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Harry blinked his eyes open, turning into the sheets beneath him to hide from the sun. It pierced through their window and onto his body, warming his cheek.
The way it tried to bully his eyes open made Harry want to roll onto his side and drift back off to sleep, drowsy as he was - but a sight stopped him. Or rather, someone.
His eyes fixed onto the shining reflection of the sun into Draco’s wedding ring, rolling up and down the edge of it, a blinding spark of white. It was all blurry to Harry, but it made the corners of his lips want to lull themselves into a grin either way. He watched the hand beside Draco’s face - big, but elegant. Refined, delicate. Sensitive, with precise dexterity and deftness. Long, slender, pale fingers Harry had gotten to know by heart, as though he’d married them alone. He knew exactly how they felt, how each finger went past the knuckle: straight, with slight bumps where each bone joined another, or slanted ever so slightly to the left, or bearing a callus to the right.
Harry blinked again, a hazy film rendering his thoughts opaque at the thought of his husband’s fingers in him. He knew exactly how they felt in him, and he loved it. His dick twitched against his thigh. He sighed through his nose, focusing on the peaceful sight before him: Draco sleeping. He looked so calm, so deeply rested, unbothered by the world around him and nearly unaware.
It hadn’t always looked like this: years before, back in Hogwarts, Harry would watch Draco sleep early in the night, and tilt his head at the way Malfoy’s eyebrows scrunched lightly. Even when he slept, he often remained tense. Vigilant.
Years later - now that they were married, Harry liked to pride himself with - his lips nearly parted with how soundly he slept. He would’ve kissed him now, had he not been sleeping.
Harry watched the way his hair sank into the pillow beneath him. How it hugged his cheek. He followed the small wave of the blond lock draped across the plush fabric and underneath his skin. How could he be so beautiful?
The quiet sound of his breathing was reassuring to Harry on a level he could barely perceive - it told his body he was safe, everything was fine. He could only listen to the sound by halting his movements - stopping that dreadful shuffling of his feet into the sheets that Draco hated so much. He did it gladly.
He blinked his eyes again as he tried to look at the sun rays invading his face, melting brightly into his hair and over his cheekbone.
Draco was typically quite still in his sleep, almost never shifting much. And if he did, it was cause for Harry to squint his eyes in puzzlement, and a little apprehension ready at the door.
Still, Harry really hoped he wouldn’t toss or turn now. Any further down the pillow, and the sun’s rays would’ve come into his sensitive eyes. They would probably wake him.
An urge to touch him surged in Harry, but he held back: he would let him sleep, for as long as his body allowed him to relax. Plus, Draco being asleep meant Harry could watch him and smile to himself as widely as his lips wished. He could blink his eyes softly at him, as sickeningly sweet as they would.
He wouldn’t trade their constant teasing and poking for the world, but he relished these moments, too - whether they happened when Draco was awake or not. The first simply burnt his cheeks to a crisp from how red they got. Nothing a seasoned husband like him couldn’t handle.
He watched the light comb through his blond lashes, resting softly above his cheeks. So delicate. So Draco. Whenever a lash fell on his cheek, Harry was quick to get it off him, as if he were scared of someone stealing them from him. When they’d first started dating, Harry took every chance he had to examine them in the palms of his hands. He hadn’t often seen blond lashes.
He’d quickly memorised the color of them, how they looked in candle and in natural light.
By now, he ached to touch his skin, brush his jawline softly. Taste his breath. Yes, even with morning breath. It wasn’t that it tasted good - quite the contrary. But Harry would endure it if it meant he got to annoy Draco with it.
Annoying Draco was one of his favorite pastimes.
He would nag him for how it stank, and he needed to grab his wand and cast a spell for it if he wanted to kiss him. Harry loved seeing Draco comply every time.
The sun cast into his lips now, as if it were feeding him its rays. Harry stared at them. He was hungry (every part of him was). He considered sneaking out of bed, as quietly as he could manage, to go make breakfast, as a way to fill the wait time. How much longer ‘till he woke up?
Harry leaned over slightly, squinting as hard as he could to read the time on their alarm clock.
He’d brought the old thing from the muggle world, when he’d gone to check the Dursleys’ house for any of his mother’s things that might have still been there. Malfoy had gone with him. Was that an eight, or a nine?
Draco went as far as to call it a ‘remarkable invention’, seeing as it was the only way to get Harry to wake up in time for things. Harry agreed.
Finally, he could make out both numbers. Eight, and nearly twelve.
Wait.
His eyes widened at the realisation. He flung himself past Draco to the alarm as quickly as possible, as if he’d seen a golden snitch. The bloody thing started ringing a second before he could get to it. No- a groan came from under him. Harry’s eyes scrunched shut as he tried to still, hoping by some odd chance, Draco would still be asleep.
His husband was a light sleeper. Seriously light, which was why he had to cast a sound spell when he got ready in the morning while Draco was still asleep. It was easier than tiptoeing around the house like a robber the entire time.
He lay carefully back beside him and, to his dismay, found a sleepy Draco’s drowsy eyes blinking at him. Harry pressed his lips together apologetically.
Draco caught sight of it. Ah, yes. Harry had forgotten to turn off the alarm on Sunday.
He blinked again, taking him in. He looked sorry, like he was afraid he’d just interrupted the best sleep of his life. He held back a grin: should he pretend to be mad?
Draco breathed through his nose. His morning voice was as low and hoarse, as always: “eight years, and you still haven’t learned.”
Eight years, and Harry sometimes still forgot to turn it off on Saturday nights. He’d almost made it last year, when he’d managed to remember to turn it off on Fridays, Saturdays being their day off on the week-end. But now it was Sundays and Thursdays, and Salazar knew how many times Harry had woken up to Draco shaking him awake on Saturdays because he’d turned the alarm off the night before. Thank Salazar Draco woke up on his own, always at the same time, alarm or not.
“I’ve gotten better,” Harry tried to salvage the situation a little.
Tame.
“I should just be in charge of it.” Draco rubbed the sleep off his eyes, opening them slowly.
Pretty.
“Didn’t you say I had to get better, for when you’re not home?”
“Yes. But I’m almost never not home.” It was true, and he stood by that. What was Harry going to do the one time something important came up, and he forgot to set it right?
But also, he wanted to poke Harry.
“Are you saying I can’t do it?”
Draco stopped in his tracks and opened his eyes to stare at him, deadpan. He enjoyed entertaining their banter, but this was laughable. “Harry. I remember hearing that bloody clock in eighth year when I walked past Gryffindor tower. You couldn’t turn it off on Sundays if our shared day off was on the line.”
Now, that was a serious fucking insult. He only sometimes forgot now. And yes, he would. How dare he insinuate otherwise?
“Are you trying to fight?”
Draco grinned to himself at the sheer offense Harry had taken to the mere possible undervaluation of the importance of their shared day off to him. “It’s a hyperbole. I think our shared day off might be the only thing that would get you to grow out of your-” his mouth stretched open as he yawned, “decade-long habit.”
Harry grinned back, satisfied, before the urge to yawn latched onto him. He yawned into Draco’s face, with the precise goal of pissing him off.
Draco opened his hand to span over the entirety of Harry’s face, pushing it away as he turned his head from it. “Alright, you’re trying to fight.” The words made Harry break from his yawn into laughter, deep from his chest. This one was hard not to smile at.
“Good morning to you as well.”
Draco’s palm adhered against Harry’s lower back, ready to pull him in. Harry gladly extended his arm up to wrap it around Draco’s shoulder, stretching his limbs as he did.
He liked the part that was coming.
He would bury his face in Draco’s hair, and Draco would kiss his neck, and he would kiss his, and Harry’s past, present and future alarm incidents would quickly be forgotten. The last part wasn’t so important - the kisses were important.
Harry sighed through his nose, relishing in the blissful feeling of Draco’s lips on his shoulder. Nothing was more loving than those two folds of skin. “‘Morning.”
