Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Conscience	By : sordidhumors Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 15282 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: This story is based on "Harry Potter, " the novels and subsequent films created by JK Rowling, licensed to various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Warner Bros. This e-publication makes no profit.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
SUMMARY: No qualms, no pretense. An entire chapter of Draco and Harry doing it.

WARNINGS: Here it is, just over 5k of uninterrupted porn; you've waited fifteen chapters for it... masochist. Perviness includes: burgeoning D/s, T&D, sapiosexuality, frotting, forced blindness, unprotected oral sex, biting, mild blood fetishizing and bondage FTMFW! Plus, a view inside Malfoy's head while performing sexual favors on everyone's favorite scar-headed hero. I missed my calling as a gay porn wanker—I mean—writer.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: For the purposes of this chapter, let us follow movie cannon and believe there are such things as House ties to accompany Hogwarts robes. Such things make nawashi's life that much easier.

CONSCIENCE:

LET'S BE HONEST - PORN

Harry looked down at the frankly gorgeous blonde sleeping in the crook of his arm. Morning light poured in from the window, lighting his hair like strands of fiery white gold. He looked soft and innocent, Harry thought. Like an angel. Draco curled against him in sleep, a pale hand clutching at Harry's shirt to prevent his rolling away in the night. Harry couldn't resist the urge. Before he knew what he was doing, he was leaning over the blonde, head bending low.

Draco's lips were soft. He pulled one into his mouth and sucked, savoring the taste and feel of him, delicate and very new. He grazed its tenderness with his teeth. Kissing Draco was the most erotic sensation of his entire life. Every part of him screamed for more. He pressed his lips to Draco's again, savoring each slide and each pull as he kissed. Draco's morning wood gave a little jump against his thigh. It turned Harry on so much he couldn't breathe. Maybe he was still drunk?

Draco was stirring beneath him. He was about to wake up. Realizing he could never move off without waking him, Harry dropped his head next to Draco's and feigned sleep. It was easy enough; hell, his eyes were already closed. The way he landed, his lips were against Draco's ear, his nose in sun-warmed, sweet smelling hair. It was almost worse than kissing. Harry was still so, so.... He had to be drunk. That was the only way to explain the lust coursing, sparking, seizing through his veins. Very, very drunk.

Draco made an incoherent sound as he woke. Harry could feel facial muscles move as Draco blinked, he was that close. He redoubled his effort to appear asleep, sorting out his breathing, relaxing every muscle in his own body. Draco's smell helped—it was Harry's own shampoo and soap mixed with something clean, tidy, natural and a bit outdoorsy. Autumn, maybe. Leaves and trees and a smart crispness to the air. That's what Draco smelled like. Maybe it was just cologne: Harry couldn't care less. It was the most comfortable smell in the world. Harry could feel himself drifting back to sleep.

Waking, Draco let go of Harry's shirt. Instead of pulling away, he ran a warm hand up Harry's side. Harry just breathed Draco's scent and enjoyed the touch—he would be asleep in another minute.

Then Draco's hand strayed under Harry's shirt.

Harry knew with absolute clarity what Draco was doing: he was exploring, exactly as Harry had done moments before. Draco thought Harry was still asleep. His fingertips found every last sensitive place as they journeyed lower. They met with Harry's boxers and began toying with the waist band, teasing little ghosts of contact making his toes want to curl. It took all of Harry's concentration to steady his breathing, his stampeding heart, as Draco's fingers slipped under. When Draco touched him, his whole body shuddered. He might have even moaned. Every inch of him sang, screamed at that touch.

Draco seemed to second guess himself. He pulled his hand away.

It was as good a time as any to pretend to wake up.

Harry shifted, letting his eyes open. He didn't want to move. Draco was so warm. He pushed up onto an elbow, not meeting Draco's eyes. Harry stared at his pale chest instead, at the patch of toned muscle and scarred skin revealed by his partly unbuttoned shirt. Harry had to clear his throat twice before he could speak.

“Sorry.” What came out hardly sounded like his voice, but he went with it. “I'll naff off.”

