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Draco flexed his fingers, then gripped tight. He flicked his tongue out to wet his lips, tasted the salty tang of sweat as he fisted the bed sheets underneath him and thrust down hard.

“Oh, shit!” Harry gasped, pushing his hips down to meet him and lifting his legs a little higher. They both groaned as the angle let Draco slide in deeper on the next thrust, his hands skidding against the tangled sheets and brushing against Harry’s tense shoulders.

“Fuck!” Draco repeated, shaking his hair away from his brow, only for it to fall right back again as he upped his pace. He braced his knees against the bed, growled and shook his head again; Merlin, he was going to shave the whole lot off if it kept falling in his face and obscuring his view. His view which currently consisted of Harry Potter, rolling his hips beneath him and arching his back, pushing himself down on Draco’s cock like it was the best thing he’d ever felt.

It was always like that with Harry ― always loud, always hard, always just more than it ever had been with the other guys Draco used to pick up. Key words being used to; for all that this was just casual between them, for all that Draco had insisted there be a complete absence of strings present when they hooked up, he’d certainly ended up feeling rather tangled.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Pansy had smirked when Draco had admitted to her, after one martini too many, that he and Potter were fucking, but that was definitely all it was.

“It’s sex. It’s just sex,” he’d insisted, while Pansy tapped her nails against the stem of her glass and smiled back, her expression as sharp and unforgiving as her lipliner. “Stop looking at me like that, woman, it’s just bloody sex!”

“Mmhmm. If that’s all it is, then explain to me why you’re suddenly not interested in anyone else anymore, and also why you look so bloody pleased with yourself.” She’d sucked the olive off of its stick, her red lips tilting with mirth as she rolled it around on her tongue, savouring the salt.

“You’re practically glowing, Draco darling,” she’d added, arching a pencilled brow and somehow managing to make the word ‘glow’ sound both filthy, accusing and congratulatory all at the same time. Fucking Pansy. Why was she always so observant ― and always so fucking right?

It was supposed to be casual, even if it kept happening with an alarmingly non-casual frequency. Potter wanted it to be casual, Draco was sure of that.

“Doesn’t have to be a big deal. Just friends fucking after a hard day’s work and a pint.” That was how Harry had put it the first time he’d suggested Draco might like to get his dick sucked when he was finished with his lager. Draco had nearly choked on said pint ― which might have been for the best, disgusting as it was ― and then nearly choked again in his rush to agree to what Harry was offering. His cock had already begun thickening in his trousers; he couldn't tell if it was from the idea of having Harry’s smirking mouth wrapped around it, or the way Harry had so easily referred to them as being friends now. Well, no, that was a lie; he knew it was both.

Three months working together as assigned partners and it seemed that rivalry, that competition between them, hadn’t gone anywhere ― but it had changed. Draco still wanted to beat Harry at everything they did, still wanted to have Harry’s full attention on him, but now he also had the annoying problem of wanting Harry on his back as well. To know how it felt to have those thighs against his, that stubble burning his chin. To know what Harry sounded like when he came. Three months, and it was like sixth year all over again.

He felt fucking obsessed by Potter.

He should have known that getting him wouldn’t change that. If he’d been thinking straight, Draco would have guessed that Harry didn’t do things by halves, and that hopping into bed with him would be as exhilarating and impossible to control as anything Draco’d ever felt about the stupid tosser ― but even Draco could admit that keeping a level-head around Harry wasn’t exactly his strong point.

Harry wound a hand up into Draco’s hair, tangled his fingers into the strands at the back of Draco’s neck and pulled. Draco’s hips faltered in their rhythm, his elbows buckling slightly. Yeah, Draco conceded, maybe he wasn’t going to shave it all off just yet, not if Harry kept doing things like that.

Draco choked down some more air, Harry’s legs wrapped tightly around his waist, his heel skidding in the sweat on the small of Draco’s back as Draco plunged into him, again, and again.

Harry’s fingers were tightening and releasing in his hair in time with the roll of his hips, and Draco dropped his head, lips against Harry’s collarbone as he tried to get control of himself. He was so close to coming, could feel it building in the tightness of his balls, feel it prickling down his spine. He lifted his head, looked down at Harry’s flushed cheeks, his messy hair stark against the blue of the pillow ― at the way his lip lifted up into a crooked smile as he tensed his legs against Draco’s sides.

Draco frowned. He was fairly certain that, of all the expressions Harry should be looking at him with right now, ‘amused and faintly devious’ was not what Draco was aiming for. Uncontrollably aroused and teetering on the edge of losing it like Draco was himself, yes, but Harry looked altogether far too composed. Draco growled, thrusting down harder, but Harry only grinned wider, shifting his hips and ―

“Wha ― !”

Draco landed on his back with a thump as Harry grabbed his shoulders and flipped them, positioning himself firmly over Draco's groin. Draco scowled, then groaned, low and heavy as his cock twitched inside Harry. His annoyance was quickly forgotten as Harry shifted above him, lifting off slightly then sliding back down and oh, Merlin, that felt good. It looked even better. Draco had always noticed Harry, back at school and then at Auror training ― had noticed the way he filled out over the years. He’d started out so scrawny and small, so plain-looking except for those striking eyes and that fucking ridiculous hair, but then puberty had been kind to Harry; living without a war hanging over his head and on his every move had been even kinder. Draco wouldn't say it was a case of ugly-duckling-turned-swan ― Harry was never that bad to begin with ― but he’d certainly grown into himself, into his name and all that came with it. Now, Harry wore his fame with a kind of acceptance and confidence that Draco would like to say he resented, except every time he tried to feel resentful when Harry winked at him during an Auror stakeout, he mostly just felt turned on. Really turned on.

He moved his hands to Harry’s hips, adjusting to the change in position and the thrill he got every time Harry took charge, showed a little of that power he was letting Draco get his hands on ― get his hands on and pin down. Draco would never admit it, but he found that almost as hot as the act of fucking him, and on some deeper mental level (one which he made a point not to frequent) he was jealous as well, envious of Potter’s ease and abandon in the bedroom. Draco could fuck, and well, but he could never let himself take it the way Harry did. The way Harry loved.

“Are you close?” Harry rumbled, leaning over Draco and running his hands lightly up his arms. He rolled his hips, and Draco closed his eyes, his mouth parting on a strangled groan. Merlin yes, he was close.