Years ago, he would’ve never thought he’d say it, but Malfoy had grown into a patient man. At least when it came to him. Or the things he liked. Harry was a thing Draco really liked.
The truth was, Draco wasn't bothered by it because he wanted to spend the morning with Harry. Plus, if he hadn’t been woken by the clock, it would’ve been a matter of minutes before his body did.
Don't let this happen if he's napping, though - his annoyance will reverberate through the entire house (it had only happened once).
He nuzzled Draco’s neck, pleased. There were many reasons Harry liked Sunday mornings. Notably, he liked getting to smell Draco’s scent without the shower gel masking it, as it did every day (except on their off days) when he came home from work: quidditch practice. Lots, and lots of quidditch practice. Draco was a professional quidditch player in the premier league. A seeker. And so was Harry - same level, same position, different team (even if it had been possible, they never would’ve wanted that. How were they going to compete against each other, otherwise?)
Finally, he got to smell Draco’s natural scent on him after a long night’s rest had worn the shower smell off, before another day of work and showering stripped him of it.
He smelled like winter, and frozen lakes. Pine needles, crisp air. He smelled like heaven and home to Harry. Like kisses, and cuddling on the couch, and sneaking into muggle cinemas, and sex, and all things tranquil but so intensely love-filled. Like those cookies he always got Harry, filled with jam that would ooze out and onto his cheek when Harry bit into them. Draco would watch and chuckle, make fun of Harry for it while he smiled inside.
Draco claimed Harry smelled like Christmas and berries. Harry could only guess how right he was. He couldn’t detect his own scent.
He buried his nose in Draco’s hair. It was almost warm from basking in the sun for so long. He felt Draco’s hand travel lower down his back - yes. Harry’s lips parted slightly.
He wanted to kiss him.
He realised he hadn’t kissed him yet today. Nearly offended, he grabbed Draco’s face with both hands and pulled him back to where he could reach his lips. Finally, he got to taste him. He relaxed against him.
He pushed his arse back into Draco’s hand, hungry. He moaned into the kiss when Draco’s thumb brushed back and forth against his skin, having grown shameless with time.
Draco groaned upon hearing that blissful, beautiful sound. His cock always made it a point to tell Harry how much he’d loved it. He shoved himself further into Harry, hips sanding into each other. Harry gripped him, his forearm splayed along his shoulders, needing to be closer to him. “Dra-” tuk, tuk, tuk.
No. Not again.
Draco sighed through his nose into Harry’s neck.
“This one’s on you, Malfoy.”
Of course. He’d forgotten to leave the window open for Hedwig. Poor owl couldn’t get in, now.
He sighed again, eyes closed as he tried to find it in him, somewhere, to get out of their comfortable bed, where Harry lay half-naked right before him, and into the kitchen. It was all quite counterintuitive, really.
“Yes, you’re making it so much better, Potter.”
They called each other by their names now. It had been a slow, intimate change that had come with time. Reddened cheeks. Sex (the setting that even had them uttering those words for the first time) - lots of sex, and the softly lost gazes that lingered after it. In the bathtub, in the shower, cuddling on the couch. The times they'd gotten injured at work, and the other had come crashing in to feel the warmth in their husband's cheek.
The use of their last names now suggested playfulness, sarcasm, teasing. The snarky banter that still made up at least half of their interactions. Neither would have it any other way.
Harry had to console himself too, somehow, unwrapping his arm from Draco's regretfully. “My arse is not going anywhere. Are you convinced otherwise?”
“Very funny, Potter.” Draco threw the covers off himself in one swift motion, like ripping off a plaster. Harry followed in solidarity.
He opened the window for their owl, who quickly hopped in with a letter in her beak. “Thank you, darling.” He took it from her.
Harry grinned to himself as he poured coffee into his cup. He loved that nickname. Draco always used it with Hedwig, with animals, or kids, and occasionally him. Somehow, it was painfully attractive when he did. In his morning clothes - or lack thereof, right now. “Prick.” (No, he didn't care that it was late spring. That sounded like a Draco problem). Walking with an evident hardon, hanging from his waist, underneath his pyjama bottoms. Bare chest. Morning voice (that might have been the worst of them all), morning hair, morning eyes that were still getting used to the amount of light in the room.
“What did you say?” Draco raised his head, voice low, like a challenge.
Oh. He thought he'd said that in his head.
Well. He shoved a hot scone into his mouth: “nothing, you're just a prick.”
Draco squinted at him. “My prick? What about it-” Hedwig tapped her beak onto his finger, prompting him to lower it for her to hop on. “Here, darling.” He brought her to his shoulder.
Harry sighed through his nose.
“Nothing. Don't worry about it.”
Draco sat at the table facing him, spreading jam onto his own scone. “It's my prick, I'll worry about it as much as I like.”
“I thought you'd be happy to have me worry about your prick. So ungrateful of you.”
Oh.
“Well, you could've started with that. That was misleading, Potter.”
Harry walked over to Draco. He watched his crossed legs from above, arrogant. “Am I meant to sit on a slanted chair?”
Oh.
“Salazar. You should really learn to be nice, Potter.” He shoved the rest of the scone into his mouth as he uncrossed his legs.
Harry finally sat on him, straddling him. He reached behind him for the letter on the table. “Who's it from?”
“Fred.” He started reading.
Dear Harry,
Hope you're doing well. George and I definitely are. We haven't told pretty much anyone about this, but it's time.
We're launching a sex toy business. We've been working at it for more than a year now.
Of course they were. Harry's eyebrows rose slightly, intrigued. Maybe he could get a discount. Fred and George were basically family friends of his, by now. And by extension, of Draco's.
Actually, we're still not telling many people because we're testing the products before launching them. And we thought, who better to help us with that than our great friend, Harry Potter?
It would mean the world to us if you could test them. All free of charge, of course, so it's a win-win for you. Plus, I'm sure Malfoy will be very pleased with the news. We’re not only making you happy, we’re making your husband happy. Could it get better than that?
Oh. Oh, yes.
His dick twitched in excitement.
Draco raised an eyebrow at him. Why was his dick twitching upon reading a letter from Fred?
Harry quickly discarded the letter behind him. “They're launching a business.” He nuzzled his cheek.
“What business?” Draco hurried to get some coffee in him.
“Guess.”
“Harry, I'm never going to guess. A business to cheat in college exams?”
Harry laughed. Clever. “No.”
“A hint,” he demanded.
“My prick didn't respond to Fred, Draco.” Harry took the coffee’s place on his lips.
“I should hope not.”
“Do you give up?”
No. Never.
“Something to do with sex.”
“Ten points to Slytherin,” Harry ran his finger down his neck softly, enticing. Sensually alluring, stroking his skin as if he were stroking his ego.
“Sex… toys?”
“Fifty points to Slytherin,” he poked his tongue in and felt Draco's cock poke back.
“A sex toy business?”
“Yes. They're looking for testers before they start selling.”
Oh.
Oh.
“And they thought of you as one of them?” Draco ran his hands around Harry's waistline, almost massaging his skin.
“Jealous?” Harry brought his hips further into Draco's, aligning theit crotches together.
“Never. They can't be all solo, either.” Draco's hand printed itself deep into Harry's arsecheek, pushing his hips into his own so he could have their cocks meet.
“Ah- wanna bet?” He said, like a liar, his only purpose to provoke Draco.
“I've been married to you for eight years, Potter. I can call your bluff when I see it.”
Harry parted his legs further, bringing his arse forward to brush against Draco.
Yes.
“And we're at sixty points for Slytherin.”
Sex was truly one of Draco's favorite things - ever. One of Harry's favorite things. They were both top flight athletes, with libidos off the charts. They were very, very in love. That was the perfect recipe for the horniest relationship one could imagine - and pretty much everyone around them had realised, by now. Fred and George certainly had.
“What are they sending you?” Draco shifted his weight onto his feet, using them as leverage to press himself into Harry’s arse.