Harry made to sit up and move away. The second he began to move, his erection dragged against Draco's hip, Draco's own pressing strongly into Harry's thigh. Harry could feel a vein pulsing somewhere. He couldn't tell whose it was. He pushed unsteadily to his hands and knees, needing desperately to put some distance between them so he could think.

He looked down into Draco's eyes and saw it there: the same wild desire, the same blood-boiling, bone-searing lust. Any thought of sleep burned up in that instant, along with any thought of ignoring what had just happened between them. He wanted it. Draco wanted it. Slowly, Harry pulled off his shirt. Draco's watching grey eyes went wide. Harry could see the myriad of emotions flash across that beautiful face even without his glasses: confusion, desire, lust, lust again, excitement, hope, yearning, fear.

“Whatta ya doin'?” the blonde whispered, his features settling into honest disbelief. He sounded like Draco, just a bloke from Devizes. His slurred vowels were mesmerizing. Or maybe it was just his lips. Harry tossed his shirt to the floor and again leaned over Draco, wanting so much to be near him. He said the first thing that came to mind.

“Seducing you.”

And he kissed Draco again. It was better than before, better than better—it was fantastic. This time, Draco's lips responded to his own. The familiar scents and unfamiliar, intoxicating taste melded together in a way that made Harry's heart threaten to hammer right out of his chest. He felt like he was going to explode into a thousand, million pieces. Draco's lips were everything: delicious, soft, playful, demanding. Like nothing he'd ever felt before. It turned his mind inside out and binned the contents—it was a real bloody kiss.

He lowered himself onto the blonde, wrapping an arm around him, touching his face. Their kiss deepened. Draco's tongue swept his mouth, his hips bucking, teeth nipping, whole body tense with the need for more. Draco's pulse raced beneath Harry's hand. Harry used his own tongue in imitation and the sensation was incredible. He wanted to do it again and again; instead, he pulled back just an inch.

“Was it like this before?” he managed. “Did we kiss like this?”

“No,” Draco said, straining for Harry's lips. He wrapped an arm around Harry's neck and tried to pull him down for another mind-blowing go. “This is betta,” he murmured, managing to brush Harry's lips with his own. “Best. Do it again.”

With that confirmation, Harry allowed Draco to drag him down. It was a needy kiss. Draco fought him for control, wrapping a leg around him and forcing him onto his back. Harry used their momentum to keep right on rolling, throwing Draco to the bed, making it clear who was in charge of this seduction. He tasted Draco over and over, hands fumbling with the remaining buttons of the blonde's shirt as they rubbed against one another.

With Draco's shirt open, Harry trailed kisses down his chest. He wasn't going to rush it. He kissed, touched and tongued each livid scar. Draco moaned, winding his fingers through Harry's unruly hair. As Harry's mouth drew lower, Draco pulled and panted. He wanted more kissing. He wanted Harry's lips against his own. Harry resisted the urge in favor of a stronger one; he let Draco yank his hair. It felt good. But he wanted more than those amazing kisses.

He worked at Draco's jeans. Stupid button fly. A part of him wanted to simply rip the fucking things. Another part told him to do this slowly, slowly, until Draco fairly hummed with need. Harry had to focus on the buttons—his head was swimming from lack of blood. His fingers fumbled along and at last the stubborn things gave way. Harry peeled away denim and boxers until he had Draco.

Okay, his foggy brain said. Wow. Draco was... something. Draco used magic instead of a razor—he was completely, utterly smooth. And Draco was longer than him. A lot longer. Harry guessed he could fit maybe half of it in his mouth before he choked and died. Oh well. It sounded like a good way to go.

He took Draco in his hand. That earned him an incoherent muttering punctuated by wild, keening, staccato sounds. And panting. Lots of panting: head back, eyes screwed shut, mouth open panting. Harry had no idea what he was doing, but it was working.

He took Draco in his mouth. That garnered him the best reaction yet. It was like a little scream. It came from deep in Draco's throat and sounded like gravel. Harry understood perfectly: it meant please, God, more. He'd never heard anything that sounded better. He took as much as he could, using his hands to stroke what his mouth couldn't reach. There was a lot his mouth couldn't reach but Draco didn't seem to mind. He pulled absently at Harry's hair as he made the noise again, louder.

