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The last time Draco Malfoy had been this close to Potter, one of them had been bleeding. Now, Potter’s lips were parted just slightly, his breath warm against Draco’s cheek as he leaned in—close enough that Draco could count the faint freckles dusting the bridge of his nose.
The door to Harry’s room clicked shut behind them, a faint thud that sounded impossibly loud in the small space. Draco barely had time to shrug out of his robes before Harry’s hands were all over him—gripping his waist, fingers threading under the small of his back, pulling him flush against Harry’s chest. The heat of Harry’s body, firm and unrelenting, pressed into Draco’s, and he couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine.
Harry's fingers tangled in the fabric of Draco's shirt, twisting it tight enough to strain the seams. Draco arched into the touch, his own hands finding home in Harry's mess of black hair—gripping, pulling, as if he could anchor himself there. The scent of Harry's cologne—something woodsy and faintly citrus—clung to the space between them, mixing with the sharp tang of sweat as Harry's lips brushed the hollow of Draco's throat.
“You’re impossible,” Draco breathed, tilting his head back to give Harry better access, lips parted, chest rising and falling in shallow, ragged breaths. Harry’s mouth followed the line of his jaw, teeth grazing softly against the skin, and Draco whimpered, arching instinctively. “You do realize we’re going to be late for—”
“Don’t care,” Harry interrupted, voice low, rough, possessive, vibrating through Draco’s body like a silent command. “Not tonight. You’re all that matters.”
Those words alone made Draco’s knees threaten to buckle. Harry’s hands roamed lower, teasing the curve of his hips under the silk of his trousers, thumbs brushing along sensitive skin. Draco’s back arched, lips parting in a ragged gasp. “You’re heavy-handed,” he murmured, a smirk curving his lips even as a shiver ran through him, betraying the sharp edge of need in his voice. “And yet, you've made it terribly hard to resist you.”
Harry growled low into the sensitive hollow beneath Draco’s ear, hands tangling into Dracos hair, tongue flicking just enough to make him shiver violently. “Good,” he murmured, voice thick, almost painfully intimate. “I want you like this… wanting me… trembling, Merlin Draco.”
Draco's legs parted instinctively, wrapping around Harry's waist to pull him closer, his heels digging into the small of Harry's back as if he could fuse them together right there. The urgency of it all made his heart race, but beneath the haze of desire, a flicker of annoyance sparked—Harry's teasing grin was already forming, those green eyes sparkling with mischief even as lust darkened them.
"Pansy really is going to kill me," Draco panted, his voice breathy and uneven, lacking any real conviction; it was all need, raw and unfiltered, pooling hot in his gut. He shifted beneath Harry, trying to grind up for more friction, but his movements were clumsy, hips jerking awkwardly instead of with the smooth precision he prided himself on. Harry's chuckle rumbled low against his skin, vibrating through Draco's chest as he leaned in closer, their noses brushing.
Harry's fingers traced the undone knot of Draco's tie, the silk sliding loose between his fingers. "You're a mess," he murmured, voice husky, but there was no bite to it—just a warmth that curled low in Draco's stomach. He watched Harry's hands move with practiced ease, looping the fabric back into place, the brush of knuckles against his throat sending sparks skittering down his spine. Draco exhaled shakily, tilting his chin up just slightly, giving Harry even better access—not that he needed it. Harry always knew exactly how to unravel him, stitch by stitch.
Harry's mouth trailed down Draco's neck, hot and insistent, sucking hard enough to leave blooming red marks that would peek just above his collar later—marks that screamed possession, even if Draco would deny how much he craved them. His hands, now buried back into Dracos strands, tugged experimentally drawing a high-pitched whimper from Draco's throat, the sound embarrassingly needy and uncontrolled.
Draco's hands fumbled at Harry's shoulders, fingers slipping on the sweat-damp fabric of his shirt, unable to decide whether to push him away or yank him nearer. "Oh? Am I allowed to pull?", Harry teased, his voice a rough murmur laced with amusement, breath fanning hot over Draco's collarbone. One hand, callused from years of Quidditch and Auror work, worked open Draco's belt with practiced ease—far too easily, really, making Draco feel even more exposed in his own ineptitude. Draco narrowed his eyes, a glare already stabbing through Harry. "Shut up." Draco growled, and Harry rose an eyebrow.
He yanked down the zipper with a sharp tug, shoving Draco's trousers and pants aside in one rough motion, fabric bunching at his thighs. Harry's fingers wrapped around Draco's leaking cock, the touch firm and sure, stroking from base to tip with a confidence that made Draco's own uncoordinated twitches seem pathetic by comparison.
