Title: Got You, Potter
Author: lq_traintracks
Pairing: Harry/Draco, (non-explicit Hermione/Ron)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~2,100
Monthly Theme: The ABCs of Sex
Letter Assigned: E
Kinks/Themes Included: anal sex, hand jobs, mention of blow jobs
Summary/Description: Harry and Draco start secretly shagging during eighth year.
Author's Notes: I started a completely different story for this, and it was bloody terrible. Then this happened at the last minute and thank goodness! Had a blast writing this! Spoilers for my E theme(s) once you scroll down at the bottom, if you'd like! Thanks much to gracerene for the beta! :-)






I've learned it hardly takes anything – a quick glance down his body, a swipe of my tongue to catch the sweat off my lip. I can make Potter hard in the middle of Defence. I can drop my gaze to that delicious bulge, meet his eyes again, watch his Adam's apple shift as he can't help but swallow. I've got him. He has no defence against that.

Of course it was much more difficult in the beginning when he thought I was just taking the piss. Getting him into the Room that first time was like getting a perfectly happy and innocent first year to see Thestrals. But once we were there… The easy erection was just my exhibit A. B was even better.

And now that he knows what's possible, what's probable, what's inevitable, he's all too eager.
We find the time. If we had a Time Turner we'd make the time. Fuck, we'd practically never leave the Room, I'm guessing. As it stands, we chance it between classes, disappear for fifteen, twenty minutes after dinner, always with a ready excuse. Something eminently believable. Much more believable than the sordid truth.

The Room of Requirement seemed the logical choice, though Potter and I have never actually discussed the logic of it. Or of anything. We're mostly enraptured with the illogic of it all. Or we ignore it. We rarely "discuss" anything, unless it's who's to be on whose knees, and really, those are short conversations indeed, sometimes exchanged entirely in shoves and grunts. Potter's not the most articulate of sorts in the first place, but when he wants his dick sucked, it's eons worse.

Or better.

Speaking of getting Potter, I've got him now, to be sure, and I'm not even looking at him. McGonagall's got the eighth years out in the courtyard, and I can't be arsed to care what she's on about. Something about Hogsmeade? Being role models? Pledging fealty to all things Gryffindor? Some other barmy load of bollocks. All I care about is that Potter's standing right behind me. Close. It doesn't really matter how we got here. We've become accomplished at managing to "accidentally" be in one another's vicinities lately, so it's really no surprise that he's there, at my back, barely brushing against me and behaving as if he's not.

A tiny smile lifts the corners of my lips. I take the barest step backward. It can't even be called a step. I really just let gravity do the work. I feel the hot gush of his breath hit my neck. It's all I can do not to shiver, and I have to bite my lip not to smile in triumph when I feel his fat cock nestle against my arse. Through his jeans, my trousers. I rather like the illicitness, the friction our clothes create. It's a ridiculous barrier. It's nothing. If I moved just right I could get him to come right here, I'm sure of it.

I shift, ostensibly from impatience. Plenty of others are getting antsy from this speech, too. Nothing suspicious in it. And yet my arse pushes into Potter's erection, rubs against it, and his hand suddenly grips my hip, tight enough to leave a bruise.

Just to be cruel, I shift again. His hand slips onto my stomach and holds me back against him. It's only a moment or someone might see. It's only so long as it takes him to murmur into my ear, "Now. Right now."

And it's a bloody good thing McGonagall's wrapping up, because Potter simply leaves. I'd laugh, but I'm far too close to coming myself with my own cock completely untouched.

When I get in the Room, he's on me, grasping my body and walking me back into the nearest wall. His face in my neck, hands fumbling with my trousers, then suddenly I'm spun, and he's behind me, and I feel Potter's hands working on his jeans. I'm shoving at my pants until they clear my arse, then there's Potter's cock, hard as hell, slick already. I only have time to brace, one hand flat on the stone. He lines up, gives a little grunt as he thrusts, breaching me. I hiss but then readily push back as he slides further in.

We've become good at this, and in no time we're fucking. Hard and quick and desperate. His hand's back on my stomach, up under my shirt this time, warm palm heating my skin. I reach back, grab his hip, find denim and make a fist. His lips in my hair. "Malfoy… Malfoy…"

My arse is hot and slick and full, empty, full in a rhythm that's got me trembling and ready and if he'd just get his hand down around my prick… I shove it down there, and something rough like a growl rumbles at my back. His hand starts flying on my cock, and I moan a cry.

"Need…" Potter grits out. "I need…"

I glimpse it from the corner of my eye at first. But then Potter's hips falter when he sees it, and I turn my head.

Four poster. Huge. Soft and inviting and— "Come on," I say. He pulls out and I drag him to it. The Room's never given us a bed before, and I'm not about to question it.

Or myself.

I lie on my back, wick my trousers and pants off, and spread my legs as he crawls between. I hook my calves over his shoulders.

"Like…?" He gets into position over me.

"Yeah." I grasp his cock and find my hole with it.

Potter pushes, rocking me, the bed, as he starts thrusting again.

Brilliant, I think but can't say. Fucking bloody brilliant, Potter on top of me, in me. Potter's gaze holding mine, and bloody hell, he's got me.

He's got me.

Fuck.

"Pull me off, you selfish git," I manage.

