The days and months immediately following the Battle of Hogwarts were filled with a mixture of grief and funerals as the dead were sorted and lain to rest. Harry moved through the first days in something of a numb haze. It had been odd to be back amongst wizarding civilization after so long hiding in the most remote regions possible while they tried to win a war from behind the scenes, and they all had to adjust once they returned home for good. Harry couldn’t get over how loud everything was, not after the quiet and tranquility found camping amongst the tall rocky bluffs or hidden amongst the trees in the Forest of Dean.
Still, time passed as it ever did and the repairs of the school eventually began. A month into said repairs, Harry found himself working alone to repair the outside of the greenhouses. It was easy work after all the practice he’d gotten so far, but that day he kept getting distracted. The reason for his distraction stood a few dozen feet from him, amongst a team of Rune Masters who were working tirelessly to repair the damage done to the ancient structure under the force of Voldemort tearing through the thousand year old wards. He hadn’t interacted with the group before, as they tended to keep to themselves, even during meal breaks. It didn’t help they their work was done either at the borders of the school, or deep within the heart of the castle, furthering their isolation and adding to the air of mystery that surrounded them.
To be a Rune Master was a prestigious thing, after all. It took It took an enormous amount of precision, both in action and intention, along with a significant amount of raw magical power required to perform the awe inspiring feats they were known for. It also took an incredible amount of endurance. Some of the more complex rune chains could require rituals that lasted hours- hours in which every individual involved had to keep perfectly in control. They truly placed their very lives on the skill of their team members, the smallest error capable of causing immediate (and often times bloody) deaths to those anchored into the ritual or rune chain.
There were seven men on the team, six of them appearing to be at least forty. It was the seventh, and clearly youngest, of the team that caught Harry’s attention. He was tall, looking as though he would tower over the Gryffindor should they come face to face, and thickly muscled to boot. His hair was dark, styled lazily into messy spikes that worked well with his frame. He wasn’t classically handsome, but held a more ruggedly masculine, devil-may-care, don’t-fuck-with-me vibe that Harry found himself intrigued by- that a small part of him wished he could emulate and a larger part found himself slightly attracted to, even from a distance.
He felt like he should know the man, but he just couldn’t quite place who he might be. The team of Rune Masters were multinational, he knew, and had been called in from China specifically to assist with the rebuild. It was the extent of his knowledge of them, and he found himself watching them more or less discreetly throughout the afternoon.
It was nearing dinner time, and Harry was just about done repairing the structures of the individual greenhouses. Sprout would see to the insides herself when she saw to the plants, so he’d no longer have a reason to remain in the area. He wondered if he’d run into the team again while they were here, or if this was as close as he’d get. He finished repairing the last wall and then stepped back, lowering his wand hand and bringing up his left to wipe his forehead. It was nice to be free of his glasses. Though thought crossed his mind briefly, as it had often done since getting his eyes repaired.
There had been an advert for the potion & spell combination when he’d been taken to Saint Mungo’s after the battle to be checked more thoroughly than Madam Pomfrey was able to provide in the resulting chaos. He’d inquired more out of curiosity than anything, and had walked out twenty minutes later with perfect vision and a spring in his step, despite the drag of recent events.
The loss did leave him feeling a bit naked, all told, but he was fast getting used to it. Ready to take his leave, he glanced one last time at the busy team, only to find his main focus’ attention directly back on him. He felt the urge to drop his eyes, but forced himself to resist. He tilted his head slightly in question as the familiar stranger continued to simply watch him with an odd, conflicted, expression of his own.
When nothing else happened, he mentally shrugged it off and turned away. It was hardly unusual for people to fixate on him once they realized who he was. That sort of attention wasn’t anything he was interested in and so he told himself to put of small pull of attraction out of his head. Decision made, he cast one last spell across his work area, scanning for structural flaws and happy to find none. Satisfied, he began trekking back towards the Great Hall to check in, resolutely not looking back.
When the days’ work was finished, he found himself still feeling restless. Rather than head back to Grimmauld Place for the night, he instead headed across the grounds to the field that used to be the Quidditch Pitch. It hadn’t been rebuilt yet, lying somewhere towards the bottom of the priority list, but the rubble and destroyed stands had been cleared away already, and so it stood expansive and open to the sky above.
