall we?” He tightened his grip on Potter’s elbow and steered him forcefully toward one of the side doors. Potter stumbled along with him, looking back over his shoulder as though fearful that the paparazzi were after him or something. Which may have been a reasonable concern, but for once in his life, Draco didn’t give a shit. He pushed Potter up against the wall, sloshing the remains of his gin dangerously in doing so.
Potter stared at him painfully, wide-eyed. “What do you want?”
Draco just stared back for a moment, unwilling to say what it was, exactly, that he wanted. That would be losing, and this time, he had to win. He considered the time before a win, but Potter was probably too pissed to remember it. And speaking of piss. Draco felt his face warming, just thinking about it. It was a kink he hadn’t realised he possessed until the one-year war memorial, and now he couldn’t forget it. Couldn’t forget Potter, more to the point. How the hell had he become so attractive? And since when did he go for unbalanced, badly-dressed St. Mungo’s cases who couldn’t even locate a comb before formal-dress occasions like this? Draco licked his lips and forced his brain to think of something to say.
The moment lengthened. And then, without warning, Potter dropped his glass, seized Draco’s head with both hands and kissed him with all his might. Draco heard himself make some sort of unintelligible noise, felt his hand loosen on his own glass half a second before it joined Potter’s in crashing to the floor, and then he was all over Potter, the backs of his hands being mashed against the wall behind Potter’s back, and it was all tongues and wet heat and Potter’s glasses in the way, their hips colliding, Draco’s bruised knuckles scraping down the wall to pull Potter’s shirt out of his trousers, because if he didn’t get his hands on Potter’s flesh immediately, he might just implode.
Potter bit at his face savagely, all decorum gone, fingers gripping Draco’s face, hair, shoulders, whatever they touched. There was a sudden darkness and a sucking sensation, like he was being pulled through a very tight space, and the next thing he knew, they were somewhere else. He pulled away from Potter, trying to get his bearings. “Potter - ”
Potter looked around, evidently equally surprised. “Oh - erm, I seem to have Apparated us. Uh, welcome to my place.”
“This is your place?” Draco was out of breath, and Potter was still holding onto him. “Uh - ”
“It’s okay, we can stay here,” Potter said. His eyes centered on Draco, focusing intently. “Is that what you wanted? To come here?”
Draco shook his head, still disoriented. “I wanted an answer to my question, that’s all,” he said.
Potter’s hand shot out and landed on Draco’s crotch. “Really,” he said, sounding more in control of himself than he’d been a moment ago. “I find that a bit hard to believe.”
Draco cursed himself again, cursed Potter for being so damned difficult about it all, and shoved a thigh against Potter’s own crotch. “You’re hardly one to talk, Potter.”
Potter let go of him and stalked across the room to the window. “I don’t know what your game is, Malfoy, but I’m sure you have one. Why don’t you just drop the act and tell me what it is that you really want? Is there a Daily Prophet pay-off somewhere in this for you, or is it some sort of mindfuck you’re trying to pull? It’s not working, if that’s what it is.”
Draco tried not to feel insulted. “A mindfuck?” he repeated. “Pay-offs? Please, Potter. It’s called, we got off together and I thought it was fun and I’m not sure why you let it happen twice, so I got curious. That’s all.”
Potter didn’t look at him. “Curious,” he said, as though weighing the word, still gazing out the window. “Really.”
“Fine, don’t believe it,” Draco retorted. “Are you this charming to everyone you blow, or do I get special treatment?”
Potter did turn to him then, a faint smile playing about his mouth. “I guess you get the special treatment,” he said. “I can’t say that anyone else has ever pursued me the way you’ve been doing, actually. It’s sort of nice, if that’s all it is.”
Draco felt off-balance again. “That’s what it is,” he said, stiff. “Potter - look, maybe this wasn’t a good idea. You’re - ” he bit back the words.
Potter’s expression changed. “I’m what?” he asked belligerently. “Crazy? Unstable? Is that what you were going to say? Because I’m not. I’m fine!”
He was much closer all of a sudden, and Draco was had to fight the urge to back up. “You’re… different,” he said. “Every time I see you, you’re different.”
“Different how?” Potter was in his face, insistent.
“Well… you were drunk, the last two times,” Draco tried.
“I’m not drunk now,” Potter said, watching him intently.
“No,” Draco conceded.
“I guess you think I just have no control over who I fuck or something,” Potter said, mouth twitching in a way that Draco didn’t particularly like.
“I wasn’t going to say that,” he said, watching Potter warily.
“You might as well.” Potter sounded angry, but there was more than anger there. Almost a peculiar sort of pleading behind it all.
It was the pleading that got to Draco. He’d been having second thoughts about pursuing this thing with Potter, whatever it was, but those thoughts disappeared. He didn’t know what he was feeling, exactly - it wasn’t quite like pity, and it was more than general interest. They faced each other for a moment, both breathing hard and not sure what to expect. Draco, for reasons he had great difficulty pinpointing, leaned forward and kissed Potter. No hands, nothing but his mouth on Potter’s, and Potter didn’t resist it. His eyes closed and they stood there, awkwardly separated, just kissing. After a bit, Draco pulled back and opened his eyes. “Uh - Potter - ”
Potter opened hazy eyes, face still very close to Draco’s. “Are you going to stay?”
Draco began to wonder what he was in for, but he found himself nodding, unwilling and unable to take himself away.
The plea turned to a gleam of something else and Potter’s mood shifted imperceptibly. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he said, sounding perfectly composed again. “Let’s do something about that.”
The competition was back on. Draco blinked, found his footing, and re-entered the game.
* * *
Potter was bare and Draco was just pulling off his socks, acutely aware of Potter’s eyes on him. They were both hard, Potter’s unfairly-nice cock swollen and dark and entirely too appealing, and Draco wanted too badly to touch it again, feel it again.
“Listen,” he said, straightening up. “I don’t bottom. So - ”
“You really think I do?” Potter shot back, interrupting. “Nice try, Malfoy. Besides, you have a decidedly bottom-ish look to you.”
“I do not!” Draco’s face grew hot again, angry. “I do not look like a bottom!”
“A bossy bottom,” Potter reiterated. “One who likes to give instructions.”
Fuck that. Draco advanced. “I guess we’ll see about that,” he said smoothly. “Just wait. You’ll be begging me to fuck you soon enough.”
Potter laughed, but it didn’t conceal the look of genuine interest that flitted across his transparent features. “How are you going to bring that about?”