“Hah… where's my wand?” His voice was turning high and needy already.
Draco laughed into his neck. “You forgot it in our room, of course.”
“Prick,” always laughing at him.
Not that Harry minded. Often times, it was quite the opposite. It was an unspoken knowledge between them. “Accio wand.” That was about the only wandless spell he'd learned. Incredibly useful.
He cast a cleaning spell on himself.
“So?” Draco's fingers pulled at Harry's bottoms and underwear, and left the waistbands halfway down his arse, sinking into it and showing just how much flesh it was constricting. “So what…?” Harry pushed the round curve of his arse into Draco's hands, eager.
“So, what are they sending you?”
“I don't know yet,” he sighed when Draco's hands spread to cup as much of his skin as he could (all of it, he could say, despite his arse being sizeable, and notably so: Harry was a lucky man). “Hm,” Harry’s humming encouraged Draco’s fingers as they sank deep into it, dragging themselves across it and kneading it.
“Bit rude of them,” Draco sucked at Harry's Adam's apple, lips sliding on his wet skin as he lapped his tongue against it.
“We're not talking about Fred and George while we're having sex,” Harry interrupted.
Draco chuckled against him. He kissed the reddened spot he’d been sucking. “I had no intention to.”
“Harry?” Draco shouted, unsure where in the house his husband might be.
“One second!” Harry yelled back through the bathroom door.
He read the small card that came with the item he’d received this morning in the mail (he’d left Draco completely in the dark about the fact): a pair of panties meant to act as a vibrator - the kind that stimulated through mimicked sucking and licking - from just below his balls all the way to his hole. And if they worked as they should, they would even replicate the temperature of the tonguework.
The twist? The intensity could be verbally directed by the user’s partner - or the user themselves. He wasn’t sure if that part had been voluntarily left out or not, but there were no examples of possible commands to use. He supposed words like ‘harder’ or ‘slower’ were going to work without a doubt, right?
“Harder,” he mumbled, careful not to be heard by Draco’s sensitive ears.
He hummed as he leaned forward slightly, taken by surprise by the intensity. He quickly covered his mouth.
“Harry?” Draco brought his ear close to the door, a hand ready on the handle. “Are you okay?”
“Slower,” he whispered, and the licking action lowered accordingly. “Yes, coming.” He turned to look at the piece of clothing, and how it fit around him. The knickers were almost entirely white lace, but so comfortable he could barely feel the lace’s intricacies on his skin. There was no annoying itching even as he shifted, stretched or lifted his leg (which he would do plenty of later), and the fabric was hugging his arse, as round and plump as it was, rather than constricting it or sinking and cutting into his flesh. It framed it beautifully, with each side on the back of the item covering about half of his arsecheeks. He adjusted his cock into the front of the garment. It felt so fresh, not sticking or clinging to any of his folds. He didn’t know what material this was, but he had to give it to Fred and George: wearing these alone made him want to walk out of this room and into the next to fondle and feel Draco through his trousers.
And most importantly, the lace wasn’t slipping uncomfortably into his crack from being unable to stretch around his cheeks without strain.
That alone was no easy feat: Harry’s arse was a near statement. It had always been big, but with years and years of quidditch, some of those being top league level practice on the daily, it had sculpted into the most marvelous, glorious, full, perfectly curved arse. Harry found Draco staring at it constantly. Firm and hard when he flexed the muscles, soft and bouncy when he relaxed as his husband buried his fingers - or mouth, or face - in it. It was impossible not to notice when he stood naked, much less when he wore trousers, the size of it highlighted by them.
More than pleased with how they looked on him, Harry bent to pick the trousers’ waistline from where they’d dropped onto the floor, around his feet, and felt the need to lower the intensity again.
He’d be telling Draco about the toy he was wearing once they were out, and have him command it as he pleased. After all, he was good at being quiet: no one would tell when he whispered or mumbled to dictate the toy's pace.
Harry was not - he was loud, sensitive, and couldn’t contain the sounds that naturally wanted to escape his body if he tried.
Draco loved how loud Harry was. His moans turned him on, his breathing turned him on, his very voice easily made him rock-hard. The first time they’d kissed, Harry had moaned into Draco’s mouth from it. In turn, Draco’s cock had poked Harry’s thigh. Not only did he have a visceral reaction to the sound that made him want to be inside Harry, but the audible representation of how he made Harry feel was otherworldly. The very thought and realisation made his heart speed up. They’d both gone gryffindor-red at the time.
Now, at twenty-five, married for four and together for eight, they were shameless: they still went red at some of it, among the variety of things they did, but they could still bring themselves to do all their very creative minds craved as they did.
And by now, Draco knew exactly when to push, what to push, and how much. He handled Harry with the precision and expertise of a wand-maker, knowing him like the back of his hand. Harry trusted him with directing the toy without him having ever even seen it.
He walked out, finally, heading for his shoes. “Do you have everything?”
“Yes. Muggle money, spare wands, your bag with the undetectable extension charm. That should be all.”
Harry’s hand went to Draco’s waist, and he propped himself up slightly to kiss Draco’s cheek. Low, sultry, voice promising sweet scenarios: “I have a surprise for you.”
Draco felt a little blood pulse into his cock. “Is that so, Potter?”
Harry nodded, sensual eyes locked with his. “Later.” His hand slid behind Draco’s back. “Hang on.”
A low chuckle, more of a vibration, came from Draco's lips as he took Harry's hand in a solid, firm hold. He looked forward to repeating the same motion to apparate back home later, so he could bask in the wonders of Harry’s surprise: his husband had taste.
He apparated them both into the muggle shopping centre Harry remembered from when he was little. The Dursleys always took Dudley to it when he threw a fit for reasons unfound - unfound because they were absent. He’d taken Draco to it years ago, where he’d suggested they try the cinema in it. Harry knew what a cinema was, but he’d never been in one. That had been his first time, too, and they’d both loved it - so much that they now frequently sneaked into the muggle shopping centre for it on their dates.
Of course, Draco had no idea about Harry’s plans for their date. Harry was going to enjoy savoring the look on his face when he finally made it known to him, amidst the crowd of muggles in the building.
“I want ice cream.” Harry announced as soon as they walked into the establishment. So they'd ridden the escalator separating him from his beloved ice cream, and Harry had had to hold Draco's wrist to pull him back from climbing the moving stairs. “You're not supposed to climb it!” He scream-whispered to him.
Draco looked to the side, then back at him. There were almost no muggles on the rest of the bloody thing, how was he supposed to know? “Why didn't you tell me beforehand!”
“I'm telling you now, stay still!”
“I am still, I've stopped moving! Are your glasses tired of you and not working, Potter?”
“Wow, Malfoy. You're so funny, I'm sure you'll win a prize for it soon.”
Draco looked behind him, desperately holding back a grin. He even nodded, “hmhm.”
“I bet there's an award for it, ‘funniest man of the yea-’” Harry fell arse-first into the floor, no longer moving: quite obvious, seeing as the moving stair he was on had reached the end of the… escalator, was it called?
Draco stepped onto the floor beside him, bending dramatically as if bowing before a dance and extending a hand out to him.
Unfortunately, Draco looked very handsome as he invited him to take his hand with his other arm behind his back. This should count as cheating.
“Who's drawing attention now?”
“One of these days, I'm gonna kill you, Malfoy.” Harry watched him from the floor, eyes halfway closed with annoyance. He sighed deeply. Draco had no idea, but he was now recovering from having his beloved knickers pressed hard into the plain of skin connecting his hole to his balls.
“Bad Potter.” Draco's fingers beckoned Harry playfully, his thumb unmoving, “come on.”
Harry rolled his eyes as he grabbed onto him, only to soften a second later when he felt a pair of lips on his cheek. He knew he'd had to bend over slightly to reach it, without Harry meeting him halfway - the trouble he'd had to go through filled his satisfaction a little.
