: A hint of infidelity, perhaps, but there is also no assurance that Harry and Ginny are necessarily married or even very serious at this point. :)Theme chosen
: FrottageWord Count
: He drags the back of one wrist over his eyebrow, soaking up the moisture threatening to drip into his eyes and fog up his glasses, and then he forces himself to pull it together, scanning the crowd. There is only one reason he's here, after all.Author's notes
: Er. Apparently I write H/D now? Easiest theme ever, all the pairings in the world to choose from, and this is what my brain conjured. :/ I figure this is sometime post-war and pre-marriage, if that matters...GRIND
He's only been there ten minutes, but the heat is already crawling over Harry's body, seeping in through his thin t-shirt and trickling down his back. He swallows, pinching the shirt in the middle of his chest and tugging at it, trying to free it from the sticky skin. Christ, it's hot. He drags the back of one wrist over his eyebrow, soaking up the moisture threatening to drip into his eyes and fog up his glasses, and then he forces himself to pull it together, scanning the crowd.
There is only one reason he's here, after all.
It's not because of the gaudy strobe lighting or the pulsing bass music that pounds through his skull. It's not because of the slick dance floor or the gyrating bodies that push into him, stray hands sliding over his arse and up his chest. It's not because of the anonymity, even, although that helps – the way he can jog down the piss-soaked steps, elbow his way through the door of this place and lose himself completely, hard bodies swallowing him up and no one caring who he is or counting all the reasons he shouldn't be here.
There is only one reason he shouldn't be here.
Pulled like a magnet, his entire body shifts, turns, his head swivelling and his eyes locking on the body across the room similarly in the process of turning towards him
. It's old school, a bad film, really, the way they do this as though they're the first to think of it, the only pair in the world that has ever been drawn to each other this way, but Harry doesn't care. He blocks out everything else in his life, all his friends and allies and the people who have awarded him medals for bravery and honour, the people who would be appalled to discover that all he wants on nights like tonight is to find the one body that has ever made him grind
like this, leaving sated and stained and desperate to do it all again. He shoves all thoughts of those people aside and pushes through the crowd with only one goal in mind.
He meets Malfoy near the edge of the pulsing, high-ceilinged room but keeps pushing, hooking his fingers into the waist of Malfoy's trousers and manoeuvering him backwards, his jaw pressed to Malfoy's ear and his breath hot over the straining cords of his neck. Their knees bump and he doesn't care; he just keeps pushing, Malfoy's body already hard against him and his hands pulling at Harry's shirt, until they reach the back wall and Harry stops, shoving Malfoy against it and grinding his entire body in hard. Muscled chests align and thighs tense and hips press, and Harry can't help himself, God
, he's never been able to help himself on nights like these; he chokes out a moan against Malfoy's smooth jaw, his face buried and the frame of his glasses catching on thin blond hair. He'll find the strands in the morning and pull them out, winding them around his index finger and remembering the feel, the sounds, the taste of Malfoy losing control against the wall of a dirty club in the black of night.
"Potter," spits Malfoy, the sound of venom and want in that voice sliding down Harry's spine, and he's already got a hand down Malfoy's trousers, cupping him and continuing to push his own groin up against the hand, pinning Malfoy to the wall until he lets his head fall back and his eyes fall closed.
"Malfoy," whispers Harry, smiling to himself at the shiver that rips through Malfoy's body at the word, his reddened lips parted and his fingers digging into Harry's back a bit too hard, at once bruising him and drawing him in closer. "What's a nice bloke like you doing in a shit hole like this?" he continues, knowing he shouldn't push it but unable to resist the temptation. Riling Malfoy up is just habit, and anyway, if he's angry he'll come harder, he always does, and Harry can't ignore the appeal of that.
But he should know better than to bring up shit like that, because Malfoy can always beat him at that game, and tonight is no different. He murmurs, "Could ask you the same question, Potter. Isn't there a Weasel with a cunt you should be fucking tonight instead of me?" and Harry knows it's all done to rile him
up, to make him
come his fucking brains out five minutes from now, furious and guilty and nearly choking on the groan that pushes him through his shuddering orgasm every single time, but the words still feel like a sharp knife carving him open.
His mouth crashes over Malfoy's because it's the only way he knows to shut the bastard up, and he was right, Malfoy said it to piss him off, and Harry can almost feel the smirk dancing over the lips moving against his right now, but then it doesn't even matter anymore because those strong, pale hands are ripping his jeans open and shoving his pants down, snapping them in place under his balls, and long fingers are wrapping around his dick, and Harry nearly bites through Malfoy's bottom lip as he struggles not to come from that first touch alone.
But he doesn't want to come in Malfoy's hand tonight. He doesn't want to come in his mouth or up his arse, either, or even untouched, spattering rented cotton bed sheets while Malfoy collapses over his back and pulses inside him. He doesn't want to jerk himself off over Malfoy's angry, lust-soaked face tonight, not like last week, or even on Malfoy's clenched stomach after pulling out early and fisting his messy release over all that smooth, stained skin.
There are times for all of that, but tonight, he wants to feel Malfoy's cock on his.
He conveys this to him by pulling back from his swollen lips and resting his forehead against Malfoy's, pressing in a bit to guide their heads down so they can both watch what he's doing. He swats Malfoy's hand away from his cock for a moment while he tears at the zip of those stupid linen trousers, shoving them and the pants down Malfoy's hips and then leaning forward. Harry licks his bottom lip and watches his shaking hand as he holds his dick between his thumb and forefinger, pointing it so that the head traces down the outer ridge of Malfoy's own jutting cock, the slow spread of moisture making Malfoy shudder against him.
