In DeepAuthor: lq_traintracksPairings:
2) cock rings 3) discipline 4) flagellationOther Warnings/Content:
BDSM, dominant Harry, submissive Draco, Top Harry, bottom Draco, dirty talk, mild (consensual) name-calling, gags (silk, not ball), impact play/flogging, kink negotiationWord Count:
8,800Summary/Description: Harry isn't sure when he went from hating Malfoy's snide, smug mouth to wanting that mouth all over his cock.Author's Notes:
First off, a note on this being tagged 'discipline'. If you're super into discipline, this might not be what you're expecting, as it's talked about more than it's done. Expect impact play, D/s, sex… But there's very little *actual* discipline when they scene. That said, if discipline is a squick or trigger, mind the warning accordingly as well, just in case.
Okay then! I wrote this for my wonderful friend bixgirl's birthday. Bix, words can't describe how grateful I am that you and I became friends. In a relatively short time, you've become this indispensible person in my life. You deserve every happiness on this, your birthday. So here's some medium-core BDSM. *snorts* :DDD (Seriously when I decided to just write you whatever the Daily Deviant themes were for the month of August, I was a little startled by the intensity of the assortment. Lolol!) I hope you enjoy it! Much love to you, friend! Happy birthday!!! *balloons, balloons, balloons, confetti, confetti* *LOTS OF
Also, abundant thanks to birdsofshore
for the brilliant beta!
Harry isn't sure when he went from hating Malfoy's snide, smug mouth to wanting that mouth all over his cock.
Well, that's not entirely true. He sort of knows. It wasn't a moment, though. Not just one. It was many of them, over time—time he seems to have spent more and more of with Malfoy. With Draco.
One of those moments was the first time Harry realised that, for every foul thing to come out of Malfoy's mouth, fewer and fewer were specific to Harry's friends. Fewer and fewer, until there were none. And when called out on it, fewer and fewer were about Muggle-borns or half-bloods, etc. Until they dwindled to nothing as well. And then… Malfoy's snide mouth started to say things like, "Fuck Gringotts if they don't want to hire you, Longbottom. You murdered a fifteen-foot snake, what more do they want?" This before slamming back a shot of cold vodka, gaze meeting Harry's, and then slipping away again as Harry continued to stare in wonderment that this was the same git Hermione punched in the mouth. And Malfoy'd long since apologised to her. In private. But Harry certainly heard about it from Hermione after the fact.
He had yet to apologise to Harry, Harry noticed.
But he'd begun hanging out with Harry and his friends regardless. Harry isn't sure how that happened initially either. There were some pub nights involved. Then someone, most likely Luna, had a party (she threw a shin-dig for a pink unicorn being born in Thailand once; any excuse), and Malfoy showed up. Things of that nature. He was just… there. He's still there.
He's very much right there
"God, right there," Harry sighs. "Fuck, your mouth feels good."
Like, right now, he's there, bobbing lazily between Harry's legs, his delicate slurping sounds driving Harry more than mad.
Harry bites his lip to add enough pain to the pleasure that he doesn't come too fast. "Malfoy, fuck…"
Because he's taking Harry even deeper, eyes flicking up and watching Harry's face for the effect. Harry hisses, hand tightening in the soft strands of Malfoy's hair. And then Malfoy takes Harry's cock down his throat.
"Holy fucking shit," Harry sighs. "I'm gonna come."
Malfoy pulls back, tongues under the head of Harry's cock, and then lets it splash his lips and chin, hand stroking along the slick length until Harry's finished.
Harry sags against the stall wall. Malfoy stays on his knees… licks his lips, gazing up at him.
Harry tugs weakly on Malfoy's silky, expensive-looking shirt. "Come up here."
But Malfoy stays put on the dirty floor, the bass from the music outside the bathroom driving in, sultry and disorienting.
"I like it when you're in my mouth," Malfoy says, looking up at him. He's hoarse.
"Me too," says Harry, because, well, yeah!
"I can still taste you." Hands wrapping behind Harry's calves, chin resting against his thigh, lashes blinking.
Harry's lips quirk up lamely, no reply forthcoming other than a weak twitch to his cock.
Malfoy turns his lips to Harry's deflating dick and gives it a soft kiss. He shuts his eyes. "I like…" (kiss) "when it's deep."
"You do?" For fuck's sake, what a stupid thing to ask after he did—Harry gulps—what he did.
Malfoy nods, soft hair tickling Harry's balls. "I feel sort of… bruised." Blown-pupilled gaze finding Harry's again from his apparently permanent place on the floor of the toilet. "I'll feel you for a while." (blink) "I like that."
Harry swallows droolfully, eyes a bit wide.
Finally, Malfoy stands, the movement sensuous and slow. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and then leans in close, gaze lowering to Harry's dry lips. He whispers, "I think I'd like you to tie a gag in my mouth while you're fucking me."
"You'd what??" Because utter incredulity is sexy as hell. Harry wants to actually slap himself in the face but refrains.
"I'd like to not be able to talk," Malfoy says. Hands on Harry's hips, warmer than they appear. Malfoy's always much warmer than he looks.
Harry stares at him. "But I quite like the things you're saying."
Malfoy's pointy face splits into an intoxicating smile, his thin eyelids still lowered. The shift in him is like magic itself. Belatedly, Harry realises his soft dick is hanging out. Maybe Malfoy sees him blush and cottons on, because he takes it upon himself to tuck Harry's cock back into his pants and then zips up his jeans carefully, leaving the button for Harry if and when he decides to fasten it.
He leans in and murmurs in Harry's ear, "Just think about it," before he heads back out into the club, letting the music in at full volume upon his stunning exit.