Draco paused. Would it be losing to suck Potter off again? Wait - no, he would bring Potter to the point of orgasm and then deny it repeatedly. That was exactly what he would do. He smiled at Potter, eyes narrowed, and reached for his cock without a word. Potter’s breath sucked in, his cock spasming in Draco’s hand. Draco caught his eyes and bit his lower lip, silently commanding Potter to keep looking at him. He stroked the length of Potter’s thick cock, smearing the moisture pooling in the slit over the head with his thumb, and Potter was making tight little sounds in his throat which he was too obviously trying to suppress. Draco hid his triumph. “Sit,” he said, pushing Potter back toward the sofa.
Potter sat gingerly, apparently anxious not to lose contact with Draco’s hand. Draco smiled again, feral, and got to his knees. He waited, his hand stilling. Potter opened his eyes and looked at him. “What?” he asked, trying to sound casual and failing.
“What do you want?” Draco asked, as though he didn’t know perfectly well.
Annoyance flitted across Potter’s face as he understood. “Are you going to, or not?”
“Do you want me to?”
Potter’s shoulder twitched, one hand opening and closing again on the sofa beside his thigh. “Yeah.”
“Just checking.” Draco forestalled Potter’s next objection by replacing his hand with his mouth, and it was so satisfying to have Potter’s cock in his mouth again, his taste gathering on Draco’s tongue. Potter moaned, his thighs spreading a little more, probably unconsciously. A hand came down on the top of Draco’s head, warm, fingers curling in Draco’s hair. Draco’s scalp was rather sensitive, and something about this made his own cock twitch with pleasure. He sucked harder, working the flat of his tongue along the underside of Potter’s cock. Potter was just starting to pant, hips pushing forward at Draco’s mouth when Draco stopped.
Potter made a noise of protest, but Draco spoke over it. “Why do you jerk off before you piss?” he asked, very directly.
Potter looked at him incredulously. “You need to know that right this very second?”
“Tell me, or I won’t finish,” Draco ordered.
A glistening drop detached itself from the head of Potter’s cock and fell onto the sofa. “Fuck,” he groaned. “You are completely twisted. First the spying, then the pissing thing. Is that what you really wanted?”
“Maybe,” Draco said, evasive. “Talk. You talk, I’ll suck, okay?”
“Fine,” Potter said, sounding too desperate to care. “Just get on with it.”
Draco licked a slow circle around the head - agonisingly slow, he knew - and waited.
Potter heaved a sigh coloured with annoyance. “So, I had to piss once, and I was stuck in Charms. We were doing partner stuff, so I couldn’t just leave. I guess I maybe left it a bit long, but by the time I finally got to go, it just felt so good that I jerked off after. Hey.” He smacked Draco’s head. “Get on with it.”
Draco took the head into his mouth and held it there, pressing his tongue up against the underside, digging the tip into that same divot that had fascinated him before. Potter continued.
“And it just sort of got to be a thing, especially when I’m stressed out and - I don’t know. I’ve never had to explain it before. It’s just the whole thing with the pressure building up, and - God, that feels good, Malfoy - you are so fucking good at this - so sometimes I play around, trying to see how hard I can be before I can’t piss any more, or how bad I have to go before I can’t wank any more. I don’t know. It sounds perverted. But you seemed to like it.”
Draco pulled his mouth off just long enough to say, “Yeah, I like it. I like anything that involves watching you touch yourself.” He turned his face sideways to get at Potter’s balls, licking a long stripe from them up the length of Potter’s cock to the head again, which he began to suck with renewed vigour.
Potter’s breath shuddered. “I - I didn’t know that I would like watching. I don’t like being watched. I liked watching you, though.”
Draco made a sound that was meant to imply a smug sort of “I know you did” sentiment, but didn’t stop sucking. Potter was trying to push himself further into his mouth again, breath jerking out in puffs.
“I would do it again,” Potter went on, voice nearly rasping. “I want to piss on you again, right on your cock - watch it hit you and run down your legs. I want you to piss on me, too.”
Draco suppressed his own groan, shifting himself to clamp his thighs around his cock, which was leaking badly. He wanted to assure Potter that this could happen, but there didn’t seem to be time. Potter was gasping now, words abandoned, and then his hands were pushing at Draco’s head, pushing him away. Draco was startled. “Potter, what - ”
“Let me at you,” Potter said, a hungry light in his eyes. “I want your cock. I want all of you.”
Draco couldn’t remember what he said next, but Potter was ripping off his glasses and hauling him up onto the sofa bodily - he was forcibly reminded of just how strong Potter actually was - and he was on his back and Potter’s face was right down where he wanted it, mouth grabbing at Draco’s balls, his cock, as though Potter wanted to eat him alive. It was so wildly out of control that Draco never knew what was coming next, where to expect a lick or a long, hard suck or a grazing of teeth, or Potter’s talented fingers, stroking him in alternately soft touches, firm tugs on his cock - he was all over the place. Then his legs were being pushed back, close to his chest, and Potter’s face went lower. The only warning was a touch of breath on skin, and then his tongue was slipping into Draco, no holds barred, and Draco was being subjected to the rimming of a lifetime. He could hear the sounds he was making, shameless and completely without dignity, and he forgot everything he’d been thinking of in terms of winning and losing. When he twisted beneath Potter’s oral assault, Potter’s hand clamped tightly around his cock.
“Not yet,” he said. A ripple of magic went through Draco, and then Potter came into view, pushing his legs apart. Their eyes met, Potter leaning over Draco, and Draco knew that he was about to bottom for Potter - and God help him if he didn’t want it more than he’d ever wanted anything. All of Potter’s magic, his desire, his intent focus - all that, concentrated into a fuck - it was the best thing Draco could conceive of, and he wanted it. As though hearing him, Potter nodded, and without a word, slowly pushed into him.
Every nerve was alight. It wasn’t that he didn’t ever bottom; Draco simply preferred to top. Or he always had before, at least. He didn’t inhale for so long that he nearly passed out as Potter filled him entirely. The very thought of that incredible cock right inside him, full and hard and solely because of him, was nearly orgasmic. Draco gasped his next breath and Potter’s mouth came down to his, his hips pulling back about halfway and then his cock drove in again. Draco was shaking; it felt so good that there was almost nothing Potter could have done to make it any better. As long as he kept moving, that was all it was going to take - his cock was hitting gold on every stroke and Draco was incoherent with pleasure. Potter, panting, transferred his mouth to Draco’s neck, his chest, all the while steadily fucking him in increasingly faster thrusts. Their skin was slapping together and now Potter was breathing too hard to do anything but mouth Draco’s skin loosely, all hot breath and uncontrolled need. Draco could feel it coming, feel it clenching and twisting and spreading, and then Potter shoved his arm between them to grab Draco’s cock. He jerked at it hard, and then his hips were slamming against Draco’s arse, stilling for a long second, then slamming again, battering him, and Draco didn’t care because Potter’s hand and cock were wringing his orgasm from him so hard he thought he might die from the sheer amount of pleasure overloading his nervous system. He could feel Potter’s wet release within himself, and his own come splattering over his stomach and chest.