They ordered their ice creams, finally: Harry got a scoop of mint chocolate chip and one of caramel. Draco stuck to his usual dark chocolate and toffee.
Harry noticed Draco's eyes threatening to smirk as he watched him lick the ice cream from his cone.
Now should be a good time to tell him. Maybe he'd even get to watch his face as he took the information in mid-lick, with his mouth open as he went to lap his tongue against the creamy mixture.
He mumbled behind his cone, as a last test before he told him all about his lovely new pair of knickers. “Stop.”
Only they didn't.
“What?” Draco leaned in, genuinely trying to grasp what Harry had just said.
Harry ignored him for a second, focusing on the knickers: “slower.”
Only they did none of that.
He could still feel them working him - slowly, so dimly soft he could barely feel it, just as he'd set them - but they had not listened to him.
“Harry, I can't hear you,” Draco even turned his head, lowered it towards his mouth ‘till Harry was facing his ear and pointy side profile.
“Nothing.” He shook his head.
Then he tried again: “harder”. Could it only be certain words exactly? A one-time malfunction? Maybe the word ‘stop’ didn't work as a command?
“Would you rather talk to the ice cream than me, or something?” Draco tilted his head at him. The shopping centre was a notoriously loud establishment, why was Harry mumbling?
Harry shook his head. He figured he'd just give it a couple of minutes first. “I want a taste.”
Draco smirked a little. With the conversations they regularly had in their bedroom (or any part of their house, for that matter: none of it was safe) he couldn't help but picture Harry saying the words in front of something more or less ice cream-shaped, that sprang from between Draco's legs. Harry also liked getting a taste of that. “By all means.”
Harry caught sight of it. He chuckled back through his nose, crouching down a little and wrapping his lips around the circular shape of ice cream and dragging them shut around it. All as he watched his husband from below.
“Wow, Potter.”
Harry smiled with satisfaction. So he wrapped his lips around it again, purely for the purpose of teasing Draco, and knowing low in his trousers, his cock probably wanted to swell and harden right now.
“If you think that will be enough to get me to lose it, you'll have to try harder.”
“Ah,” Harry's lips opened further on the scoop; some of the ice cream painted his lips brown with toffee. His eyes faltered a little as the knickers’ action rose in intensity - and temperature.
Fuck. Now they decided to work?
Draco tilted his head at him. Thankfully, the sound that had come from his lips had been low in volume. Mistakable for a hum. Draco thought he'd heard Harry moan (he knew the sound expertly), but thought nothing of it. Surely, he'd simply hummed at how good the toffee flavor was, or something of the sort.
Harry mumbled into his ice cream again. It’d be better to pause the toy while he explained how it functioned to Draco. He whispered, “stop.”
Nothing.
What the fuck was up with this?
Draco squinted his eyes at him.
Oh. Was he trying to moan into the ice cream, to get a reaction out of him, but low enough that no one would hear?
“Your moaning into that poor ice cream might be more effective if you were a little louder, Potter. You'll need to try way harder than that.”
Fuck!
Harry's eyes nearly rolled back into his head.
He felt wet. He didn't know if he was wet, but he definitely felt wet. He felt warm, and almost pushed his arse into the direction of the warmth around his hole. He shut his mouth so he wouldn't pant around his ice cream - not just that, but it was quickly melting onto the cone.
It was safe to say, the knickers listened quite precisely to the commands given to them. Only not when given by Harry? Why did they seem to only work when Draco spoke?
Draco squinted at him again, confused.
Harry hadn't responded to him in some time.
Had he done something?
Draco placed a hand on Harry's thigh. Fuck, that didn't help!
Shit, his ice cream was going to drop onto his trousers. He threw himself around it somehow, trying to lick it just enough for it to not melt onto his hand, and then he'd try and get the bloody things to work: his proud, far too shameless self was still clinging to the hope for a chance of the toy working again, even as he panted (and tried to do so quietly) around his cone. He still wanted to be able to whisper it luringly into Draco's ear, just far enough to see his reaction.
Why did it seem to work when Draco said it, but not him?
Did he have to say it in a sentence?
“Maybe you should try harder.” He answered, just loud enough for his husband to hear - or so he thought.
Draco grimaced. “What did you say? Something ‘harder’?”
Shit!
He couldn't do it. He couldn't hold on, he was going to moan out in the middle of this building full of muggles. He hid his face in Draco's shoulder, trying to minimise the damage. He panted into the fabric of his vest.
“Harry?” Draco's hand went to his lower back as he took his ice cream from him. “Are you okay?” he quickly licked it clean of any drops that might ooze down.
Harry tried to think of a way to salvage this, still. He couldn't think with how the fabric tortured his hole, how hot it had gotten. Not just that: he was hard by now. Significantly hard, to the point that he couldn't ignore it anymore, or conceal it by casually draping an arm on his lap as he had been.
He turned his forehead against Draco's clothes, tired. He couldn't keep this up. “Say ‘slower’”. He didn't have the time to properly explain now. He'd leave that for later. First, he had to get these things to stop threatening to make a show of him where he sat.
“What?” Draco hurried to finish his own cone so he could touch Harry, if needed. He furrowed his brows, puzzled.
“Just say it!”
Draco shut his eyes a moment, as if to shake the confusion off. “Slower?”
Draco knew his husband grappling with torturous pleasure when he saw it, but this was… unexpected, to say the least. He hadn’t quite believed it yet, assuming it had all been for show. Deliberate. A way to tease and torture him.
He looked down at Harry, his ice cream now gone.
Harry tried not to squirm. Draco's command had sort of worked, but not fully. Only feebly. Could it be the tone?
He pressed a hand into the bench beside Draco's thigh. “M-More conviction!”
“What?” Draco laughed at the request. Harry managed to look like he was about to cast an unforgivable on him from where he rested his head prettily on his chest.
He couldn't do it anymore. His cock was aching, he couldn't keep quiet anymore. Harry never had to keep quiet, he could always be as loud as his body made him - no restraints, no holding back. No neighbors around them (but even then, they always cast a sound spell to be safe). And the thought of containing the volume of his reactions in front of Draco hadn't crossed his mind in years.
“Do it, unless you want a divorce.”
“Salazar-” what the fuck, what was this about?
Draco hurried to speak the word, quickly gathering all of his sternness into a commanding tone, loud and clearly enunciated: “slower.”
Harry finally breathed a sigh of relief against him, eyes heavy. His shoulders dropped suddenly, and he finally left Draco’s chest to rest his weight onto his own palms again.
The toy dimmed considerably in intensity, and he felt a murderous urge against Fred and George Weasley. He could still feel it clearly, but it was now manageable without feeling like he needed a disillusionment charm for it.
“Now will you explain what's happening, Potter?”
Harry regained his breath. “What's going to happen is I'm going to kill Fred and George.”
Draco's eyebrows dropped. His lips nearly parted.
When Harry told him he had a surprise for him, he figured he meant later! Surely not in the middle of a building filled with muggles. There was no way Harry had just worn one of their never-before-used gadgets in public. He couldn't even begin to think what exactly his words had done to Harry, or how, or the principle behind whatever toy he was using as they spoke.
“I'm…” he shook his head, dumbfounded, “I guess this is part of the gryffindor bravery they talk about.” He licked Harry's cone.
“Give me that.” Harry stole it back, hungry after all that work. He sighed, sitting parallel to Draco so he could lean against him. “A package came in today.”
“Oh, I can imagine. What was in it?” Draco asked sarcastically, his arm around Harry's.
“You'll never guess.”
“Oh, I think I can. But if I win, I'm winning something.”
“The most you can win right now is my patience.”
“So?” He was eager to hear what Harry had willingly gotten himself into.
Harry turned to speak into Draco's neck, where only he could hear: “it's a pair of knickers. They're probably enchanted.”
Draco's eyebrows rose.
Well.
“To do what?” His cock now felt called upon.
“To mimic rimming.”
Salazar.