So Harry does. Think about it. A lot
. He wonders if this is something Malfoy's done with other blokes—and that's the worst part of thinking about it really. Harry feels a fierce jealousy crowd into his chest at that. He knows Malfoy has been with other blokes… has seen him pull some nights when they're all out together. Although it's been a couple of months since he has—since he's appeared to even try—and Harry hasn't really questioned why he's been glad of that. Relieved almost. Although now it makes some stupidly good sense: Harry wants Draco for himself. Wants him every which way.
They've only been doing it for about six weeks, mostly in public places, but a few times at Harry's flat. Malfoy's slept over twice, rather accidentally it seems. He's left before breakfast, practically before Harry's finished pissing in the loo. Both times Harry woke to Draco's prone, pale, naked, rather beautiful body, rolled out of the bed they'd unintentionally shared, shuffled to the bathroom, scratching his arse through his boxers, one leg of the shorts tucked up weird against his balls. But then before he even washed his hands, he heard the whoosh of the Floo, and Draco was gone by the time Harry emerged, only slightly less Neanderthalic than he went in.
Harry doesn't think they're dating. That would likely involve restaurants, films, museums, no doubt some odd pureblood rituals, not to mention activities like holding hands and calling one another 'pumpkin'. Not that Harry wants to call Malfoy that—or be called that. The things they call each other (usually in bed or against an alley wall or on the floor, bent over a sink basin, etc.) tend to be much more… colourful? Harry's a bit surprised really, at how… really very good it is to say completely filthy things to and about Malfoy—and to hear them returned. Harry's not sure Malfoy's ever come so hard as when Harry had him on all fours and called him a poncy little whore. It just slipped out, an escalation after they'd both been dirty-talking back and forth for a while. Malfoy, his words punctuated by each of Harry's hard thrusts, had just finished telling Harry that he was a, what was it? 'Gryffindor loser who doesn't deserve to lick my boots much less plow my arse'. Harry'd then let himself say it—the poncy little whore thing—and then felt immediate regret. He'd flushed with guilt, even though it's not as if he meant it. But in the very next moment, he'd registered that Malfoy's arse was convulsively squeezing his penetrating cock and Malfoy was moaning so loudly it seemed the roof might be in jeopardy.
He'd liked it. And, guilt assuaged, Harry had liked that he liked it.
And now he wanted a gag tied in his mouth, apparently. And other things done to his person, to which the Owl in Harry's hands attests… Malfoy's Owl that came a few hours after the I-want-you-to-gag-me blow job. Dumbly, Harry reads it again:I want you to flog me before you fuck me. Make me scream around the silk in my mouth.
I want you to fuck my sore, reddened arse, Potter.
I want you to discipline me.
Harry gulps. Again. He can't help it. The saliva keeps flooding his mouth.
He can hardly sleep that night due to nerves, excitement, a sort of weirdly pleasurable revulsion… and the persistence of the fantasies. Harry's not sure if he's fantasising it correctly—correctly being, what Malfoy wants. But it's not bad.
It's not bad at all.
He falls asleep finally, with his hand still around his tingling, softening dick. It doesn't occur to him to write back to Malfoy first.
Draco's sitting at the bar looking pinched and a bit pale. More than usual, that is. Harry wipes the sweat from his palms and approaches.
"Hello yourself." Malfoy sips his usual, setting the chilled glass back onto its coaster without glancing at Harry.
"Yes?" The cut of Malfoy's jaw like a diamond's glittering plane.
"So… yes?" Harry says.
Now Malfoy turns to him. "Yes what?" he spits, taking Harry aback.
"Yes… to what you Owled."
Malfoy laughs unpleasantly, and Harry's stomach flashes cold and then hot, one after the other. "Well, Potter, thanks for that." He gets up, leaving the last of his drink.
Harry doesn't give it a thought; he just reaches out and clasps Malfoy's wrist to halt him. But Malfoy snatches his arm away quickly. "Fuck you for letting me sit there and wonder all night."
He walks away, and Harry stares dumbfoundedly after him, afraid he's leaving the pub altogether and then relieved when he stops at the table of their group of friends and takes a heavy seat next to Pansy.
She leans over and whispers something to him, but he shakes his head, cutting short what Harry perceives as her concern. Malfoy takes the pint pushed diagonally across the table at him from Blaise and swallows a deep draught.
Harry's not sure what to do with himself, so he orders a double Firewhiskey and meanders over to the table himself. He holds his breath a bit as he takes a seat across from Malfoy, but then lets it out slowly when it appears Malfoy's not just going to get up and leave because Harry's chosen to join the group.
It's—maybe, hopefully—a good sign. Harry tentatively accepts it as one.
Parkinson buys a round, and after that Daphne and Nott leave, but then Dean and Seamus show up. Harry considers this a decent exchange. He begins to relax a bit, joking with Seamus and listening to Dean's animated football talk. Malfoy hardly looks at Harry and only speaks to literally everybody else
for the next hour, but hey, it could be worse, right?
And then Ron says something to Harry about Auror training and their last Leg/Occ class in which Harry was charged with shielding against three mental attacks at once.
Harry's opening his mouth to respond when Malfoy does it instead. "You must be joking, Weasel. Potter couldn't Occlume a shitfaced troll." He sips his drink, gaze firmly fixed on Harry now, all that practised avoidance tossed out the window.
Harry feels his cheeks heat, but it's Ron who bellows, "Shut your mouth, Malfoy."
Harry just stops himself rolling his eyes at Ron's drink-endorsed outburst. "Don't," he says, giving his friend a brief look.
"Harry could Occlume you while on Veritaserum and with his hands tied behind his back," Ron decides to recklessly add.
One of Malfoy's eyebrows goes up. "Could he now? Anybody got a bit of Veritaserum and a rope?"
The Slytherins at the table find this funnier than anyone else, but even some of Harry's friends look amused. Hermione, though, looks like she's got ulcers.
