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Sincere Gratitude from the (Heart) Tongue

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The sun beats steadily in the cloudless sky and beads of perspiration form on Harry’s brow as he circles the pitch searching for the Snitch. It’s been an unseasonably hot day and Harry is grateful when he spots a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye. Malfoy appears to have spotted it too—a look of anticipation on his face as he dives towards it, his Quidditch robes whipping around his body. Malfoy is quick, but Harry is faster, and Harry’s face breaks into a triumphant grin as his outstretched fingers curl around the vibrating Snitch. The usual aggravated scowl Malfoy favours Harry after a Gryffindor win is missing, replaced with a sly smirk and shrug of a shoulder as he turns his broom and flies towards the ground. Harry swallows roughly as his eyes follow Malfoy, watching him land elegantly on the pitch, ignoring the rest of his disappointed team as he makes his way towards the showers.

It’s been a week since their last encounter, tucked away in that dark, abandoned classroom, Malfoy’s fingers deep inside his—Harry shakes his head clear of such thoughts and makes his way towards the pitch. He’s greeted by his team, laughing joyfully as they slap him on the back in congratulations, but Harry can’t take his mind off of Malfoy. Harry knows the ball is in his court, it’s his turn to make a move, but the following days have found him drowning in apprehension.

Perhaps it’s his inexperience, or maybe just the ridiculousness of the situation, but he can’t seem to get the erratic beating of his heart under control as he makes his way to the showers. Harry knows he needs to find a way to one up Malfoy. Despite the intimate nature of the game they are playing, Harry can taste the competitiveness swimming right below the surface. Harry feels a renewed wave of embarrassment as he recalls cornering Seamus in the common room the other day, discreetly questioning him about what sort of advanced sexual exploits he got up to. Seamus, of course, lit up and was all too happy to share, even offering Harry a ‘hands-on example’ which Harry had to quickly—and graciously, of course—refuse.

Harry takes his time undressing and putting his gear away, making small talk with his teammates as both Gryffindors and Slytherins trickle out of the changing rooms. Despite Malfoy being the first one to enter the showers, Harry knows he’s still there. He can taste the tension in the air; the mutual anticipation that today is the day something is going to happen. Harry takes a steadying breath and enters the showers, willing himself to be brave as he spots Malfoy in the far corner, pale skin flushed in the heat of the streaming water.

Malfoy’s back is still facing Harry, but he’s certain that Malfoy knows he’s here—that he’s carefully stepping closer to him, breath stuck in his throat and heart pounding. Malfoy runs his fingers through his hair, water traveling from the blond, wet tips and down his spine. The river of water pools momentarily at the base of his back before gliding over his arse and Harry can feel his prick swell in interest.

A few more steps and Harry is right behind Malfoy, the only acknowledgement of his presence coming from the slight tension in Malfoy’s shoulders. The hot water continues to sputter from the showerhead, the air filling with steam so thick Harry finds it difficult to breathe. He reaches his hands out, hovering mere inches from Malfoy’s wet and inviting skin, as he mentally encourages himself.

“Potter.” Malfoy’s voice is smooth and deep, his name uttered like a challenge.

Harry steels his nerves places his hands on Malfoy’s shoulders, the warmth radiating off his skin and into his Harry’s palms. Malfoy is nearly trembling in anticipation, his cock already hard, swollen and flushed as it curves towards his stomach. Harry slides his hands down Malfoy’s back, calloused fingertips dancing along the wet skin until they reach the swell of his arse. His hands cup Malfoy’s cheeks, giving a gentle squeeze before his thumbs come to rest between his crack, cautiously prying Malfoy apart. Malfoy inhales sharply, his body rigid with tension, and Malfoy’s nerves oddly spur Harry on. He drops to his knees, spreads Malfoy’s cheeks further apart and presses his face forward.

Malfoy’s startled yelp, which swiftly morphs into a needy groan, is worth all the humiliation of talking to Seamus the other day. Harry closes his eyes as the water flows over him, soaking his hair and plastering it to his face. He runs one hand through his hair, pushing it back and away, while the other presses against Malfoy’s back. Malfoy follows Harry’s lead, bending over and exposing his arse further to Harry.

Harry’s lips brush against Malfoy’s hole, the lightest of touches but Malfoy is already panting softly. He flicks out a tongue experimentally and is rewarded by a low groan as Malfoy practically quivers under his touch. The remaining nerves flooding Harry’s senses are swept away, replaced with a heady sense of power. He’s doing this to Malfoy; he’s making him shiver and groan and desperately push his arse back against Harry’s mouth.

Harry runs the flat of his tongue against Malfoy’s hole, water rushing between the crack and Harry laps it all up. He breathes carefully through his nose, mouth open and sloppy as he sucks and licks at Malfoy’s arse.

Malfoy’s an utter wreck, gasping and twitching, and it’s all Harry’s fault. Harry feels emboldened—and achingly aroused—as he devours Malfoy with his mouth.

“Touch yourself,” Harry commands against his arse.

Malfoy needs no further instruction: his hand flies to his dripping prick, tugging roughly. Harry traces Malfoy’s sensitive rim with his tongue, delighting in the noises escaping Malfoy’s mouth. Malfoy increases the pace of his strokes, the slick sound of wanking and his desperate groans filling the empty showers. Harry pushes the tip of his tongue inside Malfoy’s hole and is rewarded by a sharp cry. Malfoy shudders and his movements become erratic, body trembling as his release spills from him and onto the tiles.

“Fuck.” Harry gasps raggedly as he leans back and palms his own aching cock. The hot water splashes across his chest and runs down his abdomen to his cock, creating a nearly painful friction, but Harry is too far gone to care. His eyes squeeze shut as he surrenders to his orgasm, pulse after pulse of sticky come clinging to his fingers.

They both regain their breath in silence, Harry’s knees aching as he adjusts his position on the floor. Malfoy peers down at Harry, his features relaxed and sated, expression open as he offers Harry a hand. Malfoy’s palm is warm in his and he pulls him up, their chests pressed together as Harry stumbles against him. Harry finds himself peering into Malfoy’s eyes, so close their lips are nearly touching, but Malfoy’s face closes off again, his expression inscrutable.

Malfoy takes a step back, mouth twisting into a wry smile as he quickly rinses off under the shower stream and reaches for a towel.

“Not bad, Potter.” Malfoy wraps the towel around his body, stepping out of the shower. “Not bad at all.”

~*~

Part IV coming 14 August 2016