Since his return to civilization, Harry had taken to keeping his own bottomless pouch on him. He found it more convenient while working to simply be able to reach in and summon what he needed, rather than trooping across the school to gather it (summoning was a tricky business, with so many workers to get in the way, and so was best avoided).
It came in handy then, as he already had his beloved Firebolt on his person and so was able to retrieve it and begin slicing through the air without further delay. He felt himself lightening mentally as he soared through the warm summer breeze, pushing himself to move faster and faster. It was easy to get lost in the familiar sensation of weightlessness and it sent a thrill thrumming through him from the bottom of his feet to the top of his skull. Sunset fell almost without notice around the solitary figure dancing through the sky upon a broom.
Harry changed directions suddenly, rising almost vertically as he pushed himself higher and higher still, continuing on until the air felt thinner and his fingers grew numb from the cold. Only then did he allow himself to fall backwards, drawing the broom out from under him and keeping it by his side with one hand as he let himself drop into freefall.
It didn’t feel like falling, but was rather much more graceful a sensation almost akin to floating. He’d been rapidly descending for a few dozen heartbeats before he bothered to twist around and gain a view to be able to judge the remaining distance to the ground. Still having plenty of time, he looked back to the stars above, eyes automatically seeking out the Canis Major in memory of his beloved godfather.
He remained relaxed as he plunged closer and closer to the ground, arms spread on either side of him and wind tugging harshly at his clothes, until the empty pitch once again became a definable shape beneath him. Only then did he pull himself out of his descent, twisting in the air so that his broom pressed against the length of him and naturally transitioned him from falling back to flying.
His blood was pumping loudly through his body and echoing in his ears, his fingertips tingling in euphoria as he pulled up fully and allowed the tips of his toes to drag across the too long grass. He pulled himself into a few barrel rolls and loop-to-loops for old times sake, feeling a smile tug against his lips for the first time in what felt like ages. He’d always been happiest on a broom, and that sensation hadn’t faded as he feared it may have from the lack.
There was a figure standing off to the side, watching him. Harry frowned slightly, under the impression that the grounds had been emptied for the evening. It was the youngest Rune Master, he realized then, the one who’d caught his attention so completely. When he came level with the older man, he pulled himself to a stop and dropped lightly back onto the ground. He stepped closer to the stranger who didn’t seem like a stranger, and tilted his head curiously.
“Evening.” He greeted lowly, as his eyes took in the man close up for the first time. His eyes were a unique smoky grey color, seeming to almost churn with mercury-like swirls and ripples flowing throughout. The sight cast further doubt that Harry should know him, for surely he’d remember a sight so stunning?
The familiar stranger was smoking, embers smoldering from the small stick gripped lightly between two fingers. Harry recognized the small symbol on the filter as identical to the one he’d watched Lucius Malfoy indulging in only a brief time ago, upon learning that his family would escape a prison sentence- though their vaults were sure to end up significantly emptier after all the fees and restitution were taken. The man had offered Harry one for himself, but he’d politely declined, having no desire at the time to try the habit he’d always associated with Dudley and his little band of hoodlums.
Now though, the sight before him left him with an almost burning curiosity about how the things might taste, how the smoke might feel rolling across his tongue and filling his lungs. He already knew the wizarding version of fags, largely called cicala (or simply cal to most under sixty), were free of the harmful side effects of their muggle counterparts, and so there was no true reason to abstain. Even knowing they were harmless, he’d never cared to try one before and yet, in that moment, he’d give just about anything to assuage that curiosity.
The other man finished his drag and allowed the thick smoke to curl slowly back out of his mouth and nostrils before he responded. “Evening, Potter.” His voice was deep and gravely, and as masculine sounding as the man who bore it looked. A shiver raced up his spine as the much larger man stepped casually closer. “Saw you watching me today.” He commented blithely, eyes searching. “Thought I’d find out why.”
It might have been standing there on the pitch that finally allowed Harry to place the man standing before him, or it might have been something else entirely, but whatever the trigger had him flashing back to his third year, to the last time he’d played a game against Slytherin house with Marcus Flint as the captain. The older boy was supposed to graduate that year, but Harry had heard he’d been kept back. He’d have graduated in Harrys fourth year, but with the Triwizard Tournament and everything that went along with it, he honestly hadn’t paid him, or the benched Slytherin team as a whole, much attention at all.
