Title: A Matter of Control
Author: quite_grey
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Harry/Draco
Length: One-shot (1849 words)
Genre: PWP, all the way. Pure smut!
Warnings: None that I can think of.
Summary: Draco is being a git. Harry isn't having it. Set the summer after Deathly Hallows.
Notes: Written for the Bringing Back the Porn Challenge. (bbtp_challenge) Stick it to the man! Also, I'm an American writer, so please feel free to let me know if I've slipped in any glaring Americanisms or the like. Thanks to shellydkitty for looking this over.
Website: Grey's Fic Index
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A Matter of Control

“Will you quit fucking around and suck it, Potter?” Draco snapped, twisting his fingers into Harry's dark hair. Harry didn't look at all perturbed when Draco yanked him away from where he was licking an agonizingly slow trail along Draco's inner thigh.

“I was heading there, you impatient git,” Harry shot back, shaking off Draco's grasp and rising from his knees to shove Draco back against the mattress, up toward the pillows. The green hangings of the four-poster in Draco's bedroom fell shut as Harry crawled on top of Draco, leaving them in semi-darkness.

“Much better,” Draco purred, sliding off Harry's glasses and tossing them carelessly aside. He rutted up against Harry, but the damp swimming trunks he was wearing were cold against Draco's cock. “Take these off,” Draco demanded, hooking his thumbs in the waistband and trying to push them over Harry's hips.

“Your mum probably knows exactly why you dragged me in here, you know,” Harry said, bracing himself on one hand as he shifted and awkwardly wriggled out of his swim trunks, kicking them off. “You gave me the 'tour' last time I was here.”

“What do you expect?” Draco asked crossly. “You were prancing around in that little bathing costume like you were bloody on display—I've been hard for over an hour!” He grabbed Harry's arse and jerked him close again, throwing Harry off-balance so he had to slam his other hand onto the mattress to catch himself. Effectively pinned beneath him, Draco shivered.

“That's what you get for grabbing my arse in front of Mrs. Weasley last week,” Harry murmured in Draco's ear, clearly not missing his reaction. He sucked lightly at the sensitive flesh where Draco's jaw met his neck, and Draco groaned.

“Quit teasing,” he whimpered, thrusting up against Harry, but Harry drew back, his green eyes bright in the dimness.

“You deserve a little teasing.” Harry reached between Draco's legs, his wrist brushing Draco's erection and his fingers trailing over Draco's balls, but they were gone before Draco could arch into the touch. Moving lower, Harry slowly, gently, teasingly circled Draco's arsehole with a fingertip, and Draco shuddered. “You always get exactly what you want.”

“And I want you, now,” Draco said, gravelly and low as he dug his fingers into Harry's shoulders, pulling him down so their lips brushed when Draco spoke again. “Fuck me or suck me off or whatever it is you're going to do, but hurry up and do it.”

Harry shook his head, his lips curving into a grin against Draco's mouth. “You're a spoiled brat, Malfoy.”

Draco smirked, then swept his tongue over Harry's lower lip. “Your point?”

Harry didn't answer, instead pushing himself off Draco.

“Harry,” Draco whined, reaching for him, and the hint of a grin on Harry's lips turned to a smirk. It never ceased to excite Draco, seeing his own trademark expression on Harry's face—but before Draco had a chance to register anything but how sexy his smirk was on Harry's lips, Harry flipped Draco onto his stomach.

“Potter...” Draco's voice was a warning over his shoulder as got up on all fours, and a feral gleam came into Harry's eyes.

“Perfect.” On his knees behind Draco, Harry seized Draco's hips, slipping one hand down to palm his arse cheek and giving it an enthusiastic squeeze.

“I told you I'm not your little bottom!” Draco spat, squirming out of Harry's grip and turning to sit square on his arse facing Harry, his pale face tinted pink. Crossing his arms over his chest, Draco glared.

“I know that,” Harry said, sitting back on his knees and absently skimming his fingers over his own cock as he eyed Draco. “We agreed that we'd switch it up, but we never agreed that you got to be in charge every time.”

“Sod off.” Draco attempted to glower at Harry, but the way Harry was caressing his erection as if he just couldn't help himself as his gaze wandered Draco's body, was terribly distracting. Draco forced his own hand to stay still.

“Malfoys,” he continued, lifting his chin imperiously, “are always in control.”

“That,” Harry replied, grinning, “is a load of crap.”

“Shut it, Potter.” Draco wished he had something a bit more scathing than Shut it to go with, but Harry was fondling the smooth head of his cock, and Draco found himself unwillingly mesmerized. He sat on his hands and forced his eyes up to Harry's, lust-fogged and knowing.

“Will you quit that?” Draco snapped, his own cock giving a sharp throb.

“What's the matter?” Harry asked with the faintest trace of breathlessness as he thrust lazily into his own fist. “You don't look very in control sitting on your hands like that, Draco.”

Draco really didn't feel very in control. Harry was openly bloody torturing him.

Freeing his hands from beneath his arse, Draco snatched Harry's wrist and jerked his fist free of his cock. “I can't fucking think straight when you do that.”

“Who said anything about thinking?” Harry wrenched his wrist away from Draco, then quick as if he were going after a snitch caught Draco's waist and pushed him onto his back.