Harry smiled, moving his hips again, rocking back and forth. His fingers tightened around Draco’s wrists, pushing them back against the bed, holding him down as he rode him. He lifted off Draco’s cock then slid back down again, and Draco shuddered at the lube slick slide of it. He groaned, but it was drowned out by Harry’s low moan of his own. He rose up until only the head of Draco’s cock rested inside him, rolling his hips as he rested his weight on his knees before pushing back down again, hard.

“Uh!” Draco shut his mouth just in time to curb the urge to shout, but it didn't matter. Harry’d heard him all the same, if the expression on his face was anything to go by. Harry’s response was to adjust his knees, spreading them wider so he could push back and meet Draco as he began to pump his hips in tentative thrusts.

“Are you close?” Harry repeated, breath gusting over Draco’s flushed cheek.

Draco nodded. Fuck, yes, he was close. He was going to come, going to come right inside Harry while he ―

Lifted off of Draco, and sat heavily on his chest, leaning over him. Draco stared back, eyes wide and chest heaving.

“Po ― wha ― what the fuck?”

Harry smiled down at Draco, his face flushed as he sat on Draco’s stomach. Draco groaned in frustration and confusion, hips lifting up off the bed as he tried to get some contact, some friction, some anything.

“What are you doing?” he growled. “Get back on my dick!”

“Charming, Malfoy.” Harry’s grin only widened further. “But I politely decline. You’ll come,” he explained evenly, his voice only slightly out of breath.

“Yes! I will!” Draco’s eyes widened in exasperation. “Is that not the point here?” he lifted his hips up again, jostling Harry, and trying to loosen the grip on his wrists. He flopped back down in frustration, as Harry chewed his bottom lip and stayed obstinately out of reach.

“What are you playing at?” Draco attempted to snarl. It was significantly undercut by the plaintive tone in this voice, and the way his cock lay hard and desperate against his belly.

Harry leant a little more weight on Draco’s arms. “You know, I think this is my second favourite Malfoy tone, so far.”

“Oh, is it? Lovely, well thank you for the update.” Draco shut his eyes, breathing out harshly through his nose. “What’s the first one, then?” he ground out. “The way I sound when I read the morning bulletin? Thank our secretary? No, I know, something equally as sadistic and horrible as this, like the way I sound when ―”

“When you admit I’m right,” Harry interrupted. His lips brushed the shell of Draco’s ear, his balls resting on Draco’s abdomen as he leant over him. Draco’s jaw clenched at the sensation, the bones of his wrists grinding in Harry’s grip.

“And when the hell have you ever heard me do that?”

“Can’t say I have yet. But a man can dream.”

With his eyes shut, Draco could practically hear the grin in Harry’s voice. It was infuriating.

And so fucking hot.

Harry didn’t smile much at work. He scowled, and he frowned, lines creasing around his mouth and his forehead as he focussed on the cases in front of them. Sometimes a tight smile would tilt his mouth, one cheek dimpling the smallest fraction, but rarely would there be that warm, fond look Harry reserved for out of hours ― for his friends. Those times, it was a completely different story. Harry was so animated, entirely different lines appearing around his eyes as he laughed, joked, gave back as good as he got and then some. It made Draco feel... a number of things. To be included in that, to be on the receiving end of that humour and to make Harry sodding Potter laugh in return, well, that was something he’d never expected to be able to get. Draco had never made Harry laugh at school, but now Harry seemed to find him hilarious. And that smile ―Draco couldn't get enough of seeing that expression aimed at him, in the bedroom or otherwise.

It was almost as if Harry liked him.

He clenched his eyes shut tighter, his cock twitching as he felt Harry’s weight, hot and heavy on his stomach, and too damn far away.

“How long do you think you can last?” Harry murmured against Draco’s ear, pulling the lobe between his teeth then releasing it slowly.

Draco opened his eyes. He blinked up at Harry, who tilted first his head, then his lips into a smile so fond Draco worried the answer would be “four seconds and counting”. He tightened his hands into fists.

“How long can I last?” he repeated, nonplussed.

“Yes. I refuse to believe you don't understand what I'm referring to.” Harry shifted back slightly, his arse brushing against Draco’s cock as if to make his point even clearer. The head slipped between his cheeks, running against his lube slicked hole. Draco sighed, then moaned in frustration as Harry lifted away, the contact gone as quickly as it came.

Fuck. You bastard!” Harry chuckled in response, while Draco glared as well as one could from under a messy, sweaty fringe. “I'll last as long as you keep being an insufferable fucking tease and refuse to let me come, I’d wager!” Draco snapped. Harry’s grin turned feral.

“Right answer,” he whispered, and Draco immediately regretted what he’d said. He felt a shiver run up his sides, down his legs and to his toes. Fuck, Harry had no business sounding like that, in looking down at Draco like that while he held him still. Draco bristled under it slightly ― how bloody dare he ― but more than that he felt exhilarated, aroused, anticipation tingling up his sides. Of course Potter bloody dared.

Slowly, Harry released his grip on Draco’s wrists, lifting his thumbs away first then fanning the rest of his fingers out. He rested them back on his own thighs as he sat upright, while Draco glowered up at him, and pointedly tried not to stare at Harry’s own cock, which was hard and full and jutting away from his body. His eyes flicked down, just once, much to Harry's apparent satisfaction.

“Don’t touch yourself.” Harry smirked, and Draco glowered harder.

“Or what?” he retorted without thinking.

“Or I’ll tie you up and leave you here while I go and get a sandwich,” Harry replied, inching backwards. Draco inhaled sharply. He liked the idea of that, surprisingly, embarrassingly. Well, not the sandwich part ― Potter and his bloody appetite, what was he, starved as a kid? ― but the tied up bit was… well. Draco swallowed, shifting restlessly.

“Why wouldn't you just tie me down anyway?” Draco asked. He’d meant it to be harsh, scathing, but it came out anything but. It came out breathless, flirtatious. He clenched his jaw as Harry bit his lip. He looked like he liked the idea of that too, Draco noticed. He’d have to throw that in Harry’s face some time, see if he could get a rise out of him at work. Potter, can you help me with these reports? I'm rather tied up in here. That ought to work, make Harry’s eyes widen, maybe even get those delicious spots of colour blooming high on his cheeks; even after years amicably working together on the force, and now directly as partners, Draco could still play Harry like a flute when the mood struck him. And then, of course, Draco would have to see if he could get Harry to tie him up for real and get a different rise out of him all together.