Flint didn’t look anything like he used to. He’d grown even larger than he’d been back then, but also seemed much more at home in his own skin. He held himself with the easy confidence of a man who was secure in himself and his abilities. His jaw was strong, and covered with a couple days’ worth of stubble at least. Harry caught a glimpse of his mouth when the man had taken that last breath of smoke, and had noticed the perfectly even rows of teeth inside- a huge improvement over the crooked mess they’d been before, and so he’d obviously had them repaired at some point. The change wasn’t a surprise, for he had recently begun to understand just how vain Purebloods tended to be with their appearance and reputations.
A year ago, the realization of who he was speaking with might have put him off. As it were, he understood that there were things far more significant than which house you were sorted into at the tender age of eleven. It had seemed like such an important thing back then- world altering, even, but it was all so pointless. To Harry, after everything that had occurred over the past few years, it seemed obvious absolutely ludicrous that things should continue as they had been before the war.
With that war over and the rebuild in full effect, Harry was determined to help reshape the lines of division that still continued to crack apart the wizarding world. School yard rivalry was one thing, but keeping to those same ridiculous biases for literal generations was just unfathomable to him and couldn’t be allowed to continue- not if they wanted to break the cycle they seem stuck on as a society.
Harry had already began making his stance clear by standing for the Malfoy family at their trial, and for demanding fair trials for all who’d been arrested, regardless of their surname, house affiliation, or even the shade of their magic. It was a bold move, and one that drew far more criticism than not with the resulting media storm.
Those who had lost family members and friends wanted retribution, and they weren’t much pleased with what they perceived as justice being delayed unnecessarily. Still, Harry held firm, his recent accomplishment and name granting power to his demands in such a way that no one had been audacious enough to deny him of as of yet.
He had a feeling the former Slytherin was aware of recent events, else he might not have been as willing to approach the lone savior as he apparently was. Realizing his mind was wandering and that he hadn’t replied, he responded simply, “I don’t know why, really.” His shoulder lifted slightly. “ ’Was curious, I suppose.”
Harry tilted his head again, his eyes dragging the length of the fit body before him almost helplessly. “Why I felt so drawn to you.” He felt another flare of attraction at the smirk that curled those chapped lips. It was a new sensation for him. He hadn’t began to feel sexual attraction until his fourth year, and at the time he’d been under far too much pressure to give it much thought. Had he the ability to pay that portion of his life the attention it deserved, the Yule Ball might actually have been something to look forward to rather than dread.
After the traumatic end to the year and the terrible summer that followed, he’d lost the growing sense of desire altogether and then never really had the opportunity to explore it. Never having gotten the opportunity didn’t change the fact that he was still a teenage boy, and he’d heard plenty enough lewd conversations in the dorms and locker room to fuel his imagination during the time spent in too-close confines with his very platonic best friends.
“Felt?” The man questioned, almost teasingly, dark brow raised and crossed arms causing his musculature to be visible through the light summer robes he wore. “Past-tense, then?”
Harry felt himself smile and then it was his turn to take a step forward. They stood almost toe to toe now, and Flints cal was nearly burnt down to the filter. The man flicked it to the ground and then stepped on it carelessly with a large foot encased in thick dragon hide. “I didn’t say that,” Harry replied then, feeling almost daring in the darkening twilight with the rush of adrenaline and euphoria still flowing thought his veins from his death-defying freefall minutes before.
Swirling eyes searched his own glowing emeralds, slight surprise causing his face to blanket once more in consternation as he demanded, “Do you know who I am, Potter?”
“I didn’t earlier.” He admitted. “I felt like I should have, but I couldn’t quite place you.”
“But you do now?”
“You’re a pretty distinctive man up close, Flint.”
Red lips twisted again. “And now that you’ve realized who I am? Still drawn to me?”
“Well I am still here, aren’t I?” He questioned rather than stating the obvious. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, what game he was playing into. He was rather innocent in the finer details of matters such as this, after all, but he knew the interaction was moving somewhere, and he wanted to see where that somewhere was. How did that saying go- fake it until you make it? He’d be damned if he left Flint see his uncertainty in this.
“You are that.” Flint murmured, gravely undertone still present despite the quieter note his voice had taken. “So now what?” His eyes hadn’t looked away, and Harry felt almost buzzing with a kind of anticipation he’d never experienced before- one that left his skin tingling and him almost breathless.
