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The Shadow of a Malfoy

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I know exactly why he’s here; there’s no need for gentle foreplay or sweet words. Draco is here for a quick, rough fuck, and I’m only too willing to oblige.

When he stumbles through the Floo, already half-drunk and with the top button of his fitted shirt undone, he wastes no time with a seductive undressing. A flick of his wand and I’m completely nude, shoved against the wall with his mouth over mine. He licks and bites his way inside, all sharp teeth and intrusive tongue, and I find myself instantly hard.

When he pulls back and looks into my eyes, I know it isn’t me he sees and, that too, is just fine by me. He nips at my neck and drops to his knees, swallowing my prick whole. Merlin, it feels divine, and my hands slide into his silky blond hair. When I close my eyes I can see someone else as well; pretend that Scorpius is on his knees, his tongue swirling around my swollen head. I can imagine it’s Scorpius’s lips being smeared with my pre-come, Scorpius's soft voice moaning deep in his throat.

Scorpius values our friendship too much… it’s utter shite. It’s just an excuse, that’s what it is. Scorpius doesn’t want me but he’s too damn nice to tell me outright.

Draco isn’t nice, not really. Sure, he’s polite enough outside the bedroom, greeting me cordially when I visit Scorpius at the Manor, but behind closed doors he’s positively sinful. His teeth scrape lightly along my shaft and I buck forward in response. He always knows how to get me right on edge.

Who needs nice when it comes to fucking, anyway? I’m moments from coming and Draco hasn’t even undressed yet. He’s still fully clothed, his fine tailored trousers likely getting dirty on my dusty floor.

“Wait,” I stutter, pulling my cock away from his determined mouth. His piercing eyes look up at me from beneath pale lashes, his pupils blown wide in arousal. “I don’t want to come yet. I want you to fuck me.”

His grin is devilish and he rises slowly to his feet, his eyes sweeping over my naked body.

I like to undress him and he indulges me in this. I like his fine clothing; fancy form-fitted suits, gleaming polished buttons on his waist coat, the intricate designs on his cufflinks. Removing each item thrills me, and I savour each quality article of attire. Scorpius may be the true object of my desire, but he has yet to learn how to properly dress himself.

Scorpius likes to wear tight jeans and soft cotton t-shirts, clean white trainers and that tacky woven wristband he got in Italy a few summers ago. He enjoys dressing casually and always teases me when I stop and gape outside of expensive designer stores, saying it figures the youngest son of Harry Potter would have fine taste. I hardly know what he means by that. At times he’s so hard to figure out.

There is no need to figure Draco out; our interactions are simple. He’s completely nude now, his clothing all neatly folded on my sofa and his pale, naked flesh gleams in the low light of my flat. Draco does have a remarkable body; all long, lean lines and smooth skin. His cock is a is a thing of beauty, thick and flushed, freshly slicked with lube.

He bends me over the sofa, fitting his slippery cock between my arse cheeks and squeezing them together, gliding them back and forth at an achingly slow pace. With every stroke, the swollen head of his prick catches on my stretched rim—Draco always prefers me to prep myself before his arrival, a true testament to his distaste for foreplay. I often wonder if it’s the foreplay he so detests or the reminder that I'm not the one he truly wishes were in his arms. Either way, I comply to his demands, pressing back against his thrusts, impatient for the sweet burn of his thick cock stretching me, longing for my arse to be full of Malfoy.

Draco is an absolutely fantastic fuck. I hardly ever need him to touch me in order to come, the friction of the sofa works well enough when paired with his relentless strokes. He hits the right spot every time, my cock leaking steadily against the worn fabric. The pressure is delectable, his mouth warm and wet against my neck, and my body vibrates in pleasure.

These encounters linger long after, the memories of his touch deeply imprinted into my skin. There are times his image enters my mind as my hand strokes my cock late at night. Usually I imagine Scorpius laying beside me, whispering sweet words in my ear, his gentle hands on my body. Sometimes though, the vision ripples and it’s Draco’s rougher grip on my hips, his harsh voice filling the empty room.

It’s like flying too high on my broom when we fuck; exhilarating and dangerous. But it’s not without its price, and I fear I pay it each and every time. Every empty fuck with this gorgeous man leaves my stomach in knots, and I always steadily avoid my reflection in the mirror the day after. Draco is no Scorpius, a cheap imitation at best, and these crude encounters do little to fill the aching void inside.

I know it doesn’t mean anything, those achingly long thrusts inside my tight arse, the glorious thickness of his perfect cock stretching me wide open. His groans of pure pleasure and pants of undeniable need are far from a confession of love or even mere affection. There is no hidden meaning behind the way he remains inside of me after he comes, his cock still throbbing gently in the aftermath.

I have no illusions when it comes to Draco, no foolish expectations and yet I often wonder how much longer this can persist.

Draco’s fingers tangle in my hair, softly caressing my curly locks as he mutters in my ear. Potter, Potter, he chants, voice smooth like velvet. Never Albus, never my given name. It’s my father he imagines beneath him, my dad he wishes to call his own. We're both slaves to our unattainable desires, forever trapped in this prison we create ourselves.

I know this all very well, but when he pulls out of me, my used arse sore and aching, my breath catches all the same. When he abruptly leaves, a muttered goodbye and his eyes refusing to meet mine, the inevitable hurt creeps in anyway.

It’s a hollow comfort, this thing between Draco and I, but it’s all I have. I’ll cling to the sharp edges tightly and never let go, ignoring the blood that drips through my fingers. It’s a price I know I’ll keep paying, no matter how steep the cost.

A shadow of a Malfoy is better than no Malfoy at all.