The Sounds of Sibilance
Draco really wished he’d never suggested buying that bloody snake.
It had all started when he and Harry had carried out the raid on a small group who’d been illegally breeding and selling magical creatures. There had been several rare snakes in the collection and Harry had used his gift at Parseltongue to find out all the snakes could tell him about the smuggling ring before the Aurors had launched their attack. They’d burst into the back room, wands drawn, curses ready on their lips as they took out the gang in one of the most perfectly coordinated attacks the Ministry had ever seen.
After that, Draco had made the rather brilliant suggestion that they should actually buy a small snake of their own and use it to case out locations where criminals were hiding out prior to their raids. It was brilliant because he and Harry now had a huge advantage over the other Auror partners and, as such, were more successful in their cases.
Unfortunately, there had been certain, unexpected consequences. Consequences like the fact that Harry seemed to have really taken a liking to the snake, wearing it round his neck or letting it twine around his arm when they went out on missions, which Draco found made him look even more rakishly attractive than usual. Draco knew Harry wasn’t trying, but with his pale skin, startling green eyes that were no longer hidden behind glasses, half undone robes, and messy, slightly too long, black hair, Harry looked every inch the handsome, bad-boy Auror about to unleash his power on an unsuspecting criminal underworld. And now he had a fucking snake on his arm, just to complete the picture.
It really wasn’t fair. Draco had floppy hair too; it wasn’t his fault if he looked all soft and well-groomed, and he had a much better sense of style than the Boy Who Lived and he was a former Death Eater, with a scar on his left arm to prove it, even if he wasn’t exactly proud of the fact. Why then, since he’d taken up Auror work after the war, did the whole world seem determined to treat him with a sort of cautious courtesy, as if he wasn’t really interesting enough to warrant anything else? Why did Harry get to be the bad boy?
Draco sighed and removed his reading glasses as Harry approached the glass tank where the snake lived when they were in the office. Harry had laughed the first time he’d worn his glasses and gone on about the wonders of Muggle contact lenses, but Draco found the idea of sticking small bits of plastic into his eyes so utterly horrifying that Harry had just laughed at him some more and then thankfully dropped the whole topic.
He squeezed the bridge of his nose as Harry started conversing with the snake. Draco had no idea what all those sibilant sounds meant, but he had quickly discovered that this was another huge disadvantage to having the snake in the office. Harry speaking Parseltongue was one of the hottest things Draco had ever heard. So hot, that he could never quite bring himself to do the sensible thing and flee from the office when it happened.
If he’d known it would turn him on like this he’d never have suggested getting the snake in the first place. He absolutely had not known just how hot it would be to hear Harry hissing away at the thing. Absolutely not. He definitely hadn’t taken part in the most perfectly coordinated raid the Ministry had ever seen whilst sporting a rather large erection.
Not that Harry minded. The snake, who called himself Birm, was small enough to twine around Harry’s arm, and never seemed fazed by flying curses or loud noises.
Draco was certainly fazed by Harry’s gift at Parseltongue though, and Harry was beginning to strongly suspect that the fascination was sexual in nature. Draco Malfoy undoubtedly had a kink for Parseltongue. Harry’s new favourite way of winding him up was to converse with Birm at inopportune moments, like right now, when they had a meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt in five minutes and Draco would need to hide the rather large problem Harry was helping to create.
He hissed amiably with Birm; the conversation was nothing interesting, just pleasantries and small talk, but since Draco couldn’t actually understand, it didn’t really matter. Harry could say whatever he liked.
Actually there was something in that thought. Harry had considered pushing things just a little further before, wondering just how much he could get away with, and today the look on Draco’s face was too much for him to resist.
A single glance towards his usually well-groomed and unflappable partner had revealed flushed cheeks and ruffled hair, as well as wide, horrified grey eyes. How was Harry supposed to resist? He liked Draco, they worked well together as partners and he was fairly sure Draco liked him, but that didn’t necessarily mean they wouldn’t take every opportunity to annoy the hell out of each other, and causing Draco to lose his composure was the ultimate victory for Harry.
He exchanged a final few words with Birm, and then began to address Draco, though he kept his eyes firmly on the wall just behind Birm’s tank, in a way he knew would drive Draco mad with wondering exactly who he was talking to.
