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Chapter Fifteen—What Harry Potter Experienced

Draco could kiss like a demon, Harry discovered. All heat and force and insistence. He made it feel as though you should be somewhere else when he kissed you, as if you should be doing something else, because surely something this good would end with your death.

But Harry didn’t want to be anywhere else. He looped his arms around Draco’s shoulders and gave as good as he got. It seemed to work, because Draco shuddered twice and uttered a gasping, groaning noise, as though he were a mooncalf being gutted.

“Taste something you like?” Harry asked, pulling back at last so that he could breathe. His mouth felt tender and swollen, and he thought Draco could hardly have done more damage by punching him. He ran his tongue along his lips and looked with some satisfaction at his own handiwork, the bruising of Draco’s lips and the shadows around his mouth.

Draco, though he’d pinned Harry to the wall for several minutes now, stood with his chest heaving and his head swaying slightly from side to side. His body trembled. If the kiss had consumed Harry, it had at least impacted Draco.

And then his eyes snapped up, and Harry swallowed at the burn in them.

Impacted. More than impacted. At the moment, I’m what he wants more than anything else in the world.

The thought didn’t frighten him, as it would have before he understood what Draco meant by owning him. Instead, it made him press closer, his leg twitching with the urge to curl around Draco’s waist.

His blood was up, and his head was hot, and the sound of their panting breaths mixed and intermingled until it seemed to also be the sound of his pushing hips and his pulsing cock.

I want him. He wants me. Why are we standing here and staring at each other?

*

Draco knew, from the impatient way Harry twitched against him, that he wanted Draco to get on with it. But Draco was enjoying the chance to look his fill. He certainly hadn’t been able to take it when he was dueling Harry and then rutting frantically against him in a heated frenzy that might end any moment. And none of the women he had been with had ever affected him like this. They were prone to hiding their faces, blushing and turning away as if they thought their passion shameful.

Not Harry.

Oh, not Harry.

It might have taken him a long time to realize that Draco returned his desire and more than returned it, but now that he was here, it would have been anathema to him to look away. Draco was as sure of that as if he were reading the thoughts out of Harry’s head with Legilimency. His eyes were brilliant, filled with a shine like the light of drowned stars, and he looked as if he rejoiced in the way his lips swelled with kisses and dark red marks glowed on his neck. Draco could have taken him out in public, and Harry would only have arranged that the bites showed for all to see—by tugging the high collar of his robes down if necessary.

He had given himself to Draco. Not surrendered, the way that some of Draco’s other partners had, which was always unsatisfactory. Draco wanted the sense of conquest and ownership, yes, but in the end, a conquest lay quiescent at one’s feet, instead of quivering with passion for another go-round.

But this giving was full, and complete, and what Draco had always wished for with the ideal wife of his dreams.

No, it’s better, he realized in shock as Harry made an impatient noise, leaned forwards, and pressed their lips together. I always wondered how someone could be passionate and cold-blooded in the way our society requires at the same time. It makes sense that it takes someone outside that society to teach me how lovemaking can be.

Harry’s hand wound into his hair and yanked, and Harry grumbled something against his mouth that had a distinctly displeased tone, though Draco couldn’t make out what it was; Harry’s lips and tongue rather distracted him from understanding words at the moment. Draco chuckled under his breath and decided that someone who had taught him so much deserved to have whatever he wanted.

Even if what he wants is not exactly what he imagined.

*

Draco’s hands curled around his waist and spine, and abruptly he lifted Harry, so that Harry didn’t have any choice but to wrap his legs around Draco’s waist if he didn’t want to topple. He shuddered as the new position sent a ripple of friction up his cock.

I don’t know how this can possibly feel better, but it does.

He fastened his mouth firmly on Draco’s, trying to regain a little of his lost control, but Draco’s hand slid its way between their bodies. Then his fingers crept inside Harry’s shirt and flattened out on his skin.

Harry shuddered again, dramatically enough that he needed to pull his mouth away from Draco’s and take a large gulp of air. This was the first time that Draco had touched him like that; they’d got off in their clothes in Madrid, and they’d stayed clothed when they danced, and they’d been sleeping in separate beds since they came to the Manor. Just like the unexpected change in position, one small touch of bare fingers to bare chest shouldn’t have felt that good, but the feeling went on existing and being experienced all the same.

“I like what I taste,” Draco breathed into his ear. Harry writhed. His ear was sensitive, but Draco’s hot breath seemed to surround him: his tongue, his lips, his fingers, everywhere but his cock, which was where Harry most wanted it to be. “Do you like what you feel?”

Harry uttered some ruined gabble that he could only hope conveyed the same idea to Draco that it did to him, and pulled him closer.