Despite his previous boldness, Harry couldn’t bring himself to voice his thoughts aloud. The faintest hint of colour reddened his cheeks and his eyes dropped down slightly. The older man must spend a lot of time outside for his lips to be so chapped, he thought mindlessly, eyes dropping further in his embarrassment until they landed somewhere around his collar bone- that is, almost level with Harrys line of sight.
He couldn’t claim his curiosity was solely due to Flint at a person, for he honestly didn’t know much of anything about the older Slytherin. Physical attraction or mental, Harry felt drawn to Flint in a way he hadn’t felt before, and he wanted to push it farther. Despite his own virginity, Harry had heard plenty about the magnificent of a good shag. He was old enough now that his friends and classmates were getting married, but still Harry remained frustratingly unattached and unbedded.
Though he was now relatively free to pursue such desires, his spike in fame made it even harder to contemplate than it’d been before. People had always treated him different, from the very moment he stepped back into the wizarding world at eleven. Truly, even before that in the shape of his oh-so-loving relatives; relatives who despised him simply for being born with a spark of magic in his veins. It could be hard to judge if someone was speaking with him out of true interest, or out of interest in conversing with the famed boy-who-lived, or for some other purpose entirely.
Even his closest friends used him to a certain extent- Ron at various times throughout their Hogwarts years (he’d thankfully matured past the behavior, for the most part), and Hermione more recently, in her attempts to take the Ministry by storm using every resource available to her, including her connection with Harry and the political clout he was currently gaining as he began establishing himself in the society of his father’s family. Even despite all that, something in him made him want to find out if Flint’s apparent interest was honest, or if it was just as driven by motivation as everyone else’s.
Watching those hypnotic eyes watching him, he steeled his nerves and decided to throw caution to the wind. It was something he was known for doing, after all, and he usually came out on the other side mostly unscathed. Instead of trying to come up with the right words, he took the final step forward, rising on to the tips of his toes to press his lips against the rough ones before him. It could have gone terribly wrong, had he read the situation incorrectly, but his luck held out.
He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, his experience in snogging nearly as nonexistence as his experience in shagging, but luckily Flint didn’t require much prompting before he took control of the exchange, his own interest surging to the forefront uninhibited. He could taste the remnants of tobacco and something sweetly smoky in the kiss, and he wondered vaguely what the flavor had come from.
Large hands reached forward to grasp his hips. The hold was light at first, the older seemingly waiting to observe his reaction to the move before proceeding further. Harry could feel the heat seeping through the cloth covering his flesh, moving to pool in his lower abdomen. He stepped more fully into the hold and Flint responded immediately, pulling him even closer and holding him nearly on his tiptoes so that, were he to let go, Harry would have lost his balance completely and fallen.
Harry’s own hands moved to press against the strong chest in an attempt to gain back some control of himself, but it had rather the opposite affect as he felt another surge of heat pool in his loins at the firm musculature under his hands. An almost silent sigh escaped his nose but Flint caught it all the same. His hands tightened even more, kisses growing demanding and dominating as Harry struggled to keep up with all the new sensations beginning to flow over his inexperienced body.
Flints right hand moved around his hip to briefly palm his arse before running firmly up his slender back and neck, eventually coming to rest fisted lightly in his mop of messy wind-blown curls. That earned him an honest to Merlin moan from the smaller man, when he used that hold to pull the slighter mans’ head to the side and then turn his attentions to the newly exposed stretch of his neck.
An admittedly very small part of himself questioned what exactly he was doing here, snogging Marcus Bloody Flint of all people on the Quidditch Pitch, but such things were easily ignored in lieu of how much sheer want was coursing through his body, cock harder than it had ever been while an answering hardness pressed almost lewdly against his abdomen.
Despite the heat continuing to build between them, Flint didn’t move to take things farther for a long few moments, seemingly waiting for something. Harry realized then that he hadn’t moved much himself, simply holding on for the ride and keeping up as best he could. Never one to be passive, Harry took the next step by slipping his hands under light robes the man wore over his fitted dragon hide. Beneath, the man’s chest felt even firmer than it had through the fabric. Truly, it shouldn’t be possible for one may to be so muscular.. Or at least, not one who didn’t dedicate hours each day to achieving such a result.
His hands explored the smooth flesh almost reverently, fingers toying with the thin line of chest hair he could feel running down the hard six pack and disappearing beneath the armored trousers. Flint must have taken his own advance as the permission, because whatever reservation was holding him back suddenly disappeared and he practically engulfed the slighter man within his own body, thickly corded arms surrounding him and taller stature making it to where he was nearly bent over the younger as he ravished him there under the stars.