"But your Saviour can do aaaanything
, can't he?" Malfoy says, swirling his drink with such performative arrogance; Harry hasn't seen the likes of it in weeks, maybe months. He certainly hasn't had it directed at himself in a long while. Something stirs in his gut, both abhorrent and exciting. "Well, almost anything," Malfoy adds, smirking to himself and finishing his pint.
"He's your 'Saviour' too," Ron spits, complete with clumsy air quotes. Harry's not sure the air quotes work in their favour, and it would be funny if Ron didn't look like he was about to challenge Draco to a duel. In his drunken haste to defend Harry, he tries to stand and instead half falls out of his chair before righting it and sitting back down again, looking a little chagrined at gravity's betrayal.
"Can't save you from making an arse out of yourself though, I see," Malfoy drawls.
Okay, that's it.
Harry stands abruptly, his chair screeching. "Draco," he bites out. "A word?" Before I wipe the fucking floor with your smug face.
He thinks about sending the thought through Legilimency, just to prove a point, but he's staring into the eyes of the man whose body he's clutched tightly to his own while they both shake with orgasm… who likes to suckle his cock on a whimper and stroke Harry's anus with his finger until Harry comes down his throat, so…
"Anytime, anywhere," Malfoy purrs, watching Harry round the table, smirking even as Harry grabs his arm. Malfoy lets his body be dragged toward the exit. Harry thinks about Apparating, but he's had enough to drink that it doesn't seem wise.
They make it around the side of the building into the alley. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Harry hisses—only to be slammed against the brick wall, Malfoy's tongue forcing its way into his mouth in the next moment.
And even though his dick responds instantly, Harry shoves him away. "You can't just insult my best friend and then snog me."
"Can't I?" Malfoy's undoing his own belt, his flies.
Harry attempts to fight the instant arousal. "I should have Owled you, alright?"
Now Malfoy looks furious. "Don't you fucking apologise now
." Trousers ripped open, he pushes Harry back again, pinning him to the wall painfully. Their pelvises crash together; they're both hard, and fuck it feels so damn good. "Fuck you, Potter." Malfoy starts thrusting, hands gripping Harry's body tight enough to leave bruises.
Harry grabs a fistful of his hair, provoking a soft gasp, followed by a breathy moan. "Fuck you too."
Malfoy looks at him, eyes drunk with heavy lust. Harry gets his cock out violently, and then they're kissing hard—teeth and tongues and open mouths—and they're bucking, hips rolling, humping each other, hands groping, pulling, yanking to get the other one closer, to hurt, to have
"What do you want to do to me?" Malfoy breathes into his mouth—and he's gone instantly from snide little fucker to almost frantically submissive. He lets Harry manhandle him, putting Draco's back to the wall. Harry grunts, lifting him. Draco gasps and then whispers a charm, Vanishing the clothes from his lower body so that he can lock his legs around Harry.
Harry doesn't answer the question with words. He slicks his cock wandlessly, fumbles it around Draco's crease, finds his hole, then he's thrusting, cock sheathing tight inside Draco's warm arsehole. Draco gasps shakily, clinging to him. Harry doesn't stop. He just fucks, moving Draco against the rough wall. Draco's eyes roll closed, his hair tousled against the brick. He gets fucked, groaning—and then he opens his eyes, gaze locking with Harry's, and he begins forcing himself down on it as best he can. He pants through his open mouth, a wicked smile just beginning to take shape.
"Goddamn you," Harry breathes.
"Shut up and come, Harry."
A groan rips from his throat, and he jostles Draco against the wall, pounding into him harder, faster, their bodies so tight together they almost seem fused.
"Fill me with it," Draco whispers close to Harry's ear, his arse clamping down almost painfully. He lets out a soft whimper.
"Are you coming?" Harry pants, thrusting , thrusting, oh god
"Uh huh," Draco whines, breath shuddering out of him. And then Harry feels it, the warm seep of Draco's semen between them.
It's a high, there's no denying it… that being fucked hard against a wall, cock untouched, has made Draco come all over himself.
"I'm inside you," Harry growls, not even knowing what he's saying.
All he knows is that Draco's eyes go hazy with it, his cheeks a warm rose under the flickering sodium lights. "You're so deep inside me."
For a moment, they're experiencing the exact same thing, and Harry feels a ferocious heat flare in his chest, as right and perfect as flying.
He squeezes his eyes closed, electricity shooting through his legs, his belly, and, hips pumping into Draco, and into him and into him, Harry comes.
Draco's legs tighten. "Yes, Harry. Bloody hell yes." He rides Harry's cock until Harry's arms threaten to give out, and then Draco's feet touch the ground, Harry's dick swinging free with a slick sound.
Harry pants against the side of Draco's neck, his glasses knocked eskew. Draco's forehead rests on his shoulder. They stumble, and Harry's arm swoops around to hold Draco up; he's shaking. The heat in Harry's chest goes bright white, like a Patronus.
It only lasts a moment.
"I wanted to just talk to you," Harry hears himself say, "and instead we fucked."
Catching his breath, Draco lifts his head, swallows. "I wanted to talk to you when I Owled and instead you ignored me."
Harry leans back a little with a frustrated scoff, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "I wasn't ignoring you, I—"
"Wait," says Draco, finding his dropped wand and Summoning his clothes back from the ether. He dresses quickly, tight trousers yanked up his legs, his belt rebuckled with snappy haste. "Go on," he says once he's finished.
They're still standing close, Draco's back now leaned almost casually against the wall. Harry sighs. "I don't know."
Draco's eyes flash with mild irritation, so mild it could nearly resemble affection, but only for a split second. "Say it, Potter."
"I just—" Harry starts, running his hand through his hair. "Do you… get off on being punished or something?"
"Punished?" Draco seems to be barely suppressing a smile. "Was that what this was then? I don't know, Harry, maybe you should try again, since all I'm feeling is distinctly rewarded."
Harry's lips twitch against his will. He scrubs the expression away with a hand across his mouth. "So that's not it then? The whole… discipline thing?"
