Draco was not unaware of Potter's question, but he was busy. Busy staring at his fingers, three of them now, slick, with pink knuckles, disappearing inside Potter, the red puffy skin of Potter's anus wrapped around them, barely letting them move. Sliding them out was much easier; Potter's body pushed them out. It made the urge to push them back in even stronger.
The morning light provided a fine view. Every blush and freckle on Potter's skin was clearly visible. Potter was naked, lying on his stomach with a pillow pushed under his hips, his legs apart, wide enough for Draco to fit in between them.Draco was bent forward on his knees, with one hand on Potter's arse cheek, thumb pushing it wider apart, and the other... Well.
"Seriously. The rest of me still exists. Have you forgotten?"
The nonsensical statement had Draco looking up. "What?" The sound of his voice scared him; it came out raspy and broken. He would have cleared his throat and tried again, but the realisation that he was finger-fucking Potter struck him all over again and he was afraid to speak. Afraid he'd ruin it the way he used to ruin things and get into trouble the moment he opened his mouth. He could never trust his mouth; he'd learned that long ago.
Potter was looking at him over his shoulder, flushed, with strands of dark hair clinging to his face. His lips were curvedinto a teasing smile, which Draco could not comprehend. He was squinting without his glasses, bright green eyes narrowed to something darker. But there was something open and vulnerable in his face when he didn't have his glasses on. Or maybe it just seemed that way because Draco only saw Potter without his glasses when they were naked. It was no wonder Draco had developed a kink for it. Sometimes he'd see Potter on the other side of the Ministry's atrium and Potter would nod at him and fix his glasses, and it seemed like seduction, an invitation, shameless teasing. Baring Potter's body, baring his eyes, it all seemed so unattainable.
And yet here they were.
"Hi," Potter said. Sweetly, as though they had just met and he was trying to be polite. "I'm the bloke you've promised to fuck? A week or so ago, I think."
Draco nearly pointed out that, no, he promised no such thing a week ago. He promised it just this morning.
His mind cleared in time, though. "Conventionally, people say something like... Harder, faster, give it to me, yes, yes, now, fuck me with that big cock. Or prick. Or dick. What have you.Or they say, 'Hurry. Please.'"
Potter seemed to consider this for a moment. "Your cock. In me. Now," was what he came up with.
"Sounds like a telegram," Draco mused. "Lacks please."
"Would you like me to draw you a picture, too?"
Draco's fingers were still inside Potter. He pressed them down a little harder, twisted just a tiny bit.
Potter's eyelashes fluttered.
"I'm not sure how stick figures would help."
"Fine, then." Potter looked away, exhaled, rolled his hips. "This is doing it for me, anyway. Carry on."
That was Draco's plan, really. He'd make this last. He'd use his fingers to make Potter come. He'd get him hard again with his mouth. And then he'd fuck him. Then they'd have breakfast, and then he'd fuck him again.
But Draco had overestimated his patience. He pulled out, all the way this time.
Potter squirmed a little and made a breathy sound that had Draco's insides twisting. "God," he said, "you're so easy to manipulate."
A statement like that might have stung not that long ago. But back then Potter hadn't rolled onto his stomach and said, "Go on, then. Do it. I want you to," the way he had done this morning.
Draco placed his palms on Potter's arse cheeks, kneading them, spreading them apart. He probably shouldn't have been staring that much; it must have been strange, too telling. Potter was used to reverence; Draco wasn't supposed to be one of those people.
He suppressed the urge to ask, "Are you sure you want this?" Because if Potter wasn't sure, they wouldn't be here. But then again Draco could never figure out if they'd be doing this at all, fucking for three months straight, if they both hadn't been drunk the first time it happened. Sometimes he was afraid that Potter had been drunk ever since, but managed to hide it, and he still didn't know what he was doing.
"I'll fuck you now," Draco said because he felt like he should say something. Announce it. Give Potter a chance to say, "Hell no."
Potter didn't say a word, but his body shivered beneath Draco's palms, and Draco felt a little braver.