Potter’s breath rushed out in a final exhalation, his shoulders and chest heaving, and he looked down at Draco, opening his eyes, breathing heavily.
Draco looked back at him, too dazed to put words together in any manner of intelligent speech. Too sated.
“I’ve wanted to do this,” Potter said, pulse hammering even at his voice. “I wanted to fuck you.”
Draco didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. But when Potter roughly slid an arm under him and pulled him into a long, hard kiss, Draco didn’t refuse him.
* * *
He woke sometime later, not aware that he’d fallen asleep in the first place. The light in the flat was different, the incandescent lamp yellower against the darkness outside. It must have been the middle of the night. Potter was draped over him, their legs tangled together, and he was snoring lightly in the region of Draco’s armpit. Draco shifted himself, careful not to disturb Potter, and pondered his situation. Potter had slipped out of him, but he was half-hard in his sleep, his cock fitted snugly into the cleft of Draco’s arse. Draco was immediately reminded of what had just gone on before they fell asleep, and the thought was intensely arousing. Who could have guessed that Potter would be such a hot fuck?
Leaving was out of the question. Potter was lying on him and if Draco moved, he would wake; if he Disapparated, all he would succeed in doing was to relocate them both. And besides, he admitted grudgingly to himself, he didn’t want to leave.
Potter’s breathing changed. He was waking up. After a few moments, he raised his head and blinked down at Draco. “Malfoy?” His voice was a croak.
Draco said nothing, just held Potter’s gaze and waited for him to remember.
Comprehension dawned. An uneasy look came over Potter’s face. “I didn’t know we fell asleep,” he said. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I didn’t mean to, either.”
Potter became aware of himself. “Oh, shit - you couldn’t leave, could you? I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to trap you here.”
Draco moved his hand down Potter’s back to the curve of his arse. “Does it look like I’m trying to leave? If I’d wanted to, I would have. But I was asleep, too.”
Potter pressed into him, apparently happy about the location of Draco’s hand, and seemed to realise where his cock was, too. He moved a little, cock hardening further. “I really gave it to you good.”
Draco’s cock twitched in memory. “Yes, you did,” he agreed, lip twisting.
The apartment was dark, but there was light coming from the streets below, pale streetlight casting odd shadows on Potter’s face. He stopped moving. “I have to take a piss,” he muttered, and began detangling himself from Draco.
His cock was definitely too hard to go. Draco eyed it with interest and watched Potter stumble toward what he presumed was the bathroom. After a moment, he followed.
He lounged against the doorway, one arm above his head, and watched Potter trying to make himself relax enough to go. “Not starting without me, are you?” he drawled, knowing it would startle Potter.
Potter’s back stiffened. “What?”
“I haven’t forgotten what you said, before.”
Potter made a small grunt of acknowledgement. “Forget it.”
“Why?” Draco left the doorway and went to him, standing behind him. “You can’t do it, anyway, so why not have some fun with it?”
Potter rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “Malfoy, I just have to take a piss, okay? I’m too tired for your strange little games.”
Draco watched him for a moment. Then - “I’m going to have a shower,” he announced. “Why don’t you join me?”
He turned his back on Potter and turned the water on. When it was hot enough, he stepped in and made to close the sliding door, but Potter grabbed it, following him in, though he avoided Draco’s eyes. “Don’t say anything,” he growled, turning away to face the same direction Draco was.
“What am I going to say?” Draco closed the distance between them, reached around Potter and began to massage his cock. He was about half-hard, himself, but he thought it might just work. He leaned forward, lips touching Potter’s ear. “You want me to piss on you?”
Potter took a sharp breath and let it out slowly, his hands closing over Draco’s on his cock and stilling them. Then he nodded. “Yeah.” It was just a breath.
“Sure?”
“Yeah. Do it.”
Draco bit down on his lower lip and made himself think of water, waterfalls, waves crashing on shores, and - there. He turned Potter around, and Potter went willingly, eyes fixed with fascination on Draco’s cock. It took a moment to get started, but once he did, it was fine. A long, full stream of golden piss hit Potter in the stomach, then lower, splashing onto Potter’s cock and balls, disappearing in the shower water. Potter moaned, and a second later his own stream started, taking Draco by surprise. It was hot, like it had been the time before, and it was so unbearably arousing that he wasn’t sure if he could finish or not, but he did, and Potter kept pissing. Neither of them could take their eyes off the sight, and when Potter finished at last, his cock hardened again almost immediately. He grabbed Draco by the back of the head and kissed him, hard enough to suffocate, backing Draco into the wall with the taps, which wasn’t particularly comfortable, but their cocks were touching and that was the important part. They were both making desperate-sounding noises and seemingly trying to scale each other, there in the shower.
Again, it was Potter who pulled back first. “Fuck the shower,” he said. “My room. Now.”
Draco found the tap and fumbled at it until he got the water turned off. Potter made an impatient gesture with his hand, and they were both dry again, but Draco hardly had time to take that in before he was being propelled down a short hallway and into a bedroom. They were moving awkwardly, both trying to walk and grope each other at the same time, and every now and then, Potter would attempt to kiss him, too, nearly resulting in them tripping over each other in the hurry to get into bed. “You can fuck me this time,” Potter got out, scrambling backward onto the bed and turning over onto his hands and knees. “Like this.”
Draco didn’t wait for a second invitation. He followed Potter, kneeling behind him. “Uh - your spell - have you - ”
“Yes, hurry up!” Potter said impatiently, pushing his arse back toward Draco.