"Okay, well, I did goad you into this—this, right here, tonight," he clarifies. "But I don't generally want you to do it because you're genuinely angry with me, Potter." He comes away from the wall a little, moving further into Harry's space. He smells bloody great, like cologne and cider, and used, like sex. "I don't want you to discipline me because I need it," he says softly now. "I want you to discipline me because I want
Draco's lashes flutter. "Yes."
Harry licks his lips. "And you want me to flog you."
"Like… until you bleed? Because I don't think—"
Draco kisses Harry quiet. It's a sudden but deceptively soft kiss, their lips barely parting. Draco leans back just slightly. "No, not like that. Not so that I bleed."
Harry takes a guess now, "So that you hurt
Draco groans, his body melting against Harry on his breathed, "Yes.
"And then you want me inside you while you're still tender from it."
"Oh yes," Draco whines, moving against Harry slowly again.
Harry deepens his voice, just a little. "You want me to teach you a lesson, Malfoy?"
The flutter of a whisper: "Harry, yes…"
Harry takes Draco's face in his hands and kisses him, deeper now, wetter, painfully slow and agonisingly restrained.
After a long minute, he makes himself pull back just far enough to say against Draco's sighing mouth, "I think I can do that."
A whimper bathes his lips, fogs his glasses, and then they're kissing again, so hot for it they could both easily go again. But instead they just kiss. Making out. That's what this is called, Harry thinks. And then when they're both mad for it, he draws away.
"Back inside?" Harry asks.
Draco whines but nods.
And they wander back into the pub, no doubt with all of it writ large between them.
Accoutrements began arriving in Harry's post, courtesy of Draco: a cat o' nine tails, the leather soft and just flexible enough that the sting would come from how hard the strike and not from the material itself; a collection of silken gags; a pair of cockrings; so, so
Harry has had a boner for five days straight. It's a good thing they made a date for Saturday to… do things… or Harry's prick might just fall off. He's been masturbating a couple times a day, no more because he doesn't want to waste this feeling, but no less because he thinks he might literally die if he doesn't. Also, it's good not to have a massive hard-on during Auror training. But sometimes he still does have.
Saturday night cannot come soon enough—and yet Harry is nervous as hell
for it once it's here. He's waiting for Draco's arrival by Floo, so when a loud knock comes at his front door, Harry startles. Joy, his Phoenix, flaps her wings in distaste. He flicks his wand on his way to the door to open a window for her, letting her out into the evening. She's a week away from her burning day, so there'll be no harm in her flying around for a bit, no chance she'll end up a pile of ash on someone's pavement.
"Hi," Harry says in surprise when it's Draco he finds on his doorstep. He doesn't know who he assumed it would be, the bloody pizza guy? "I thought you were going to…" Harry jerks his thumb back toward the living room.
Draco swallows. His eyes are a little wider than usual. "Yes, well, I…" He clears his throat. "...didn't want to deal with your dusty-arse Floo, Potter."
Harry can't quite get enough air… can't take deep breaths. "Fair enough," he says. "Come in?"
It feels so weird to be this polite to Draco, even now. Intimacy isn't the same as politeness, and whereas they've been naked and sweaty together—they've kissed for minutes at a time—this is the first politeness exchanged, and it makes Harry feel more naked than ever.
Draco walks past him into the flat and takes a look around as though he's never been there. It's true that he hasn't ever actually taken the time to look at it. They're usually a bit drunk and stumbling into the bedroom whilst making out, Harry's decor the last thing on both their minds.
They stop in the living room and stand there in silence, the eerie nothing sound of it burning the back of Harry's neck.
"Drink?" he asks.
"Sure." Draco looks relieved. "Not too much though. I don't want to get…" He trails off, his high cheekbones blooming a rosy burn.
Harry fetches a single shot of vodka for each of them, tapping each glass cold with his wand, the way Draco likes it. They both sip, standing in the middle of the room as though they're at a crowded cocktail party.
"Do you want to sit?"
Draco looks like this question has multiple and complex answers.
"Or not," Harry amends.
Draco sips his drink again and then sets it down. "I think we should start again."
"Okay," Harry says. He must look pretty freaked out because Draco then tells him to relax.
"Finish your drink, Harry."
The familiarity of his name creates electric ripples of excitement through the air. Harry doesn't like being instructed by Draco to do anything, but… well, he is rather thirsty. He downs the last of the shot and sets the glass next to Draco's. "So how do you suggest we start—"
There's no chance to finish the sentence with Draco's body suddenly crushed against his own and his tongue breaching Harry's lips. The taste of vodka in Draco's mouth is different, sweeter, and Harry feels he could easily get drunk on it. His hands slip onto Draco's waist, his hips, and then around his back, pulling him even closer; he moans into Draco's mouth.
The kiss ends way too soon, but the apparent reason for that is… well, quite good. Draco sinks to his knees on the floor, gaze blinking innocently up at Harry on his way. But to Harry's surprise, Draco doesn't take his dick out. He just mouths and kisses it through the denim of Harry's jeans.
"Fuck…" Harry breathes, watching him, feeling the heat of his mouth through the fabric, his cock rising to meet each new open-mouthed kiss, trying to push further into Draco's warm, wet mouth.
Draco groans against Harry's stiffening erection, dropping even further and mouthing at his balls, glancing up at Harry, mouth full of thick denim, eyes full of sin.
Harry grabs his hair and rubs his clothed cock against Draco's pretty face. Draco moans, shutting his eyes and parting his lips still more, letting Harry use him.
"Jesus…" Harry breathes, awe-struck at the sight of him, the way his tongue lies over his bottom lip, flat and submissive, for Harry to grind his prick against. "Oh fucking god I'm going to come."
Draco slurps away, some of his characteristic bite coming back when he asks, "Do you not know what a cockring is for, you complete imbecile?"