“I could,” Harry agreed, leaning down to breathe over Draco’s nipple then run his lips around it. “But that would be far too easy for you, wouldn't it? No challenge there at all.” He smirked. “I’d much rather see how much willpower you’ve got.”

Draco inhaled deeply, warmth running through him at Harry’s tone, and even more so as Harry kissed down his ribs, moving slowly down his body.

“I’ve got as much willpower as you, Potter.” He sneered, his breath hitching as Harry looked up at him. He kissed the flare of Draco’s ribs, his mouth wet against the warm skin and Draco shut his mouth firmly on the noise that wanted to escape him. He opened it again easily as Harry moved up over him, kissing him open-mouthed and dirty. Draco responded eagerly, slipping his tongue into Harry’s mouth and trying to kiss the smile off those blasted lips. He gratefully lifted his hips up off of the bed, trying to bring them back into contact and hoping that Harry was done with this infuriating, insufferably hot teasing act and Draco could finally get some relief. He moved one hand to Harry’s side, intending to pull him down, but only groaned again in frustration as Harry pinned both of his wrists to the bed once more.

“Don’t touch me either,” he whispered, his voice tinged with humour. Draco grit his teeth, pushing his head back into the pillow. He laughed incredulously then shook his head, breathing shallowly.

“I hate you.”


“I hate your bollocks, too,” Draco mumbled petulantly, giving up and smiling back at Harry briefly, before shaking his head again and twisting his mouth. He shut his eyes and counted to three, then looked at Harry as levelly as he could.

“Think you can last longer than me, then?”

“Easily,” Harry shot back. “Not much you can do without your hands. Or your mouth.” He ran his lips over Draco’s, to make his point. Draco resisted the urge to follow Harry as he pulled back, to chase the kiss. He liked kissing. He’d been vaguely concerned Harry would try and instigate some sort of no-kissing-on-the-mouth rule, when they started sleeping together; Draco’d been with one bloke who had insisted on it, as some kind of intimacy buffer. It had taken Draco by surprise, and although he could see the rationale, in an objective sort of way, he also thought it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. It wasn’t as though Draco had been expecting to sit around with the guy, holding hands and snogging him tenderly on the sofa ― he’d picked him up for sex, the prelude to which often involved kissing. Draco’d tried to make a go of it, but in the end he’d gone home to wank instead. From then on, the idea that it was a regular thing, that most people would insist on kissing only below the jaw and above the nostril, had niggled at him.

When Harry had grabbed him by the belt, pulled him against his chest as soon as they’d walked into the hotel room they’d drunkenly procured, then kissed him without preamble, Draco’d been almost giddy with relief. He hadn’t counted on Harry being so good at it, though, hadn’t anticipated Harry would kiss him like that before pulling Draco’s head back and mouthing down his jaw, but he would have been beyond fucking disappointed if Harry hadn’t wanted to kiss at all.

“I’ll think of something,” he said breathily

“Try your best, Draco.” Harry raised one brow in a casual challenge, his voice warm and fond. Draco tried to school his face into non-reaction, ignoring the flutter in his chest and then the voice in his head whispering you sure this is just about sex? That voice could get fucked, especially since all it was going to do was stop Draco from getting fucked himself if he ever acted on it. This was casual, Draco reminded himself, fidgeting his hips as Harry kissed his way back down his chest and over the dip of his stomach. Just two colleagues ― friends ― fucking after a day’s work and a pint. Feelings were for Hufflepuffs and ― Draco gasped as he felt Harry’s hands spread his legs slightly ― for Hufflepuffs, and idiots, he finished, losing his train of thought and letting his thighs fall open even wider so Harry could settle between them.

“Don’t touch yourself,” Harry repeated, licking his lips before kissing Draco’s belly. “Don’t touch me.” Draco shivered at the swirl of Harry’s tongue over his navel and then again as Harry breathed over his cock. “And don’t come,” he whispered, before wrapping his fingers around the shaft.

Draco gasped as he felt the peppery tingle of a cleaning spell run over his dick, the sensation trickling down over his balls and then even lower, between his cheeks. He squirmed at the almost pleasant feeling, then smirked. Aim a bit off there, huh Potter? Clearly he wasn’t the only one feeling a bit flustered and distracted, Draco gloated, then promptly forgot all about it as Harry ran his lips over the head of Draco’s cock.

Draco wasn’t sure why it had surprised him that Harry was good at giving head. He’d not thought about it that much, really, not before Harry had offered. The times that he had thought about Saint Potter, dicks and mouths in the same mental sentence, it was never Harry he’d pictured on his knees. At first he’d always assumed that the great Harry Potter would be too good for that, that instead he’d enjoy seeing people worshipping him on their knees. He’d spent a solid part of his time at Hogwarts angrily, and masochistically, wanking over that mental picture. When he’d grown up a bit, Draco had realised that maybe that wasn’t really Harry’s style, but as they trained together he had become more than aware that it was the style of the fawning fans who Harry seemed determined to ignore. At least, Harry ignored them around Draco; Draco found it hard to believe he didn’t take them up on it every now and again.

He found it even harder to shake the idea that Harry would think it beneath him to get on his knees himself. Even that night when Harry had offered to suck him off in an upstairs room of The Leaky Cauldron, Draco had thought it was a turn of phrase, a way to get Draco to understand he was sincere. He’d never expected Harry would actually do it.

He’d never expected that Harry would do it so much.

Harry ran his tongue around the head, sucking gently then bobbing lower, and Draco swallowed, trying not to fidget his hips. He could last, longer than Harry at least. He had to. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth, rolling it slowly as Harry moved his fist along the shaft, bringing it up to meet his lips and then sucking off again. Draco pursed his lips. Okay, he could probably last longer than Harry, he amended as Harry bobbed his head, bringing his lips to meet the fist he had wrapped around Draco’s cock once more, before removing his hand completely and taking him down as far as he could.