Draco gasped, his spine arching sharply off the bed as Harry’s fingers tightened around him, his thumb swiping over the slick head in a slow, deliberate circle that made his vision blur at the edges. "Bloody—fuck—Harry—" His voice cracked, syllables dissolving into a breathless moan as Harry’s grip twisted just right, sending white-hot pleasure shooting up his spine. He could feel Harry grinning against his throat, that infuriating, self-satisfied smirk pressed into his skin like a brand.
He pinned Draco's other wrist above his head with his free hand, the hold unyielding, forcing Draco to submit to the teasing scrutiny. "You're so fucking beautiful like this. Those eyes wide and begging, that perfect hair all mussed up from my hands—I could stare at you all night." Harry's strokes quickened, his fist pumping Draco's cock with relentless speed, the wet slide of skin on skin filling the room alongside Draco's ragged gasps.
He leaned down, mouth latching onto a nipple through the thin shirt at first, then shoving the fabric aside to capture the hard peak between his teeth. He bit down just hard enough to sting, tugging with a growl that vibrated through Draco's chest, eliciting a sharp cry that echoed off the walls—Draco's body jerking wildly, caught between pain and overwhelming pleasure, his incompetence laid bare in every helpless twitch and whine.
Draco’s head fell back, his throat bared in surrender as his breaths came in ragged, uneven gasps—each one hitching when Harry’s fingers twisted just so around his cock, sending sparks of white-hot pleasure shooting through him. He writhed beneath Harry’s touch, his free hand scrabbling desperately at Harry’s belt, fingers slipping on the buckle in his haste. The leather gave way with a sharp click, and Draco shoved Harry’s trousers down just enough to free his cock, thick and already leaking, the head flushed dark with want. Draco’s fingers curled around him without hesitation, stroking in rough, uneven pulls that drew a guttural groan from Harry’s throat—a sound that went straight to Draco’s core, molten and possessive.
Harry chuckled, low and dark, his breath hot against Draco’s ear as he dragged his thumb lazily over the head of Draco’s cock, smearing precum in slow, torturous circles. "You're in such a hurry," he murmured, lips brushing the shell of Draco’s ear. "Always rushing, like you’ve got somewhere better to be." Draco whimpered, hips jerking uselessly, chasing the friction Harry was deliberately withholding. "No—no, I’m not—just—fuck, Harry, please—" The words tumbled out in a breathless rush, his voice cracking on the last syllable as Harry’s fingers tightened just enough to tease but not enough to relieve.
Harry's fingers stilled, deliberately slow, and Draco's hips jerked up with a frustrated whine—his cock twitching, red and neglected, desperate for more than just those maddening, feather-light strokes. "You're—" Draco panted, lips slick and parted, his voice cracking halfway through the accusation. "You're fucking evil, Potter." The words came aout petulant, breathless, but the way his fingers tightened around Harry's cock betrayed him—begging without saying a word.
Draco's pout was positively sinful—lips slick and swollen, bottom one caught between his teeth just enough to make Harry's grip tighten instinctively around his cock. "You're—cruel," Draco gasped, his voice breaking as Harry's thumb swiped lazily over his leaking tip again, the touch so light it was almost mocking. His hips jerked uselessly, seeking friction that Harry refused to give, and the frustrated whine that escaped him was embarrassingly high-pitched. "Please—please, Harry, just—"
Harry’s smirk curled, slow and deliberate, as he pressed Draco deeper into the mattress, his free hand sliding down between them. Draco barely had time to register the movement before he felt it—the sudden, slick warmth of magic coating Harry’s fingers, the unmistakable glide of conjured lube against his skin. "Cheating," Draco gasped, arching off the bed as Harry’s thumb brushed over his entrance, teasing, circling—never pressing in, just torturing. "Fucking—wandless magic—really?"
Harry's laugh was rough against Draco's throat, lips skimming the frantic pulse there. "You've known me how long?" he murmured, fingers finally—finally—pressing in, the stretch sharp and perfect, making Draco's breath hitch violently. "Did you really think I'd play fair?"
Draco’s back arched sharply off the bed as Harry’s fingers twisted inside him, hitting that spot that sent lightning skittering up his spine. A ragged moan tore from his throat, his fingers tightening around Harry’s cock reflexively, his own hips jerking helplessly against the intrusion. “Fuck—fuck—you’re—” The words dissolved into a broken gasp as Harry crooked his fingers just so, and Draco’s vision whited out for a dizzying second, his thighs trembling violently. He could feel Harry’s smirk against his collarbone, that insufferable, knowing grin that made Draco want to throttle him—or kiss him senseless. Maybe both.