*

Not only was Harry passionate, he was also responsive. Draco was delighted. With the women he had bedded, it had been a game to deny their responses to him, just as it was a game to deny their blushes. They would bite their lips to keep from gasping, drop their eyes as if their emotions were not clearly painted across their other features, and turn away from him when he released them, arms folded across their chests with what they liked to pretend was a natural chill, rather than the chill of the sudden separation from the heat of his body.

But Harry grunted and moaned and babbled as if he never thought that Draco would think less of him for it, and if he squirmed, it was only with the need to get closer. Draco grunted as their cocks brushed. Yes, he thought he could get used to a male lover very quickly.

But nakedness would help me be sure.

He lowered Harry to the floor and undid his robes with a single smooth pull, ignoring Harry’s protesting hand on the back of his neck. He was doing something he thought Harry would like, he murmured without words, and tugged his trousers down violently. Harry stood still for a moment, panting, then wriggled eagerly, trying to propel Draco’s mouth to its destination.

Get the pants out of the way, and…

It had never been Draco’s way to act on impulse, without taking technique into account. He had studied various books on how to pleasure girls carefully before he actually attempted to place his mouth anywhere near the crotch of a woman he was dating. He had practiced his tongue movements in front of the mirror. He had memorized a whole sequence of gestures, from the first catching of the eye, to the slight but sincere smile, and then the campaign of fleeting touches and lowered tones that he would use to catch her attention.

With Harry, everything was unorthodox, everything was unplanned, and so perhaps it wasn’t a surprise that he took Harry’s cock into his mouth for the first time without thinking about it at all.

Harry thrust sharply down his throat, and Draco gagged. Maybe I should have thought about this, he decided, and reared back to clear his throat and spit for a moment before he leaned forwards again.

“I’m sorry,” Harry was saying in a mortified tone. “I forgot you haven’t done this before. I’m sure I would have choked the same way. I’ll be more careful in the future. I—”

And then his mouth froze on a noiseless scream as Draco dived back in, this time taking the precaution of pinning Harry’s hips to the wall with his hands first. Harry gasped, and struggled, and staggered, and then began a noisy wail as Draco licked straight forwards and sucked from the side.

Draco smiled lazily around a mouthful of skin. He might have wanted to practice just in case, but he had always been a quick study.

It was wonderful giving himself up to the salty taste and Harry’s ragged movements as Harry had too obviously given himself up to pleasure. When Draco thought he understood enough of the rhythm of thrusts to look up, he stared, and fireworks seemed to explode in his brain. Harry’s cheeks were flushed, his mouth hanging open and a faint line of saliva making its way down the corner of his lips, the tendons in his neck standing out as he thrust.

Draco leaned forwards and ground his cock against Harry’s thigh before he thought about it. Then he took a massive breath and managed to hold back. He still had some modicum of dignity, and he wasn’t about to come rubbing against Harry like a dog.

Especially because I already came that way in Madrid.

He splayed his hands wider, his fingers guiding Harry’s plunges into his throat now instead of restraining them, and swallowed. Harry promptly yelped and cried, and his fingers scrabbled through Draco’s hair, scratching his scalp. Draco leaned forwards to grind again. He didn’t understand how even that could be exciting, but it was.

Dizziness surged through him from head to erection. Would it—would it be so bad if he came like this, humping Harry’s foot? His body bowed as he had the thought, and his muscles tightened—

And then Harry screamed, “Draco, oh my God! Yes!” and came down his throat, effectively distracting him.

Draco choked for only one moment, and then began to swallow easily, because, after all, he was equal to dealing with this. He rode the thrusts Harry made into his face better than he’d expected; they were more forceful but not that different from the thrusts an excited girl would make. And when Harry gave an exhausted whimper and began to slide down the wall, Draco was there to catch him.

He hadn’t come, as he noted when the head of his erection brushed the floor and he rubbed himself against it for a moment. Sensitive.

A different thought consumed him as he swallowed one more time and gathered Harry into his arms. Harry’s eyes were closed, but the way he shook showed he was still awake—as did the way his hands had wandered into Draco’s hair and down to his arse.

He’ll make me come next time.

Draco imagined the many ways Harry could make him come. The warmth of his mouth, and the way his eyes would stare up at Draco before sliding shut in exquisite enjoyment. The tightness of his hand, which, though it should logically have been the first thing Draco experienced, he didn’t know yet.

The squeeze of his arse.

Draco smiled down at Harry, who had opened his eyes and was sitting back on his heels with an expression of determination, and doubted that he could have made a better choice of lover.

*

Harry clenched his arse down on air as he noticed the way Draco was staring at him.

I want.