“I'm assuming that's not all.”
“Wow, how did you guess?” Harry replied sarcastically.
“I'm just that brilliant.”
Harry held back a genuine laugh. He hated that his body seriously wanted to laugh at that joke - and he wouldn't let Draco see it. “They're meant to be controlled, verbally, by whoever wears it or their partner.”
So that was what Harry had been mumbling the entire time earlier.
And then it probably responded to all uses of words meant to control it: each time Draco had said the words ‘hard’, ‘harder’, or anything else in that realm he might think of.
Draco laughed at the realisation. “Well, that didn't seem to work out - for you, at least. They definitely listened to me.”
Harry was going to kick that smug grin right off his face. “I guess they might be malfunctioning.”
“You are testing them. It's not a finished product, is it?”
“It's supposed to be!” Harry squirmed, still having to mildly control his voice as he spoke.
Draco thought back to his command earlier: he hadn't told them to stop. All he'd said was ‘slower’. “So right now, they're still working.”
“Yes.” Harry wished he could use a spell to render his hands clean right now, without having to rely on the toilets all the way across the floor.
He figured Draco might utter the word ‘stop’ into his hair next. Instead, he snickered. “And you have no way to get them to listen to you.”
“You don't get a prize if you guess correctly, Malfoy.”
“A shame, really.”
“And the bloody thing can't react to every use of whatever the words are.” Every time he said the word ‘hard’, and he supposed ‘more’, and ‘stop’, ‘slow’, and more, the toy reacted to it. If they simply hadn't thought of that (though it was probably a simple production error), they had a long way to go before they could launch their products. This was going to be fun. Draco chuckled with gusto, the sadist in him enticed. “You should write a complaint letter.”
“I will.”
He checked Harry's trousers for any sign of his arousal. It was barely noticeable. He smiled, “do you want me to dim the torture?”
Harry suddenly wished he had his cone to lick at again. He looked up at him. “Do you want to?”
Oh.
“Not sure. Were you even planning on telling me, Potter?” His thumb brushed Harry's hip bone.
“Yes.” Harry leaned closer. “When we got ice cream. But you saw what happened then.”
“And what were your… plans, with your new pair of knickers, Harry?”
He felt a shiver down his spine. Hearing his name out of Draco's mouth when he talked to him like that, with that tone - it always did things to him.
“I was going to let you…” he sighed through parted lips, “control them.” He paused, taking in his reaction. His piercing gray eyes as they took everything in, scrutinising and analysing from above him - it made Harry so much quieter, everything more tense and palpable. Draco's mere gaze, his focused eyes were enough to make Harry pause. Then he proposed his original plan: “we still have to watch the movie.”
“Oh,” Draco's voice dropped lower. He rested his hand on Harry's thigh, and Harry was quickly made more vulnerable to the pair of knickers on him.
Harry watched his eyebrows rise playfully, almost mocking, as he realised what debauched thoughts Harry’s mind had come up with. “Yes.” Draco grinned, slow. “We have that movie about vampires to watch.”
Harry might become a vampire himself soon. One that drank a white, dense rendition of blood.
“Yes.” Harry cared less about the movie already.
“We should hurry up, then.” Draco stood from the bench they sat on, hand already out for Harry to hold, and then he heard it: his husband hummed as he turned his head to the side, as if trying to shove his mouth into something he could muffle himself with. To Draco's delight, there was nothing of the sort.
What word had triggered the toy, now? ‘Up’?
Harry took his hand gladly, assuming the word had been strategically, purposely snuck into the response by his sadist of a husband. And he'd accepted it gladly.
“Not eager to get up, Potter?” He tested.
Again. Harry pressed his lips together, trying not to show the toy's effects on him on his face.
He stood by Draco’s side.
He wasn't too keen on leaving his hand, now. It wasn't like he needed it, but it would definitely prove helpful when Draco started to have his fun with his knickers. He'd say he'd already started.
“What was the movie about, again?” He managed the sentence without any cracking, or wobbling of his voice. But Draco could tell it had taken some effort: a conscious, active pacing of his words and breathing.
Draco didn't care to contain his laughter. In fact, he knew Harry derived pleasure from it.
“A muggle girl who meets a vampire and his family.”
Harry nodded, holding onto him, actively trying to continue the conversation. “I wonder how muggles see vampires.”
“It's probably going to be quite off.”
Harry nodded again, more to himself than anyone. He stood still, not initiating the tiny walk that would take them to the box office.
“You okay, darling?” Draco asked, volume unrestrained. People could have easily heard. “You look like you're burning up.”
It was true. Harry was quite red right now.
A passing woman even eyed him once. Harry saw her shoot him an eye of concern.
“I hate you,” Harry began breathing with his lips parted, allowing some air to come in and out of his mouth.
“You're so sweet, darling. But don't use up all your energy. Let's get you some water.”
Harry felt a man's gaze on him, leaving him once he heard Draco speak again.
He let Draco lead him to the toilets. Before he could even lean in to drink from one of the sinks, he opened the first stall his eyes landed on and walked into it.
“Need help, Potter?” Draco leaned against the door, his side resting onto it as his arms crossed with satisfaction.
“Get in.”
With pleasure, he thought.
When he turned to him after locking the door behind him, Harry was quickly undoing his trousers, letting them fall onto the floor to reveal a full erection tucked into a pair of white knickers, made almost entirely of lace. There was even a small, rapidly spreading wet patch where the tip of his cock sat. Harry’s head was against the wall, thrown back as he breathed hard; his hair squished into the surface behind him. The sight alone made Draco want to take hold of his legs, part them by his ankles and rock him to pleasure against that very wall. He couldn't resist Harry when he was so desperate; a panting, needy mess in need of touching and holding. It did things to him.
Salazar.
Harry had managed to hide it until now, covering his hardon with his arm or by standing and facing Draco. But it looked hard. And looking at it, Draco felt hard, himself.
“Merlin, Harry,” his eyes darted from corner to corner of his knickers. “Turn around for me?”
“Hah,” Harry couldn't help it, not if he said it like that. He turned to face the wall, his cheek and hands against it. He stuck his arse out for his husband to admire as much as he wanted, from whatever angle he wanted. To touch and play with if he so wished.
Draco's breath hitched. His eyes immediately glued onto Harry's arse: the way the laced knickers hugged his plush skin, framed his cheeks and made them look even rounder and plumper than they were - something he didn't think was possible. The way the fabric only covered about half of his arse, as if it were too big to be contained - or the knickers too small to contain Harry. It was overflowing. Full, and soft, but firm. He wanted to watch his fingers disappear in the smooth skin of his cheeks as they pressed into it. There was so much flesh that was begging to be touched and groped and kneaded until it was red. So much flesh he needed to bury his tongue in and hear Harry cry as he pushed his arse further into Draco’s face. And when his legs buckled, he would wrap an arm around his thighs to keep him standing. The white lace made him want to kneel and rip it off Harry with his teeth, holding Harry’s hips at the sides of his head and pushing his tongue inches deep in his hole. Pull the skin around it taut with his thumbs for easier access before letting it bounce back around him. Kiss every inch and pull it with his mouth, suck marks into it that he could watch as he pounded Harry into the wall.
“You have quite the nerve showing me that.”
He stared at the way the waistline traced Harry's hipbones so gently. He looked so soft, and yet made to be ruined.
Harry groaned into the wall, trying to look behind him as Draco's hand slid softly against the knickers’ waistline. More.
Draco watched as Harry squirmed against the wall, defenseless as he arched his back and stuck his arse out for Draco to touch. For any friction, any relief as long as it came from him.
He couldn't look like that and expect Draco to do nothing.
But this was going to taste divine if he managed to wait.
Could Harry wait?
He wrapped his arms around Harry's midsection. He whispered into his ear: “I can cast a spell to hide both of our little… predicaments.”