Draco let his mouth fall open as he felt the tension inside him, which had ebbed away while they talked, begin to build again when Harry started to move his mouth in earnest. Draco was never quite sure whether to thank the gods above that Harry was so good at this, or to fume his way to hell and back over how much of this Harry must have done before. Both, he thought, as Harry flicked his gaze up to meet Draco’s, his eyes hot and mischievous and his lips spread wide around the head of Draco’s cock. It was always both, when it came to Harry, and in the end Draco was happy to swallow down any jealousy he felt over whoever Harry had previously been with if Harry kept doing that with his tongue ― and preferably only did it with Draco.

Besides, this was casual. Draco could do casual sex, even if it involved some casual jealousy too. He could be easy as a summer’s fucking breeze, he thought as he struggled to contain the sounds he desperately wanted to make.

He moved his hips slightly, resisting the building need to push himself between Harry’s lips. Harry was moving torturously slowly, running his tongue around the head before inching down further. Draco felt saliva running down the shaft, mesmerised by the way Harry’s lips looked stretched around the width of his cock when Harry took him down deeper, his mouth warm and sure and perfect, but still moving so slowly. Harry ran his hands over Draco, his thumbs gently stroking into the dips of his hips as Draco fought not to buck up on the bed, fought to stop his cock from ramming down Harry’s throat. He wasn’t sure what the etiquette was between them ― mostly it was a free for all in the bedroom ― but he knew that general politeness suggested he should endeavour, when lucky enough to receive a blow job, to try not to bloody choke the blower. Even more importantly he was determined to show Harry he had self-control, even if he felt like all he wanted was to grab that mess of hair, tangle it in his fingers, and not let go until they’d both come hard enough to see stars.

His fingers twitched against the sheet underneath him. He lay as still as he could, watching that messy head moving up and down, Harry’s hair tickling at the sensitive skin at the base of Draco’s belly. Draco swallowed heavily, his fingers curling into fists and dragging the sheets between them. Harry pulled off, running his lower lip from base to tip then resting his mouth on the head, and then... Nothing.

Draco breathed out harshly through his nose as he waited for Harry to move, to take his cock fully into his mouth again, but Harry only widened his mouth, his tongue swivelling over the tip and his lips moving the tiniest fraction. Draco frowned down the length of his own body in confusion, only to meet wide green eyes. Harry raised his brows at him, and it took every inch of Draco’s self-control not to grab his face with both hands and push it down. That’d wipe the smug look off of Harry’s face. Fuck. Draco bit his lip, twisting the handful of sheets he had gripped in each fist, feeling them tug away from the tucked corner of the bed. Bastard. Although, Harry didn’t look just smug, Draco realised. He looked almost expectant, as he pursed his lips around Draco’s cock, moving them in an obscene imitation of a kiss.

Draco watched Harry shut his eyes briefly as he tongued at the slit and Draco choked off a groan. Merlin, he needed the fucker to move, not keep pissing about. Harry did it again and Draco sucked his stomach in, arching his back as he gave in to the urge to thrust up slightly. He groaned, louder than he’d expected, as Harry eagerly opened his mouth wider, letting him slide in easily.

Draco curled his toes as he tried to still his hips again, but Harry moaned, placing both hands on Draco’s hips, encouraging him to keep moving. Draco stared down at the messy mop of Harry’s hair as he watched his cock fucking up into Harry’s mouth, Harry’s palms warm and firm on his hips. Urging him on.

“Oh, you fuck,” Draco gasped, thrusting up into Harry’s mouth. “Why didn’t you just say if you wanted me to do this?” he ground out. Harry laughed, a soft sound that vibrated down the length of Draco’s dick and right down to his balls. Draco laughed brokenly before groaning again as he thrust up into Harry’s mouth.

“Oh, let me gue ― ah ― guess,” Draco rolled his hips, looking away as Harry tucked his hair behind his ear, as he held himself still and let Draco push himself in and out of his mouth. “‘Cause where ― uhh ― where’s the fun in that, right?” he gasped, frowning at the ceiling and spreading his legs a little wider. Harry made another sound, something that could have been a hum of agreement or another soft laugh, or a moan for all that Draco could focus on anything right now except his dick and how good that felt.

Draco braced his feet on the mattress, bringing his knees up and clenching the muscles in his arse and thighs as Harry let him push between his lips, let Draco’s cock hit the back of his throat before sliding out again. Merlin, that felt amazing, the hot, wet slide of Harry’s mouth incredible around Draco’s cock. He felt another trickle of saliva down the shaft of his cock, down to his balls, and this must be killing Harry’s jaw, holding it wide and open like that, and Merlin the thought of that shouldn't be making him harder, shouldn’t make his dick twitch and his balls ache. But really, none of this should make him feel the way it did, he thought absently as he thrust involuntarily up once more.

Draco groaned, heat spreading from his chest upwards as he felt that familiar ache in his cock, that tell-tale tightening in his balls. His breathing sped up slightly, his hips faltering in their now uncontrollable rhythm as he gasped out a strange and high-pitched noise, one he would probably be embarrassed about if he wasn’t right about to come ―

And if he hadn't made an even more embarrassing one as Harry reached up and pinched him, hard, on his side.


Draco panted, arching his neck, as Harry dug his nails in, bringing him back from the brink. He pressed Draco’s hips down with his free hand, the other still firm on the sensitive skin under his ribs. Draco shook the sweaty hair out of his eyes and tried not to chew a hole in his lip, tear a bigger hole in his own sheets, or shoot his load all over Harry’s hair. He inhaled sharply. Shit, no, don’t think about that, he reprimanded himself dizzily. Don't think about how Harry would look like that.

Harry ran his lips around the head before he quickly bobbed back down, then pulled off completely. Draco almost shouted in frustration, then stopped, the sound trapped in his throat as Harry kissed along the shaft to his balls. Draco shuddered.

“Fucking hell,” he gasped at the ceiling.

“Mmm,” Harry replied. He moved one hand to Draco’s thigh, kissing over his hips as Draco panted at the ceiling and tried to get himself under control.



Draco heard the sheets rustling as Harry adjusted his position, nudging his shoulder under Draco’s bent leg, lifting it and urging his knee up and over to rest above his stomach. Draco let him, too strung out to protest, and too distracted by the feeling of Harry’s mouth as he dropped light kisses down Draco’s stomach, the inside of his leg, down lower to the smooth expanse of skin where arse met thigh ― everywhere but his aching cock. Draco grit his teeth, shutting his eyes as he counted backwards from ten, reaching zero then starting up again. By the time he was on his third round, he felt marginally more in control of himself.