The verb didn’t need an object the way it usually did. Harry was his wanting. His body shook with it, and his bones were watery with the force of his longing. He thought of pulling Draco up the stairs to bed, but he wasn’t sure he would last long enough to do so. It didn’t matter that he’d come. His body was still on fire, his want having shifted from his need to come to orgasm to make Draco do so.

Doing it here on the floor of the entrance hall sounds good to me, he thought, and started pulling Draco’s shirt off.

Draco planted his hands on the floor and shook his head. His hair flew in every direction. Harry admired it helplessly, as he seemed destined to admire everything about Draco at the moment. He tried to reach up and crush their lips together again, but Draco transferred one of the hands to his chest and pressed down. Harry gasped. Maybe because his cock was sated for the moment, he felt the sensation more intensely than he had before, when it was just Draco sliding his hand under Harry’s robes.

“No,” Draco whispered. “I want you in a bed.” He rocked forwards, a loose, swinging motion, and Harry had to close his eyes as he felt the erection poking at him. His arse clenched again, and he reached up and clutched aimlessly at Draco’s arms. Draco chuckled lowly, but Harry didn’t think he was mocking him.

“Inside me,” he said. His mouth was swollen, overflowing. His voice stuttered and stumbled like his grip on Draco’s arms.

Draco ground himself so strongly into Harry for a moment that Harry thought he’d changed his mind about the bed. But then he pulled back and whispered, “Yes. Fucking you.”

Harry twisted. The hard sounds of the words were sinking inside him, hooking him, making him thrash. But he would never experience the real thing if he didn’t slow down, so he crawled a few inches away from Draco and opened his eyes.

Draco was still watching him with desire like a werewolf’s, desire to devour. Harry had to concentrate on each separate motion as he stood and extended his hand for Draco to grip, which Draco did without hesitation.

Once they were both upright, Harry jerked Draco close to him and bit him on the chin. Draco started in what was certainly surprise and might have been pleasure. His hand gripped Harry’s neck and jerked on it in retaliation, until his head bent backwards and he was staring directly into Draco’s face.

Harry smiled, unafraid of the hunger he saw there. “Can you handle it?” he whispered, including just enough of a taunt to spur Draco to action.

Draco pressed him towards the stairs, face blank, as though every other emotion that tried to show up was being crushed out by his lust. Harry laughed and let himself be pulled.

*

Harry Potter sprawled on his sheets, his legs spread as he worked on his own arse with fingers full of lubricant oil, was the most erotic thing Draco had ever seen.

He hadn’t thought it would be. He hadn’t looked forwards to this part of taking a male lover, in fact. An arse was—well, hot and tight, in theory. Draco had never made love to any of his female partners that way. But it was also full of shit and God knew what else, and when he read about the lengthy stretching process that it would take until his writer was ready for him, Draco had hesitated.

So why did this particular performance leave him helpless to do anything except lean on the wall and pull on his cock, rubbing to relieve the pressure, jerking and pinching so that he wouldn’t come from the sight alone?

Maybe it had something to do with the way Harry writhed as his fingers disappeared up his arse, or the quick jabbing motions he used to force himself back on his own hand. Maybe it had to do with the thick cries he gave, his voice spasming like his arse as it clamped down. Maybe it had to do with the way his legs twitched and continually spread wider.

Or maybe—just maybe—it was the hot, clear gaze he turned on Draco, his eyes so wide that it seemed as if he had pinned back his eyelids. He clearly didn’t want to blink and miss a moment of Draco’s reaction.

Which he got. Draco might not be fair, but he wasn’t stupid, either. He knew that he wouldn’t see much more of Harry’s amazing performance unless he shared some of his own honest feelings with him.

Besides, it was oddly thrilling letting down his defenses in front of Harry. It felt like the same risk he took when he showed a moment of genuine weakness to an enemy so that they would push too far and tumble into one of Draco’s own traps.

But here there was no trap, and no enemy. Only a lover, and the assurance of pleasure.

Draco played with himself and tossed his head back, gaping and gasping, and watched the way that Harry’s eyes shone as if he’d lit a fire behind them, and reveled in the contradiction.

Harry abruptly jerked himself straight up, and a combination of a groan and a hiss escaped from between his teeth. His eyes fluttered shut. When he began to move again, he rocked on his fingers, his jaw working helplessly. No sound escaped.

“What’s that?” Draco whispered, greedy. He didn’t want Harry to get too involved in his own pleasure and forget him. He took a step forwards, trying to ignore how silly he felt with his cock slapping against his belly and dripping on the floor. Of course they’d taken off the rest of their clothes the moment they got into his room. “What did you do?”

“My p—the s—” Harry arched his neck, and jerked his arse backwards again. His cock was making a valiant effort to revive, though Draco didn’t intend for Harry to come before he was inside him. “That spot,” he said at last, as explanation, and fell back against the pillows, his hips pumping.