Harry's mouth was open against the wall, panting. Please. He shoved his arse into Draco’s cock behind him, somehow holding back from rubbing himself all over the bulge. Draco stayed still, somehow.
He peeked towards Harry, trying to lock eyes with him. “Can you hold out, darling?” His voice was a low, but so soft. Like velvet, breathy, gentle and sultry all at once.
Salazar, don't ask me like that.
He'd say yes to anything if Draco asked him like that. His cheeks were flushed, his hair messy as his eyes tried to close. There was nothing more blissful than hearing the heavenly, perfect sound of Draco's voice call him ‘darling’. He would listen to it all day long. He'd do anything that man asked of him.
He nodded, slow, his lips parted and his eyes half-lidded, headed towards a trance from those words and that voice alone.
“Are you sure, Harry? We can do something about this now, if you want that.” Draco kissed his temple, and Harry melted into him like butter on toast. He threw his head back to rub it into Draco's neck.
He closed his eyes, trying to think of it. Of how good this would feel after waiting for so long. Of how proud Draco would be.
Did he want Draco to touch him now, more than he wanted him to tease Harry with the knickers he was wearing? Or was it the opposite?
“Can I come?”
“Yes,” Draco’s lips curved sweetly. “I might need to cast a sound spell, but you can come.”
Oh, yes. He wanted that. He wanted that so badly, that was the option he wanted most.
“Can I do that? Cast spells if I need to?”
Harry nodded. He trusted Draco fully. He knew he'd always be extremely careful with magic around muggles.
“Yes?” He needed to be sure.
Harry nodded again. Draco observed him a moment. “Alright, then.” He regrettably left Harry's beautiful back and backside, spinning him to face him again. He kissed his forehead. “Would you like a break, Harry?”
Harry just smiled for a second, turning into putty under his husband’s kisses. Then he remembered to think about it.
“Just when we get the tickets.”
Draco grinned at it, how much Harry leaned into the pleasure and actively looked for it - even when it meant doing so in a muggle establishment they'd snuck into. He grinned at how he craved him so hard he'd feed right into his innate troublemaker tendencies for it. Together for eleven years, and Harry was sometimes still sixteen around him. Free, chaotic, wild and raw - just safer in the knowledge that he mattered, enough to put himself first. That he was safe to let go.
“Not even while you drink?” He chuckled.
Harry nodded. He hadn't thought of that. “Yes.”
Draco kneeled to pick up his trousers for him. “I'll get these to stop, then.” And they did. Harry sighed with relief as Draco buttoned him back up, another layer of fabric brushing over his aching cock every time he walked or even shifted.
A quick spell was enough to hide both of their erections.
Harry walked out of the stall, ignoring the eyes on him and Draco as he crouched to bring cold water onto his face and to his lips. Draco made no attempt not to stare at the magnificent curve of his arse as he did, thinking of the friction he must have felt upon bending over. Or was he drenched in enough precum for it to travel down, past his cock?
A fleeting thought made Draco want to get Harry's knickers working again - like a devil on his shoulder. Of course, he'd told Harry he'd leave them at bay as he drank, so he would. Though it would have been so sweetly quenching to watch Harry moan into the sink, bent forward as the water likely flowed outside where he'd intended it to. Onto his chin, with his mouth open, his eyes shut. Just how it did with a whiter, thicker liquid.
He shook the thought away as Harry walked back to him.
Harry tried to inspect Draco's eyes for a glimpse of his next actions. Was he about to have him biting his lip and holding onto his arm? Should he hold onto it already, or try and keep that satisfaction from him?
Stroking Draco's ego was one of the best things Harry could do in their bedroom. Their house, really: all of it had seen Harry's skin squished onto the surface of the most improbable corners at some point.
Here, however, he needed to be quiet. To hide and muffle his moans so no one would hear.
Before he could decide what to do, Draco's voice came into his ear like the call of a catastrophe to come. “You sure you don't want more water, darling?”
‘More’.
Harry bit his lip, enduring the ongoing crescendo. He bore with Draco's sadistic, faux invite to refresh himself: it would be impossible for Harry to do that the moment the words left Draco’s lips. It was a paradox, all for show. It was for Draco to chuckle at as he gave his arm out for Harry to hold. A truly sweet, gentle husband in the eyes of every muggle to lay eyes on them.
Draco was sweet, gentle and kind. The best husband he could’ve dreamt of, Harry thought. But he was also a fucking arsehole.
What was worse, was Harry somehow loved him for it.
Harry's eyes fluttered as he tried not to reach for Draco's arm.
“I'm okay,” he said, at least attempting to bite back into their play-along.
Draco pretended not to hear. He crouched his head a little and looking into nothing as he waited, architecting Harry's slipup that he'd surely fall into.
“What?”
Draco grinned to himself. Harry's eyes widened slightly: bastard. “I said, are you sure you don't want any more water?”
Harry crouched too, now, trying to keep his lips from parting further. His eyes from rolling towards his knitted eyebrows.
He miraculously kept himself from emitting any sounds, except a voiceless hum.
“Yes.” He needed to say more. Try and not leave Draco room for more mischief. “We should-” another exhale - voiceless, but quicker and louder. This was hard.
“Hm?”
“Get to the box office.”
Draco tilted his head, his eyes sharper, nearly evil. God, what had he planned now, in the span of two seconds?
“Me alone?” He feigned confusion, unusually expressive because none of it was real. Just a way to torture Harry more.
Fucking Salazar. He was making Harry say it again, the whole sentence. And no room for breaks, or Draco would slytherin his way in and interrupt him, only to play the same trick on him again.
A man pressed the back of his fingers lightly against Harry: they were in the way. Right in the middle of the bathroom's exit.
He quickly stepped to the side, and that alone - the movement, the knickers shifting against his arse and below - made him grit his teeth.
He took a deep breath. He was going to need it.
We should get to the box office. Simple. Not long at all - Draco had just made it seem so.
“We should get to the box office,” he hurried, free of accidents.
“Why so winded, darling?” Draco insisted, clearly enjoying this. Harry knew him, and he'd bet his left testicle he was having the time of his life right now. He thrived on teasing with power, playing with Harry, punishments and watching him endure them. Endure overstimulation and uncontainable pleasure. Watch him go crazy and lose all filters.
“You'll be winded yourself if we don't- hmh-” he pressed his palm into his mouth, then quickly hurried to finish his sentence before that arsehole butted in, “-buy the tickets in time.”
Draco smiled, satisfied. He could go on forever, really. Make them miss their movie. Go to dinner instead, and have Harry eat fancy food as his thighs shook and his lips quivered around his fork. He could get them anywhere, if he wanted to. It was a matter of when he decided to stop, and Harry was at his mercy.
“Yes, you're right. Let's go before the movie starts without us, yes?”
Harry nodded quickly, then anchored himself to Draco's arm before he could take a single stride. He did not want to be left to walk back to him alone, with no support to hold on to. That would've been nearly impossible while looking perfectly fine by now.
Draco chuckled at it, low and breathy. He stuck his arm out for Harry to hold on to. Harry took it, and felt the added ease as he walked now.
They got to the box office, with Draco leaning in to whisper into Harry's hair every minute; his profile sharp against Harry's temple: “if only all these muggles knew,” “time's almost up, darling. Just a few more minutes.” “I wonder: will you manage to pay attention to the movie, Potter?” “Perhaps I should test you on it once we leave the theater.”
It had been excruciating. Harry had almost missed a step once, his knee having given in. He'd held onto Draco's arm with his hardest grip: strong and thick as he was, with the core of a quidditch champion, the arms of a seeker, the thighs of a husband not only to Draco but to his cock. And still, Harry was no match for pleasure. He couldn't contain it, couldn't keep his body from feeling it inside and out. “Aw. Poor Potter,” had been Draco's response.
He'd stopped the knickers from completely embarrassing Harry when in front of the man at the ticket booth, as promised. And now, they had a theater to get to. And stairs to take. Lots of stairs: when buying the tickets, Draco had specifically requested the highest seats available. Harry's eyes had widened at his husband's words. He wasn't surprised, and he couldn't even say he was disappointed because he'd be lying.