“This is interesting isn’t it Draco? I could say whatever the hell I wanted right now and you’d never know. I could call you a prat, or a wanker, or anything else I could come up with. I’m not going to because you aren’t really a wanker anymore, but I know what I am going to do. Let’s talk about all those weird little things you do that you think no one else notices. I notice, Draco. I don’t say anything but that doesn’t mean I don’t notice.
“I’ve seen how you always write your reports with your left hand when a mission’s gone well, and your right hand if it’s gone badly.
“I’ve seen you spend longer than any sane person would do arranging your files in some weird, quirky filing system that no one else in the world would ever understand.
“I watch how you always twirl that one lock of hair through your fingers when you’re thinking and how you always try to pretend you aren’t doing it whenever anyone looks your way.
“I’ve even seen you eat the sugar cubes straight out the jar in the kitchen when you think no one’s looking. Sugar cubes, Draco. Who the hell eats sugar cubes? And now I know something else, Draco.”
Harry could hear Draco’s breathing, fast and ragged behind him, and it was too much to resist. He turned, striding towards Draco’s desk and leaning over, planting his hands either side of the report Draco was supposed to be writing and bringing their faces into close proximity.
“You love it when I speak Parseltongue. It turns you on. It makes you hard, doesn’t it, Draco?”
Draco let out a moan then, one so needy and desperate and just plain filthy that Harry felt his own cock suddenly become very interested.
Merlin, he needed to stop this right now before he went too far. Teasing Draco was one thing, getting a full on erection in front of him at work was quite another. He jerked back suddenly, blinking a little.
“Hurry up with that report, Draco,” he said, as if he’d merely accidentally used Parseltongue out of habit, “We’re due in Kingsley’s office in two minutes.”
His eyes lingered on Draco just long enough to see the other man blink and come back to himself. Then Harry turned abruptly and hurried back to his own desk, sinking gratefully into his seat and deciding that Kingsley would just have to wait until he managed to drag his thoughts away from that moan long enough for his erection to subside.
That had been an hour ago and it had been only slightly longer than that since Harry had released their snake into the air vents of the hotel with instructions to locate the room where the miscreants were supposedly staying. The problem was it was a big hotel and no one was entirely sure this even was the base of operations anyway. It was entirely possible they could be here all night and nothing would come of it.
“I’m bored,” Draco whined when he realised he’d exhausted all other options for entertainment. They’d finally managed to locate the Muggle light switch, which meant they were no longer stumbling around in the dark and Harry was unlikely to have any more accidents.
“We could watch television,” Harry suggested, gesturing to an odd looking black screen on the wall that seemed to show nothing of interest. Draco shot him a look of contempt and was rather alarmed when Harry gave him a rather wicked smirk in return. The fact that it suited his accidental bad-boy look perfectly did nothing for Draco’s imagination. Nothing.
“I could entertain you,” Harry purred – actually purred. It was almost as erotic as the hissing.
“Unless you’re planning on falling over again, I highly doubt you could,” Draco sniffed, looking away and trying to push all thoughts of Harry speaking Parseltongue out of his mind. Unfortunately the effort was completely wasted when a moment later Harry started his sibilant whispers again.
He whipped his head towards Harry so fast that he winced at the pain in his neck, which at least distracted him from the way his heart rate had ramped up and the way his cock was already paying much more attention to the situation.
“Honestly, Potter, I have no idea why you think I’d be at all entertained by you hissing gibberish at me,” he said coolly, folding his arms across his chest and trying to look nonchalant. He thought he’d managed it until Harry switched back to English.
“I was just saying, we did pose as a gay couple on honeymoon in order to get this lovely hotel suite,” he made a sweeping gesture to indicate what Draco had to admit was a very well appointed set of rooms. “We may need to do certain things in order to keep up the charade.”
If Draco had been drinking he’d have almost certainly choked, as it was he made a very undignified spluttering noise and clutched onto the back of a chair for support.
“I have no idea what your depraved ideas of entertainment involve, Potter, but I’m certainly not going to partake in them.”
Harry regarded him mildly with brilliant green eyes until Draco felt himself reddening for no particular reason. “Shame,” Harry said, and turned away as if Draco had merely refused an offer of tea.
Draco was almost relieved when Birm returned a few minutes later, though really, he should have known better than to greet the snake’s arrival with relief. Snakes meant Parseltongue and Parseltongue meant that Draco was forced to sit down very quickly and wish that this wasn’t a Muggle hotel because Muggle clothes were completely useless for hiding certain problems.