God. Speaking of bossy bottoms. Draco looked down, spread Potter’s cheeks with his hands, and put the head of his cock against Potter’s opening. He waited half a second, just long enough for Potter to know he was about to do, then pushed in as hard as he could, his ability to wait a thing of the past. He was worried it might hurt Potter, but he couldn’t help himself. Potter gasped, but he was still pushing back against Draco’s cock, and he was unbearably tight. Draco gave him a second, then pulled back and thrust again, just as hard. Potter groaned in a distinctly good way, and it undid the very last vestiges of restraint that Draco possessed. Within seconds, they were fucking like animals, Potter bucking beneath him while Draco pounded into his arse over and over and over again. He’d never had such a liberated fuck, so entirely unrestrained and wild. He didn’t even have to consider Potter’s pleasure, because it was very clear that that was not an issue. Potter was gasping out the dirtiest things Draco had ever heard during sex, spurring him on, and when he finally barked out an order for Draco to take his cock, Draco barely had to touch him before he was shouting, thrusting into Draco’s hand and coming hard, his back arching as he covered Draco’s hand with come. Stars bloomed behind Draco eyes and he was there himself, within the ring, his cock exploding inside Potter, his balls convulsing as they emptied themselves.
Potter collapsed, taking Draco with him, and although he was spent, he felt no inclination to remove himself from Potter in the slightest. For long minutes, they lay were they were, trying to get their breath back. Potter reached back and found his hand, pulled it over his side and pinned it to his chest with his own. Eventually, he spoke. “That was the best fucking I’ve ever had.”
“I think it might be the best I’ve ever had, too,” Draco said, too exhausted to be anything but honest.
“It’s never been that… free with anyone else,” Potter said.
“Why not?” Draco asked, eyes drifting closed. “It should be like that. Why hold back if that’s how you want it?”
Potter wriggled a bit, and Draco took the hint, pulling himself out at last. Potter turned over to face him. “I don’t know. I always feel so… hemmed in or something. Not repressed, just… I don’t know. Like what I want will be too rough or too weird or something. It’s different with you.”
“How?” Draco opened his eyes again. “How is it different?”
“I don’t know…” Potter trailed off, gazing somewhere over Draco’s shoulder. “I just feel freer with you. Less worried that you’ll think what I want to do is too kinky or something. I didn’t want it to happen the second time, you know. I’m always worried that people are going to talk about it, because they have before. I don’t know why anyone cares what I do, but they do, apparently. I wanted it to happen this time, though. I wanted it from the second I saw you at the reception. And I wanted it again when we woke up.”
Draco didn’t know exactly what to say. He spoke without thought. “I wanted it, too.” Potter looked at him, as though waiting for something more, so he added he hadn’t been planning concede before. “And the first time, you didn’t come too soon, by the way. I didn’t think so, anyway. And you’re not too rough or too weird for me.”
Potter bit his lip. “People say I’m unbalanced, you know. I’m sure you’ve heard that.”
Draco was so tired and it was probably past four in the morning, but he knew that he couldn’t gloss over this. Not if - he just couldn’t. He chose his words carefully. “Look - I’m not a counsellor. It’s not my job to tell you what your issues are. If you think you have a problem, that’s your affair.”
“It scares people. People don’t want to be with me in case I get weird on them,” Potter said, his face a study in mixed emotions.
“Well - you’re slightly unpredictable, I’ll give you that. But it doesn’t bother me. Or it hasn’t bothered me so far,” Draco corrected, aware that three times were hardly enough to say whether or not Potter’s issues were an issue for him. “And as for it being kinky - well, I don’t think I’m in any position to comment. I’m the one who wanted you to piss on me, last time.”
Potter reached out and touched his belly, a surprisingly gentle caress with the back of his hand. “I’m the one who got hard watching you piss in the first place. But it wasn’t too rough. You were just as rough.”
“It was sort of freeing,” Draco admitted. “With anyone else, I might have been worried I was hurting him.”
“You didn’t hurt me.” Potter was still touching him, his knuckles running over Draco’s skin. “So maybe we could do it again sometime.”
Draco looked at him for a long moment, then leaned over. Potter met him halfway and they kissed for a long time, moving closer together. They were lying on top of the blankets, and Potter eventually reached behind himself to pull part of the covers over them, and kept kissing him. Potter’s scent was all around him, his magic holding Draco to himself, and Draco had never felt so wanted, so actively, acutely desired.
It was a strange feeling, but not an unwelcome one. Later, as he felt himself falling asleep again, Potter’s limbs twined around him, Draco wondered whether he’d won or lost this round, and sleepily decided that he didn’t even care any more.
-fin-
As usual, you know I'd love to know what you thought. :) Accusations of perversion freely accepted. :D
Title: For the Win
Sequel to: Rumours and Watching (third in the series!)
Pairing: DM/HP
Genre/Rating: Porn; NC-17
Length: 5,620 words
Warning: Watersports (urophilia, not water polo!)/GS!!
Summary: It's been a week since the last time. Potter is avoiding him, and Draco won't have it.
Read it at Skyehawke or below.
For the Win
Draco set down his martini and abandoned it there on the window sill, his eyes tracking across the large hall to the far door. Potter had finally arrived.
He looked a little worse for the wear, hair dishevelled - never mind dishevelled, it was an unmitigated disaster - and his clothes were slightly rumpled-looking. Of course he had disdained wizard’s robes for the occasion, preferring Muggle attire that would have been nice enough had it not looked like he had just slept in it. Draco felt his brow furrowing and deliberately unpursed his mouth. What Potter had been doing was none of his business. Yet.
He started across the hall, eyes fixed on Potter the entire while. He had won the second round, to be sure, but he wasn’t even certain that Potter knew that. If Potter even remembered it, for that matter. This time, Potter would remember. If he could get that far. The senior Weasel - no, scratch that, second from the top, the Quidditch player - had just spied the git and was moving toward him with a grin the size of Paris on his face. Draco clenched his fist around his wand and loitered by the bar for a moment, watching warily.
Potter nodded at something the Weasel said, eyes focused somewhere in the distance, and then he gave a short laugh. Weasley clapped him on the shoulder, very hail-man-well-met sort of thing, and Potter gave him a wan smile. The instant he was alone, he made for the bar.
Draco turned to face him just as Potter arrived. “Hello,” he said evenly.
Potter stopped in his tracks, apparently startled. In a bad way. His eyes shuttered, his posture stiffening. “Malfoy,” he said, sounding a bit like his jaw was clenched.
Draco felt his pulse speeding up subtly and cursed it. “Buy you a drink?” he asked, forcing the words out as calmly as possible.
Potter’s eyes were already searching for the nearest escape. “Uh - well - actually, I - ”
“For God’s sake, Potter, it’s just a drink.” Draco rolled his eyes, drumming his fingers nervously - no, he was perfectly calm, damn it - on the bar.
Potter took a deep breath, swallowed, and looked him in the eye. “I don’t need a drink from you,” he said firmly. “I’d rather get my own.”
