It all began with a dare.
Pansy leaned into his ear, voice slurred after her fifth glass of high-end elf wine and Draco’s fate was sealed.
“Look at Potter, all dolled up and no one to take him home,” she taunted, gesturing a finely manicured hand in Potter’s direction.
Potter did look good; worn leather jacket thrown over a plain white t-shirt, well fitted jeans disappearing into clunky, laced up boots. Draco might have scoffed at Pansy, brushed her off when she suggested Draco take Harry into the loo and show him exactly what happens when he arrives to a rowdy pub looking that gorgeous. However, he was several whiskeys deep and that little voice of reason in his head was busy drooling over Potter’s exquisite form.
Just a dare—simple as that—which has lead Draco to be on his knees, his fine trousers dirtied on the filthy floor. A few teasing remarks from good old Pans and Draco’s spreading Potter’s cheeks apart, revealing that tight, furled hole.
Draco’s mouth waters at the sight, his tongue already soaked as it laps at Potter’s quivering entrance. Potter’s moans fill the empty loo as Draco dives in, too eager to tease him with gentle, probing strokes. He laps hungrily at his arse, spit dripping from his mouth and down his chin.
Potter tastes incredible, of course, and Draco is a starving man.
Draco’s already on edge, teetering on a dangerous peak where the slightest touch will ruin him completely. The friction of his straining cock against the fabric of his trousers is already too much, the material becoming damp from the relentless stream of pre-come..
“Fuck, Malfoy.” Potter’s voice is guttural, deep and commanding. “Fuck me with your tongue. Make me come with that filthy mouth of yours.”
Yes, yes, yes!
Draco wants nothing more than to destroy Potter, just as he was demolished the second Potter strutted through the door. He probes his tongue further inside, his fingers digging roughly into Potter’s flesh.
Potter is panting, his skin damp with a fine sheen of sweat, glistening in the low light of the loo. Draco flicks his tongue against Potter’s entrance, a teasing swipe before he presses his thumb inside. Potter’s resulting hiss of pleasure goes straight to Draco’s groin, his cock jumping in sympathy to the eager sounds spilling from Potter’s mouth. He pumps his thumb in and out, tongue swirling around the edges of Potter’s sensitive rim.
“Just like that,” Potter growls, rocking his hips back into Draco’s touch. “So close. You’re gonna make me come so fucking hard.”
Draco’s cock pulses at Potter’s dirty words, his bollocks tightening in response. He adjusts the angle of his thumb, presses against the bundle of nerves inside and is rewarded with the filthiest string of curses he’s ever heard.
And then, he’s coming.
Potter too—of course—but in that moment all Draco can focus on is the intense pleasure and relief as his cock erupts in his pants, completely untouched. He’s hazily aware of the clenching of Potter’s arse around his finger, the stripes of come painting the dirty loo wall, and incomprehensible mumbling as Potter comes down from his orgasm.
Potter turns around slowly, his jeans still pooled around his ankles, and leans down to cup Draco’s jaw. Potter looks utterly wrecked—his pupils are blown wide, his wild hair is messier than ever, and his cheeks are flushed like a ripe strawberry. Potter’s thumb traces Draco’s swollen lower lip before he presses it inside of his mouth, the calloused pad stroking Draco’s tongue. He removes his thumb, shiny and wet, and trails it along Draco’s throat.
“No need, Potter.” Draco gestures to the damp spot spreading in his trousers. He’s far too sated to feel even an ounce of embarrassment.
“Fuck,” Potter responds, a flash of re-newed arousal entering his eyes. “We should clean you up.”
“I thought you liked me dirty,” Draco teases, pressing his lips against Potter’s spent cock.
Potter’s hands grab Draco’s shoulders, pulling him quickly to his feet. Draco sways for a moment, nearly losing his balance, but Potter’s firm grip keeps him steady. Potter tugs him close and whispers in his ear. “I want to take you home, strip you of your poncy clothes and soak you in a hot bath. I’ll get you nice and clean and loose so that I can wreck you all over again, mark you as mine with my mouth, my tongue, my teeth, my come.”
Draco’s mouth turns dry and his spent cock twitches to attention. He clears his throat and regains his bearings. “Maybe I’ll be the one that destroys you, Potter. I’m going to split you open with my cock, fuck you so hard you’ll feel me for days. I’ll fill you up, make you a mess and then I’ll fuck you again. My fingers, my tongue, my cock—you won’t be able to take a step without wincing, without remembering my touch.”
“Yeah?” Potter asks breathlessly.
“You’ll be ruined for anyone else,” Draco promises. “I’ll drag you into the middle of the pub right now, snog you senseless in front of everyone. My hands will already be fingering you open before we fully Apparate to your flat.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Potter whimpers, his voice strained but full of challenge.
Draco merely smirks in response and pulls up Potter’s jeans but doesn’t bother to re-zip them. His grip is firm on Potter’s wrist as he drags him from the loo and back into the pub.
Potter should really know better—Draco never turns down a dare.