Harry firms his lips. "I wasn't hard before you got here, I couldn't exactly put one on like—"
"Let me put it on you then," Draco interrupts with a small smile, softening once more. Harry doesn't want to examine how much he likes this about Draco... how he flips like a switch: eager to snide, infuriatingly instructive and then nakedly docile.
But Draco's looking for a response. Harry takes a deep breath in, because holy shit
, the idea of it… "Okay."
Draco smiles, draws his wand, and Summons both cockrings.
Harry lets Draco unbutton him, unzipping his flies and gently wrestling his jeans and pants down to mid-thigh. His cock springs out, hard but heavy. It looks drowsy, leaning at a low angle, but the tip is flushed and he's throbbing. He could come from moments of an actual blow job. Draco looks at Harry's cock as he readies the ring, a smile flitting over his lips, something possibly between admiration and wry envy at the heft of it.
But then he handles Harry's cock—utilitarian, tender—and he slips the ring around, snugging his bollocks in close to the shaft. "Too tight?" Draco asks. His eyes have gone that tellingly dark, almost gunmetal grey.
"No," Harry says. "Just right."
Draco leans in close, rubbing the side of his face against Harry's trussed up package. "You're so beautiful."
Harry doesn't think it's a very subby thing to say, the praise—maybe it is; he has so little experience—but delivered in that breathy voice… well, it becomes so. Draco makes it so. Harry's cock pulls up a bit, against his soft face, and Draco hums his appreciation.
"Now mine," he says.
"Now yours?" Harry says blearily. Everything's a bit fuzzy. Wonderfully fuzzy, like waking from a wet dream.
Draco nods, leaning back. He sits his arse on Harry's rug, spreading bent knees, giving Harry a spectacularly sly smile, his hard cock trapped against his hip inside tight trousers.
Harry gulps. And then it comes out of him, as though from someone else entirely. "No."
Draco's knees close in, just an apprehensive inch. "N-no?"
"No," Harry says. "Not here." Harry extends his hand. "I want you in my bedroom."
Draco exhales and takes Harry's hand, letting himself be hauled off the floor. He smiles, shyly now, and begins to turn; he knows where the bedroom is, certainly. But at Harry's hesitation, he stops, a question raising his brow.
"I thought we'd Apparate," Harry says, a lump of embarrassment rising in his throat. "Rather than letting the supremely sexy sight of me waddling there in a cockring and half-discarded jeans ruin the mood."
Draco breathes a soft laugh. "I don't think you could ever not be s—" He stops himself abruptly, cheeks flaming, gaze first wide and then lowered at what he almost let himself say.
Something shocking, like happiness, soars through Harry's veins. Draco thinks he's sexy
. That he could never not be.Fuck.
Harry uses the moment, jerking Draco close with only partially pretend confidence, and then side-alongs him across the flat.
Behind the closed bedroom door, there's a subtle but real shift. It's quiet, yet there's an undercurrent, a thrum of their magic, a pulsing. Harry's heart is beating fast, but he doesn't let on… instinctively knows he shouldn't.
"Undress," he tells Draco, voice soft but steady.
Draco visibly shivers, and then proceeds to strip, eyes on Harry's the while. Harry watches him too, gaze lowering to witness the body being unveiled to him. He was torn between this and undressing Draco himself, unwrapping him, taking care of him—since when does he think in these terms? particularly about Draco? But there was a quiet voice from the recesses of his mind telling him to issue an order… to establish early that one would be followed.
It strikes him powerfully that he has Draco's trust… that Draco has lent this thing of inestimable value to him. Harry swallows as he watches Draco finish, standing naked before him, lithe and pale, his cock leaning a little toward his hip, that indentation between arse and thigh flexing with a twitch as his weight shifts from one foot to the other.
"Lie back on the bed," Harry instructs.
With a shaky breath, Draco obeys, and then Harry slowly disrobes as well. Glasses first, lain on the nightstand, then t-shirt drawn over his head and dropped to the floor. No telling what that's done to his hair, but Draco, gaze riveted to his chest, stomach, hips, seems not to mind. His jeans and pants pushed down and off, Harry climbs onto the bed and straddles Draco's thighs. He Summons the second cockring into his hand. "Yes?"
Draco nods, his prick giving a little jump. Harry smiles at it, holds it gently, and then fits the ring around Draco's cock and balls, testing how tight it should be by Draco's nods.
"You're not going to come until I allow it," Harry says, that same otherness pervading his words, his voice, and yet with each new moment becoming him more and more.
Draco whines, his legs shifting restlessly.
Harry Summons the flogger. Draco's lashes flutter, his breath going uneven and shallow.
Harry runs the instrument through his hand, feeling the weight, the tickle, measuring its bend and slip against his own flesh first. Then he lays it over Draco's chest and slowly draws it along, letting the leather strips taunt Draco's nipples harder.
Draco arches, a long groan forced from his throat. It's the most erotic thing Harry's ever seen, and for a moment he worries no ring around his cock will stop him orgasming over Draco's tensing stomach.
He likes the sight so much, he repeats the stroking of the flogger over Draco's chest a few more times. Until Draco is moaning so abjectly, he's nearly crying.
"You like your nipples touched?" Harry asks.
"Uh huh." Draco wiggles beneath him, their cocks rubbing together and sending sparks of lust into Harry's swollen balls.
"You like that leather like a tongue over your pretty tits?" Harry hardly knows where it comes from—likely a nearby place to the 'poncy little whore' moment—but it feels invigorating to say.
"Harry…" Draco mewls, grasping the pillow under his head, his legs now crossing almost demurely as he twists and turns under Harry.
Harry lifts the flogger away from his body. "Is that a yes, Draco?"
Harry feels something besides power, running alongside it, flare inside him. Quite possibly protectiveness. Maybe honour. Those words are ones he never knew he'd connect to this person writhing beneath his weight. It's almost humbling, and Harry has to stop himself gathering Draco close and kissing him breathless.