“Up for side-along?” He asked lowly, lips moving against his throat with the words before teeth latched on and began nibbling.
Harrys mind was lost and it took a long second for the words to register. When the did he blinked, pulling back slightly to take in the Slytherin’s expression. Side-along apparition implied a great deal of trust, considering you were essentially allowing someone else to take you anywhere they willed blindly. Beyond the issue of trust, apparition was supposed to be impossible on Hogwarts grounds. It had been one of the first wards to be repaired.
Flint read the expression on his face and a small smirk twisted his mouth. “Rune master, Potter. I’m keyed to the wards while we’re working on them.”
That mystery solved meant it went back to being a matter of trust. Logic told him it was an absolutely terrible idea, but for some reason it didn’t seem like that big of a deal just then. He’d already thrown caution to the wind with what they’d done so far, so why not take the plunge in truth? “Okay.” He said before he could talk himself out of it.
The smirk grew larger and they disappeared before he could think any further on it, Flint luckily having the forethought to grab his broom before sweeping him off to destination unknown. The arrived a second later in an elegantly decorated bedroom, at the foot of a bed covered in a lush looking dark grey fabric and pillows. He didn’t have time to look around before his attention was recaptured as his robes were slid from his shoulders, leaving him bare from the waist up.
Flint pushed his own robes free at the same time and then swept him up into his arms. Harry let out a gasp of surprise at the sudden movement, wrapping his legs around the thick waist automatically to try and regain a sense of stability. His arms were wrapped around the muscular neck and his lips were recaptured before he could complain- not that he truely wanted to, despite it feeling a bit awkward.
His back hit the luxurious duvet and then he was being blanketed by smooth skin and sensual heat. Flint eased into a deeper kiss, drawing his mouth open and using his tongue to tease at his own before pulling back to nibble and suck at the reddening lips. When the man pulled away, Harry found himself leaning forward to follow, chasing the fleeting sensation and man both.
Flint obliged his unspoken request, diving back down to capture his lips again without complaint. They continued snogging passionately, and instead of pulling away as he had before when it came time to move, he instead took the long way to his goal, dragging his lips downwards, beginning at the corner of his mouth and jaw line, and continuing down to his throat and then further on. His hands and teeth and tongue left a burning trail of fire down his already heated flesh. He bit down on a nipple the same moment he palmed Harrys cock for the first time and the Gryffindor let out a hapless moan in response.
Flint smirked again, Harry could feel it against his chest as the man moved lower still. His pants disappeared from one second to the next, and a light flush spread across his cheeks at the sudden feel of exposure. He felt a low surge of hesitation before he shoved it away. He’d be damned if he left his nerves turn him from this course, not when things were going so pleasurably well.
Gathering his courage, he rolled his hips up instead of withdrawing. His breath caught in his throat as his hardness caught on the very clear proof that the Slytherin was enjoying the events just as much as he himself was. Flint reached between them and gathered them both in one large hand, lifting his upper body slightly to accommodate the reach.
Harry glanced down and the sight was almost his undoing- the familiar pale stretch of his own respectable manhood seeming positively petite when compared to the beast it was pressed against obscenely against. Flint’s heft was definitely proportionate to his massive size, and Harry swallowed harshly in a mixture of anticipation, lust, and another flare of hesitation (though this one for an entirely different reason that it had been before).
Flint drew his attention away by reclaiming his mouth and stroking firmly upwards. Harry’s mind blanked once more as he fell back into the rush of new sensations. His own hands were clutching the strong back above him, knees cradling the larger body to himself as he let himself react on instinct alone. His attention was caught when Flint murmured something lowly, something that Harry didn’t catch and might not have taken notice of if not for the bizarre sensation that sudden swept through his lower half.
He’d heard in passing of spells to clean and prep a partner during such times, but he’d never had a need to learn them before, let alone experience how they felt. He managed to hide his flinch, but Flint must have caught the way his nose scrunched because he chuckled lowly and pressed a sloppy kiss against the underside of his jaw before he pulled away more fully. Harry was far too on edge to chase him again and so settled for simply opening his eyes (-when had he closed them?) to watch what the man was doing.
Without warning, Flint swooped down and engulfed his cock clear down to the root. At the same moment, two of his thick fingers pressed firmly inside the magically relaxed entrance. Harry moaned again, louder than before and unable to care any longer what he sounded like. The fingers withdrew for the briefest moment before returning, this time with three digits.
