Archive of Our Own ^beta

"What do you want?"

Harry breathes in Draco's ear, and his voice sounds wrong and camp; Draco flinches, his lip curling, and he shoves his arse back into the cradle of Harry's hips.

"To have a fucking tea party," he grinds out, pushing himself up on his elbows. "You know what I want."

Harry snickers meanly and bites into the muscle above Draco's shoulderblade. Draco grunts. "Yes, but I want you to tell me, Malfoy, or you'll get nothing." His prick is drooling on the back of Draco's thigh, scalding hot, and he's actually trembling, sweating, his breath laboured.

Draco snorts, tips his head onto Harry's shoulder, reaches back to fist his hand in Harry's hair. "Ooh, I suppose you want to hear about how much I want your big hard prick--"

Harry shoves him down roughly and leans all his weight on Draco's back. "Ask me for it."

"Don't be such a fucking queen." It's so frustrating when Harry's in one of these moods because it's a waste of what little time they have, a waste of energy, and Harry is not cut out for it, his voice middling and cracking, the words ridiculous on his tongue.

"I think," Harry grabs Draco's hips and drags him up onto his knees, "You need to be taught a few lessons in manners."

His fingers biting into the give of Draco's hips is rather nice and Draco pushes back again, pleased when those fingers curve closer to his dick where it sways heavy and aching between his legs. "Domination doesn't suit you, Harry."

"Lesson one," Harry says, and Draco's put-upon sigh is cut short when Harry smacks Draco's left arse cheek with what feels like all of his force.

Draco snaps for air, pressing his forehead into the arm of the sofa.

"Respect," Harry says, still in that same mild tone, chiding almost, his fingers firmly massaging Draco's arse, his thumbs sweeping into the crack. Draco's laugh is thin, not having all his breath back.

"I'm going to fuck you, Draco, with my big, hard prick. What do we say?"

"Finally."

Harry spread his arsecheeks so wide, so quickly that it actually brings a shock of tears to Draco's eyes. "What's the magic word."

Draco squirms, fumbles his hand on the floor for his wand. "Lubr--"

Harry smacks the wand from Draco's grasp, "Funny," and his hand is suddenly on the back of Draco's neck, holding him down. Draco bucks instinctively, tries to turn his face away to breathe without the cushions suffocating him, and he flails his hand back, trying to prise Harry's hand away.

He's taller than Harry, but Harry has thick wrists and knotty muscles running up his arms and Draco can't move. He hears Harry spit and then there's another hand sliding into the cleft of his arse, a broad thumb pushing cold and slick into his hole.

Draco jerks, takes a sharp, useless breath of musty velvet.

"Stay," Harry says softly as his hand slides from Draco's neck, smoothes down his spine. Soft, warm lips follow, and Draco shudders, huffing out into the fabric, fogging his face with his own humid breath.

Lips at the base of his spine, a tongue tracing the odd knob there, as Harry's thumb slowly pushes in to the first knuckle, then out, popping over the ring of muscle there, sending funny, shocky pulses into Draco's belly.

"Fuck me," he snaps, trying to arch his hips up and back into Harry's grasp, and Harry twists his thumb, hard. "Ah!"

In answer, Harry pulls his thumb out and Draco feels cool air prickle up between his arsecheeks, along his balls, making his dick twitch and jerk.

Then there's a tongue there, stroking slow and warm over Draco's hole. "Yeah," he sighs and twists his knees into the couch to get better leverage to thrust back.

Harry's hands spread him wider and Draco feels a flush moving down his throat, when he can feel Harry's tongue push against the muscle, push and back away, push again, harder; the flush spreads and seeps through his skin when Harry makes a contented noise, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, when he works his mouth and his tongue around Draco's hole, saliva dribbling down over his balls, when Harry licks it up and uses his tongue to shove it into his arse.

And now he's pulling Draco's hips up higher, so Draco has no balance of his own, and Harry screws his tongue slowly into Draco's hole, obscene, wet smacking noises as he tries to suck up his won drool, as Draco's hole expands and contracts, almost lazily.

Draco's face flames hot and red when Harry pulls off and there's an involuntary sigh of pent-up air from Draco's body, and he can hear Harry laugh, softly, delighted. "You should see how open you are," he says, and Draco wishes he could do anything but want that tongue back in him.

Harry shoves his face between Draco's arse and jams his tongue into him; Draco can feel his teeth pressing into the skin around his hole, can feel Harry hot, messy breath against the sensitive skin and he whines, his prick so hard and his hole so loose he doesn't know what he wants first.

"C'mon," he whispers, desperate, and Harry makes a rumbling noise that vibrates through Draco's belly and balls. He feels wet and open and exposed, and the noises and Harry, Harry he needs to come right fucking now.

"Say it," Harry says and licks up saliva and Draco can feel himself too open, can feel the odd, wrong wash of air inside himself.

"Please," Draco says, trying for bored, and Harry laughs that mean laugh again.

"You can do better than that." His mouth is back on Draco's shoulder, his prick pressing and slipping and pressing and it's almost, but Harry lets his slide between his legs. "C'mon."

"Please!" Draco tries to shove forward, to get some friction, but Harry wraps an arm around his waist, holding him firm as he rocks against him, sliding his big, hard prick up against Draco's balls.

"Better still," Harry whispers. "Or I could come like this."

Draco feels his neglected hole gaping and he feels panicky almost, empty. "Please!" He struggles up, bracing one hand on the arm of the sofa and reaching back with the other, between his legs, tryingt o shove Harry's cock where he needs it.

But Harry just presses him forward and grips Draco's cock in his fist and Draco tries to jerk away, squirming and gasping, "Wait, wait, please--" but in two pulls he's coming, ropes of it dribbling upside down over his belly, dripping off to the red velvet and Draco almost sobs because he's so open it hurts and Harry is still pulling at him, too hard, too fast, "Please," he's saying desperately, "Please."

Harry wipes his cold, sticky hand on Draco's back, then cups his hand around Draco's forehead, bending his neck painfully backwards. "Lesson two," he says, and Draco shudders. "Gratitude."

Harry's fingers press a parody of the points of his scar into Draco's forehead as he pulls back, doesn't even need his other hand to align himself and press into Draco's malleable arsehole, his whole body just giving way; the arch of Draco's neck and belly make it so he can feel every milimetre of Harry's cock as his body sucks it deeper and deeper.

Harry leans over Draco's back and there's a sharp curve in his voice when he says, "You're very welcome."