Instead he says, "You'd like me to flick them a little, wouldn't you, you eager little slag?"
"Yes!" Draco erupts. "Harrypleaseyes…"
Harry rises up on his knees—partly to get the correct angle and partly because Draco's cock bumping into his is a bloody distraction.
"Green, yellow, red," Harry says. "You remember?" There had been a great many Owls to the effect right along with the accoutrements.
Draco nods. He's breathing so hard you'd think they were already fucking at full strength.
Harry draws the cat o' nine tails back and, testing the distance, flicks first against Draco's side.
Draco groans as the very tips of the straps lick his ribs.
"Yes?" Harry checks.
"Yyyyes," Draco mewls, arching and offering his nipples, his hair tousling against the pillows.
Harry obliges him, keeps the stroke light, and pops a flick over Draco's tight nub.
" Draco cries. His cock dribbles a small fount of precome, and it runs down the shaft. Harry, quite badly, wants to lick it up.
He realises with a giddy start that he can do what he pleases, within reason, within Draco's 'green' areas—and so he moves back, leans down, and laves a warm, wet path up Draco's straining erection, collecting the sticky almost-clear mess into his mouth on a deep groan.
"Oh Harry…" Draco's voice quavers wonderfully. Harry's magic is so alive in his body, zipping along his nerves. He has to purposefully shush it, channel it, like he does when the Snitch is only a finger's twitch away and it's either make a regrettably hasty grab or calm himself for a more strategic swipe.
Harry sits up once more, Draco's taste now in his mouth. "Again," he says. He watches Draco ready himself, their gazes meeting. And then he strikes, first one nipple and then the other close behind. He stays on the second one for three quick flicks and then ends on a slightly harder slap to the first.
Draco moans throughout, and a tiny tear slips from the corner of his eye. His chest is blushing, the blood brought to the surface in asymmetric splotches, like one's face after a good cry.
"You okay?" Harry asks. He leans down now, cupping Draco's cheek, the skin there blazing to the touch. The flogger lies dormant on the sheets, loose in Harry's hand.
Draco turns his face into Harry's touch and nods. "Yes," he says, quieter than before, like a whispered conversation in listening distance of eavesdropping friends. It feels somehow stolen, this moment between them, illicit and warm. Something they're sharing to the exclusion of others. "Yes," Draco says again.
"Then turn over," Harry murmurs before moving back to give him room to comply.
Draco rolls onto his stomach and presents his arse; his beautiful, smooth back; the slope of his shoulders, and Harry wishes he were an artist, someone who could, with brush and colour, capture the angles and veer of him. Harry is
tasked with marking him, he realises, and his fist tightens around the handle of the flogger at the notion.
"Up on your knees, head down in the bedding."
Draco obeys, lifting his arse and widening his knees. His balls are big and pink, hugged close to his cock, and his arsehole winks at Harry from the fine ring of blond hair framing it.
Harry takes a moment and just runs the slack flogger along the tender crease of Draco's arse, tickling his balls, over his anus. Draco whimpers, his back arching.
"Tell me you love that," Harry says—and then immediately wants to steal the words back. He doesn't want to order
Draco to say something that isn't true.
But Draco seems to harbour no compunction about complying and moans out the words, "Oh God, I love it so much, Harry."
Harry strokes the leather lightly over his arsehole for a while, until he sees the string of precome dangling from Draco's cock... until Draco pleads for more, until his body begins gently bucking into the sensation.
"You look amazing," Harry can't help himself whispering. A wild blush steals up Draco's bare back, and Harry wants to kiss him so badly, he sets the flogger aside momentarily and succumbs to the temptation, leaving damp lip prints over the dimples at either side of Draco's spine, just above his arse. Harry dips his head and licks over the soft skin of his hole too, pushing in gently, tasting just inside.
"Fuuuuck…" Draco cries. He's begun trembling.
"Now?" Harry asks, hardly lifting his lips before laving tender kisses over him once more.
"Please yes… Do it, Harry."
Harry rises up, takes the flogger in hand, draws his arm back, and lets it fall hard against Draco's flawless skin.
," Draco whines. His spine curves up a little, defensively, and Harry's body floods with the awful feeling that it might've been too much.
He's panting, mouth pressing against the inner crook of his own arm, but in the next moment he nods. "Yes," he breathes, back relaxing. "Again?"
"Yesss," Draco says, that sexy dip appearing at his lower back once more as he offers himself. Harry can see just the peek of the slick shine his own mouth left around Draco's pink arsehole. His cock pulls up hard.
Harry hauls back and strikes the other cheek, not quite as hard as the first. Draco moans, and so Harry does it again.
A rather too attractive flush rises on Draco's arse, and Harry feels a surge of guilt at liking how it looks. But then Draco moans, "Moooore," and Harry sets his guilt aside, landing stinging strikes over each buttock, then down the backs of Draco's thighs.
Draco spreads his legs, and Harry takes the hint, flicking at his bollocks and rejoicing at the resultant begging. Harry flicks at his arsehole, now plainly visible, and Draco arches like he's about to get fucked, like he wants something inside him.
"Fuck yes," Harry sighs, his wrist tiring but his heart soaring.
Five more flicks and then Harry's setting the flogger aside once more. His hand shakes as he Summons the lubricant and liberally coats his fingers. Draco glances over his shoulder to see and then nods vigorously before burying his face in the pillow. Harry wastes no time, spreads Draco's cheeks with his other hand, and plunges a finger inside him, fucking in and out to the sound of Draco's muffled keening.
"Look at your arsehole," Harry wonders aloud. "How badly it wants to be fucked."
At this, Draco arches his back more, holds still for it. Harry adds a second finger, and Draco cries out.
"Yellow?" Harry asks, slowing.