Draco’s patience thinned noticeably. “That’s a very roundabout way of saying you’d rather buy mine,” he said coolly. “I accept. I’ll have a - ” he thought quickly, trying to remember what Potter had had the last time they’d encountered one another at one of these innumerable public affairs - “gin and tonic, twist of lime.”
Potter’s eyebrows jerked up and a muscle in his cheek twitched. There was a moment’s pause. “Fine,” he said. He turned to the barman. “I’ll have two gin and tonics, twist of lime.”
As the drinks were being poured, he didn’t look at Draco. “Is this some sort of follow-up procedure I’m unaware of, or what can I do for you, Malfoy?”
Draco leaned an elbow on the counter top. “No follow-up. I just wanted to talk to you.”
The brows lifted again, cool. “Dare I ask what about?”
“Dare away,” Draco returned. He accepted his drink from the barman, watched as Potter dropped a Galleon on the counter and turned away. “Why didn’t you answer my owl?”
“What owl?” Potter scanned the room, eyes evasive.
“Don’t play stupid with me. The owl I sent you after the Ministry party last week.”
Potter took another slow, measured breath. “I was very drunk at the time.”
“I know you were. You were also drunk at the Hufflepuff wedding.”
Potter’s eyes flashed. “Which one?” he asked irritably.
Draco’s patience gave way. Potter was edging away from the bar, so he followed. “The one where you gave me a blow job,” he said through gritted teeth. “Remember that?”
“Vaguely,” Potter said. He took a large sip of his drink, swallowing about half of it in one go. “I was hoping you’d forgotten that.”
He glanced at Draco and Draco treated him to a thin smile. “Not likely,” he said. “Good try, Potter. Tell me why you’ve been avoiding me. You’re not embarrassed, are you?”
“Why should I be embarrassed?” Potter shot back, but his cheeks were blooming with colour.
Draco moved in, hardly perceptibly. “I’ve heard you’re never with the same person twice,” he said, lowering his voice. “Would you deny that rumour?”
Potter snorted. “No.” He took another long sip, avoiding Draco’s gaze.
Draco caught his elbow, tired of the game. “Then what’s so different about me?” he demanded. God, now it sounded like he was begging. Maybe he was. He winced inwardly, but he had to hear Potter’s answer. “Why did you let it happen again?”
Potter’s mouth opened, eyes darting in all directions. The mouth closed again, his tongue coming out to wet the lower lip, his chest heaving. “I - I - look, Malfoy, we can’t talk about this here. I don’t want to talk about it, full stop.”
Draco ignored him. “Let’s step outside, shall we?” He tightened his grip on Potter’s elbow and steered him forcefully toward one of the side doors. Potter stumbled along with him, looking back over his shoulder as though fearful that the paparazzi were after him or something. Which may have been a reasonable concern, but for once in his life, Draco didn’t give a shit. He pushed Potter up against the wall, sloshing the remains of his gin dangerously in doing so.
Potter stared at him painfully, wide-eyed. “What do you want?”
Draco just stared back for a moment, unwilling to say what it was, exactly, that he wanted. That would be losing, and this time, he had to win. He considered the time before a win, but Potter was probably too pissed to remember it. And speaking of piss. Draco felt his face warming, just thinking about it. It was a kink he hadn’t realised he possessed until the one-year war memorial, and now he couldn’t forget it. Couldn’t forget Potter, more to the point. How the hell had he become so attractive? And since when did he go for unbalanced, badly-dressed St. Mungo’s cases who couldn’t even locate a comb before formal-dress occasions like this? Draco licked his lips and forced his brain to think of something to say.
The moment lengthened. And then, without warning, Potter dropped his glass, seized Draco’s head with both hands and kissed him with all his might. Draco heard himself make some sort of unintelligible noise, felt his hand loosen on his own glass half a second before it joined Potter’s in crashing to the floor, and then he was all over Potter, the backs of his hands being mashed against the wall behind Potter’s back, and it was all tongues and wet heat and Potter’s glasses in the way, their hips colliding, Draco’s bruised knuckles scraping down the wall to pull Potter’s shirt out of his trousers, because if he didn’t get his hands on Potter’s flesh immediately, he might just implode.
Potter bit at his face savagely, all decorum gone, fingers gripping Draco’s face, hair, shoulders, whatever they touched. There was a sudden darkness and a sucking sensation, like he was being pulled through a very tight space, and the next thing he knew, they were somewhere else. He pulled away from Potter, trying to get his bearings. “Potter - ”
Potter looked around, evidently equally surprised. “Oh - erm, I seem to have Apparated us. Uh, welcome to my place.”
“This is your place?” Draco was out of breath, and Potter was still holding onto him. “Uh - ”
“It’s okay, we can stay here,” Potter said. His eyes centered on Draco, focusing intently. “Is that what you wanted? To come here?”
Draco shook his head, still disoriented. “I wanted an answer to my question, that’s all,” he said.
Potter’s hand shot out and landed on Draco’s crotch. “Really,” he said, sounding more in control of himself than he’d been a moment ago. “I find that a bit hard to believe.”
Draco cursed himself again, cursed Potter for being so damned difficult about it all, and shoved a thigh against Potter’s own crotch. “You’re hardly one to talk, Potter.”
Potter let go of him and stalked across the room to the window. “I don’t know what your game is, Malfoy, but I’m sure you have one. Why don’t you just drop the act and tell me what it is that you really want? Is there a Daily Prophet pay-off somewhere in this for you, or is it some sort of mindfuck you’re trying to pull? It’s not working, if that’s what it is.”
Draco tried not to feel insulted. “A mindfuck?” he repeated. “Pay-offs? Please, Potter. It’s called, we got off together and I thought it was fun and I’m not sure why you let it happen twice, so I got curious. That’s all.”
Potter didn’t look at him. “Curious,” he said, as though weighing the word, still gazing out the window. “Really.”
“Fine, don’t believe it,” Draco retorted. “Are you this charming to everyone you blow, or do I get special treatment?”
Potter did turn to him then, a faint smile playing about his mouth. “I guess you get the special treatment,” he said. “I can’t say that anyone else has ever pursued me the way you’ve been doing, actually. It’s sort of nice, if that’s all it is.”
Draco felt off-balance again. “That’s what it is,” he said, stiff. “Potter - look, maybe this wasn’t a good idea. You’re - ” he bit back the words.
Potter’s expression changed. “I’m what?” he asked belligerently. “Crazy? Unstable? Is that what you were going to say? Because I’m not. I’m fine!”
He was much closer all of a sudden, and Draco was had to fight the urge to back up. “You’re… different,” he said. “Every time I see you, you’re different.”