Harry was just as hard as Draco. They were both sweating. Draco's abdominal muscles started to seize in a quick, pulsing rhythm. He flexed, thrusting into Harry's mouth. He just about gagged. It took him a second to recover but he went right back to it. Draco's hands scrambled for Harry's hair, the pillows, the sheets—anything he might grip tightly, holding on for dear life. His taut stomach quivered and shook. If he was anything like Harry, that meant he was about to go over the edge. Harry went a little slower, a little harder, trying to help him last. Draco just punched the bed and let out a strangled, emphatic yell. Harder is better, it said to Harry. The yell went on. More, more, more, more, Draco begged. Harry really slowed down, using his tongue, grazing the head with the backs of front his teeth. He ignored the ache in his jaw as he sucked. He went at it hard, the way Draco liked. Crazed, Draco tried to pull Harry off him. It was time. Harry batted the hand away. He was seeing this through.

He pulled back so just the head was in his mouth and used one hand over the other to stroke down Draco's shaft in a kind of endless stimulation that always worked on his own equipment. It got Draco there, too. He grabbed a pillow, bit into it and screamed as he came.

Bitter. Not wholly unpleasant but not the greatest, either. Sort of like tequila. Harry pulled a face and swallowed quickly, silently wishing for something to chase it with.

Draco still had him by the hair. He used his hold to drag Harry until they lay face to face on their sides. Harry decided he could really get used to this—the screaming and the hair pulling. Especially seeing the expression on Draco's face, that pleasant, half-brained shock. Slowly, he closed his big grey eyes. Draco's forehead rested against his, thin fingers exploring the landscape of the back of Harry's neck.

Draco kissed him. It was a sweet, gentle kiss. A happy, satisfied kiss. His lips were hopelessly thick, sucking at Harry's own with mindless pleasure. It was a kiss that made Harry's heart leap into his throat. Draco's lips pulled away too soon; Harry clung an instant longer, even as Draco ducked his head and pulled away.

“Yeh really jus'... did tha', didn't yeh.” It wasn't a question or a statement. It was nothing and everything. Draco was loopy.

Sucked you off? Harry's brain replied. Swallowed? Reduced you to a quivering instant of madness? Completely and utterly seduced you?

“Yeah,” Harry said. It was close enough.

He worked a hand up Draco's side, savoring the feel of his flushed skin tinged with sweat. The blonde felt fucking amazing. They lay for a minute, just touching. Draco's breathing evened out but the zany, lopsided smile was cemented on his face.

“Wha' happens na?” he whispered.

“You tell me,” Harry said absently, running a hand over Draco's back. Harry felt the strength of muscle under that soft skin, bones and tendons concealed beneath such wonderful-ness. He wanted Draco again. He wanted Draco more. He wanted to taste and touch every inch of him, to make him scream all over again.

“Usually the other bloke just... leaves,” Draco sighed. Harry could detect an anxious note to his voice, the posh air creeping back with his nerves.

“Well, this is my bed,” Harry shot for a joking tone. It probably came out as knackered. “An' I'm not going anywhere.”

“Oh,” Draco paled, the contented flush fading from his cheeks. Harry missed it the instant it was gone. “Eh, should I go?”

He started to get up. He pulled away, his hand leaving the back of Harry's neck. Harry caught that hand with his own, bringing it to his lips. Draco smelled like something new: sweat, his sweat, Harry's sweat, all blended together. It smelled great on him. Harry kissed the back of Draco's hand and met his very confused eyes with a steady gaze.

“Stay.”

“A—alright,” Draco said slowly, settling back down beside him. Harry had a chance to sneak his arm under Draco's disheveled blonde head, forcing him to use the arm as a pillow. The muscles in Draco's neck worked as he swallowed. It hit Harry like a ton of bricks—Draco was truly nervous. His pale fingers traveled anxiously down Harry's chest to hover at his belt. “Should I—?” he began. Harry almost laughed.