Nobody has to know that his doing so puts him on his one elbow, his body ever that much closer, pressing me down into the bed. He pins me there, hand wrapping fierce around my prick, breath shivering at my ear, and I work myself into his hand, making him groan as my arse massages his cock in new ways.

He's pounding into me but with very little leverage, so it's just hips and want and whining.

It's just beautiful.

I come in his fist, all over my own stomach in a profound rush of pleasure. It screams and sighs from my lungs.

Potter pulls out, arse on his heels, stroking himself in one hand and me in the other. I watch him bite his lip, his hair a sweaty mess in his face. I look down to see him come, the white ropes of his ejaculate striking my bollocks, the rim of my empty arse. Potter groans, watching it too, and then shoves back inside. He plants his hands by my head and fucks it into me.

Into me, into me, into me, before he groans, long and delicious, and collapses on top of me, a soaked and huffing heap. His face insinuates against my neck again. And I think I can feel him smiling.

~

The Room is really fantastic, because it always gives you your clothes back without any incriminating wrinkles, no matter what kind of incomprehensible ball in a corner they end up as. No matter if Harry Potter fucks you senseless against a wall and then into a mattress. We've begun dressing more slowly, whether from lethargy or… other factors… it's hard to say.

Or maybe just hard to admit.

I'm fastening my trousers when I catch Potter staring at me while he does the same. I have this entirely unauthorised thought that he looks so bloody sexy. I can feel myself blushing from it when he smiles at me, dazzling and not the least bit cruel. I wonder… could he possibly think the same? When he looks at me? Would he shag a bloke without finding him the least bit fit?

Merlin, I've got to get out of this room.

Until the next time when I'm dying to get back in, of course.

Once we're put back together again – although that's a matter for debate as I can still feel him – Potter, ridiculously, holds the door for me. "After you."

I give him a bit of a scathing look for his absurdity, yet I comply. When I see them in the hallway, I come to a complete stop, however, prompting Potter to run into me rather hard from behind.

I gulp, but Potter just gives a standard salutation, like his best mates haven't just caught us. "Hey, Hermione. Ron."

They're looking a bit caught themselves. "We were just," Granger begins.

"Yeah, just…" Weasley shrugs. "Strolling?" He looks to Granger for confirmation.

"Yes, just…" She laughs more than I've ever heard Hermione Granger laugh before. She abruptly clears her throat and tucks some hair behind her ear. "What are you doing here?"

Potter moves slightly closer to me. "I suspect we're on similar errands actually."

My face flames. I might combust. Goodbye, cruel world!

Granger's own embarrassment is hastily and perfunctorily dropped. Her eyes go wide and pleased. "Really!"

Weasley elbows her and coughs out, "Told you."

I'd be amused that, for once, Weasley apparently gets to be right, but I'm too busy being appalled at Potter.

Appalled and speechless and, and… Merlin, thrilled. The sensation blasts through me like a spell.

"Night," Potter tells his friends, his hand going bizarrely to my back and settling there as he gently steers me down the hall.

Gently. Possessively.

Openly.

"Potter," I hiss once we've turned a corner and are, again, alone.

But he turns to me, takes my face in his hands, and he kisses me.

Soft, he kisses me. Angling his head, he parts his lips as I do mine and… Potter kisses me. I find myself kissing him back, tentatively deepening it and swallowing his low rumble of satisfaction.

I pull back unwillingly, but it's necessary. "Potter, what…?"

"Oh, now we're going to talk about it?" He grins, pursuant gaze going between my eyes and my lips. His thumb moves over my shocked jaw. "Okay, sure. Go ahead, Malfoy. I'm all ears."

"Well…" I start. "I don't…"

"Will you go to Hogsmeade with me?"

"What?"

"Well, McGonagall was talking about the next Hogsmeade trip, so I thought, if we're going to talk about it, we could maybe do it over drinks. If you'd like."

"You were actually listening to her?"

"Not especially. But I heard the word 'Hogsmeade' in there somewhere." Potter shrugs, shoots another dazzling smile my way, and starts down the stairs. I hurry to catch up, joining his side as we descend.

"So a drink then." I try not to trip over my own feet, or the air, which feels suddenly thick and intoxicating with the threads of his magic. Or mine. Or ours. I don't bloody know.

"Why not?" Potter asks.

Because that's changing things. Because that's not what we've been doing. Because I don't know what that would be. And because it makes me hope, you arsehole.

"I'm buying," I say rather petulantly, though I hadn't meant it to come out as such. I try to remember that I can make him go hard from a look. It does help.

"Uh, okay."

"Good," I say.

"Yeah?" We reach the bottom of the stairs, his floor, not mine.

I take a fortifying breath. "Yes, of course. Tomorrow?" I have this horrible sense that the portraits are all staring.

"Great, yeah. Tomorrow."

Merlin, I want him to kiss me again.

Kiss me again, useless git!

I need him to kiss me again.

I need to kiss him.

He's turning toward his dormitory when I reach out and jerk him back. I kiss him – hard, wet, fierce. His arms are slow to react and only belatedly come up to grip me to his body. But his cock is quick to go erect again. I smile against his lips. "Got you, Potter."

Before he can respond, I turn and traipse – I traipse, Merlin help me – down the stairs away from him. But I can feel his eyes on my arse. I imagine his erect cock twitches a bit as he stares. I bite my lip to stop the smile.

I fail.


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Theme words: Erections, Ejaculation
Summer-related item, location, or concept: Uh… I sort of forgot about this part. Demerits?