“Different how?” Potter was in his face, insistent.
“Well… you were drunk, the last two times,” Draco tried.
“I’m not drunk now,” Potter said, watching him intently.
“No,” Draco conceded.
“I guess you think I just have no control over who I fuck or something,” Potter said, mouth twitching in a way that Draco didn’t particularly like.
“I wasn’t going to say that,” he said, watching Potter warily.
“You might as well.” Potter sounded angry, but there was more than anger there. Almost a peculiar sort of pleading behind it all.
It was the pleading that got to Draco. He’d been having second thoughts about pursuing this thing with Potter, whatever it was, but those thoughts disappeared. He didn’t know what he was feeling, exactly - it wasn’t quite like pity, and it was more than general interest. They faced each other for a moment, both breathing hard and not sure what to expect. Draco, for reasons he had great difficulty pinpointing, leaned forward and kissed Potter. No hands, nothing but his mouth on Potter’s, and Potter didn’t resist it. His eyes closed and they stood there, awkwardly separated, just kissing. After a bit, Draco pulled back and opened his eyes. “Uh - Potter - ”
Potter opened hazy eyes, face still very close to Draco’s. “Are you going to stay?”
Draco began to wonder what he was in for, but he found himself nodding, unwilling and unable to take himself away.
The plea turned to a gleam of something else and Potter’s mood shifted imperceptibly. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he said, sounding perfectly composed again. “Let’s do something about that.”
The competition was back on. Draco blinked, found his footing, and re-entered the game.
* * *
Potter was bare and Draco was just pulling off his socks, acutely aware of Potter’s eyes on him. They were both hard, Potter’s unfairly-nice cock swollen and dark and entirely too appealing, and Draco wanted too badly to touch it again, feel it again.
“Listen,” he said, straightening up. “I don’t bottom. So - ”
“You really think I do?” Potter shot back, interrupting. “Nice try, Malfoy. Besides, you have a decidedly bottom-ish look to you.”
“I do not!” Draco’s face grew hot again, angry. “I do not look like a bottom!”
“A bossy bottom,” Potter reiterated. “One who likes to give instructions.”
Fuck that. Draco advanced. “I guess we’ll see about that,” he said smoothly. “Just wait. You’ll be begging me to fuck you soon enough.”
Potter laughed, but it didn’t conceal the look of genuine interest that flitted across his transparent features. “How are you going to bring that about?”
Draco paused. Would it be losing to suck Potter off again? Wait - no, he would bring Potter to the point of orgasm and then deny it repeatedly. That was exactly what he would do. He smiled at Potter, eyes narrowed, and reached for his cock without a word. Potter’s breath sucked in, his cock spasming in Draco’s hand. Draco caught his eyes and bit his lower lip, silently commanding Potter to keep looking at him. He stroked the length of Potter’s thick cock, smearing the moisture pooling in the slit over the head with his thumb, and Potter was making tight little sounds in his throat which he was too obviously trying to suppress. Draco hid his triumph. “Sit,” he said, pushing Potter back toward the sofa.
Potter sat gingerly, apparently anxious not to lose contact with Draco’s hand. Draco smiled again, feral, and got to his knees. He waited, his hand stilling. Potter opened his eyes and looked at him. “What?” he asked, trying to sound casual and failing.
“What do you want?” Draco asked, as though he didn’t know perfectly well.
Annoyance flitted across Potter’s face as he understood. “Are you going to, or not?”
“Do you want me to?”
Potter’s shoulder twitched, one hand opening and closing again on the sofa beside his thigh. “Yeah.”
“Just checking.” Draco forestalled Potter’s next objection by replacing his hand with his mouth, and it was so satisfying to have Potter’s cock in his mouth again, his taste gathering on Draco’s tongue. Potter moaned, his thighs spreading a little more, probably unconsciously. A hand came down on the top of Draco’s head, warm, fingers curling in Draco’s hair. Draco’s scalp was rather sensitive, and something about this made his own cock twitch with pleasure. He sucked harder, working the flat of his tongue along the underside of Potter’s cock. Potter was just starting to pant, hips pushing forward at Draco’s mouth when Draco stopped.
Potter made a noise of protest, but Draco spoke over it. “Why do you jerk off before you piss?” he asked, very directly.
Potter looked at him incredulously. “You need to know that right this very second?”
“Tell me, or I won’t finish,” Draco ordered.
A glistening drop detached itself from the head of Potter’s cock and fell onto the sofa. “Fuck,” he groaned. “You are completely twisted. First the spying, then the pissing thing. Is that what you really wanted?”
“Maybe,” Draco said, evasive. “Talk. You talk, I’ll suck, okay?”
“Fine,” Potter said, sounding too desperate to care. “Just get on with it.”
Draco licked a slow circle around the head - agonisingly slow, he knew - and waited.
Potter heaved a sigh coloured with annoyance. “So, I had to piss once, and I was stuck in Charms. We were doing partner stuff, so I couldn’t just leave. I guess I maybe left it a bit long, but by the time I finally got to go, it just felt so good that I jerked off after. Hey.” He smacked Draco’s head. “Get on with it.”
Draco took the head into his mouth and held it there, pressing his tongue up against the underside, digging the tip into that same divot that had fascinated him before. Potter continued.
“And it just sort of got to be a thing, especially when I’m stressed out and - I don’t know. I’ve never had to explain it before. It’s just the whole thing with the pressure building up, and - God, that feels good, Malfoy - you are so fucking good at this - so sometimes I play around, trying to see how hard I can be before I can’t piss any more, or how bad I have to go before I can’t wank any more. I don’t know. It sounds perverted. But you seemed to like it.”
Draco pulled his mouth off just long enough to say, “Yeah, I like it. I like anything that involves watching you touch yourself.” He turned his face sideways to get at Potter’s balls, licking a long stripe from them up the length of Potter’s cock to the head again, which he began to suck with renewed vigour.
Potter’s breath shuddered. “I - I didn’t know that I would like watching. I don’t like being watched. I liked watching you, though.”
Draco made a sound that was meant to imply a smug sort of “I know you did” sentiment, but didn’t stop sucking. Potter was trying to push himself further into his mouth again, breath jerking out in puffs.
“I would do it again,” Potter went on, voice nearly rasping. “I want to piss on you again, right on your cock - watch it hit you and run down your legs. I want you to piss on me, too.”
Draco suppressed his own groan, shifting himself to clamp his thighs around his cock, which was leaking badly. He wanted to assure Potter that this could happen, but there didn’t seem to be time. Potter was gasping now, words abandoned, and then his hands were pushing at Draco’s head, pushing him away. Draco was startled. “Potter, what - ”
“Let me at you,” Potter said, a hungry light in his eyes. “I want your cock. I want all of you.”