“Cor, come off it,” he mumbled, taking Draco's hand and twining their fingers together. That felt really good. Draco's hand just seemed to fit in his own. He gave it a little squeeze. “That was serious. You must be shattered.” The lopsided smile came back as Draco gave in to a nod. “Why don't you kip here?”

Draco kept nodding—that, along with the goofy grin, was a good sign. So Harry rolled onto his back and settled Draco against his chest. He kept Draco's hand in his, resting their joined fingers over his heart. Even as they settled in, Draco's unease reared again.

“Are ya sure?”

“Yeah. Rest.” Harry couldn't help himself. He pulled Draco that much closer and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I'm gonna be creepy and stare at you while you sleep,” he joked. It was a bit true, though.

“Uh huh,” Draco mumbled. He was already half asleep, Harry's arm wrapped protectively around him.

- - -

Harry woke up thirty minutes later. He was warm. Even without a shirt, he was so warm. When he looked down, he remembered why.

The sun still shone through the window, lighting Draco's platinum hair. It formed a glowing, messy halo about his head... but Harry no longer thought he resembled an angel. He looked wonderful—in a highly inappropriate, debauched, devilishly sexy way. His bony fingers wandered the trail of hair at Harry's stomach, thin wrist brushing against Harry's belt buckle. Or brushing just a bit lower. Harry realized he was very, very hard.

“Oh,” Draco's face turned up toward his. “Yer awake.” His face remained passive but his eyes smiled.

Fuck it. Harry crushed his mouth to the blonde's without so much as a “good morning.” Draco responded with immediate and marked enthusiasm. He suckled Harry's bottom lip, pulling at it with sharp white teeth. The pain just made it that much sweeter when Draco's hand cupped his crotch, gathering cock and balls in one practiced, reality-destroying sweep. Harry's mouth fell open in a gasp.

By the time his brain genned up, Draco was on top of him. And the blonde's shirt was gone. Those heavy, sweet lips never left Harry's. That tongue traced his teeth, begging for reciprocation. Harry got his arms around Draco's buff torso and pulled their bodies together from nose to toes. The firm feel of him made Harry sweat all over again, every slicked inch straining for more. With those narrow hips rolling hard against his own, he knew exactly what he wanted: Draco.

He had to break their kiss in a desperate bid for air. Draco was pulling his hair, sighs lilting on the end of each breath, trembling each time his groin scraped Harry's own. He moved with feverish need, running wet kisses down Harry's neck. Damn him! It was too much! Did he want Harry to come in his pants? He clenched and fought it, stilling Draco's thrusts with both hands on his ass. But feeling those pert cheeks.... the man's eager excitement only made it that much harder to hold back. Harry bit savagely down on Draco's shoulder, willing himself to last.

Draco moaned, long and loud, unrestrained. He was close, too. His hips bucked uncontrollably as he gasped for breath; apparently, he got off to the hard stuff, too. Harry was delighted to oblige. He muscled Draco to his back and pinned him to the sheets by his arms.

“You will not make me come yet. Understand?” he growled.

Draco strained, trying to catch Harry's lips, eyes closed and breath reduced to ragged pulls. Rather than answering directly, he caught Harry's jaw and licked a wet stripe up his stubbled skin. It was a promise of what he could and would do, given the chance. Harry tightened uncontrollably. He was a second away from losing it. Draco placed a chaste kiss to Harry's bottom lip.

“Ya appear ta suffer from a severe delusion,” Draco whispered against Harry's lips, trying to wriggle his arms free to no avail. Harry held him fast, pinned to the bed. “I don't take orders. I give 'em.”

“That so?” Harry mumbled, teasing Draco's lips with his own. Talking wasn't a strong enough distraction from the hard grind of Draco's hips, their cocks rubbing together. Damn those layers of fabric still between them! Harry suppressed a moan. “I think you'll sort it out.”

Draco snorted.

Well, that wouldn't do.

Harry shifted his weight down, driving his hips hard into Draco's own, drilling him into the mattress. When Draco arched helplessly against him, Harry dragged teeth down his tender, pale neck. The act left an angry red trail. Draco's whole body hummed with pleasure. Harry finished with a biting, licking kiss to the base of that long, gorgeous neck—right at the worst of the livid burn marks. He breathed over them, kissing again and again. His hands slid up Draco's arms to twine their fingers together. Draco slowed to move with Harry, matching his breath, returning the intense, constricting pressure as their palms pressed hotly.