And he definitely needed bravery. He'd never actually done this before. Not this. Potter might have been under a different impression. Draco might have told him a lot about his sexual escapades that included pretty much everything imaginable. Draco had lied, of course. Potter must have been aware of it by now. Three months ago, Draco also told him he didn't take it up the arse. And an hour later, Draco was bent over Potter's couch very definitely taking it. Taking it while vaguely thinking of his father and how distressed he would be if he could see his son then. His father, who was quick to squeeze old Crabbe's shoulder in a friendly gesture and look down in disgust at the young men Crabbe like to take home. His father, who noticed Draco staring at Theo Nott's arse once and pulled him aside to say, "Malfoy men stick it where they want it, son. However, do not forget you're a man."
But that night on Potter's couch he realised that his father never knew what the hell he was talking about. How could he have spent years believing that taking it up the arse meant being humiliated and quivering before the Dark Lord meant having power?
Draco slid his palms up against Potter's sides, fingertips dragging over his ribcage. Potter squirmed, hips rolling so he could rub himself down against the pillow.
This was not the time for honesty. Not now when Potter was naked and ready, and Draco moved up to lie on top of him. But Potter always made him feel so good; he might have been expecting Draco would return the favour. Be as expert at making him gasp in pleasure, give him one of those orgasms that had Draco smiling for hours. He pressed his face against Potter's neck and pushed his hips down to settle his cock between Potter's arse cheeks.
"I've never done this before," he said.
"I'm aware of that." Potter's reply was muffled by a pillow.
"I mean, ever. With anyone."
Potter laughed. His whole body shook. "Pretty sure we did it just last night."
"I meant — God, Potter."
"I know what you meant." Potter looked at him again, squinting. "You never fucked a bloke before. I'm not sure what you want me to do about that. Give you a biscuit? Detailed instructions? Hold your hand?"
Draco grit his teeth. He reached down and dug his fingernails as deeply as he could into Potter's arse cheeks. Potter bucked up but didn't yelp. Instead, he asked, "Did I hurt your feelings? Did you want to cuddle?"
"Of all the insufferable pricks..." Draco yanked away the pillow beneath Potter, then pressed him down into the mattress with his full weight — his chest, thighs and hips trapping Potter beneath him.
"You like mine best?" Potter offered, panting, his breath stolen by Draco's weight. He squirmed, as though to throw Draco off, or maybe just to rub up against him.
Draco's hands wrapped around Potter's wrists and pressed them into the sheets. Potter's breath hitched.
Potter was even more aroused now, Draco realised. "Oh, I get it. You're trying to make me angry, so I'll fuck you hard and fast. Don't you know that just makes me want to go slow?"
"Slow?" Potter breathed. "I don't think it can get any slower than this."
Draco grinned, all anger and fears forgotten. Proving Potter wrong was the only thought on his mind. He lifted up, went back to keeling, and tugged on Potter's hips to make him rise up on his hands and knees.
Potter complied with minimal grumbling. "Pick a position and stick with it."
Draco wasn't listening. He spread Potter's arse cheeks apart because that was intensely embarrassing and arousing when Potter did it to him. Potter whimpered and clenched, and Draco was suddenly in a hurry. But he resisted, only spread Potter even wider, waiting. Potter's thighs were starting to quiver; his breathing became louder. "Malfoy," he said and even his voice was shaking.
"Is this where I put it?" Draco asked, his thumb brushing the pink skin of Potter's entrance.
Potter made a sound between a laugh and a sob. "I'm not talking to you anymore."
"Sure you are." Draco pulled Potter's arse closer, aligned his cock and pushed in. Seeing the head slide in so easily was a shock. He didn't realise he had prepared Potter so thoroughly, that Potter was so open and eager. Potter moaned, his body pulled Draco in, fitted around his cock as though made for it. Potter's hips rocked back and forth; he moaned with every slide. He was fucking himself on Draco's cock as though Draco were merely a toy made for his pleasure. It was arousing. It was annoying. This wasn't the plan.
Draco had relinquished control too easily. He grabbed Potter's hips and held them. It took some manoeuvring, but they were back to their original position in no time: Potter on his stomach, pressed into the bed, Draco lying on top of him, his legs spread wider than Potter's, holding him trapped.