Draco couldn’t remember what he said next, but Potter was ripping off his glasses and hauling him up onto the sofa bodily - he was forcibly reminded of just how strong Potter actually was - and he was on his back and Potter’s face was right down where he wanted it, mouth grabbing at Draco’s balls, his cock, as though Potter wanted to eat him alive. It was so wildly out of control that Draco never knew what was coming next, where to expect a lick or a long, hard suck or a grazing of teeth, or Potter’s talented fingers, stroking him in alternately soft touches, firm tugs on his cock - he was all over the place. Then his legs were being pushed back, close to his chest, and Potter’s face went lower. The only warning was a touch of breath on skin, and then his tongue was slipping into Draco, no holds barred, and Draco was being subjected to the rimming of a lifetime. He could hear the sounds he was making, shameless and completely without dignity, and he forgot everything he’d been thinking of in terms of winning and losing. When he twisted beneath Potter’s oral assault, Potter’s hand clamped tightly around his cock.
“Not yet,” he said. A ripple of magic went through Draco, and then Potter came into view, pushing his legs apart. Their eyes met, Potter leaning over Draco, and Draco knew that he was about to bottom for Potter - and God help him if he didn’t want it more than he’d ever wanted anything. All of Potter’s magic, his desire, his intent focus - all that, concentrated into a fuck - it was the best thing Draco could conceive of, and he wanted it. As though hearing him, Potter nodded, and without a word, slowly pushed into him.
Every nerve was alight. It wasn’t that he didn’t ever bottom; Draco simply preferred to top. Or he always had before, at least. He didn’t inhale for so long that he nearly passed out as Potter filled him entirely. The very thought of that incredible cock right inside him, full and hard and solely because of him, was nearly orgasmic. Draco gasped his next breath and Potter’s mouth came down to his, his hips pulling back about halfway and then his cock drove in again. Draco was shaking; it felt so good that there was almost nothing Potter could have done to make it any better. As long as he kept moving, that was all it was going to take - his cock was hitting gold on every stroke and Draco was incoherent with pleasure. Potter, panting, transferred his mouth to Draco’s neck, his chest, all the while steadily fucking him in increasingly faster thrusts. Their skin was slapping together and now Potter was breathing too hard to do anything but mouth Draco’s skin loosely, all hot breath and uncontrolled need. Draco could feel it coming, feel it clenching and twisting and spreading, and then Potter shoved his arm between them to grab Draco’s cock. He jerked at it hard, and then his hips were slamming against Draco’s arse, stilling for a long second, then slamming again, battering him, and Draco didn’t care because Potter’s hand and cock were wringing his orgasm from him so hard he thought he might die from the sheer amount of pleasure overloading his nervous system. He could feel Potter’s wet release within himself, and his own come splattering over his stomach and chest.
Potter’s breath rushed out in a final exhalation, his shoulders and chest heaving, and he looked down at Draco, opening his eyes, breathing heavily.
Draco looked back at him, too dazed to put words together in any manner of intelligent speech. Too sated.
“I’ve wanted to do this,” Potter said, pulse hammering even at his voice. “I wanted to fuck you.”
Draco didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. But when Potter roughly slid an arm under him and pulled him into a long, hard kiss, Draco didn’t refuse him.
* * *
He woke sometime later, not aware that he’d fallen asleep in the first place. The light in the flat was different, the incandescent lamp yellower against the darkness outside. It must have been the middle of the night. Potter was draped over him, their legs tangled together, and he was snoring lightly in the region of Draco’s armpit. Draco shifted himself, careful not to disturb Potter, and pondered his situation. Potter had slipped out of him, but he was half-hard in his sleep, his cock fitted snugly into the cleft of Draco’s arse. Draco was immediately reminded of what had just gone on before they fell asleep, and the thought was intensely arousing. Who could have guessed that Potter would be such a hot fuck?
Leaving was out of the question. Potter was lying on him and if Draco moved, he would wake; if he Disapparated, all he would succeed in doing was to relocate them both. And besides, he admitted grudgingly to himself, he didn’t want to leave.
Potter’s breathing changed. He was waking up. After a few moments, he raised his head and blinked down at Draco. “Malfoy?” His voice was a croak.
Draco said nothing, just held Potter’s gaze and waited for him to remember.
Comprehension dawned. An uneasy look came over Potter’s face. “I didn’t know we fell asleep,” he said. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I didn’t mean to, either.”
Potter became aware of himself. “Oh, shit - you couldn’t leave, could you? I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to trap you here.”
Draco moved his hand down Potter’s back to the curve of his arse. “Does it look like I’m trying to leave? If I’d wanted to, I would have. But I was asleep, too.”
Potter pressed into him, apparently happy about the location of Draco’s hand, and seemed to realise where his cock was, too. He moved a little, cock hardening further. “I really gave it to you good.”
Draco’s cock twitched in memory. “Yes, you did,” he agreed, lip twisting.
The apartment was dark, but there was light coming from the streets below, pale streetlight casting odd shadows on Potter’s face. He stopped moving. “I have to take a piss,” he muttered, and began detangling himself from Draco.
His cock was definitely too hard to go. Draco eyed it with interest and watched Potter stumble toward what he presumed was the bathroom. After a moment, he followed.
He lounged against the doorway, one arm above his head, and watched Potter trying to make himself relax enough to go. “Not starting without me, are you?” he drawled, knowing it would startle Potter.
Potter’s back stiffened. “What?”
“I haven’t forgotten what you said, before.”
Potter made a small grunt of acknowledgement. “Forget it.”
“Why?” Draco left the doorway and went to him, standing behind him. “You can’t do it, anyway, so why not have some fun with it?”
Potter rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “Malfoy, I just have to take a piss, okay? I’m too tired for your strange little games.”
Draco watched him for a moment. Then - “I’m going to have a shower,” he announced. “Why don’t you join me?”
He turned his back on Potter and turned the water on. When it was hot enough, he stepped in and made to close the sliding door, but Potter grabbed it, following him in, though he avoided Draco’s eyes. “Don’t say anything,” he growled, turning away to face the same direction Draco was.
“What am I going to say?” Draco closed the distance between them, reached around Potter and began to massage his cock. He was about half-hard, himself, but he thought it might just work. He leaned forward, lips touching Potter’s ear. “You want me to piss on you?”
Potter took a sharp breath and let it out slowly, his hands closing over Draco’s on his cock and stilling them. Then he nodded. “Yeah.” It was just a breath.