Harry returned his lips to Draco's. He was so good to kiss, his lips as soft as his skin. Their range and sensitivity was a wonder. Harry nipped and sucked, licked and prodded and pushed. Draco would catch his tongue and pull at it, all wetness and press and fire: a preview. A challenge. Always a challenge with him.

Harry rolled to his side, releasing Draco's hands to pull him close; immediately, Draco's fingers tangled themselves in dark, sweat-matted hair. Their kissing turned needful, passionate. Draco's tongue met his in a rush; his fierceness changed everything Harry thought he knew about kissing. Everything followed a heady, relentless rhythm. Harry felt like he was falling from the tallest Hogwarts tower—he let the waves of arousal and need rip through him. He abandoned himself to it, committed only to feeling, shaking, enjoying.

Draco cuddled close and cooed in Harry's ear, his voice deep and husky, lilting with the distended vowels of Wiltshire. The breaks in his speech betrayed him; he was seconds away from coming, too.

“I wanta do something for ya. Yeh'll like it. But ya have ta trust me,” he pulled back enough to meet Harry's gaze. His eyes were twin eclipses, dark centers blocking out all but the tiniest lining of silver. “Do ya trust me?”

“Yes,” Harry said readily, surprised by the steadiness of his own voice.

“Close those eyes, then.” Harry obliged, thinking he liked Draco's garbled bedroom talk. The deep, stilted sound was at once natural and terribly sexy. Why didn't Draco talk like that all the time? Then again—if he did—Harry would be hard all the time. That didn't sound like such a bad thing.

Draco pulled out of Harry's arms to fetch something. Harry waited patiently. Draco didn't leave the bed, returning to Harry's touch a second later. Narrow fingers settled on Harry's chest. Draco seemed to absorb the feel of Harry through the pads of his fingers. His hand followed down the hollow of Harry's chest, testing the feel of skin, muscle and sweat. Harry knew the touch would go lower: the anticipation became half the fun. He pulsed with it, toes curling.

“Accio necktie,” Draco said; he must have picked up his wand. With eyes closed, Harry heard his school trunk squeak open.

“Figures,” Draco muttered and probably shook his head, too. Harry couldn't resist opening his eyes to find Draco straddling him, wand in one hand and a Gryffindor tie in the other, a devious gleam in his eyes and a boyish smirk turning the corners of his red, swollen mouth. He looked so debauched, so kissable, so right half naked and seated atop Harry's hips.

“Oi! Eyes shut,” Draco chided under his breath. Harry thought he was about to have his red and gold tie used against him as a blindfold; he thought wrong. In a swift flutter of movement, Draco had Harry's wrists trussed together with the tie. He used a Sticking Charm to affix both ends of the necktie to the wooden headboard. A part of Harry's brain told him this could turn out very badly—the rest of his brain told the nancy part to stuff it.

He felt Draco lean over him, felt Draco's breath against his face, smelled his cologne and delectable sweat. Without his sight Harry could focus on these details. He didn't think he could be any more aroused until it happened: Draco rubbed his face in the crook of Harry's neck, warm lips and tongue seeking out the droplets of sweat that clung to his skin. Draco's hair tickled his face. It was probably a good thing his hands were secured above his head—if he could touch Draco now, in this heightened awareness, he would blow his load for sure. Instead, he was content to let every shiver, every touch, every lick and kiss simply wash over him.

Draco ventured lower, his teeth grazing Harry's collar bone; it felt like pitching off a broomstick, the way his stomach dropped to the vicinity of his knees and the rest of his insides quivered and swooped to fill the void. All he could do was arch his back and hope Draco would do it again; instead, he licked the blooming bruise then blew across it. Harry shivered and groaned. Draco's tongue plied Harry's nipple, his hands venturing south.