Draco crawled onto the bed and grabbed Harry’s wrist. Carefully, he eased his fingers out of his arse. They shone with the oil Harry had used to prepare himself, and so did his entrance. Draco narrowed his eyes in expectation and grazed Harry’s knee with his cock.

Harry snapped his gaze back to him, and emerged entirely from his self-inflicted delight. He smiled lazily and spread his legs again, so wide that his heels almost fell off the bed, and shoved his arse at Draco. Draco made some sound that had no name, but which seemed to start boiling far back in his throat and tear upwards, scraping off most of the skin in his mouth on the way.

“You’ve been waiting,” Harry whispered. “For someone who understood you. And I’ve been waiting. For you. For too long.” His words came with more and more effort as he strained, trying to widen his legs further, and Draco hissed. But he sensed Harry had something else to say, and he wanted him to say it before he started pounding him and stole all his breath and his focus.

Harry caught his breath, started to speak, lost his words to another spasm, and finally gasped, “I don’t—see the point—in waiting any longer.”

“Neither do I,” Draco said, his voice grating like a steel plate dragged across a stone floor, and then he slid forwards. Harry waved one hand; a pillow floated away from the head of the bed and tucked itself under his arse. Draco spared only a moment to wonder about the wandless magic, and only one more to wonder about the possible stains the lubricant would leave on the pillow.

Then he was lifting Harry’s legs up and over his shoulders, and easing his way into Harry’s slicked and shining arse.

He was kneeling above Harry, who arched beneath him, allowing Draco more intimate access to his body than any woman ever had.

Willingly allowing him access.

Draco stiffened and drove inside, and then it was a struggle not to come right away.

*

Harry closed his eyes as Draco thrust into him. He had known it would hurt. The oil he’d used had relaxed his muscles as well as made him slick, but still. The pain slid like a smoldering fire up through his chest and down into his abdomen. He bit his lip so that he wouldn’t cry out. Draco wouldn’t mistake a cry of pain for one of pleasure, and he would probably insist on sliding out.

But Harry didn’t think he could stand waiting one moment more for Draco to fuck him. And the soaring exaltation in his brain, which came from being in a place he’d never thought to be, made him laugh and push himself back, holding his breath and clamping down as Draco’s cock drove further into him, and then making himself relax.

“The idea is to move,” he said, when Draco had spent several minutes just kneeling there with his eyes shut, panting, probably focused on the warmth of Harry’s arse. “For God’s sake, it’s like having sex with a statue, though I reckon you’re a little less hard—”

Draco’s eyes opened, and Harry lost any words in the face of his expression of sheer heat. And maybe because Draco began to thrust then, and there really wasn’t much of a choice except for Harry to arch his back and yowl like a cat.

“Want to fuck you,” Draco whispered, several times, almost chanting it.

“You are,” Harry gasped, but he understood why Draco kept repeating it. There was no getting used to this, no way that he could analyze one thrust and be prepared for the next. Did you get used to being dipped in fire? Push, and shove, and push, and shove, and a stabbing thrust that went straight to Harry’s guts, and a slow dragging retreat that felt as if Draco would drag his soul out of his body with it, and the urge to laugh because he couldn’t remember thinking his soul was located in his arse before, and a short jab that—

That reached that spot.

Harry clenched frantically around Draco’s cock, and shoved, and sobbed, and fucked himself steadily for several seconds before he realized that Draco was just sitting still and watching him smugly. Harry glared, but he couldn’t stop moving. The pleasure was spreading like the pain had earlier, whirling in wisps across his body, moving like the cinders of a flying fire.

“Draco,” he said, and tried to stare what he was feeling into Draco’s eyes.

Draco plunged forwards, and then made a sharp startled sound, as if he hadn’t commanded his body to move. But it was moving now, thrusting, the force of his body causing Harry to laugh and rejoice and sink his nails into Draco’s arms, which Draco retaliated for by bending him almost in half and biting him on the lips—

And when had he got hard again, anyway, Harry wondered hazily, because so much of the pleasure burning him now was diffused throughout his body instead of centered in his cock that he hadn’t noticed—

And Draco panted into his face, his body still shagging relentlessly, and then froze all over with a sob of surrender—

And Harry came hard enough to paint the pillows beside him with his release, though luckily he didn’t shoot himself in the face—

And Draco whispered, “Not a single touch to the cock, you bastard. How’s that for a first time?” and collapsed on top of him like a heavy leather blanket.

Harry, still shaking with pleasure, wrapped his arms around Draco’s shoulders and closed his eyes.

He felt as if he lay in the heart of the sun.

Chapter 16.