“Sure?”
“Yeah. Do it.”
Draco bit down on his lower lip and made himself think of water, waterfalls, waves crashing on shores, and - there. He turned Potter around, and Potter went willingly, eyes fixed with fascination on Draco’s cock. It took a moment to get started, but once he did, it was fine. A long, full stream of golden piss hit Potter in the stomach, then lower, splashing onto Potter’s cock and balls, disappearing in the shower water. Potter moaned, and a second later his own stream started, taking Draco by surprise. It was hot, like it had been the time before, and it was so unbearably arousing that he wasn’t sure if he could finish or not, but he did, and Potter kept pissing. Neither of them could take their eyes off the sight, and when Potter finished at last, his cock hardened again almost immediately. He grabbed Draco by the back of the head and kissed him, hard enough to suffocate, backing Draco into the wall with the taps, which wasn’t particularly comfortable, but their cocks were touching and that was the important part. They were both making desperate-sounding noises and seemingly trying to scale each other, there in the shower.
Again, it was Potter who pulled back first. “Fuck the shower,” he said. “My room. Now.”
Draco found the tap and fumbled at it until he got the water turned off. Potter made an impatient gesture with his hand, and they were both dry again, but Draco hardly had time to take that in before he was being propelled down a short hallway and into a bedroom. They were moving awkwardly, both trying to walk and grope each other at the same time, and every now and then, Potter would attempt to kiss him, too, nearly resulting in them tripping over each other in the hurry to get into bed. “You can fuck me this time,” Potter got out, scrambling backward onto the bed and turning over onto his hands and knees. “Like this.”
Draco didn’t wait for a second invitation. He followed Potter, kneeling behind him. “Uh - your spell - have you - ”
“Yes, hurry up!” Potter said impatiently, pushing his arse back toward Draco.
God. Speaking of bossy bottoms. Draco looked down, spread Potter’s cheeks with his hands, and put the head of his cock against Potter’s opening. He waited half a second, just long enough for Potter to know he was about to do, then pushed in as hard as he could, his ability to wait a thing of the past. He was worried it might hurt Potter, but he couldn’t help himself. Potter gasped, but he was still pushing back against Draco’s cock, and he was unbearably tight. Draco gave him a second, then pulled back and thrust again, just as hard. Potter groaned in a distinctly good way, and it undid the very last vestiges of restraint that Draco possessed. Within seconds, they were fucking like animals, Potter bucking beneath him while Draco pounded into his arse over and over and over again. He’d never had such a liberated fuck, so entirely unrestrained and wild. He didn’t even have to consider Potter’s pleasure, because it was very clear that that was not an issue. Potter was gasping out the dirtiest things Draco had ever heard during sex, spurring him on, and when he finally barked out an order for Draco to take his cock, Draco barely had to touch him before he was shouting, thrusting into Draco’s hand and coming hard, his back arching as he covered Draco’s hand with come. Stars bloomed behind Draco eyes and he was there himself, within the ring, his cock exploding inside Potter, his balls convulsing as they emptied themselves.
Potter collapsed, taking Draco with him, and although he was spent, he felt no inclination to remove himself from Potter in the slightest. For long minutes, they lay were they were, trying to get their breath back. Potter reached back and found his hand, pulled it over his side and pinned it to his chest with his own. Eventually, he spoke. “That was the best fucking I’ve ever had.”
“I think it might be the best I’ve ever had, too,” Draco said, too exhausted to be anything but honest.
“It’s never been that… free with anyone else,” Potter said.
“Why not?” Draco asked, eyes drifting closed. “It should be like that. Why hold back if that’s how you want it?”
Potter wriggled a bit, and Draco took the hint, pulling himself out at last. Potter turned over to face him. “I don’t know. I always feel so… hemmed in or something. Not repressed, just… I don’t know. Like what I want will be too rough or too weird or something. It’s different with you.”
“How?” Draco opened his eyes again. “How is it different?”
“I don’t know…” Potter trailed off, gazing somewhere over Draco’s shoulder. “I just feel freer with you. Less worried that you’ll think what I want to do is too kinky or something. I didn’t want it to happen the second time, you know. I’m always worried that people are going to talk about it, because they have before. I don’t know why anyone cares what I do, but they do, apparently. I wanted it to happen this time, though. I wanted it from the second I saw you at the reception. And I wanted it again when we woke up.”
Draco didn’t know exactly what to say. He spoke without thought. “I wanted it, too.” Potter looked at him, as though waiting for something more, so he added he hadn’t been planning concede before. “And the first time, you didn’t come too soon, by the way. I didn’t think so, anyway. And you’re not too rough or too weird for me.”
Potter bit his lip. “People say I’m unbalanced, you know. I’m sure you’ve heard that.”
Draco was so tired and it was probably past four in the morning, but he knew that he couldn’t gloss over this. Not if - he just couldn’t. He chose his words carefully. “Look - I’m not a counsellor. It’s not my job to tell you what your issues are. If you think you have a problem, that’s your affair.”
“It scares people. People don’t want to be with me in case I get weird on them,” Potter said, his face a study in mixed emotions.
“Well - you’re slightly unpredictable, I’ll give you that. But it doesn’t bother me. Or it hasn’t bothered me so far,” Draco corrected, aware that three times were hardly enough to say whether or not Potter’s issues were an issue for him. “And as for it being kinky - well, I don’t think I’m in any position to comment. I’m the one who wanted you to piss on me, last time.”
Potter reached out and touched his belly, a surprisingly gentle caress with the back of his hand. “I’m the one who got hard watching you piss in the first place. But it wasn’t too rough. You were just as rough.”
“It was sort of freeing,” Draco admitted. “With anyone else, I might have been worried I was hurting him.”
“You didn’t hurt me.” Potter was still touching him, his knuckles running over Draco’s skin. “So maybe we could do it again sometime.”
Draco looked at him for a long moment, then leaned over. Potter met him halfway and they kissed for a long time, moving closer together. They were lying on top of the blankets, and Potter eventually reached behind himself to pull part of the covers over them, and kept kissing him. Potter’s scent was all around him, his magic holding Draco to himself, and Draco had never felt so wanted, so actively, acutely desired.
It was a strange feeling, but not an unwelcome one. Later, as he felt himself falling asleep again, Potter’s limbs twined around him, Draco wondered whether he’d won or lost this round, and sleepily decided that he didn’t even care any more.
-fin-
As usual, you know I'd love to know what you thought. :) Accusations of perversion freely accepted. :D