“Is everything okay, sir?” the receptionist asked.
Draco turned lovingly to him, an exceptionally smitten husband to the man aiding them. In truth, he was enjoying the second movie of the night: Harry struggling to speak after getting his hole tortured for nearly an hour now, until approximately thirty seconds before they got to the booth.
“Yes,” he managed not to sound too worn out.
“Arsehole-” Harry whispered into his ear as they walked to the theater, his hand still around his forearm.
“You mean yours? What about it, Potter?”
Harry was about to try and respond, when he saw it: surely more than twenty rows to climb.
“What…” He hadn't been paying attention when the receptionist told them their seat numbers. “What seats…-”
Draco decided to have mercy on him, watching him stare at the long flight of stairs. “Z23 and Z24. Right at the end of the row,” he leaned into Harry's ear, “in case either of us feel like taking a trip to inspect the bathroom’s decor.”
Harry wanted to hum in defeat.
Z… There were twenty-six letters in the english alphabet.
Were they seriously about to climb twenty-six stairs while Harry's arse got tortured and boiled in his knickers?
“Should we start?”
The knickers went right back to the intensity Draco had left them at by uttering the dangerous word ‘pause’ into Harry's forehead.
“Hah!-” Harry bit his lip as soon as he caught himself. Fuck.
A woman stared at him. Fuck, think. Think.
He brought his foot up into his hand and began hopping on the other, trying to salvage the situation brilliantly. Draco watched him, his mouth open, and the quick-wittedness of his husband genuinely aroused him. Salazar, he was so happy to have married this man. His intelligence was beyond comprehension, he thought. Nobody made him laugh as hard as he did, everyday as he did now: he chortled at the sight. Harry was incredibly sexy, and he was as funny as he was sexy. That was a lot.
The same lady shot him a bewildered look: how could he laugh at his poor husband who had hurt his foot? So Draco put his hand on Harry's back, “oh, darling, are you okay?” he held his laugh.
As homicidal as he was, Harry's heart fluttered at the sound of Draco's laugh. His arm went around Harry's back, his other hand on his shoulder. Harry put his foot down, finally, and held onto his arm.
At least he now had an excuse to make a few sounds here and there as he walked. He hissed at the end of each one to fully sell them as moans of pain, not pleasure. Followed by Draco's truly amiable “poor thing”s.
When they finally got to their row, twenty-six rows later, Harry sighed with relief. He walked to his seat as quickly as he could manage, while people were still shuffling in their own seats and the lights hadn't yet turned off. Because when they did, people would go quiet. And when that happened, every sound from Harry would be heard. Possibly even voiceless ones.
Harry sat down just as the room went dark. And then Draco kissed him. Probably to make up for all of his faults and wrongdoings. Harry hated that it worked. For now, anyway.
He leaned into the touch, sliding his palms up Draco's shoulder and neck to get some kind of release, some venting out his painful hardon and horniness. Some comfort, at least. Anything.
Draco exhaled through his nose as they kissed. “I know,” he empathised. Sort of, Harry thought.
Finally, the trailers started. Harry could now kiss Draco a little louder, grip him a little harder. At least breathe against him, and breathe hard if he needed to.
Draco's tongue prodded Harry's. Harry hummed. His cock ached, and he could feel how wet his hole had gotten, lubricated by his own precum dripping all the way down to it. “Please…” he stroked Draco's hair, whispering.
Draco smiled against his lips. “I can always st-” he caught himself before he accidentally caused the toy to stop, “bring this to an end. We can be back once we've… settled our issues.”
Harry thought of it. He shook his head: he wanted to taste Draco's control, on him, on his knickers. On how his hole felt. Watch him keep the reins he'd already taken and masterfully swing them and pull them taut or loose. He wanted to feel the actual thing, the biggest attraction, Draco's tongue, after he survived this.
“Alright. If you ever change your mind, you know to just say the word.” He stroked Harry's cheek. How could he be such an arsehole and so impossible not to love at the same time?
Harry nodded, eyes lost. “Yes.”
The movie started. At least there'd be something to distract him now - before Draco surely put him through even more hell.
The sound of a car engine filled the theater, loud. Loud enough to cover most noises, Draco thought. So he leaned in, his temple close to Harry's, taking his face in his hand with his thumb and fingers on either side of his cheeks. He squeezed them as he brought Harry closer to him, “harder.”
“Hmph-” the squeezing of his cheeks together muffled his moan. No muggles could have heard it - especially as far from them as they sat. Most of them were at least three, four rows below them.
Harry watched Draco watch the movie, letting his face be brought closer to Draco's lips. Draco stamped a kiss on his cheek, right above his own thumb, and let go of his face. Harry was done for.
He wiggled and squirmed in his chair, trying to distract himself with the movie. It worked rather poorly, until something caught both of their attentions, quiet.
“That… looks an awful lot like Cedric…”
He could barely process the information before Draco thought it fun to up the intensity again.
And then Harry had to sit through Draco's commentary, mostly unable to respond: “does he think she stinks…?” “She looks kind of disgusted.” “She's frustrating me. She has the survival instincts of that cactus she's always holding.”
“Be thankful… That you can- hm, focus enough to be frustrated…!” Harry shifted in his seat, trying so hard to be quiet. But the toy - or rather, Draco - was torturing him. He felt himself inch closer and closer to climax despite being so painfully restrained. And that pain, Draco got off on.
“Wow. She just doesn't give up,” he commented, fully aware of what he was doing. Harry hummed in response, gripping the arms of his seat tightly and trying to lift his body off it so his knickers wouldn't be pressing into him. He looked for a position, even a temporary one, that would ease this somehow.
Draco looked at him. He almost felt bad - before he remembered his husband enjoyed this. “Do you give up, Harry?” He did it on purpose: now that he'd phrased it that way, Harry would never give in to his need for Draco's actual tongue in him.
Just as he expected, Harry stared at him, lost and hazy, and shook his head after a good few seconds.
But he couldn't stay quiet anymore. He tried. He breathed, and tried to stare at Bella's face in the cinema screen to think of something other than Draco. Draco's tongue on him, in him. Draco's slender fingers on his body, on his nipples, knuckles deep in him- “hah,” he needed to at least touch him. “Draco,”
Draco shuddered, every hair on his skin suddenly up straight. “Please…”
He turned to Harry. He almost felt bad, again. The thoughtless need to aid him whenever he called for him was shoving him forcefully. “What are you asking me for?” He fixed Harry's glasses for him.
“Do something. Anything,” he'd take anything that would help. Anything to make this just a little more bearable. Not even fully tolerable.
Draco hummed, brushing the back of his fingers up and down Harry's tense hand soothingly. “Are your trousers tight? Want me to loosen them for you?”
Harry nodded eagerly, biting his lip to stay silent.
The movie got louder: Harry took the chance to let himself breathe out freely for just a second. Draco chuckled at it as he slipped his wand out from his sleeve, just enough to press his fingers around it - those two fingers that always went inside Harry, to wreck him and get him gasping on his toes. He uttered a spell, whispering, and heard Harry sigh in relief. At least his cock wasn't aching as painfully anymore.
The movie went on, and he wondered how much of it was left. That single spell helped him take this all for longer. But even then, it seemed never-ending. By the time the movie reached what Harry supposed was its climax (something he wished he could have himself), he was pressing his forehead into his seat and gripping Draco's arm for support. Now that he wasn't as tightly constricted, there was room for an amount of pleasure. One he couldn't chase or hump into, if he didn't want to get close enough to come. Closer than he already was.
And when he touched Draco's arm, he wanted to touch more. His shoulder, his chest. His stomach. The bulge of his cock he didn't bother to hide anymore. It was a matter of time before he inevitably came now, especially with the rate at which Draco was bringing the torture higher.