His hands were as big as the rest of him, and three fingers to him was more than four of Harry’s own. The stretch burned, uncomfortable nature of it scarcely held off by the pleasure continuing to engulf his cock. And still, he knew the other man’s own member was larger still, would stretch him even further. How could he possibly take such a thing inside himself? It didn’t seem possible, even with the aid of magic.
He buried the apprehension deeper, attempting to focus wholly on the pleasure of it. Flint pulled away with a wet sounding slurp that made the flush reappear on Harry’s cheeks, pulling his fingers free at the same time and them stretching himself up to rest on his elbows on either side of Harry’s head. He leaned down for another kiss, one strong hand reaching down to wrap almost completely around Harry’s thigh and lift it higher up, forcing his lower leg to hook tightly around Flint’s back.
His mouth was slicker than ever, carrying an odd salty flavor that wasn’t entirely pleasant as he devoured the smaller man. It wasn’t until the taste was gone that he pulled away, eyes swirling even brighter than before. Harry’s eyes locked on the sight, brows furrowed curiously and surely that couldn’t be entirely natural?
Flint once again appeared to read his mind, and answered the question unasked. “After effect of a ritual. Permanent.” He explained succinctly before moving on to what he viewed as more important matters. “Now then, last chance to change your mind.” He added, flexing his hips so that the meaty head of his cock caught on Harry’s loosened rim but stopped short of actually penetrating him.
The offer sent a surge of annoyance through him and he glared up at the teasing eyes looking down at him, the older man continuing to toy with his lower body, keeping him on edge despite the distraction. Instead of answering, Harry waiting until just the right moment and then used the hold of his legs to pull the larger man forward as he himself rocked slightly in return. His effort was rewarded by about three inches of the man sliding suddenly inside the passage that no longer seemed loose or stretched enough to accommodate such girth.
Flint groaned himself, the sound sending a surge of satisfaction up Harry’s spine, despite the unrelenting discomfort that was rapidly attempting to deflate his own cock. He replied only then, forcing himself to ignore the pain and keeping his tone as light as possible. “Second thoughts yourself, Flint?” He teased out.
The man pulled back slightly and rocked forward, the small motions somehow seeming to ease the discomfort seizing his back. “Fuck no.” He rasped harshly, hand moving back to Harry’s neglected cock and manipulating it back to full hardness. “And call me Marcus.” He demanded, shifting his lower half to thrust a bit deeper at a new angle.
Harry still wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole thing, but after a few of those almost searching thrusts, a spark of pleasure exploded inside him, leaving his brain a blank, whited-out void as that dark chuckle came again, followed by another thrust aimed at that exact same spot.
He lost track of what all was happening, wrapping his arms around the strong neck above him and attempting to hold on for the ride as his body was overwhelmed in sensation. Lips returned to the underside of his jaw, nibbling almost sharply now. It seemed a fitting addition to the all-consuming mixture of pleasure edged in a lingering hint of pain suffusing the rest of his body, and he moaned again, his voice breaking part way through. “Marcus.” He gasped out, gaining a particularly rough thrust in reward for his compliance.
Pressure was building inside him, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d last. Marcus still seemed to be going strong and he felt like he should hold out longer, but it was just so much. The larger man stopped just as he was sure to explode, and Harry heard himself let out a whimper in protest as the tingling sensation began to fade away. Marcus pulled free completely and then manhandled his dazed lover over onto his stomach.
Harry balanced himself on his elbows, raising his arse off the bed in silent invitation in his desire to reach that crest of completion. Thankfully, the man didn’t leave him wanting, and was pressing back inside immediately after. He somehow seemed to reach even farther inside than before, and Harry’s head dropped between his clenched fists at the renewed sensation.
Marcus reached under his lifted hips to grasp his cock lightly, matching the rhythm of his hips moving lazily in and out as he slowed them down and brought them further away from the edge. It wasn’t until Harry was on the verge of begging for more that the other man began to fuck him again in truth. This right hand ran roughly up his smooth back and side, dipping down under his arm so that he could curl his fingers around the top of Harry’s shoulder.