Harry eased Draco’s other leg up, just far enough for Draco to feel a twinge in the muscles of his thighs. Draco squirmed slightly, feeling oddly exposed by the position, and really, that should have been enough to let Draco know what was about to happen. He’d not had a lot of blow jobs that involved resting his calves on someone’s shoulders, on having his heels flush against the firm, smooth planes of their back. Coming down Harry’s throat didn't usually involve Harry’s mouth moving down to the meat of his arse cheek, or his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the crease of his thigh. Auror or not, Draco should have clued in to the fact that Harry had something else in mind, but really, Draco wasn’t thinking properly at all; his own mind was a deliriously turned-on blank. His entire focus had narrowed down to his cock, the feeling of Harry’s mouth moving down past the join of his thigh and to his balls ― how badly he wanted both to come and not to come at the same time.

He fidgeted his hips again, his cock throbbing, hot and hard against his stomach. It was infuriating, and amazing, and he wanted this to last almost as much as he wanted it to end, for himself to finish. He wanted to come down Harry’s throat, on his face, to shout as loudly as he could ― and at the same time he wanted to keep that mouth sucking over his balls and ― ahh ― down to his perineum. Merlin almighty, did he want Harry to keep doing that.

Good thing Harry’s aim had been bad before, he thought distractedly as he remembered the sensation of the cleaning spell earlier, when Harry had overshot his mark and it had run over his balls, down the crack of his arse. Rather fortunate now, considering Harry was sucking on the skin there, laving a broad wet stripe with his tongue and then ― oh, shit, Draco arched his back and gasped. And then Harry was moving lower, down to...

Draco slammed his hands down on the bed next to his hips as he felt Harry’s lips press against his hole.

“Oh, fuck!” he gasped, his voice high and thin. Harry’s hair tickled the base of his balls, his fingers hard as they gripped Draco’s legs. Draco’s own hands white-knuckled the sheets in response.

Bad aim my arse, he thought vehemently, then almost laughed at his own phrasing. He cut if off, grunting as he felt a soft gust of Harry's reciprocating laughter over his hole, which tensed reflexively. A strange shock of pleasure coursed up his spine and over his ribs at Harry putting his mouth there ― followed by another, deeper one as Harry flicked his tongue out, laving a warm wet stripe over the sensitive area. Draco’s thighs tensed as he choked on an indignant sound, but he couldn't seem to quite stop his hips from rolling forwards on the bed, or his heels from digging into Harry’s back and urging him on.

Harry moved his mouth, parted his lips as he inched his hands down to spread Draco’s cheeks wider, and that should have been embarrassing. Draco didn't do this, not usually; no one had ever offered, and really it didn't seem the sort of thing one just brought up in a short term relationship. Given that most of Draco’s prior relationships, for want of a better word, lasted for the very short term of one night, and occasionally the following morning, well, suffice to say he’d never considered asking someone if they fancied eating his arse out. He was pretty okay with that arrangement; he wouldn't have really known what to say if they had offered. He’d not anticipated Harry would just do it.

Draco blinked furiously at the ceiling, letting his eyes fall shut as he arched his back and let Harry’s hand lift his arse further off the bed ― let his hands spread him wider. He felt ridiculous, in some distant part of his mind, at letting Harry fold him in half and suck there, somewhere no one had even touched before. But above all that, he felt incredible, the rough slide of Harry’s tongue over his hole countered by the hard press of his fingers on his arse. Harry’s nose pressed against his balls, his breath hot and unexpected as he widened his mouth, rolling his tongue in broad sweeps, before pressing it inside.

Draco shouted, trying to both widen his legs and grind back at the same time, to push himself against Harry’s face. His cock jerked against his belly, a trail of precome leaking down to the hair under his navel, and he lifted his hand, desperate to touch himself, to pull himself off to the rhythm of Harry’s tongue moving inside him. He wanted to come on that tongue. He gasped, hair catching on the pillow as he bared his throat, his hand hovering above himself.

Don't touch yourself.

He clenched his fingers into a fist, slamming it onto the bed beside his hips as he groaned. Fuck. Fucking fuck.

Below him, Harry moaned, and Draco swore again as the sound vibrated through him. He huffed a strangled laugh at himself, at all of this ― at Harry moaning against his arsehole, the way his feet were dangling over Harry’s back, the way Harry’s mouth made him curl his toes and push his hips against his face. He wanted to be appalled, indifferent, unaffected by this, by what should be filthy ― dirty ― but he couldn't be. It felt so good, so right, the stubble of Harry’s jaw just present enough to be felt against his skin. Draco could barely think, and he made another strained sound as Harry pressed his legs further forwards, spreading his thighs wider.

He had no point of reference as to whether Harry was good at this or not, nothing to compare it to, but it felt blindingly arousing. Harry’s tongue pushed deeper, his lips sucking at the sensitive, puckered skin, and Draco could just make out the obscene wet sound of it over the rush of blood in his ears, the thump of his heartbeat. He was breathing too loud, unable to catch enough air as his fingers clawed at the sheets. He felt the sweat prickling on the backs of his knees and let himself give in to it, to forget about everything except tongue. Wet. Hot. Fuck.


He gasped, heat pooling at the base of his spine, up his sides. He couldn't tell if he could come like this or not, his dick untouched as it was while Harry’s palms spread his arse cheeks wide, but he thought he might be fucking close to it. It felt so different, the pleasure so close to his dick but yet so far away, nerve endings he didn't even know he had sending sparks up his spine. Yeah, after all that had happened tonight, he thought this might be enough to send him over the edge.

He opened his mouth, intending to form a word and warn Harry, tell him, something, but instead managed only to gasp vowels and stutter consonants at the ceiling. Fuck. He rolled his hips, lifting them off the bed as he pushed his heels down onto Harry’s back, against the knob of his spine. Harry moaned, a low and filthy sound that shot straight to Draco’s dick, and Draco held his breath, his entire body tense as he dug one heel harder into Harry’s back, trying again to warn him. Draco exhaled harshly, his knuckles white in the sheets as Harry thrust his tongue in just ― oh, Salazar ― one last time before pulling his lips away.