“Potter!” Draco struggled to sit up, but Harry launched himself onto Draco, straddling his legs and pressing Draco's shoulders into the mattress. “Get off!”

“Come on, Draco,” Harry cajoled, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur as he looked down into Draco's face, rocking his hips. “It's fun letting someone else be in charge—why do you think I let you do it?”

Draco swallowed back a moan as he returned Harry's gaze evenly, but his hips bucked up to meet Harry's, betraying him. Harry laughed, quiet and low in his throat as his eyes raked Draco's features.

“You like it,” Harry teased roughly as his gaze settled on Draco's mouth. Licking his lips, he dipped down to capture Draco in a blistering, unyielding kiss, thrusting against him again. Draco's moan was lost somewhere in Harry's mouth, which suited him just fine. He bit Harry's lip. Hard.

“Fuck, Draco!” Harry wiped his lip on the back of his hand, leaving a red smear; a few drops of blood dripped onto the corner of Draco's mouth, and Draco smirked.

“Malfoys,” he repeated, though not quite as imperiously, as the word was painted with a heavy stroke of arousal, “are always in control.”

Probing his bleeding lip with his tongue, Harry's eyes darkened. “You're not in control when I'm sucking your cock, Malfoy,” he whispered, his voice coarse. “You might think you are, shoving my head between your legs, but I'm the one making you whimper my name...”

Draco blinked up at Harry, scarcely breathing; his every muscle was taunt with anticipation of what Harry would do next. There was action behind those words.

“And you're not in control now.” Harry glided his hands along Draco's arms, leaving tingling trails of warmth in his wake before tightening his fingers vise-like around Draco's wrists; Harry stretched Draco's arms wide on either side of him, pinning him to the bed.

“Get off,” Draco whispered, his heart beating like a wild bird in his chest.

“Make me.”

Draco thrashed up beneath Harry, fighting his unforgiving hands with everything in him, and they rolled on the mattress—the silky-hot length of Harry's cock slid against Draco's as they battled for control, and they gasped in unison.

“Fuck, Draco,” Harry grunted as Draco finally managed to get Harry fully on his back, though Harry still had a bruising hold on Draco's wrists. Draco ground his hips down, unable to hold back a loud groan as Harry started thrusting up against him, and for a split second his eyes fluttered closed.

That was all it took for Harry to regain control, flipping Draco again, but Draco swung Harry off and the momentum brought them right over the side of the bed. Tangled in the bedcurtains, Draco flailed and Harry scrabbled until they fell backwards together into the sunshine streaming through Draco's open window.

“Want you-” Harry practically snarled, half sitting up and dragging Draco onto his lap. Draco tried to wrench himself free, but Harry just yanked him closer and wrapped his fingers nimbly around both their jutting cocks, pressed tight together from base to head.

They both moaned as Harry began to pull, wanking them together, and Draco couldn't keep his hips from rocking, his arms from going around Harry's neck, his forehead from dropping to Harry's shoulder as they moved together.

“Fuck,” he hissed between his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as his world narrowed down to the harsh friction of Harry's fingers, the heat of his body, the familiar scent of their mingled sweat wherever they touched.

“Yeah-” Harry buried his other hand in Draco's hair and pulled him up for a kiss, slick remnants of blood slippery between their lips as Draco opened his mouth hungrily to Harry's tongue. Harry's fingers tensed and flexed in Draco's hair, and Draco was lost in the long, keening groan that erupted from Harry as he broke their kiss and came, head tipping back as he arched into Draco.

“Harry...” Draco whimpered, skating his hand up the lean line of Harry's neck, and he dove down to suck just beneath Harry's jaw just as his own orgasm carried him off on that taste of Harry's skin.

When Draco could once more form coherent thoughts, he discovered himself sprawled on Harry's chest, Harry panting flat on his back beneath him.

“That was almost better than flying,” Harry managed as he tried to catch his breath, his voice a rumble in his chest beneath Draco's cheek.

“Almost,” Draco agreed, listening to Harry's heart pound, his own pulse far from calm in his veins.

They were silent for a few minutes, basking in the loose, easy fog of afterglow.

“See, it's not so bad, letting me be in charge,” Harry said, leisurely palming Draco's back.

Draco's lips twitched as he toyed with Harry's sparse chest hair, still comfortably atop him. “Who said you were in charge?”

Harry groaned, and Draco pushed himself up to look down at Harry, his lips twitching as he caught Harry mid-eyeroll. “I told you, Malfoys are always in control.”

“You're a bloody prat, you know that?”

“Shut it, Potter.”

“You shut it, Malfoy.” Harry gave Draco a good smack on the arse, and Draco started. “Your comebacks used to be so much better.”

“Fuck off, Scarhead.” Draco brushed Harry's sweaty hair down over as Harry's forehead as Harry reached to do the same. “Better?”

“Not exactly what I'd call clever.” Harry batted Draco's hand away. “I don't know what I see in you sometimes.”

“Sure you do.” Draco leaned in for a languid, almost tender kiss, and Harry was smiling when Draco finally drew back.

“I guess you're kind of worth the trouble.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Just kind of?”

“Shut it, Draco.”

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but Harry pulled him down for another kiss and shut Draco up himself.

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