“Cor—fuck yes, yes,” Harry spluttered, incoherent. Draco roughly undid his belt with one hand, the other stroking him through his jeans. There were far too many layers of fabric between them, he'd always said. He needed to be kissed, touched, done to. Helplessness only fortified the need. He clenched his teeth, every muscle tight and straining. Draco bothered himself to remove every stitch of Harry's clothing—save the tie, of course.

Draco's breathing was noisy, heavy, fighting to stay even. His hand on Harry's thigh sent shivers up both their spines. Harry could only wait as Draco's narrow hand ventured higher. He sure took his sweet-ass time. Need threatened to explode out Harry's ears or perhaps burst his eyeballs and blind him. He could only bite his lips, thrash and whine.

He got louder when Draco brushed the underside of his balls. He probably shouted something when Draco made contact with his cock but the sound was lost to him. How could Draco do such amazing things with just one hand—one hand? Maybe the other gripped his wand. Maybe this feeling was magic. Draco's thumb pressed the head of his cock, slicking it with precome. He worked the slit until more bubbled up under his fingertip. He coated Harry's cock with it, a tactile connection to Draco's hot hand.

Harry felt Draco shift above him. For a moment Harry panicked, thinking the blonde was climbing off him, leaving the bed, changing his mind—and then the most fantastic thing happened. Draco's hand went to the bed, settling at Harry's hip, brushing the curve of Harry's ass with his fingers. Draco lowered himself and dear sweet God he was naked, too, moving his hips in a way that got their cocks rubbing together. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before: the heat, the tension, the friction—and Draco's sweat, Draco's erection, Draco's sweet lips roughly plying his own. This was how it was supposed to be. This was it.

He bucked. He shook. He moaned, growled until his head spun and his voice cracked. The rhythmic pulsing deep in his gut told him it was almost time. He wanted so much to see Draco, to touch him, to claim every inch of the feverish, petal-soft skin that teased and pressed his own. He could feel Draco's heated breath all over his face—he was being watched. Unable to control himself, his mouth hung open as he keened and wailed, eyes firmly screwed shut. Mercifully, Draco seemed to know exactly what he needed. The blonde leaned in, giving that much more pressure, that much more unbearable heat. Sweat let their dicks glide against taut skin, making Harry very much aware of all his body hair compared to Draco's fascinating smoothness. Draco's tongue traced a mind-altering path up his neck. He kissed a sensitive place behind Harry's ear that made him gasp, made his cock jump up and smack Draco's flat stomach. He kissed the spot again, slower. White stars chased red and orange streaks behind Harry's eyelids. He'd never danced this long on the cusp. His chest ached from holding back the screams. Draco's tongue worked at his earlobe, his hands heavy, fingers gripping Harry's cheek.

“Come,” he whispered softly. “Come fer me.”

Harry didn't need telling twice. He bit Draco's shoulder again and screamed until his throat burned. The first scream was pure release. The second scream was pure pleasure. The third scream was utter shock because he was still fucking coming! He gasped for air against the return of Draco's demanding lips. And then he was screaming because Draco was screaming, crying out into their kiss as his own orgasm tore through him.

They panted against one another's lips, Draco absently worrying Harry's lower lip with his teeth, nibbling, suckling, out of his mind. Harry groaned.

He'd been so afraid this would happen. Why did he have to be such a freak? Draco was going soft and here he was getting even harder. He cursed his wretched body. Sometimes his stupid dick just decided one go wasn't enough; apparently, this was one of those times. His balls pulled high and tight and the head of his cock throbbed. He could feel the thickest vein of his shaft pulsing away. Why? Why? What the hell was he going to do?

Draco's lips stilled and he pulled away. Harry kept his eyes dutifully closed.

“Yer still hard,” Draco observed.

“Er, yeah,” Harry said lamely.

“Open yer eyes, mon beau,” he drawled. “I want ya ta see me get yeh off again.”

Very vivid green eyes watched him as he moved lower. Why did Potter have such warm, expressive eyes? Green was supposed to be a cool color, after all. Draco was aware of staring helplessly back; gawping, even. He was aware of sweat and heat and his own traitorous body making a desperate bid at an early come-back. He had to pull himself away from those pretty doe eyes—something else required his attention. Begged for it. Wept for it, actually.

