The clock on the kitchen wall clicks loudly in the silence that follows. Harry’s brow furrows as he squints at Draco in confusion.
“Shave it off, right now!” Draco demands, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What are you talking about?” Harry pauses at the sink, leaving the dishes half-washed and soapy.
“That—that thing living on your face, remove it!”
“This?” Harry rubs his cheek. “I kind of like that.”
“It’s uncouth,” Draco mutters. One week away and this is what he returns home to. Damn that Alchemy convention—he should have known better than to leave Harry on his own for so long.
“Don’t be like that,” Harry steps closer, leaning in for a kiss.
Draco holds him by the shoulders, keeping him at bay. “I refuse to have it touch me.”
“Just one kiss,” Harry murmurs. “You might even like it.”
“Doubtful,” Draco scoffs, but he sighs in resignation and allows Harry to move forward and capture his lips in a kiss.
It’s an odd sensation, different than the rough burn of day old stubble. The hair is coarser than the wild tangle that graces Harry’s head, but it’s less stiff than he thought. The beard scratches along his chin and jaw, like an affectionate and eager caress. The prickly hair sends tingles across his skin, dancing along his spine to pool as liquid heat in his stomach. Harry pulls away all too soon.
“See?” Harry’s mouth widens into that obnoxiously charming grin of his. “Not so bad.”
Draco’s pretty sure he replied coherently, at least he tried, but the sound that came out of his mouth doesn’t seem to register as an actual word. Harry seems to have noticed as well; his lips spread wider and a mischievous glint enters his eyes.
“Would you like me to kiss you anywhere else?”
“Huh?” There, that was definitely a word. Harry seems less impressed by his mastery of the English language and more amused than anything else.
“Maybe here?” Harry grabs Draco’s hand and places a soft kiss on his wrist. That damn beard tickles against the sensitive flesh, sparks of sensation spreading across his skin. “Or how about here?” Harry leans in again, scraping his teeth gently along Draco’s neck, the coarse hairs of his beard rubbing against the hollow of his throat.
“Nngh.” And he’s back to just sounds. That’s more than okay, though; his cock is filling, hot and stiff as it bulges obscenely through his trousers. The fine material becomes damp, his swollen head sticky as it pokes out and yearns to touch the man in front of him.
“More?” Harry asks, his voice pitched low and husky. Draco merely nods in response, completely giving up on the concept of comprehensible speech for the time being. “How about this?”
Harry pulls down his trousers and pants, the cool morning air a soothing balm to Draco’s fevered erection. Draco’s mind surges with images of Harry on his knees, that delightful curly hair brushing against his leaking cock. He tries not to groan in disappointment when Harry turns him around and bends him over. Harry pulls Draco’s hips up, exposing his arse to the rays of sunlight streaming through the kitchen window.
He’s not...He wouldn’t… Harry leans forward and spreads Draco’s cheeks apart, his hot breath washing over Draco’s exposed hole. Merlin, yes he is!
Soft lips press against his twitching hole, a hot tongue teasing the sensitive rim. The rough scratch of his beard contrasts beautifully to the tender caress of his wet mouth. Draco whimpers, spreading his legs further apart and pushing back into Harry’s face. Harry moans gratefully, the sound vibrating across Draco’s arse. The wiry hair scrapes against his skin, sending shock waves of pleasure directly to his dripping prick. His flesh becomes tender, rubbed raw as Harry’s talented tongue laps away at his hole.
The sensation is overwhelming. The most embarrassing noises are slipping from Draco’s lips, and he can’t seem to get any purchase on the slippery kitchen table. His hands scramble, fingers digging into the smooth surface. Eventually he gives up and entrusts his fate into Harry’s hands as they pull his arse cheeks further apart. He surrenders to Harry’s agile tongue, his plump lips, the intoxicating texture of his coarse beard against his skin.
The pleasure builds, bright and brilliant, overflowing from every single pore of his body. Draco reaches his hand beneath him, firmly grips his desperate cock and gives it a fierce tug. Draco’s vision gives out, white light blinding his eyes as he spills over his fingers and onto the kitchen floor. His hole twitches and convulses beneath Harry’s tongue and he rocks back against it, riding out the last few shocks of his incredible orgasm.
“How was that?” Harry asks, his voice as rough as the beast living on his face.
“Nngh.” Draco’s poor attempt at the word ‘nice’ falls flat. His hole is twitching and wet, his arse pleasantly burning in the aftermath of that prickly hair rubbing against his flesh.
“Good,” Harry chuckles softly, draping himself over Draco’s back and pressing kisses against his neck. The bristly hair tickles his skin. “So, do you still think I need a shave?”
“No.” Words! Real, actual words at last. Draco’s never been prouder of himself. “Leave it.”
So what if his boyfriend looks a bit unrefined around the edges? That rugged style is coming back anyway. Draco will gladly stare down his ridiculously posh friends if they make a single snide comment.
A little facial hair never hurt anyone.