“Oh that is not the way you said it!” Hermione giggled into her wine glass.
“Was it your intention to sound like a possessed Selkie, Weasley?” Draco drawled, trying and failing to hide a pleased smirk when Ron scowled in his direction. His cheeks were alluringly flushed from the vintage they had been devouring, courtesy of Malfoy Manor’s considerable wine cellar.
“Harry knows that I said it right,” Ron argued defiantly, and shifted on the settee he shared with Hermione to face him, his eyes radiating with hope and a slightly drunken shimmer.
“Well, it did sound more like Mermish than Parseltongue, mate,” Harry teased. He quickly dove his head into the crook of Draco’s arm when Ron chucked a cushion at him.
Ron sighed and crossed his arms. “Alright, you do it then.”
“I don’t know Mermish, though,” Harry quipped, and this time he jumped right off their sofa and onto the floor as Ron lobbed another cushion his way.
“Just say the bloody word, would you?” Ron groaned. Hermione seemed to take pity on him, and started pressed comforting kisses on his shoulder in between bouts of misplaced laughter.
“Sure,” Harry grinned, shifting his eyes away from Ron and Hermione, and trying to tune out the background noises of Hermione’s continued rain of kisses. Harry hadn’t really attempted to speak Parseltongue since right after the final battle, and at that time it was only to see if it was even possible. He was still able to, but it was different now – he could finally hear the low, rasping sounds his voice made, and had to envisage the words instead of them coming to him naturally.
When Harry finally remembered how to say the word he was looking for through the hazy, alcohol-induced fog in his mind, his gaze was locked onto his boyfriend’s stormy grey eyes as Draco watched him curiously - intensely - those hidden depths so dazzling and hypnotic and instantly capturing all of Harry’s attention.
“Open,” Harry hissed quietly, his voice turning extraordinarily deep and sensuous. He could feel his tongue twist unnaturally to accommodate the foreign sounds, before it rebelliously flicked out of his mouth, as if tasting the air.
Draco gasped loudly, his already pinkened cheeks turning even rosier, as he stared at Harry with wide eyes. Before Harry could say anything he stood up shakily, and nearly toppled over him in his rush to leave the room.
“Wait, Dray-!” Harry shouted. He shook his head to clear it, and stood up on wobbly legs. How Draco managed to practically fly from the room when his alcohol tolerance was even worse than Harry’s, he’d never know.
Harry spared a second for Ron and Hermione, and then wished he hadn’t, because they were clearly busy with each other and had no need for him. He hobbled up the stairs, first searching his shared bedroom with Draco, and then the rest of Grimmauld Place. He didn’t know why Draco had such a strange reaction, but he had a feeling it had something to do with the spoken Parseltongue, and Harry was determined to find out why. Finally as Harry was about to give up his muggle methods and try a locator spell, he passed a rarely used bathroom on the third floor and heard Draco’s voice.
And it sounded like he was… wanking?
Harry was instantly rock hard, and was just about to open the door and join his boyfriend when he heard the telltale sign of Draco’s orgasm. It was a loud, deep, breathless of bliss and powerful relief, as if he had been on the torturous peak of orgasm for years and was only just able to finally release it. Harry could easily imagine Draco at the moment, with his hand covered in come and spine arched as he lost himself in the last vestiges of his pleasure. As Harry stood there drooling over his thoughts, he heard a muttered cleaning spell and the bathroom door was suddenly opened, revealing a ruffled and dazed Draco – who bumped straight into Harry’s chest.
“H-Harry?” Draco stuttered, his pupils dilated from remnants of his previous activities, and unless Harry was mistake, a hint of fear.
Harry paused, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t think he had ever heard Draco speak with anything less than flawless grace – words were his domain. He decided to ignore it, and move on to much more pressing matters. And by that he meant the one in his pants, currently poking his lover’s upper thigh.
“Draco… were you just wanking?” Harry grinned lasciviously. He tilted his head and lowered his eyelids in the way that Draco frequently claimed brought out his inner, sexy Slytherin.
Draco bristled in that cat-like way Harry was so fond of, irritation flashing across his exquisitely flushed cheeks. “I was doing no such thing!”
“I heard your moans,” Harry said, his gaze dropping to Draco’s shiny pink lips. They were so small and perfectly rounded, but easily became plump after Harry had his way with them for a couple of minutes.
“You must have had too much to drink,” Draco said with finality. He haughtily raised his chin and tried to step around him.
“Not so fast,” Harry quickly slipped an arm around Draco’s waist, but Draco elegantly shrugged off, and took the opportunity to make his escape.