"Need you inside me," Draco demanded, voice cracking on the last syllable as Harry’s fingers—still slick with conjured lube—pressed deeper, twisting in a way that sent Draco’s hips jerking off the mattress. His cock twitched violently against Harry’s stomach, precum smearing hot between them. The stretch burned just enough to be delicious, and Draco arched into it, heels digging into the small of Harry’s back as if he could force him closer. "Now, Harry—now—or I swear I’ll—"
Harry didn’t wait for Draco to finish his threat—he never did. With a sharp, fluid motion, he withdrew his fingers and gripped Draco’s hips, positioning his legs with a rough, possessive urgency that left Draco gasping into the sheets. The sudden shift sent Draco’s pulse skyrocketing, the cool air against his exposed skin a stark contrast to the heat radiating off Harry’s body as he pressed close behind him. Draco barely had time to brace himself before Harry’s cock was pressing against him—not pushing in yet, just there, maddeningly close, the thick head slick with precum dragging slow, teasing circles against his entrance.
Draco’s nails dug into Harry’s shoulders—sharp, desperate crescents pressing through the damp fabric of his shirt—as he arched back, urging him deeper until Harry was fully seated, hips flush against Draco’s ass. The stretch burned in the best way, stealing Draco’s breath, his fingers trembling where they clung to Harry’s skin. For a heartbeat, they stayed like that, suspended in the unbearable tension of being so impossibly close, Harry’s cock buried inside him, throbbing, pulsing, as if it belonged there.
Draco's nails dug into Harry's shoulders, urging him deeper, until he was fully seated, hips flush against Draco's ass—so close Draco could feel the shuddering heat of Harry's breath against the nape of his neck, the damp press of sweat-slick skin as Harry rocked into him with a groan that sounded like it had been dragged from the marrow of his bones. Every thrust sent sparks skittering up Draco's spine, his cock twitching where it was trapped between their bodies, leaking against Harry's stomach. "Fuck—fuck—don't stop," Draco gasped, his voice ragged, syllables dissolving into a moan as Harry's hips snapped forward again, hitting that spot inside him that made his vision blur at the edges.
Draco’s fingers twisted in the sheets as Harry’s thrusts grew sharper, more deliberate—each one dragging against that spot inside him that made his thighs tremble violently. The room was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the air between them charged like the moment before a storm breaks. Harry’s lips found the sweat-damp curve of Draco’s shoulder, teeth scraping just hard enough to leave marks that would linger for days, and Draco shivered, his breath catching in his throat.
The moment Harry pulled out—just enough to tease—Draco let out a strangled noise of protest, twisting beneath him, his body clamping down instinctively as if to keep him there. Harry groaned, the sound rough and wrecked, his fingers tightening bruisingly on Draco’s hips. “Merlin, Draco—fuck—” His hips stuttered forward again, burying himself to the hilt, and Draco’s back arched impossibly further, his thighs shaking with the effort of holding himself up.
Harry’s hands slid up Draco’s sweat-slick neck, hands gripping the blonds hair pmce again, as he drove into him again—deeper this time, impossibly deeper—until Draco’s breath hitched in a broken gasp. He could feel Harry’s heartbeat where their chests pressed together, wild and erratic, matching the frantic rhythm of his own. Draco’s fingers tangled in the sheets, knuckles white with the effort of holding on, but Harry wasn’t having it. He caught Draco’s wrist, pinning it to the mattress beside his head, their fingers interlacing in a grip so tight it bordered on painful.
Draco came first, crying out Harry's name as his cock pulsed, spilling hot cum over Harry's fist and onto his stomach—a wet, shuddering mess that left his thighs trembling and his breath ragged. The clench of Draco's ass around him tipped Harry over, his thrusts stuttering as he buried deep and came, filling Draco with thick spurts of seed. For a moment, the only sounds in the room were their harsh, uneven breaths and the slick slide of skin as Harry collapsed against Draco’s back, lips pressed to the damp nape of his neck in a silent, possessive claim.
Draco’s fingers trembled against Harry’s chest, the rapid hammer of his heartbeat beneath his palm the only proof that Harry wasn’t as composed as he pretended to be. The air between them smelled of sex and sweat, thick and heady, clinging to their skin like a second layer. Harry’s lips lingered at the crook of Draco’s neck, lazy kisses now where before there had been teeth—gentleness where there had been bruising possession. Draco shivered, but didn’t pull away.
Draco shoved at Harry's shoulder—half-hearted, his fingers lingering on the sweat-damp fabric of his shirt. "We're late," he murmured, lips still tingling from the bruising press of Harry's mouth. "By at least an hour." His voice was hoarse, throat scraped raw from moaning, and the accusation lacked any real heat.
Harry grinned, unrepentant, pressing one last kiss to Draco's swollen lips. "Worth it." The words curled between them, warm and satisfied, and Draco exhaled sharply through his nose, refusing to acknowledge the way his pulse stuttered at the sheer smugness in Harry's voice.