He used to hold to pull Harry back onto his cock and to keep the slighter body from jarring too far forward from the strengths of his thrusts. Harry’s lust burned brighter still, growing and growing until it reached its peak and exploded, his body clenching tightly down on the beast still spearing him open. He vaguely heard Marcus curse again as his fluid motions slowed and stuttered to a stop, his strong hands having moved to grasp his hips at some point and held him tightly through the aftershocks.
They lay together silent except for the harsh rasp of their breaths for several long moments before Marcus rolled free to lie beside him. The Slytherin murmured something else under his breath and Harry felt the messy vanish from his skin. He blinked over at the lazily sprawled man, wondering if he should leave now that the main event seemed to be finished.
He wasn’t in a hurry though, to be honest. He felt loose and relaxed in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced before, and pleasure was still coursing through his body in gentle waves as he came down. The Slytherin pushed himself out of the bed after a pause, striding unashamed across the large space to the room beyond the large double wooden doors. He disappeared from sight, but only for a brief time.
Harry was contemplating whether or not he should start getting dressed, feeling off kilter and out of place now that he’d been left alone, but his companion returned before he could get too worked up about it, bearing two crystal glasses each with a measure of a rich amber liquid. The man climbed lazily back onto the bed, shuffling on his knees until he was able to rest back against the headboard.
Harry sat up to mirror his position, though he brought with him the sheet he’d covered himself with while alone. Once settled, Marcus held one of the glasses out in an offering Harry accepted only slightly hesitant. He’d discovered that he was something of a light weight after the couple of times he’d had hard liquor, but one glass wouldn’t hurt surely?
He took a sip, pleasantly surprised at the notes of cherry, chocolate, and something smoky that coated his tongue, mind flashing back to the hint of the unknown flavor he’d picked up on at the start of their exchange. After taking a couple of sips himself, Marcus reached over for a small leather case sat beside his bed and drew from it another of the cicala, holding it out to Harry first in offering.
That surge of curiosity flared again, and he reached out slowly to accept the small stick. It smelled of honeyed liquor and tasted sweet when he tucked it between his lips. Marcus lit it for him with another quiet spell and Harry noticed for the first time that he wore his wand in a warded holster on his forearm. If he hadn’t seen where the spark of magic originated from than he would have thought the spell wandless. The smoke that filled his mouth was smooth and somehow just as sweet, with the bitter edge of tobacco and spice blending it all together. It left his taste buds dancing as he took in another slow drag, relaxing further into the cushioned headboard behind him.
He noticed his bedmate watching him casually, clearly waiting for his reaction and giving him time to think things over now that the moment of passion had passed. He wondered idly how the older Slytherin was expecting him to react as he allowed himself to enjoy the moment. He finished his drink and cicala both in silence, Marcus following his lead easily.
Only when his glass was empty and set aside did he speak up, propping himself up on one elbow to lean over Marcus’ loose-limb and lazily sprawled form, churning silver and smoky grey eyes never looking away from him. “So now what?” Harry chose to ask, mimicking the question Marcus had directed towards him back on the pitch, the mood in the room still easy and relaxed.
“Now?” The man returned, voice rougher than ever. “Now is up to you.”
“Up to me?”
“Mmmm. What do you want to happen?” The man offered, dark brow raised.
Harry thought about the offer, thought about the raw attraction he’d felt earlier and that hadn’t faded even when he figured out just who he was so enthralled by. The man was larger than life, known once for brutishness and a dim-witted nature that was clearly far from the truth considering his accomplishments. Harry knew what it was to be misjudge and cast aside without a fair shot, to be judged based on nothing more than hearsay and gossip, and to be found wanting as a result.
Marcus Flint wasn’t a man who cared about public perception, that much was clear. Despite that, he was a pureblood heir and bore himself with the quiet confidence that came with the title he would one day bear himself. And even without his family name or fortune, Marcus had successfully forged a path down one of the most difficult branches of magic still practiced and came out on one of the most elite teams in the world, despite his young age. He was truly magnificent, and Harry wanted to learn more about him, to truly get to know him. There would be definite fall out if they continued this little fling, but Harry was having a hard time caring.
His own voice, when he finally responded, was quiet and almost hushed in the cavernous space. “Why don’t we just… See where things go?” He offered, reaching out to trail his hand lightly down the bare chest before him.
Marcus lips twisted in something that was more smile than smirk for a change, and leaned up to seal the agreement with a kiss. Harry was only to happy to lean down and return the gesture, their lips moving together with a slow ease that spoke of many more to come.
~*~ End ~*~