“Oh come on, I know what I heard, Draco! You could have at least let me join you!” Harry swivelled around and yelled after him.
“You’re delusional, Potter!” Draco yelled back, turning his head to shoot Harry an angry glare - but he couldn’t cover up his post-orgasmic glow, or the way his slim hips swung as he walked away, as if doing their own satisfied, victory dance.
It only took two days for Harry to figure out that it was the Parseltongue that prompted Draco spontaneous wank session, and he was proud to say that it was without any of Hermione’s help.
His first clue was how often Draco would zone out of their conversation and stare longingly at Harry’s lips, before coming back to himself and scowling for doing so. Harry found it quite adorable, except that Draco would avoid him for a while after if Harry made the mistake of expressing his returned interest. The avoidance itself was probably another clue, but Harry couldn’t move past how irritating it was to think too much on it. Harry knew he was a clingy, possessive person – although those traits only manifested physically with Draco. He was used to his boyfriend being there all the time, and responding beautifully and passionately to all of Harry’s advances.
The hint that made everything finally click, however, was Pansy Parkinson. Draco invited Pansy over for dinner every Tuesday, usually so they could gossip to their heart’s content while Harry cooked them a delicious dinner – which Draco would then make up for heavily and enthusiastically every Tuesday night.
Harry was just about finished with their meal when he heard Pansy howling with laughter, and switched the stove onto simmer to investigate.
“Hiss hiss, Draco,” Harry heard Pansy sing as he neared the living room. He stilled, instantly alert.
Draco’s muttered reply was imperceptible, but Pansy's high-pitched, delighted cackle of “It's like second year all over again!" was hard to miss, followed by an equally loud "You were so obviously obsessed with it, darling, not that you knew why."
These hints coupled with Draco’s strong reaction the night before made Harry’s newfound theory make absolute perfect sense.
Draco had a Parseltongue kink.
And Harry couldn’t be more ecstatic.
Draco was obviously reluctant to admit it, but Harry had the perfect plan to prove his ingenious Parseltongue Kink Theory.
That night Harry patiently waited for Draco to finish his bedtime routine. He lay in bed with his arms crossed behind his head, simply watching his lovely boyfriend flit around in his preferred black silk boxers and a sheer dressing gown that Harry knew Draco wore solely for the purpose of arousing him.
When Draco finally finished, smelling clean and looking heavenly with his blonde hair falling tantalizingly over his eyes, he daintily climbed into bed and deviously pretended he no idea that Harry was already hard and leaking and seconds away from ravishing him until he was sweaty, sated, and covered in Harry's come.
“So it’s going to be one of those nights, is it?” Harry asked throatily, and laid a palm on Draco’s bare thigh, gently rubbing his thumb in circles on the smooth flesh.
“What are you talking about?” Draco inquired nonchalantly – but parted his thighs slightly in anticipation.
“That’s right, spread those pretty legs of yours for me,” Harry groaned huskily, inordinately pleased.
Draco did just that, a faint line of pink blossoming above his high cheekbones as he watched Harry’s pupils dilate at his wanton display.
“Such a good boy,” Harry cooed, and slotted himself in his rightful place as Draco glowed under the praise.
Draco started moving his hips, trying to grind his cock onto Harry’s, when Harry leaned down and kissed him, hissing Parseltongue against his lips: “I love it when you dance on my cock.”
“Harry!” Draco moaned absently – and then stilled his hips. “What did you just say?”
Harry pulled back from his lips, licking the last of Draco’s taste off of them and smirking. “I figured it out, you know.”
“It?” Draco asked warily.
Harry grinned and smacked a kiss onto his lips. “Your Parseltongue kink.”
Draco’s jaw dropped, and in a manner reflective of his seeker days, he flipped Harry over, scrambled out of bed, and darted out of the room.
Harry pouted. “What about my Tuesday-thank-you-for-cooking-dinner sex?”
The next few days continued in a similar fashion, with Harry trying to lure Draco into a false sense of security and then whipping out his arsenal of Parseltongue, and Draco alternatively sputtering angrily and blushing beautifully – and then avoiding him again.
On Thursday during lunch:
"The neighbour’s cat is eating your mother’s hydrangeas again, Draco."
Draco's spoon froze on the way to his mouth, and his shoulders started to tremble with suppressed emotion.
"I guess I'll go renew the wards around the garden, then?"
Draco dropped the spoon, buried his head in his hands, and screamed in frustration before storming out.
"Is that a yes or a no?" Harry yelled after him.