His only comfort was that Harry informed him Birm was cold and hungry and had immediately disappeared into the dining area of the suite of rooms, presumably to cast warming charms and feed Birm whatever the hell it was that he ate. Draco had resolutely refused to take any notice of such things after Harry’s initial hints that it might involve small mammals.
Comforting as it was that Harry couldn’t see him at the current moment, it was hardly comforting to realise that he could still hear Harry hissing away to the snake in the other room, and that it sounded like the most seductive noise Draco had ever heard in his life. The hissing travelled through his body like fingers trailing down his spine, until he was aware of nothing but lust and the sultry sound of sibilants that seemed to slip from Harry’s tongue straight to his senses.
He moaned involuntarily and let a hand just brush over his crotch, trying to subtly rearrange himself so that when Harry inevitably came back the evidence would be somewhat less visible. Beyond the swirl of arousal was the vague thought that running off to the bathroom whilst Harry was otherwise occupied might be a good idea. Getting some relief for his little problem might at least stop it reoccurring for a few hours.
The only flaw to that plan was that he’d be wanking with Harry right there in the next room and that was not something Draco ever wanted to indulge in. The idea of Harry somehow overhearing or even just working out what he was doing was so abhorrent that it very nearly undid the effects of the Parseltongue.
The sound of footsteps alerted him to the fact that Harry was returning and he shifted his leg, trying to ensure that his crotch definitely was not visible. Luckily Harry seemed more interested in messing with the thing he called a television and when Harry said Birm would need a couple of hours rest before exploring the rest of the hotel, Draco consented to watch it with him, which actually turned out to be a lot more interesting than he’d initially thought.
Draco gritted his teeth and clenched his hands, determined that he would not, under any circumstances, groan, or close his eyes, or do anything to show exactly what affect this was having on him. It really wasn’t helping that Harry had glanced up at him a few seconds ago, hair falling in his eyes in an utterly charming way and given him a grin of such playful wickedness that Draco was almost convinced Harry knew anyway.
The hissing continued, and Draco kept his eyes fixed firmly on the Muggle television, where figures moved soundlessly now Harry had somehow silenced the thing. He would not look at Harry. He would not react to those wickedly tantalising sounds coming from his mouth. He was Draco Malfoy. He was an Auror. He was in control.
He realised his eyes had dropped closed and forced them open again, hoping that the wet patch he could feel inside his boxers would not seep through to his trousers.
Stupid Muggle clothes. Stupid bloody snake.
“Come on, Malfoy, get up.”
Merlin! He’d closed his eyes again and now Harry was standing right by his chair looking down on him with Birm hanging off his wrist as if this was perfectly normal. Draco flushed, and tried to rotate his legs to keep his crotch out of Potter’s eye line.
“Why?” he asked, his voice raspier than he would have liked. He cleared his throat and then tried to pretend he hadn’t.
“Time to put Birm back in the vents,” Harry informed him.
Draco scowled, “What do you need me for?”
“Come on, Draco, take a little interest in the mission, won’t you? The snake was your idea. Unless you think we should get rid of him?”
Damn it. Harry always got him with that one. He was pretty sure Harry was calling his bluff, but his subconscious would never allow him to test the theory. He shot to his feet and followed Harry into the bedroom, hoping that by some miracle the other man wouldn’t notice the very obvious tent in his trousers.
Once he’d made it to the bedroom where the vent was situated, he immediately sat down on the bed whilst Harry fussed about positioning the chair he’d climbed on earlier back under the vent. Only when Draco realised that sitting on the bed might look more suggestive than he intended, did he jump to his feet and instead position himself so he was standing well out of Harry’s view.
“Hold the chair, Draco?” Harry had inflected it like a question, but it wasn’t really and refusing would only lead to an argument. Figuring that Harry’s attention was distracted enough by the snake and the vent and the act of climbing, Draco moved forwards and held the chair. It was only slightly unfortunate that it put Harry’s crotch right in his eye line, though it was more unfortunate when Draco accidentally glanced in that direction and realised that he wasn’t the only one around here with a problem. Judging by the bulge in Harry’s pants he was either half hard or just had a really tiny, fully erect penis. For a moment Draco hoped it was the former, because the latter would really spoil some of his favourite fantasies, then he remembered that he didn’t have any fantasies about Harry and firmly told himself that the latter was a much more preferable explanation. At least he’d be able to laugh at him for that.