"Jesus, Potter," mutters Malfoy, but Harry knows that tone of voice by now, knows that Malfoy is on his last defences, that the words are meaningless when the tip of Harry's cock is dragging up and then back down Malfoy's shaft, smearing fluid and sending flutters up Harry's spine while making Malfoy swell to impossible hardness right before their eyes.
"Want to come all over that pretty cock of yours," breathes Harry, biting at Malfoy's lips again. "Want to grind into you and make you dirty, send you back to your daddy's manor with my come still running down your thighs." He pulls his free hand up and holds it up in front of Malfoy's face, the palm dry and waiting. A smirk lights up Malfoy's mouth and his eyes narrow as he wets his lips and then leans in, his pink tongue dragging over Harry's palm from wrist to fingertips, pausing twice to slip back into his mouth for more moisture. Harry struggles to hold in the shudder that wracks his body, but it's no use; the sight of Malfoy's mouth doing anything
obscene always drives straight to his dick, and this, God, this
, is no exception.
"Go on, then," murmurs Malfoy in challenge, his eyes still lowered as he watches Harry drop the wet palm down and fist them both, wrapping long fingers around their shafts and pressing them together. "Show me why it's better than that cunt you've got at home," he presses, and Harry's eyes fly up to meet Malfoy's, his chest heaving and the sparks of pleasure up his dick warring with the flashes of hurt and anger he sees in Malfoy's eyes.
"You know why," whispers Harry, moving his gaze away and lowering his head to Malfoy's neck, pressing his lips against that tense, bared flesh and brushing his jaw past the collar of Malfoy's shirt, all while squeezing their dicks together in his hand. "This is why," he adds, thrusting his hips forward and beginning to pump, wanting to feel Malfoy's balls tighten against his even as his hand drags over their shafts, creating an addictive friction. Malfoy responds maybe without even meaning to, pushing back against Harry and beginning to pant openly, his lips dry and parted and his hair messy under the roaming fingers of Harry's other hand. Malfoy's hands reach down to Harry's arse and haul him forward, pulling him in almost painfully and rutting with breathless abandon.
Harry pulls his hand away, not wanting anything between their bodies anymore, and both his palms land on the grimy wall behind Malfoy, locking him in a heated press against Harry's body and causing the hot skin over his collarbone to visibly prickle. Harry's lips bite at Malfoy's earlobe and the side of his neck, where he breathes in the scent of Manor soap and the cheap cigarettes of the club.
"You know why," he repeats as his balls pull up and the shattering pulse of pleasure begins to build low in his body. "You know every fucking thing about me, everything I need and can't have."
Malfoy groans at that, curling a hand around the back of Harry's neck and pulling him in for a bruising kiss, his mouth wet and open and his tongue tangling with Harry's, moaning into his mouth and shoving his hips up harder. "Shut up," mutters Malfoy against Harry's lips. "Just, God, shut the fuck up." Harry feels the first burst of Malfoy's come splash over his dick, warm and wet and already running down his balls, filthy and gorgeous. Malfoy's dick jerks against him, shuddering and spurting as he digs his fingers into the back of Harry's head and freezes, his eyes clenched shut and his parted lips drawing in a hissing breath and his face alive with release.
This is why Harry puts up with this place every week, with the heat and the throng of bodies and the smell of the wall behind him. Every bit of it is worth it when Malfoy comes like this, angry and passionate and even a little embarrassed, his eyes closed as though Harry won't be able to see him then, as if he never wants Harry to know just how much Malfoy needs this, how much he too is willing to forego all the reasons he shouldn't be here, dragging his cock against his sworn enemy until they are both out of their minds with arousal and regret.
With one more look at Malfoy's flushed face and the continued feel of his cock rubbing over Harry's and fresh come sliding down his dick, wet and filthy and dripping, Harry leans in to capture his mouth again, his own dick stiffening now and pulsing come up against Malfoy's stomach even as his tongue shoves into Malfoy's mouth again and their breath mixes over the hot, damp air of the club.
Harry groans, a guttural sound rising up from his chest that he couldn't have stopped if he wanted to, because Malfoy
does this to him, every fucking time, and no one else has ever come close to making him feel this way, with this knot of shame and pleasure exploding through his body, and he presses his forehead to Malfoy's again and looks down, dropping his hands from the wall and feeling Malfoy's renewed shudder match his own as they watch their dicks soften together and their come mix through entwined fingers over cooling skin.
God, it's so hot in here. Harry's shirt is plastered to his body and the sweat gathered at his temples is beginning to drip down his face, but when he finally pulls away and gets ready to mutter a Cleaning charm, Malfoy's hand darts out to grab his wrist and stop him. He gives him a puzzled look as Malfoy hauls his trousers back up his hips, wincing only slightly as he zips them and straightens his starched shirt. When he's ready, he places a steady palm over Harry's damp chest and makes to move past him, pausing to whisper in his ear.
"I thought you wanted to send me back to the Manor covered in your come, you sick fuck," he murmurs, and Harry moans, dropping his head down, and then Malfoy is gone, pushing through the crowd and disappearing in the tangle of bodies.
Harry struggles to right his own clothing, shoving his dick back in his pants, zipping his jeans and wiping his hand across his thigh, and then he pauses for a moment to close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose, a renewed splash of pleasure hitting him at the memory-imprint of Malfoy's cock shuddering against his, and he leans back against the wall for a moment, daring to wonder what the following week might bring.-fin-Feedback is always appreciated. You can leave a comment on Livejournal if you don't have an IJ account. :)