Draco stroked his hair as he looked straight ahead. “Like diamonds…? He just looks sweaty.”
How could he even be so distracted? If you asked Harry about the plot of the movie now, he wouldn't be able to say much. Muggle girl meets Cedric turned vampire with voyeuristic tendencies. They have conversations that an alien trying to pass as a human might have. She almost dies? He didn't even know anymore.
He felt a wave of pleasure shoot through his prostate as the knickers pressed into skin just below his balls. He tried so hard to suppress it, and ended up whimpering. It still came out, only way higher. Like a high-pitched whine. His cock still ached. He felt his eyes prickle, and realised Draco had turned to him.
“Aw,” he hummed, genuine. He turned to him fully, his feet directed towards Harry's squirming figure. “Harry,” he cupped his cheek and brushed Harry's squinting eye with his thumb, until it relaxed again. Harry looked at him.
“You've been so good, Harry,” he said, sweet, and Harry was brought even closer to his climax. Yes. Yes, again.
Draco kissed his cheek. He stopped on it to whisper: “I'll cast a sound spell, so you can be as loud as you like.”
Yes. Yes!
Harry's eyes widened. He nodded frantically, “please.” And Draco's cock pulsed harder.
“Okay. Sit still for a moment.”
Harry obeyed right away. He was shaking with anticipation. Yes, yes, yes, finally. Hurry. He planted his feet into the ground, throwing his head back hard into the seat as he told himself he only had to hold on for just a few more seconds.
He listened for Draco’s spell. “Imperturbable-”
“Ah! Fuck- please touch me,” he shouted right away, with full confidence in Draco’s spell and no care for his ears. His mouth formed an ‘o’ shape and his brows furrowed as he looked Draco's way, rubbing his temple against his husband’s seat.
“Salazar, Harry-” he kissed him, trying to chasten him. He tried to scooch closer to him. If only it weren't for those bloody arm rests.
He pressed himself into it, even as it cut through his stomach, and enveloped Harry's back in his arms. He felt him hum against his lips, the sound crashing down against them like a wave, and revelled in it.
They still couldn't get off on the spot - as much as Harry would've liked that - but this was way easier. “Draco,” Harry gasped his name as Draco's tongue ravaged his own.
“Fuck,” it still did things to him. Hearing Harry say his name, so intimately, when they went seven years without ever pronouncing those words.
“Draco, I need you,” he pulled on Draco's hair to cope with the pleasure, shamelessly rubbing himself against the small wall of the seat separating them. He would hump the fucking arm rest if he could.
Draco’s cock had swelled into a heavy load on his thigh, poking urgently at him. “You can't say that and expect me to stay calm,” he groped Harry's arse shamelessly.
“Don't. Don't stay calm,” Harry sucked on his tongue and wiggled his arse for Draco to knead further. “I'm so close.”
“Yeah?” Draco slid his hands under Harry's arse, for him to sit on, and brought him towards himself. “Come here,” Whoever put that arm rest there was despicable.
Harry arched into his hold so naturally. Draco licked and sucked his neck, and Harry saw Cedric do the same to the protagonist of the movie through hazy eyes, head lolled to the side. “How long until the movie ends-”
“Don't know,” he wished he could suck Harry's nipples instead. “No one can see us up here, unless they climb five rows up.”
“Fuck!-” Harry humped against nothing.
“Sorry-” he'd almost forgotten. “Do you need to come?”
“Yes, I wanna come,” Harry begged without needing to. Draco nodded, breathless.
“Stand on your knees and hold onto me,” he instructed, tapping Harry's arse twice. That alone left Harry shaking as he got onto his knees, straightening his thighs until he stood taller than Draco. He let him guide him completely, lost, trusting whatever he had in mind. He wrapped his arms around Draco's shoulders and felt his mouth on his nipples through his shirt. “Hah!”
He threw his head back, bucking his hips into nothing.
“Shh,” Draco attempted to pacify him for a moment while he wrapped one arm tightly around his midsection, his hand sinking what felt like inches deep into the flesh on one side of his waist. He needed to have a solid grip on him for what he was about to do: looking into Harry's eyes from below him, neck straining, he pressed his ring and middle finger just below Harry's hole and watched his eyes roll back with immense satisfaction.
“Fuck!” Harry's body convulsed in Draco's firm arms as his fingers pressed and rolled and tortured the portion of his skin below his balls. He was going to come, he was so close. “Ah- gonna come,” he hinged his hips desperately towards Draco's fingers, breath hitched.
When Harry’s breath began to go in and out, Draco finally dealt the finishing blow: he abandoned his midsection for a second to bring his fingers to his jaw, then directed it toward himself. Once their eyes were locked, he pressed his digits further into the bundle of skin and spoke against his nipple: “good boy, darling.” He kissed it lovingly, eyes half-lidded, and watched Harry explode in his trousers against Draco's torso.
When he recovered from his orgasm, he was draped over Draco's body, breathless. He felt Draco slowly lower him back into sitting, resting his head onto his shoulder, turned to the side and facing the screen. He could barely take it in, face flushed and brain still fuzzy. Cedric was now sucking the girl's wrist. Go figure.
Minutes passed, with Harry turned into putty on his husband's shoulder.
Wow. He understood approximately nothing of what was going on in the movie by now - which was to be expected.
“I would help you with your own problem, but you've been such a prick to me all day.”
Draco shot him a dirty look. “I can make those knickers of yours start right up, Potter-”
A gentle sigh of pleasure. Arsehole. “No…” He had no energy for any snarky comeback.
Draco smirked. “Alright, I'll stop.”
“You can help me when we get home. I would gladly let you.” Draco kissed his neck once.
“Of course you would,” Harry smiled.
“I should do that with you.” Draco watched the screen, rubbing Harry’s arm. “Put your feet on mine so we're closer in height.”
“It's just…” Harry buffered to do the math. “Four inches.”
“Still makes me bend my neck.”
“Well, excuse me, prince of Who-Knows-Where. What a terrible inconvenience.”
“You're forgiven, Mr Holier-Than-Thou.”
Harry sighed against him. “Get me out of here. I'm soaked.”
Draco chuckled against his temple. “I suppose I should apologise for choosing the seats all the way up.”
“AH-” Harry gasped, quickly realised the sound spell from earlier had worn off, and went to cover his mouth shut as he pressed his forehead into Draco's shoulder.
“Shit- stop,” Draco hurried. He looked around to see people staring up at them. He improvised: “oh, darling, are you okay, did you hurt your hand?”
“I would sleep with one eye open tonight if I were you,” Harry regained his breath.
A lady squinted at him, and at how his husband seemed to get hurt rather frequently. Clumsy man.
Finally, they snuck to the bathroom. They apparated back home. Harry bent himself against the wall, and Draco spent a concerningly long time warming his tongue in the tight heat of Harry's arse. The knickers were pulled right off his plump skin by Draco’s teeth. His lips were all over it. He buried his tongue inside it, with his hair pulled as Harry groaned and shook his hips. With Harry's arse up and his face down sinking into a pillow - except for his eyes, so he could watch his husband devour his hole through a mirror; rock his hips up and down, left and right, back and forth against his appetite-driven, smug face. Like it was his last meal; like he’d been starved. On his back, halfway between lying down and sitting up against their headboard, legs spread open while Draco jerked himself off with one hand.
Then Harry's hole wrapped around Draco's cock with the same voracity, boiling hot from having just experienced a new level of being stretched out.
The next morning, Harry sat up on his forearm, rolled on his side as Draco hugged and encircled him from behind. He kissed Harry's back and nuzzled his neck, a hand on his stomach as he eyed the letter Harry was reading; Hedwig sat on the edge of their bed. “Who is it?”
Harry stared at the envelope of letters in his hands: one he'd sent out and had now been sent back to him; the other from the recipient:
Dear Cedric,
Are you an actor in a muggle movie?
Dear Harry,
And how the fuck did you find that out.