Draco shut his eyes, a long, keening sound escaping his lips as Harry bit at Draco's thigh, just this side of painfully. The sharp jolt was enough to pierce through the fog of Draco’s brain. But only just. He gasped, his entire body feeling liquid and strung taut at the same time as he writhed, trying to think, trying not to touch himself, trying to make sense of why Harry’s mouth there had felt so fucking good.

He tensed, eyes flying open when he felt Harry press the broad pad of his thumb against Draco’s hole. He pushed against it lightly, then pulled away again as he gripped Draco’s arse cheek. Draco relaxed as it left, breathing out harshly; he wasn’t sure he was ready for that, for fingers ― for fucking. Not just yet, at least. He wasn’t worried it would hurt, nor that he wouldn't enjoy it; he’d done it to enough people to know how this went, seen them clawing at the sheets and push back against him enough to guess it could feel fucking amazing. No, that was the problem. He was worried he’d love it, love the feel of something inside him, of giving over some of his hard-won power and letting someone fuck him, of letting Potter fuck him ― hell, he’d already lost his mind over the feel of Harry’s mouth alone.

There was something about the idea of that which made Draco feel out of control, and that was not something he was sure he could handle around Harry. It was bad enough he liked the idiot, stupid enough he’d hopped into bed with him; he needed to keep some things back, at least for now anyway ― until he could figure out a way to get everything he wanted and not lose anything in the process. He was sure he could figure something out, that there was some way to work this. To have his cake, and Potter, and eat it too.

But then again, another part of him wanted to just throw all that out the window and jump in feet first. To act first, think later, and see what would happen ― to hell with the consequences, the fallout. He clenched his teeth on a heady groan at the idea of it, of relinquishing control and seeing what would happen. Perhaps some of Harry’s reckless Gryffindor nature had been rubbing off on him, more than just literally.

On the bright side, the slight surge of panic at the idea of Harry’s fingers being inside him had brought him back from the verge of coming ― and apparently had had something of the opposite effect on Harry, if the way he was messily kissing up Draco’s stomach, over his ribs and chest and then his neck, was anything to go by. Draco hesitated slightly as Harry reached his mouth, something on the tip of his tongue about hygiene and not wanting to kiss his own arse, but his body felt so warm and heavy, every part of him on fire from Harry’s touch, from his mouth. Right then, Harry could have been kissing a Blast-Ended Skrewt and Draco wouldn't have been able to turn him away.

He lifted his hands uselessly as Harry pushed his tongue inside his mouth, before curling them into fists and letting them slide back to the bed. No touching, he reminded himself almost giddily. He rolled his shoulders, Harry’s hands back in his hair, pulling his head back as he kissed him deeper, harder.

“You make,” Harry murmured against his lips, pulling softly at Draco’s lower lip then running his tongue over it. “The most amazing sounds.” His lips moved against Draco’s as he spoke, and Draco pushed himself up, trying to deepen the kiss. He tried again, leaning up higher but Harry only pulled away every time they made contact, that ghost of a smile dancing around his lips again. Draco licked his own.

“Do I, now?” he responded, pushing up onto his elbows. Harry nodded, carding his fingers further into Draco’s hair, running them down over the base of his neck and back over his scalp. Draco shivered. He grinned, sitting up further, and Draco pushed himself to sit up too, noting the unfocused glaze to Harry’s eyes, the flush on his chest and over his collarbone. Harry's cock was fully hard and his breathing audible; Draco knew he wasn't alone in finding what Harry had been doing intensely arousing, in being on the edge here. He sat forward a little further.

“You have an amazing mouth,” he whispered, parting his lips to run over Harry’s, delighting in the way Harry sighed, the way he continued to roughly run his hands through Draco’s hair to the top of his head and back down

“Pretty average, I would have thought,” Harry replied, his tone light except for the hitch in his breath, the way he inched his hips forward to press the tip of his cock against Draco’s stomach.

Draco shut his eyes, pushing his chest forward and revelling in the contact. He bent his knees, fighting the urge to pull Harry against him, to crush his mouth to Harry’s neck and sink his teeth in. But he wasn’t to touch, he thought with determination. Harry had issued him a challenge, and he was more than capable of seeing it through ― even if the roll of Harry’s hips was rubbing his cock against Draco's abdomen, the feel of it making Draco’s belly twitch and his own cock ache in sympathy.

He opened his eyes, expecting to see green irises staring back at him, but instead he saw Harry was looking down between them, watching the way the head of his cock smeared precome over Draco’s stomach. Oh, hell that was hot. Draco groaned, unable to keep it in as he pushed his own hips up, felt his cock moving against Harry’s arse cheek. Fuck.

“Your mouth,” Draco repeated, inching his hips up again, “is not average. The things you do with it,” he murmured, seeing his advantage and grabbing it with both metaphorical hands. His own stayed firmly planted on the bed. “The way it feels,” he continued, noting the way Harry’s breathing hitched.

He opened his mouth, pulling Harry’s lower lip between his own and sucking on it gently. Harry moaned, low and deep, letting Draco suck on his lip for one long, glorious moment ― before settling his hands on Draco’s shoulders, and pushing.

Draco landed back down on the bed, Harry sitting upright once more, thighs against Draco’s sides as he grinned down at him.

“There’s a few things I could say about your mouth right now, too,” he said with that crooked grin, and this time Draco heard it easily, heard how turned on Harry was. Draco smiled back, running his teeth over his own lower lip and moving his hips again to ― ahh ― slide between Harry’s arse cheeks.

“Oh god,” Harry groaned, Draco’s cock sliding easily through his still-lubed cheeks. Draco watched his Adam’s apple bob as Harry swallowed, running a hand through his own hair

“You look so hot like this,” he said roughly, looking Harry up and down, lingering pointedly at Harry’s dick, the muscled planes of his abdomen, the firm ridges of his biceps.

Harry half-groaned half-laughed. “I know what you're doing.”

“And what is that, Mr Potter?”

“Ah, fuck you,” Harry huffed another laugh. “You’re trying to get me off. By saying those…” Harry swallowed, shaking his head. “By talking like that.” Harry pushed his hair away from his face.