"Greengreengreen!" is Draco's enthusiastic response, and so Harry thrusts his fingers in quickly, his cock rearing up when Draco's slick arse stretches to accommodate. "Pleeease Harry I need to come."
"Such a whore for getting your arse fucked," Harry says.
Draco's knees widen a bit more. It looks terribly uncomfortable and desperately hot.
"You're so bloody beautiful," Harry murmurs.
"Y-yellow," Draco says. "Go back to… calling me… your whore."
whore, hmm?" Harry asks. Unbelievably, his voice doesn't waver. He feels as though fireworks have been set off inside his body somewhere. He should not
like hearing that so much. But he does. Merlin, he does. And he wants to hear it again. "Are you my whore, Draco?"
"Yes," Draco breathes. And when Harry adds a third finger, slowly pushing all the way inside his uptilted arse, Draco aborts a cry, head lifted off the bed, features transformed with bliss. He'd come if Harry were to loose his cock.
"Say it," Harry says, staying deep inside and enjoying the way Draco's arse massages his fingers.
Draco almost growls. There's a vicious light back in his eyes when he turns his head so Harry can get a look at his profile and he says, "Fuck me and make
me your whore, Potter."
Harry smiles at the mercurial, serpentine flash of it.
"Mouthy fuck," Harry says, pulling his fingers out even as Draco groans in complaint. "You have to earn my cock." The statement has Harry blushing furiously, and he's glad he's got Draco faced away from him so that he can't see and thus ruin the illusion that his confidence is implacable.
He takes up the flogger again, and when Draco sees it, he drops his head back down to the bed, a soft, submissive moan trembling his lips. If it were entirely up to Harry, he might rip his own cockring off, shove himself inside that blushing mouth, and come buckets there.
Needlessly to say, he restrains himself. From doing that, at least. He doesn't restrain himself much when he draws the flogger back and lets it fly against Draco's raised buttocks—over and over again now, no reprieve. He strikes Draco's arse until it's a pink that borders on red, until Draco is shivering, tears leaking from his eyes… until his own forearm tires… and then he flogs Draco a little more.
When he finally stops, the sound of the leather meeting flesh rings through the room still, like thunder following the eruption of lightning. Draco is crying, quietly sobbing into the sheets, but on every breath he's whispering it: "Green, Harry… Green… Harry, please… It hurts… It hurts just right… I need it, Harry, fuckfuckfuck, I love you please yes… H-harry…"
He hardly knows what he's said, Harry is sure. He can't possibly know what he's said. Harry wants to gather up Draco's weak body and hold him. The feeling is so strong it's nearly undeniable. Even though they're just words. They're just words, falling from Draco's mouth like empty promises, like a string of pearls held between his teeth.
Which reminds Harry… This isn't over.
He picks up one of the silk gags from where it sits on the nightstand. It's where he left it the night before, when he fell asleep with it in his hand still, sticky from his come, from the orgasm he let himself have inside its soft clutch. He came thinking of this same silk going in Draco's mouth.
It's been Scourgified
, of course. Not that Draco might not like it the other way too. Harry suspects he rather would.
Harry runs the silk through his hands. "Open up, love." Merlin, the freedom to say it. It's illicit and shocking and… wonderful.
Draco whimpers, and then lifts his face, letting Harry fit the gag into his mouth from behind. Harry ties it tightly but with utmost tenderness.
"Remember, one thump with your hand means green, two yellow, and three red."
Draco nods enthusiastically. His eyes are swimming in his head, almost completely black when Harry gets a glimpse of his irises. He's glossed over, blinking slowly. Subspace, they call it. Harry wasn't sure he'd know it if and when he saw it. But this is it. It's beautiful… frightening… a high and sobering both at once.
"I'm going to fuck the magic right out of you," Harry murmurs near his ear.
Draco moans, thumps the bed once, and spreads his quivering legs. As Harry moves to ready himself, Draco lays his cheek on the bed and reaches back with both hands, opening himself up for Harry, showing Harry his reddened arsehole.
"Draco…" Harry manages with what feels like the last of the breath in his lungs.
He holds out his hand, and the lubricant flies into it. Harry upturns the bottle, pouring warm oil across Draco's lower back, into his crease, onto and into Draco's arsehole, letting it drip obscenely down his swollen bollocks, his restrained cock, letting it dribble onto the sheets. Draco moans, some getting on his fingers as he holds himself open, and he slips, grasping his own flesh for purchase again.
"Feel good?" Harry asks.
Draco nods, eyes closed, beautiful.
Harry discards the bottle, lines himself up, snaps his hips, and fucks his cock deep into Draco's arse.
Draco has to put his hands down quickly not to be fucked straight into the headboard. Harry takes his hips in his hands again, and Merlin, the skin is burning hot. Draco is throbbing
against Harry's pelvis, his buttocks warm and inviting. He mewls, and Harry knows it hurts a little, not the invasion of his prick—Draco can take a cock, there's no doubt—but the press of Harry's body, the hair on his thighs, the trail of it on his stomach, surrounding his cock and balls, all the rough places on Harry's body against Draco's too-sensitive flesh.
Harry holds his hips tight and grinds
"Mmmppphhh!" Draco nearly screams. He beats the mattress once, lifts his fist, seems to think about it. Almost yellow
, Harry interprets. He eases out of Draco's arse, or very nearly, leaving just the flared head of his cock inside. He pushes back in, this time bouncing off Draco's red arse.
"Mmmm!" Draco groans. One fist pound. A frantic nod.
Harry fucks him like that some more, the jiggle of Draco's sore bum like a drug flooding Harry's system, overwhelming him with lust. Harry wants to come, he's ready to come. He jerks Draco back onto his cock, five, six more times, letting his head drop back and losing himself in the bliss of it for those moments.
It's the three smacks against the mattress that yank him out of his own pleasure. Harry pulls out. "Draco?" His heart careens toward fear.
Draco pulls the gag from his own mouth. "Sorry," he says. "My knees and back, I just…"
"Need to change positions?"
