Title: Dainty Bites Back
Author: eeyore9990
Characters: Harry Potter/Gregory Goyle
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Rough sex, a bit of blood shed
Themes/kinks chosen: Frottage, confessions
Word Count: 1287
Summary: Some dialogue and some smut. What? You were looking for plot? Pfft.
Author's notes: Special thanks to alisanne and unbroken_halo for being there while I wrote this. To iulia_linnea: This isn't the story I wanted to write, but think of it as a teaser until that story is written. :D Some Harry/Goyle smut just for you.

This fic falls in the same universe as Dainty Is As Dainty Does, but can stand alone.

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"I watched you."

Harry blinked, shaking his head slowly as Goyle came closer to him. "You watched me?"

Goyle grunted and tilted his head, keeping Harry pinned to the spot with the weight of his gaze. "You used to go around, fighting everyone. Always angry or confused. Both, maybe."

Harry tipped his chin up, trying to calm his body's reaction to the deep, almost threatening tenor of Goyle's voice. "What? At Hogwarts?"

Another grunt.

"Why did you watch me?" Fucking hell, he hated how breathless he sounded. Like he was inviting Goyle to slam him against the nearest wall and… Well okay, that idea actually had merit. He dropped his gaze to Goyle's bare chest, watched as the muscles bunched and relaxed under his pale skin.

"You tell me."

Forcing his lust back down, Harry stared at the small dent in Goyle's chin as he answered Goyle's challenge. "You wanted me?" A short burst of laughter made Harry flush and take a step away, eyes darting up to glare into Goyle's. "So why, then?"

"You're Harry Potter." He shrugged, as if that was answer enough. And irritatingly enough, it was.

"The son of a Death Eater and… me."

"Not just the son." Goyle rolled his forearm until Harry could see the pale outline of the skull against his flesh.

"Why this, then? Why now?"

Goyle shrugged again and Harry growled with frustration. After seven years of not seeing Goyle, of thinking him perhaps dead or banished, he'd found him in the most unusual of circumstances. Denied his magic, Goyle had found success in the Muggle world; utilizing his brute strength and a shocking—to Harry, at least—flair for artistry, Goyle had become a well-renowned sculptor.

After barging into Goyle's workspace and demanding a more life-like rendering of himself, Harry discovered a well-buried attraction for large, powerful men ripping the most delicate features from a previously unyielding block of solid stone. He'd given in to that desire with an embarrassingly intimate display, and now here they were: two men, each powerful in their own right, circling one another as they held their lusts in check.

For the moment.

Harry stepped forward again, almost pushing against Goyle as he looked up and said, "You've spent so long carving me from stone. Did it ever occur to you to decline a commission for a statue of me?"

"No."

"You wanted it, didn't you? The chance to make of me what you saw."

"I got paid for it."

"You're as popular with the Muggles as you are in the wizarding world. You didn't have to take the commissions, didn't have to make me. But you did. Over and over and…" Goyle's hand wrapping around his throat cut him off, but Harry didn't feel a moment of fear. He had his wand and knew enough wordless magic to get himself out of any tight situation. What did surprise him was the emotion he did feel. The lust that had been burning low suddenly flared, making him push forward again, grinding his body against Goyle's.

Confusion flickered briefly across Goyle's expression before his eyes gleamed with something too close to victory for Harry's liking. "I broke you. Hundreds of times. Took my hammer and smashed your face, just to watch you fall to pieces. I hated you."

"Now?"

"I want to watch you fall apart for real." Goyle dropped his head then and replaced his hand with his teeth, biting into the skin of Harry's neck. His movements rough, he ripped Harry's shirt until the pieces of it fell to the floor. His hands smoothed over Harry's skin, then, almost as if he were memorizing the feel.

As Harry's eyes slowly slid closed in pleasure, the last image he saw was the block of granite, waiting to be destroyed and reformed into something raw and beautiful.

Never a passive lover, Harry's fingers immediately dropped to the fastenings of Goyle's denims, popping the top button free before sliding the zip down carefully. Thrusting his hands between the rough cloth and Goyle's hard body, he massaged the flesh of Goyle's arse restively while he whispered nearly guttural encouragement of the rough treatment he was receiving.

"Fuck yeah," he moaned, skin burning from the friction of his trousers simply being yanked down. He thought he heard the ping of the buttons hitting the floor somewhere, but he couldn't be certain. Material pooling at his ankles, Harry was slightly hindered in his backward shuffle to the nearest flat surface, but he didn't let that stop him.

When he came up against the wall, he whimpered in relief and dug his short fingernails into Goyle's arse, urging him closer. With Goyle pressed against him, Harry gasped for breath. Between the hard, nearly immovable body in front of him and the wall behind, he was overwhelmed.

Moist gusts of breath washed over him as Goyle's hands gripped his thighs and lifted. The bunching of muscles under his hands drew a low moan from Harry's throat that turned to a gurgle when he felt the hard length of Goyle's cock nestling against his own.

"Unhh!" Harry turned his head, lips seeking out Goyle's but only glancing off the hair-roughened line of his jaw. "Goyle—"

A low growl cut him off before Goyle said, "Greg."

"Huh?"

"'S my name. Now shut up." Greg rolled his hips then and all coherency vanished. Harry's hands came up to grip Greg's shoulders as he fought the hold on his hips that pinned him to the wall, unable to move.

Greg held Harry still, low grunts filling the air as he forced their pricks together over and over. Heat built up between them until Harry was gasping for breath, beads of sweat rolling from his hairline.

"God, please… please let me—"

"No."

Harry screamed with frustration as he buried his hands in Greg's short hair, pulling harshly on the bits he could hold as he bit at Greg's full lips. Greg tore his head away from Harry, shaking it as he glared menacingly. Blood droplets appeared on his lower lip where it had been caught between Harry's teeth, and Harry watched, fascinated, as he licked it away before returning the favour.

The sharp pain of Greg biting into him merely heightened the sensations of their bodies grinding against one another. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth just as Harry felt his stomach clenching with the need to come.

"Need to—"

"Fuck!"

Greg's hand dropped from Harry's hip to gather both of their cocks together. Three brutal passes of his hand over their frantically rubbing cocks forced Harry's orgasm from him. His thick release spilled over Greg's hand and added a decadent slickness to the nearly unbearable friction, causing Harry to sigh through the final pulses.

When the pleasure of release started to turn to pain, Harry felt Greg stiffen, his hips jerking erratically as he came with a grunt. Muttering an obscenity, Greg released Harry and stepped back, watching for a long moment as though waiting for Harry to fall.

Harry licked his lip, growing steadily uncomfortable as the silence thickened between them. Clearing his throat, he crouched and pulled his trousers up, trying not to stare at Greg's softened cock where it hung out of his unbuttoned fly.

"So, uh…"

"Yeah."

"Cleaning charm?"

"If you want."

After cleaning them both up, Harry ran one hand over the back of his neck. "So… what now?"

"Can fuck later, if you want," Greg said with a shrug, looking completely unconcerned with Harry's answer.

Harry blinked, then blatantly stared at Greg's cock as he pressed his fingers to the bite marks on his mouth. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I want."

Dainty Dies a Small Death, the further adventures of Harry/Goyle. :P