Unfortunately, Harry chose that moment to look down and shoot him a grin of such utter depravity that Draco was left under no illusion that Harry was suffering from any problems in the size department.
Damn it, Harry had caught him looking and didn’t even seem to care. Draco felt his cock twitch, and then start to throb as Harry hissed a final few words at the snake and sent it on its way.
There was only one conclusion Harry could come to, and that was that Parseltongue had a much greater affect on Draco than he’d ever anticipated.
Now he was standing here, half aroused and half horrified, not only by the very obvious tent in Draco’s trousers, but by his own rather lewd behaviour. What had he been thinking letting Draco see what was going on in his own trousers? And where the hell had that grin come from? Why the hell was he so turned on by the idea of Draco getting turned on?
Actually that was a ridiculous question; of course he knew the answer – Draco was bloody gorgeous and apparently rather kinky. It was not a combination that Harry had any defences against. By the time he’d climbed down from the chair he had made a decision. This was too good a chance to pass up.
“Now what?” asked Draco, before Harry could put any sort of plan into action. He was scowling in a way that was obviously meant to distract Harry from other things about him but it was rather too late for that.
“Television?” Harry suggested, raising his eyebrows and not really meaning it.
“I’m bored of your stupid Muggle entertainment, Potter. This is the most boring case we’ve ever been on.” Draco had folded his arms and was pouting now. It was too good to resist.
“I’ve told you I’ll entertain you in other ways,” Harry said, shooting Draco his best smirk before he reached out, grabbed his arm and pushed his chest against the wall, briefly reflecting that this was the best use he’d ever put his Auror training to in all the years since he’d passed the tests.
“What the fuck, Potter?” Draco squeaked, but though Harry knew he’d had Auror training too and was well aware of how to get out of the hold, he seemed less inclined to put that training to use. Harry lost no time in pressing his chest up against Draco’s back and pressing home the advantage.
“We’re on our honeymoon, remember?” he whispered straight into his ear, “And I can think of a few ways we can keep each other entertained.”
“Honestly, Potter, I’ve told you: I’m not interested in your depraved forms of entertainment.”
“And yet you aren’t trying to escape,” Harry whispered triumphantly, bracing himself when, as he knew it would, that statement resulted in Draco suddenly shoving backwards away from the wall.
“I don’t think so, Draco,” he hissed, and was more than a little pleased when Draco froze in place, “Shirts off I think.”
It was easy enough to wave his wand, vanishing the cheap Muggle shirts the Auror Department had issued to them as disguises, and then after a moment’s thought he tossed the wand onto the bed, deciding that he probably wouldn’t need it so long as he kept speaking Parseltongue.
“What are you doing, Harry?” Draco’s voice brought him back to the moment, and Harry was surprised by the sudden vulnerability in it. By instinct he pushed Draco forwards again, forcing him to raise his hands and brace against the wall, whilst he curved his arms around Draco’s chest and brought their bare skin together.
The hiss Draco let out had Harry wondering vaguely whether he could actually speak Parseltongue as well, but then he realised it was nonsense and instead concentrated on running his hands over Draco’s skin and relishing the heat he could feel emanating from the pale body in front of him.
“So perfect, Draco,” he hissed, planting soft kisses down the side of Draco’s neck. He arched in response and whimpered softly. “You’re so beautiful, Draco, so perfect. Look how pale and perfect you are.” He let the fingers of one hand trail lightly up Draco’s side to his shoulder, then dance up his neck until he could bury them in that tantalisingly soft hair and tip Draco’s head backwards. “So soft, so bloody perfect,” he hissed quietly, knowing Draco had no idea what he was saying, “You make me feel like a walking catastrophe. How can you be so bloody perfect?”
Without really meaning to he pressed forwards again, pushing his rapidly filling cock against Draco’s arse. Even through the material of their trousers the action made him hiss in a way that was nothing to do with Parseltongue, and only the slight whimper from Draco made him feel better about the loss of control.
He resumed his kisses, trailing them across the back of Draco’s neck and on to his shoulder blades, before moving back up and around to his ear.
