It's the same every time.
You meet up at some grimy pub, already drunk and hard. He doesn't bother buying you a drink, doesn't bother with flirting or soft touches. That's not what this is about.
You're a slave to it all the same; following Potter inside the dirty loo, allowing him to shove you into an empty stall as you readily fall to your knees. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide and clouded with lust, as he undoes his trousers, pulling his hard prick out. You want to taste it. You want to lick off that bead of pre-come that collects at the tip, reach out and pull that dripping cock into your mouth. Potter knows. He can tell by the way you lick your lips, by that pleading desire painted all over your face.
"Is this what you want, Malfoy," Potter purrs, hand stroking his hard prick, "Do you want to swallow me whole?"
You try to speak, but only a pitiful and eager whine escapes your lips.
"I bet you've been dreaming of this Malfoy. Wanking yourself raw, thinking about my taste on your lips."
Your heart pounds as your constrained prick throbs for release.
"I'm gonna be good to you Malfoy, I'm gonna let you taste it. Open your mouth."
Your mouth opens automatically, hungrily swallowing Potter's hot prick, savouring the salty, bitter taste.
"Fuck, Malfoy," Potter pants as he shallowly thrusts into your mouth.
It's pure bliss; The weight of his cock on your tongue, the sharp pain as he sinks his fingers into your hair and pulls, the sounds of pleasure filling the empty, dirty loo.
All too soon he pulls out of your mouth.
"I'm gonna come, Malfoy. I'm gonna come all over your pretty little face. Is that what you want? Is that what you need?"
You can only nod in your desperation, heel of your hand pressing on your throbbing prick.
Potter moans in reply, one hand working furiously on his cock while the other continues to grip your hair roughly.
"Oh fuck, Malfoy," Potter groans eyes squeezing shut, his hips stuttering.
The first splash of come on your face is like a kiss, warm and welcome. Potter continues to gasp as he spills himself over you, stripes of come painting your face, running down your cheeks, falling over your lips. You press your hand firmly down on your constrained cock, once, twice and that's all you need. You shudder as your own orgasm rips though you, coming in your pants like some inexperienced school-boy.
Potter's breathing evens out and he opens his eyes, looking sated and satisfied. His hand cups your cheek, gently and reverently, palm becoming wet and sticky with his own come. He doesn't bother with a cleaning spell, rather he wipes his hand almost aimlessly against the side of his trousers before re-fastening them.
"I'll see you next week, Malfoy," he murmurs lowly, backing out of the stall and exiting the loo.
It's the same every time.
It's always perfect.