“You never said I couldn't talk,” Draco explained quietly, innocently. As innocently, that is, as he could with his dick sliding against the lube between Harry’s arse cheeks, with his face flushed and sweat matting his hair, his voice breathy and deep.

“Everybody wants you like this,” he added, rolling his hips. His cock slid up and then down again. Fuck, Harry had a magnificent arse ― just the feel of his skin was enough to make Draco shiver. He couldn’t tell how close he was to coming at this point, after being denied for so long, being taken up to the edge and then gently pulled back from it again. He felt like he could last another hour, another five seconds; every part of him felt over sensitised, anticipation buzzing under his skin. He had no idea how close Harry was, but he wanted to bring him to the brink too.

“They really don't,” Harry almost-laughed again, breathless, his tone self-deprecating. It turned Draco on almost as much as it pissed him off, the way Harry was somehow unaware of the looks people gave him. Draco would have said not even Saint Potter could be that oblivious, but he also suspected Harry had just grown to be really, really good at ignoring it, so much so it was just peripheral to him now.

“They really do,” he replied, his tone low. “Half the witches and wizards in London wish they were me right now.”

“Oh, god. Shut up.”

Draco watched a bead of precome build on the top of Harry’s cock, saw the way his chest and neck flushed. He grinned, slowly. You don't want me to shut up. Check and mate, Potter.

“They wish they could see you like this.” He lifted his hips slightly, groaning at the sensation as Harry clenched his arse. “Merlin, they all wish they could get their hands on you.” He watched Harry’s tongue flick out to wet his lips, his own hands massaging over his thighs as he pushed back against Draco's aching cock. He met Draco’s eyes.

“They all wish they could watch you touch yourself,” Draco rumbled, his voice deep and low, and Harry moaned, loudly, a crease appearing between his brows. “Could watch you wrap your hand around your cock and get yourself off.” Draco licked his lips, satisfaction running through him as he watched Harry’s face flush further, his words hitting their desired mark.

Harry’s right hand twitched against his thigh and he furrowed his brow, conflicted as he rolled his hips almost mindlessly ― back against Draco’s cock, forward against the hard planes of his belly. Come on Harry, Draco thought desperately. You know you want to. Touch yourself. He almost said it out loud, almost thought it might work, but the risk was too high. There was a fine line here between outright goading Harry into doing something, and gently leading him where he wanted to go. Draco was skilled in the former ― all those years of rivalry not being for nought ― but he wanted to be a master of the latter.

Harry worried his lower lip, his eyes dark and his breathing heavy. He reached for his cock, his mouth dropping open as he wrapped his broad palm around it. Draco tried not to crow too loudly in triumph. He licked his lips, trying to get his breathing under control.

“Look at you,” he mumbled, unable to take his eyes away from Harry’s hand as he slowly ran it up and down his cock, as they both moaned at the sight of it.

“What about me?” Harry croaked, his tone half challenge, half genuine question.

“So fucking hot.” Draco cut off a sound of his own as Harry tightened his fist, the head of his cock just visible over the bump of his knuckles. He rotated his fist again and this time Draco failed to keep the sound in.

Draco reached up, gripping the pillow. His knuckles brushed against the headboard, but there was nothing to hold onto there. Merlin, why didn’t he own a proper fucking four post bed? Why didn't Harry move his hand faster? Draco groaned again himself, shifting his hips and finding a rhythm that moved his dick against Harry. It was both maddeningly good and nowhere near enough; he felt like a rubber band strung tight, ready to snap any moment now.

“You’re like something out of a wet dream,” Draco murmured distractedly, watching Harry pick up the pace. He wasn't sure who he was saying these things for anymore ― Harry, himself ― but fuck he didn’t want to stop.

“Have a lot of dreams ― ah ― a lot of dreams about me did you, Malfoy?” Harry gasped out above him. Draco scowled, a scathing reply on his tongue ― that was hitting a bit too close to the truth ― until he remembered how much Harry appeared to enjoy being talked off. It was risky, as the answer was more than embarrassing, but it just might…

“No comment,” he purred breathily, then smiled outright as Harry’s hips jerked, his fist tightening around his cock.

“You're fucking kidding me!” He panted, trying to sit still, to control himself.

“I never joke.”

“You always joke.”

“Not where my dick’s concerned.” Draco punctuated this with a sharp jab of his hips. His cock slid through the lube, and he sank his teeth into his bottom lip to keep from moaning over how good it felt. Harry reached back, ran his fingers gently over it. He pushed it against himself, against that warm skin, and Draco breathed in harshly through his nose.

“Oh, fuck.”


“You have no idea,” Draco spread his legs a little further, outright panting now, “how good your arse feels.” He gasped again as he felt Harry's knuckles brush his stomach, as Harry began stroking himself again in earnest while holding Draco between his cheeks. “And I'm not even inside you,” he ground out, half incredulous but too turned on to care.

“Oh, god.” Harry hitched a breath. “Keep talking. I'm gonna ―”

“I want you to come,” Draco growled, rolling his hips hard enough to almost upset Harry’s rhythm. Harry seemed too far gone to notice, hunching forward as his hand sped over his cock, as he pressed Draco’s cock against him and ran the flat of his palm up and down it. Draco keened, the feeling of Harry's hand directly over his cock bringing the most amazing relief. He tensed his thighs, his balls tightening, his body thrumming with the desire, the need, to come once more.

“I want you to come, Harry,” he whispered harshly. “Right now. On me.”

Harry groaned, the sound strangled and drawn out as he rose up slightly on his knees, his eyes scrunched shut. Draco wanted to shut his own, to ride the overwhelming sensation of his own building orgasm out, but he wanted to see this more. He tightened his fists in the pillow.

“Harry,” he panted, his tone urgent. “Harry, come. Now.”

“Oh, f― uh ― uhh!”

Draco groaned himself as Harry bucked, the muscles in his thighs straining as his cook spurted over Draco’s stomach, his chest, all the way to the base of his collarbone. He forced himself not to shut his eyes, canting his own hips as Harry clutched him hard enough to hurt. His grip tightened into a fist around Draco’s cock as he continued to come, and Draco pumped his hips once, twice, then again before stilling, his neck arched and a howl trapped in his throat as he came in warm pulses over the tight muscles of Harry’s arse and lower back. A shattered groan left him as he came harder than he’d ever thought possible, his arse clenching and his hands flying to Harry’s hips ― no touching be damned. He dug his nails in, hard enough to leave crescent shaped bruises as he bucked and gasped, his lips tilting up into a delirious smile as he shot one last pulse onto Harry’s arse, over his hand.