"Yeah," Draco pants. "The rest is good, Harry. It's good."
"Like this?" Harry asks as he helps ease Draco onto his stomach on the bed.
A soft sigh of relief from beneath him. "Yes," Draco says. "Can you fuck me like this?"Hell yes,
is all Harry can think as he aims and reinserts the head of his cock, and Draco hums with pleasure. Harry lowers himself onto Draco's back, his cock sinking inside. It's much more intimate this way, their skin touching everywhere, Harry's weight pinning Draco's prone body. It feels more like making love than fucking. Or maybe it feels like both at once.
Harry settles against him, anchoring his hands under Draco's arms, grasping his shoulders for a little leverage. It'll be a deep fuck this way, less movement. It'll certainly have Harry's body rubbing against Draco's sore places more.
"You okay?" Harry asks behind his ear as he takes a few slow, deep thrusts.
Draco sighs through his open mouth, his eyes shut. "More than," he says, lifting his hips a little.
Harry goes a little quicker, working back up to that delicious friction inside him. "Does it hurt?"
"You hurt me so good, Harry," Draco whispers back to him.
"Do you want the gag again?" Harry grinds up his arse and wants to inhale the whimper that comes from Draco's wet mouth.
Draco shakes his head in the negative. "No, sir."Oh fucking God
. It came out so sweet. So achingly sweet. Easy. Harry's cock gets even harder inside him, and he sneaks his hand beneath them to slowly, gently work the cockring off Draco's body.
"Oh shit… Harry…" His arse immediately starts squeezing down on Harry's cock, those involuntary convulsions wrecking him. "Ohhhh!
" Draco cries, coming as Harry buries himself inside him again and again.
Harry withdraws only long enough to get his own ring off, tossing it aside recklessly. He slams home inside Draco again and pumps his hips, gripping Draco's body tight. There's no breath of space between them at all. Their legs bump, Harry's fitting between Draco's.
Harry kisses that inviting stretch of tendon between Draco's neck and shoulder.
"God, Harry, I'm still hard," Draco cries. "Gonna come again..."
"Fuck, I love making you come. I've never… I've never…" He's delirious. He doesn't know what he's saying.
And then Draco says it, turning his head and whispering it back to him, "You've never loved anybody like me before."
His words hang in the air, body undulating against Harry's, trying to work the orgasm from Harry's pounding cock. Harry clutches him tight… tighter… He cries out, his cock twitching in Draco's warm, slick arsehole as he starts coming. He buries his face against Draco's rippling back and wants to cry with how perfect it feels. Just then, Draco whines, and he starts to shake, hard, and he grabs Harry's hand and shoves it down between his legs. Draco rides his palm until Harry has the wherewithal to make a good fist for him. And then they're coming together.
And it hurts.
It hurts so bloody good.
"It's called aftercare, Potter, go with it."
Draco curls into Harry's side, his leg thrown between Harry's own, thigh nudging his spent cock, hand lingering over Harry's chest. Harry gives in to the former temptation that he quelled while they were fucking and gathers him even closer, running his hand up and down Draco's back. Draco hums, his lips against Harry's collar bone.
"I don't love you, you know," Draco says.
For a moment, it raises Harry's hackles, and he feels himself stiffen.
"Relax, Harry," Draco says, misinterpreting his tension. "It's just a word." He scoots his body impossibly closer, arm pulling at Harry's waist, nose nuzzling his neck. "It's just a word," he says again. "And I don't. Love you."
Harry drops his face into Draco's fragrant hair. It's so fucking soft. His fingers sift up the back of Draco's neck. "I don't love you either," he sighs.
Draco's hand wanders. He moves his own hips out of the way enough to cup Harry's exhausted cock. "I love this
," he placates flirtatiously.
Harry feels himself smiling. He wraps his arm further around Draco and grabs his bum, fingers smearing the ointment he'd smoothed over the raw streaks the flogger left. Harry gives Draco's arse a painful squeeze that has Draco gasping and then melting against him. "I love this," Harry agrees.
"Ngggh," Draco whines. "I do very much love that."
"Do you? I couldn't tell." Harry smiles when Draco squeezes his cock rather too hard. It's not a bad hard. It's never a bad hard between them, it seems.
"You made it so red," Draco says wonderingly, his lips tickling Harry's jaw.
"Would you like me to fetch you the mirror again?" Harry asks. Draco had seemed to enjoy staring at the reflection, head turned to gaze over his shoulder as Harry held the hand mirror just so and let him admire the fiery blush of the marks, Draco's eyes going dark and soft in response.
Now he just shakes his head, a yawn barely stifled. "No thank you," he says, his sweetness not yet overtaken by the ever-lurking snark.
Harry hates how much he longs to hear that word again. 'Sir.' And that other one maybe too. The one he can feel pulsing with frightening life just under his breastbone.
They're quiet for a while, and Harry wonders if tonight is the night that Draco stays in his bed on purpose. He wonders if he'll outlast Harry's morning trip to the loo and actually hang around for breakfast. Harry thinks he might not mind that.
He douses what's left of the light in the room with a lazy wave of his hand. Draco's fingers stroke back up… over Harry's stomach, up over his heart, palm resting there.
"I don't," he says quietly. "I don't love you, Harry." There's a fragility in his voice that Harry's never heard before.
Harry pulls him close. He wraps Draco up in his arms in a way he's never let himself do with anyone.
"I don't love you too."
Draco exhales against him, going still with approaching sleep.
Harry stays awake a little while longer, just slowly stroking the hair off Draco's forehead and staring out the break in the curtains. His phoenix soars over the distant moon, and the sight of her eases Harry even deeper into a state of easy grace. She wings out above the treetops only to turn on an invisible gust of wind. Harry watches as she flies once more over the face of the moon, her wings temporarily blotting out the light. Then he closes his eyes.