“Merlin, I want to kiss you properly,” he hissed, “How would you react to that, Draco? Would it break the spell if I did it? I want to know how you taste. I want to know what it’s like to kiss those pale, pink lips of yours.” His arm was back around Draco’s chest, holding him firmly, but the other hand had crept up, tracing the line of Draco’s jaw, working towards those lips, until finally he was able to just brush his fingertips across them. Draco whimpered and then reacted before Harry could snatch his hand away, sucking one of the fingers into his mouth and swirling his tongue over it as if it had been his plan all along.
“Merlin, Draco!” Harry had used English without thinking about it, but Draco hummed contentedly anyway and swirled his tongue some more, leaving Harry to frantically work at the fastenings of both their trousers with one hand and wish he hadn’t tossed his wand away quite so flippantly.
He managed it eventually, and took a moment to gaze admiringly at Draco’s cock, hard and already leaking, looking almost painfully aroused as it stood proud against his stomach. Draco gave his finger one last lick and released it
“I thought you were going to entertain me?” he said, in a way that made Harry think he was going for nonchalant but which actually missed it by several miles.
“Oh, I can entertain you,” he hissed, forcing Draco closer to the wall. He rubbed his finger, now slippery with Draco’s own saliva, briefly against Draco’s hole, and then, when Draco thrust back, asking for more, moved it away, instead pushing Draco’s arse cheeks apart and pressing his cock between them.
The sensation was almost too much. Draco’s arse was soft and warm and hugged his cock perfectly. “You have a beautiful arse, Draco,” Harry hissed and flexed his hips so that his cock slid between the cheeks, painting his pre-come over Draco’s tight hole.
“Feels good doesn’t it,” he murmured as Draco whimpered and clenched his fingers against the flat wall, as if he wanted something to grab hold of. “I could come just fucking your arse like this, Draco, if it wasn’t for the fact that it’d feel much better with me inside you.”
Merlin, the way Draco was whimpering with every hiss and every thrust was really driving Harry to distraction. A small part of his brain was questioning how the hell he had the confidence to act like this, but the rest of him was so caught up in the moment, and felt so safe behind the disguise of Parseltongue that he really couldn’t be bothered listening to it.
He flexed a few more times, rubbing his cock between Draco’s arse, savouring the warmth and the soft glide of flesh until Draco took matters into his own hands and clamped his muscles around Harry’s cock just as he thrust and Harry realised that if he didn’t stop right now he was going to come all over Draco’s back.
He pulled away reluctantly and cast a wandless lubrication charm on his fingers, immediately replacing his cock with them, coating Draco’s hole in lube, rubbing and pushing until he was relaxed enough to allow first one, and then two fingers inside.
Harry pushed and twisted until a silent jerk from Draco let him know he’d found his prostate.
“Does that feel good, Draco?” he hissed, and was rewarded with a moan and another jerk of Draco’s hips. He grinned to himself and moulded his body against Draco’s, working his fingers in and out of Draco’s arse, pushing against his prostate each time and starting to kiss his way along Draco’s shoulders again. Kisses turned into licks, which turned into bites, and then when Draco moaned, Harry latched onto his pulse point and sucked until Draco was writhing uncontrollably and his skin was covered in purple bruises.
“Fuck, Potter, get your fingers out my arse right now,” Draco growled, and Harry obeyed when he realised that his own cock was throbbing painfully, and that if he didn’t get it inside Draco soon he might explode.
Another wandless lubrication charm and then he was pushing inside, unable to pause to give Draco time to adjust, completely consumed by the heat and the tightness and the sheer astonishing feeling of being buried inside Draco’s arse. Draco. His Auror partner.
“I’m fucking my Auror partner, in a hotel room, whilst we’re on a mission,” he muttered against the back of Draco’s neck, forced to pause by the bizarreness of the situation.
“No you aren’t, Potter,” Draco gasped harshly, “You’re standing there with your cock up my arse doing fuck all when you should be pounding me into the wall. Move. And talk to me damn it.”
It took Harry a moment to work out that last part, but then he grinned and pulled his cock nearly all the way out before slamming it all the way back in, eliciting a grunt of pleasure from both of them. He repeated the movement, adjusting his angle until he found the spot that made Draco not just grunt but actually yell in pleasure.
They found a rhythm quickly after that, with Draco braced against the wall and Harry’s hands on his hips, both pushing and shoving and thrusting, the room filled with their moans and gasps, until Harry remembered that there was something else he could do and leaned forwards.