On Friday, just when Harry thought he was close to breaking him, Draco started to retaliate with his typical Slytherin tactics – exploiting Harry's biggest weakness, in the worst way possible.
"Harry," Draco drawled in a low, sexy voice just before he entered the kitchen for breakfast.
"Morning,” Harry yawned, serving eggs onto their plates.
"Do you think this is too... fancy for work?" Draco asked innocently, and when Harry turned around Draco had paired his usual suit jacket with the tightest pair of dress trousers he had ever seen.
"Draco?!" Harry squealed, as his eyes fastened onto the decidedly obvious outline of his shapely arse. He might as well have not have worn clothes; it would have been slightly more decent.
"Does it make my arse look big?" Draco asked as he arched his back and practically thrust his bum into Harry's greedy hands.
"Err," Harry stared dumbfounded, and tried to think of the quickest way undress him.
"No? Well, that's a relief then. I’m off to work!" Draco announced cheerfully, and just walked away from Harry.
"Wait, you're - you can't go to work like that!" Harry yelled, and heard a crack of disapparition in reply.
Harry sank to the floor and pressed his palm to his raging cock, knowing that the thought of Draco in those tight trousers would haunt him all day.
"The little minx," Harry cursed fondly, and vowed to take revenge.
As soon as Draco apparated home, Harry was ready for him.
"Ahh, Harry!" Draco moaned as Harry slammed him to the door and furiously licked and sucked his neck.
"You left this at home all day," he growled, and canted his hips so Draco could feel his heavy erection in between them.
"Please..." Draco gasped, throwing his head to the side and clutching Harry's hair to encourage more sucking.
"Those fucking trousers," Harry groaned, a spike of jealousy and possessiveness searing through him, and he swiftly grabbed Draco's arse only to find that he had already changed out of them.
"You didn't think I'd actually wear that to work, did you?" Draco teased, his grey eyes dancing with victory and his smirk insufferably smug.
Well, that wouldn't do.
"If I really thought you had, I would have had to follow you to work, and bend that pretty little arse over your desk," Harry said smoothly, and by the subtle intake of breath, his boyfriend knew that it was both a promise and a threat. "I wouldn't even put up a silencing spell, just let your entire office hear the filthy sounds you make for me when I'm balls deep inside you. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Harry," Draco whined, and clutched him urgently, his eyes blown wide with lust. His hips bucked into Harry's when Harry leaned down and fanned his hot breath over Draco’s ear.
"That’s my little exhibitionist," Harry hissed.
Draco seemed to surrender for a brief second, before he recognized the Parseltongue, and leaped out of Harry’s arms and away.
Harry sighed and beat his head against the door in frustration. At the rate this was going, they were both going to be forced to be celibate for the rest of their lives.
It was the morning of Valentine’s Day, when Draco slipped his arms around Harry as he was cooking.
“I have a surprise for you, tonight,” Draco whispered into his ear, and Harry was instantly lost to the thought of low-lit booths in muggle pubs where his hand could easily slip unnoticed under the table, or a fancy restaurant where they could trade verbal foreplay over six course meals until Draco was begging for Harry to take him home and have his way with him.
“What is it?” Harry croaked.
Draco smirked against his neck. “You’ll see.”
Harry had no doubts that Draco had chosen a muggle mall as their date destination because it was the most public, unromantic place he could find – just in case Harry chose to whisk out his Parseltongue again.
Except that it really didn’t matter where they went, because Harry always found it enjoyable to be with Draco, and he knew Draco felt the same. Even when they were sexually frustrated beyond belief with each other, they were able to momentarily forget as they became absorbed in their date. It was easy, especially with the way Draco’s eyes lit up in wonder at the most mundane muggle things, and how he almost jumped in excitement when he discovered the miracle that was the flat screen telly. Harry had no choice but to smile fondly at his boyfriend the entire time, and wished he had bought the camera that was on sale in the last store just so he could capture how cute Draco was acting.
“Harry, what’s that?” Draco pointed to the large, box-shaped photo booth in a secluded area of the mall.
“It’s called a photo booth,” Harry eagerly explained. “It takes muggle photos of you.”
“So there’s someone inside with a camera?” Draco asked in astonishment.
“It’s automatic,” Harry clarified, and Draco gasped and snatched his hand to drag him towards it.
Harry chuckled. “I take it you’d like to try it?”
Draco shoved open the heavy curtains to the booth, and pulled Harry inside. It was barely big enough for the both of them, but was well-lit and private.