Above him, Harry groaned again at the sensation, swaying forward then jolting upright, the muscles in his shoulders tight as he gasped for breath. His hand became slack around his cock, come smeared around his fingers and knuckles as a drop of sweat ran down his chest.

Draco watched, trying to commit the sight to memory as he came down from the intensity of his orgasm, so long drawn out and feeling almost as though it had rocketed through his entire body. His cock softened as Harry released it and placed both of his filthy hands on Draco’s even filthier stomach. He smiled down at Draco, lopsided and sated and Draco felt empty, drained after the exhilarating frustration of dancing around the edge, and somehow also exquisitely full and warm at the same time. The way incredible sex always made him feel. The way Harry always made him feel.

He looked away, his face hot and his breathing unsteady as he groped around in the sheets for his something to clean himself with. He gave up, letting his shaking hand drop back down uselessly.

“I won,” he gasped out.

“Huh?” Harry blinked at him through his fringe, his glasses long forgotten in the heap of their clothes. His face was flushed, his green eyes bright and his lips red from being bitten as he came.

“I won,” Draco repeated. “I beat you. You came first.”

Harry laughed in surprise, a strained and panting wheeze of a sound.

“Yeah. Okay. You did, I guess.” He flopped down onto his back, his mouth open and his eyes shut. “You won,” he said in that fond and warm tone. “I'm not really sure I lost, though.”

“Doesn't matter. I still won,” Draco managed around the strange lump in his chest. Harry admitting Draco had won was… well, even though it meant nothing to Harry, Draco was all too aware of what it mean to him. He ran a hand over his mouth to smooth the smile away. Get it together, you silly prat. Making him come first is hardly the same as catching the damn Snitch. It did rather feel the same, though.

They lay quietly for a moment, Draco listening to the sound of Harry’s breathing as it evened out, until the rustle of the sheets indicated he had summoned his wand. He quietly cleaned the mess off of Draco, himself, and then the sheets for good measure. Draco squirmed slightly as the spell settled over him, running a hand through his hair as Harry dropped his wand back on the ground and yawned. Draco swallowed.

“You staying the night then?” he casually asked a watermark on the ceiling, pretending for all the gold in Gringotts like he was disinterested in the answer. Harry grunted, rolling onto his stomach with an unattractive oof which Draco was appalled to note he found both appealing and endearing. Shit. He tried to focus on the way Harry’s hair was a total mess, to muster the energy to gloat a bit more about winning even without the use of his hands ― but all he could really think about was how good Harry’s arse looked offered up like that, and how warm it made him feel to see Harry making himself comfortable.

“Well, you can try and roll me out into the street if you’d like me to leave, but my legs are killing me from Bennetts riding my arse all night at training, and then you riding it afterwards, so…” Harry trailed off, rubbing one eye. “Breakfast is on you?” he suggested sleepily, looking over at Draco from under his ruined hair. “Then you can drag me back in to work in the morning.”

Draco swallowed again, then nodded. “Yeah, all...alright,” he croaked, then cringed. He cleared his throat, shifting slightly; his own thighs were burning from Bennetts’ tireless endeavour to keep the Aurors in peak physical condition. Draco had to admit, though, he hardly minded; a few hours of duelling and running laps, and Harry was always gagging for it, his eyes bright behind those stupid lenses as he eyed Draco and Draco invariably smirked back, his heart thumping in his chest and his cock stirring in his pants.

But amazing sex or not, that was still no reason to start going all gooey over Potter, for fuck’s sake. Well, no reason to start going so noticeably soft on the fucker, he added more honestly; he was well aware he was more than a bit keen on Harry. Potter. Harry. Whatever.

“I’m not cooking for you, though,” he mumbled as sternly as he could. “You can make your own toast.”

Harry huffed a sleepy laugh. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Draco pulled the thin sheet over his legs; after a moment he flipped an edge over Harry too. It wasn’t cold, but he needed something to distract himself with, especially when he felt Harry tangle one leg up with his own, the bump of his ankle resting against Draco’s lower calf. Draco swallowed thickly, willing himself not to blush. He cursed silently as he felt the tell-tale creep of warmth over his collarbone. He quickly leaned over to flick the lamp off, the room slipping into comforting, conveniently blush-hiding darkness.

Harry had never stayed the night before. Draco had certainly never stayed the night with him. They had work tomorrow, which meant they would arrive together. Which meant...well, to be honest it meant a whole basket of things Draco felt he should probably take a moment to consider. But he was tired, and Harry’s leg was warm against his own, his breathing soft and even. Draco could deal with the practicalities and aftermath of spending the entire night together later, he decided.

He licked his lips, wondering if he should say something more, something to try and quantify how good what they had just done had been. He ran through the options in his head, but they all sounded ridiculous. That was incredible, and I've never come like that before, never so hard. Never had someone do that to me both went without saying, and so he absolutely was not going to bloody say it. He swallowed, frowning slightly. He thought he might be able to say I liked that, a lot. I like fucking you. I like this and still be able to look himself in the eye tomorrow, but when he opened his mouth, he found he couldn't quite wrap his tongue around the words.

“You’re fun to fuck,” is what came out, in the end, to Draco’s mild surprise. Draco could make out Harry’s face in the dim moonlight from the open curtain, could see Harry turn over at him, running his tongue over his top teeth and raising both eyebrows. Draco resolutely didn’t blush further, allowing only the tips of his ears to colour, as he stared back and waited for Harry’s response to what Draco was certain was the least eloquent he had ever been in his life.

“Yeah, you’re not so bad yourself,” Harry replied, his eyes smiling as he regarded Draco through his fringe. He shifted slightly, closing his eyes. Draco blinked slowly, tiredness warring with the increasing desire to smile; that really wouldn’t do. But Harry’s eyes were shut, his shoulder warm and firm against Draco’s own. Where was the harm, really, Draco thought, feeling the corner of his mouth twitch up into a private smile as he let his own eyes slide shut.