“You have the perfect arse Draco, so tight, so hot. Feels fucking amazing,” he hissed, earning him a whimper from Draco.
“Fuck, Harry, harder. More,” he gasped, and reached for his own cock. Harry let him get his fingers wrapped around the shaft before he knocked the hand aside and grabbed onto the wrist, pinning Draco’s hand against the wall.
“None of that, Draco,” he hissed against his ear, adjusting his rhythm as the new angle made it harder to thrust. “One day I might let you stick that magnificent cock up my arse, but right now you’re going to come without either of us touching it.”
Draco whimpered again and glanced at him over his shoulder, an action which made Harry completely lose his rhythm. Draco’s usually perfect hair was a mess, his pale skin was flushed and his eyes had a wild glint that Harry had never seen before, even in the midst of their most tense assignments. Harry groaned, released the wrist and pulled Draco flush against him, even as he pushed them so close to the wall that Draco had to turn his head and press his cheek to the plaster.
“So fucking beautiful, Draco. So perfect,” he hissed into his ear, altering his thrusts again and snaking one hand up to grab at Draco’s hair and yank his head backwards, exposing the unmarked side of his pale neck. He kissed it wildly, the skin feeling like fire beneath his lips, and he thrust and thrust, his arm locked in place as Draco squirmed and writhed against the wall. “I want you to come for me, Draco. Come for me and scream my name.”
Draco made a noise that sounded almost pained, and Harry felt his whole body go tense.
“That’s right, come for me, Draco,” he hissed and Draco made the noise again and came hard, painting the wall with his come, gasping and moaning and Harry picked up the pace of his thrusts, fucking Draco through his orgasm, seeking his own release.
“Oh fuck, yes, Harry, fuck!” Draco’s hips jerked so hard Harry almost lost his grip, but he managed to thrust once more into the delicious tightness of Draco’s arse and felt himself fall over the edge, his own climax ripping through his body. He had no idea whether he was speaking in English or Parseltongue but he babbled Draco’s name and clutched at him hard enough to bruise until the high faded and left him trembling and weak, unable to support his own weight.
Draco wasn’t much help, he staggered, tried to catch himself on the wall, and then fell back against Harry, causing them both to stumble and fall gracelessly to the floor. Even as they fell, and Harry felt their bodies part in a gush of sticky fluid, he had the presence of mind to pull Draco into his arms so that he landed flat on his back with Draco clutched to his chest.
“Fuck!” he swore as his head hit the carpet a little harder than he would have liked. He was still half dazed by pleasure, but the impact brought back a burst of reality and forced the words, what the fuck have I just done? to the forefront of his mind.
He blinked and gazed up at Draco. The man looked thoroughly debauched, with flushed skin and glazed eyes, and platinum blond hair that made him look like some sort of perfect fallen angel. Harry suspected that next to him he simply looked like a horrible sweaty mess. Trust Draco to still look fantastic after being fucked against a wall.
“Really, Potter,” he said, trying to sound as haughty as possible, though he was sure he didn’t look it. “If I’d known you were that desperate to fuck me I’m sure I could have relieved you some time ago.”
He wasn’t precisely sure his words had the effect he was hoping for. Harry just looked at him as if he’d gone mental, which really wasn’t helping his state of mind. Harry looked thoroughly and completely fucked, his hair sticking up in all directions, his eyes practically glowing, his skin coated with a sheen of sweat that made him look like some sort of fucking sex god. It really wasn’t fair. Draco was pretty sure he just looked a complete mess.
All the more reason to take back the advantage the only way he knew how.
“How long do you think we’ve got until Birm comes back?” he asked.
“An hour,” said Harry, after a brief pause in which he seemed to be staring at Draco’s lips. His eyes looked a bit unfocused.
“An hour?” Draco said thoughtfully. ”That’s quite a long time.”
He dipped his head towards Harry so they were only inches apart and the other man gazed at him warily.
“I can think of plenty of ways to fill an hour,” Draco murmured. Harry gave him another of those looks that suggested he’d gone completely mental and Draco frowned. He needed to wipe that look off Harry’s face as soon as possible, and there was only one way he could think of to do it.
He lunged forwards and slammed his lips against Harry’s, plundering his mouth with his tongue and not even caring when their teeth clacked together. He simply tilted his head and deepened the kiss.
“This time, I’m going to be the one fucking you,” he hissed when he finally pulled away and since Harry raised no objection, he did.