“Well it is Valentine’s Day,” Draco smirked, silver eyes shining with happiness, and it was only then that Harry became aware of how close they were inside the tiny booth. As Draco fiddled with the muggle money and cursed multiple times in the process of mastering the photo booth interface, Harry quietly stood by, trying to tamp down the intense waves of arousal that seemed to assault him endlessly. It was like all of his pent up frustration had figured that it was the perfect time to rear its head, what with Draco being so close and smelling so divine.
They positioned themselves as the countdown started, and Harry watched Draco promptly school his smile into a Malfoy-approved smirk. Draco was constantly correcting his behaviour to what he had learned growing up as a pureblood wizard, even though it was significantly less now that he realized that his ideals differed from that of his parents. One of the reasons that he loved helping Draco lose temporary control – whether it was through sex or immersing him into muggle culture – was because it was the only time where he could truly be himself, without his past nipping at his heels. Harry could think of nothing he enjoyed more than seeing Draco without any inhibitions.
And that was when Harry found the last puzzle to his Parseltongue Kink Theory. Parseltongue was something that made him lose control – therefore Draco naturally tried to suppress it.
Harry shook his head and chuckled lowly. Now that he knew why Draco was avoiding him so vehemently, it would be easy to convince his boyfriend. All he had to do was to show him it was perfectly acceptable.
The number counter was at three when Harry slipped an arm around Draco’s narrow waist, and closed his eyes to visualize the Parseltongue.
“Draco,” Harry whispered, his voice low with desire and the natural sound of the unfamiliar language.
Draco stiffened, but the graceful blush across his cheeks couldn’t be denied – especially when it was captured on camera.
“Draco, just let go,” Harry hissed, and this time he pulled Draco into his arms and skimmed his lips against the sensitive skin of Draco’s neck.
“Harry, what are you doing,” Draco gasped, carelessly pushing his arse back as it instinctively sought out Harry’s clothed cock.
“Want you,” Harry growled, and apparently that sounded even better in Parseltongue, because Draco finally melted, in the way that drove Harry absolutely mad.
“Harry, please,” Draco whined, turning his head so he could have a taste of Harry’s lips.
“Oh no you don’t, you’ve denied me of this for far too long,” Harry grabbed his hips and ground his cock into the cleft of Draco’s arse, as Draco wailed and wholeheartedly committed to helping Harry with his task.
“Please, Harry – it’s been too long, and your voice, I can’t wait…” Draco moaned.
“Yes, that’s my little slut,” Harry harshly bit along his neck, and continued to incoherently gasp words into Draco’s skin, until soon enough Draco made a frustrated sound and banished his clothes.
Draco unabashedly leaned against the glass screen - which Harry abstractedly realized was still counting down and snapping pictures - and begged Harry with those metallic, mesmerizing eyes.
“Fuck me now, Harry - and don’t stop that incredibly sexy hissing!” Draco demanded imperiously, his voice and cock both hard as steel, and his creamy white arse shining invitingly under the bright lights of the photo booth - and Harry promised to do just that. He wandlessly cast an all-purpose stretching and lubrication charm on Draco’s pink hole, and shakily unzipped his trousers just enough to free his cock. He allowed himself to stroke it twice before he recognized that he would die of frustration if he waited any longer. Without any further warning, Harry pulled Draco’s hips towards him and sunk inside of him with a drawn-out hiss.
Draco’s arse was where Harry belonged, he realized. There was no other place that felt as glorious as Draco’s tight, velvety hole. Draco must have felt the same, from the inhuman moan of satisfaction he let out.
Harry must have been still for too long, because the next thing he knew Draco was brazenly slamming his hips back onto Harry’s cock like a man starving, and Harry’s body seemed to be out of his control with the furious pace he was pounding into Draco. The words were spilling from his hips so fast and distorted that even he couldn’t understand them, or recognize which language they were in.
Draco came with his usual blissful sigh of relief, except it was unexpected and untouched – the first time that had ever happened. His come splattered all over the photo booth, splashing as high as the glass screen and the camera inside it, and the evidence of the heights of boyfriend’s pleasure triggered Harry’s own orgasm - which felt like gallons of pent up come successfully being put into its proper place.
In the seconds after while their breathing was still heavy and the air was overpowered with the smell of sex, Harry heard the noise of the finished photo strip coming out of its intended slot - which Draco’s come had only barely missed - and Harry victoriously realized that he finally had solid proof of Draco’s Parseltongue kink.
Although, Harry thought, examining his beautifully flushed, sweaty boyfriend, who had also discovered the strip of photos and was looking at them in equal parts horror and lust, Harry already had all the proof he would ever need.