Draco prepared to dislocate his jaw. Cock sucking had never been his forte and Potter was murderously thick. He slid a hand to the base, fingers nestled in dark, coarse hair, fingertips not even touching. The part of his brain with a death wish wondered if he could handle being fucked by this cock—probably not. Sucking dick, pondering taking it instead of giving it... what the hell was wrong with him?

Potter. That's what was wrong with him. He breathed deeply, letting the mingled sparks of musk and spice register at the back of his throat. Normally he didn't suck cock but this was the best exception he'd ever had. Even the man's come smelled bloody amazing. How was Potter still hard? That had been the best frot in the history of modern civilization! One-eyed evidence to the contrary stared him down, threatening to spray him in the face if he didn't see to it soon. Now or never. He caught those doey eyes in a hard, meaningful gaze before....

Oh dear. Oh sweet Merlin. The taste of his own stuff mixed with Potter's and that hot, spicy, tingly something that hung on Potter's skin assailed him. He worked at not choking, wetness pricking his eyes. Potter wouldn't, couldn't last very long, right? This delightful experience would be over soon. He wasn't sure how much longer he could look at Potter, taste him, feel the deepest reaches of his throat violated by him, and keep the tears of absolute pleasure from falling down his face. He couldn't remember enjoying a blow job this much. Giving or receiving. Ever. The way Potter's wild eyes fixated on his face, bobbing in time with his strong, even suction. The way those powerful, sweat-slicked arms shook as he battled the restraints. The way the smell of him, the taste of him, burned into Draco's brain. Maybe Potter would last another thirty seconds, even a whole minute. He just wanted to remember this.

“Close, close,” Potter articulated between deep, bone-rattling, ragged sobs. “So close.” And then the man hissed in Parseltongue, staring soul-searchingly into his eyes. Draco hummed his agreement as he worked, his free arm braced against Potter's abdomen to keep the man's strong hips from bucking up and inflicting irreparable harm. He could see the headlines now: Death Eater Dead, Choked on Chosen Cock. And what a way to go. Draco pulled off enough to swallow before he drowned in his own spit.

“Please,” he heard the plea even in snake language. “Harder. Please, I need it.” Okay, it was one thing to understand intent; it was another thing entirely to find oneself comprehending entire, complete sentences. “Please, please, please!”

Looking up the muscled, taut length of his struggling bedmate, Draco worried his Sticking Charm might not hold. Potter looked about to rocket off the bed and attack him. With a pleased little sigh, he sacrificed his pharynx to this Sex-God-Potter mirage. He might speak with a rasp for several hours but it was entirely worth the scream it ripped from Potter; a head-tossing, body-jerking, honest-to-Camelot scream that hung around long enough to vibrate in Draco's chest and ring in his ears. He felt the zing of magic tingle over his skin.

Potter must really be a powerful wizard because he managed to hold on even after that; granted, his member pulsed so hard against Draco's lips it felt as though his teeth were being driven back into his gums. He'd been using his lips as a cushion against grazing Potter—he felt the tender burn as his teeth broke the insides of both lips and blood flowed into his mouth, metallic and harsh. He unfurled his lips and pulled back, a last-second whim of utter vindictiveness convincing him to track his blood-tinted teeth along the shaft and then the head of Potter's cock. Draco was able to pull off just as the wave hit.

Potter cried out; deep, achingly, long and loud as his orgasm overtook him. Draco watched, wide eyed, as the dark haired man shivered and convulsed, spilling between them. Green eyes burned into him, making his skin crawl. There was an almighty crash; it sounded distinctly like the bedroom window breaking. Draco forced himself to swallow a mouth full of blood that still somehow tasted like Potter.

“Draco,” the man beneath him groaned. This was great; he really understood bloody Potter. Bloody Potter and his dirty snake mouth. “Kiss me.”

Draco found himself crawling up that fantastic body, delirious, still lapping down his own blood because it tasted like him, him, him. He hung inches from Potter's lips, reaching for composure that wouldn't come.

“Say my name again,” he heard himself whisper.

“Draco.”

Good enough. No. Perfect.
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Conscience