Potter gasped. "What did I say about picking positions and—"
Draco pushed in deeper. "You're not talking to me, remember? I'll do the fucking, and you'll stay very still." With that, he slid in all the way.
That had Potter shutting up. But not before he said, "God," and shuddered violently again. He clenched, tried to buck up, and Draco grabbed his wrists.
"Want to see slow?" Draco whispered in Potter's hair.
He dragged his cock out, nearly all the way. He waited a beat, then slid back in. The sound that fell out of Potter's lips was positively unnatural and it gave Draco strength to continue.
He kept the painfully slow pace, focussed on controlling his hips that wanted to jerk and thrust in hard. Potter's breathing was turning erratic, broken by ragged gasps. He was slowly falling apart beneath him.
"Malfoy, I can't," he was saying, whimpering. "I can't." He squirmed, trying to rub his cock against the sheets, to keep Draco's cock inside him, to buck up. His attempts were becoming weaker and weaker, his cries louder.
"I'll make you come like this." Draco pulled out all the way this time.
Potter was shaking his head, clenching his fists. "You won't; I can't. I want to, but —"
Draco slid back in. Potter nearly sobbed. Draco admired his own durability. He could do this forever, for as long as it took Potter to come. It felt so good, having Potter pull him in slowly again and again.
This time Draco shuddered at the naked plea in Potter's voice.
"It's Draco now, is it?" He buried his face in Potter's wonderful hair. He dragged out, slid in, did it all even slower.
"Draco, Draco." Potter was openly sobbing.
"Still no please?"
"Goddamnit." Potter shivered and this time he didn't stop; he just kept at it, his body vibrating beneath Draco's.
Draco dragged out, slid in. "It might help."
Draco tsked. "Please what?" He pulled out all the way again, and lingered.
Potter was struggling to breathe. "Please, fuck me."
"I am." Draco slid back in to demonstrate.
"I liked Draco better."
Potter growled into the pillow.
Draco rolled his hips, pulled out just a little and pushed back in. Then he did it all over again.
Potter lifted his head. "Oh," he said. "God. Oh God."
Draco stopped. Potter liked that too much.
With another sob, Potter buried his head into the pillow and pleaded. "Draco, please, please, please, fuck me harder with your big cock."
Draco almost laughed, but he was out of breath. "Why didn't you say so?" he said and thrust inside Potter with as much force his shaky limbs could muster.
Potter's cry was filled with so much relief, Draco wanted to hear it again, and never stop hearing it. His thrusts turned shallow and sharp and Potter couldn't stop moaning, his cries of encouragement now honest.
Usually, Potter was the quiet one. Always making Draco whimper and beg, using his tongue, fingers and cock to tease out pathetic pleas past Draco's lips. Draco never thought he could do the same to Potter. But now Potter was an incoherent shuddering mess, no longer struggling to buck up and rub down against the bed. He had gone limp, doing nothing but taking it and saying Draco's name over and over again.
But then he stopped, as though he'd pressed his lips tightly together, only letting an occasional gasp escape.
Draco paused again. He pulled out all the way and pressed the tip of his cock to Potter's entrance, not allowing Potter to pull it back in.
"No, no, no." Potter found fresh energy to squirm and jerk his body upward. It didn't help him much. "Oh, come on." He sounded desperate.
Draco pushed in just a little. "Did you say please? I forgot."
"You can't be serious," Potter breathed. "You can't." He tried to buck up again.
Draco teased Potter's rim with the head of his cock, pretending he'd push in, but never doing it.
"I hate you," Potter gritted out.
"But you really want my cock." Draco thrust in, moved in and out a few times, then stopped.
"I do, I do, I do want your cock!" Potter burst out. "You absolute prick. Please, fuck me."
Draco wanted to deny him again, for the prick bit, but they were both a shivering mess and he couldn't take it anymore. His hips jerked without his permission.
Potter didn't stop babbling this time. He kept gasping and repeating "Yes" and "Please" and "Fuck me" and "God, so good."
"You're coming like this," Draco told him.
Potter said, "Yes, yes, I am," and his body convulsed, tightened with a cry, and Draco closed his eyes in nearly painful pleasure.
Draco’s orgasm seemed to last forever.He thought he'd lost consciousness, but when he opened his eyes he realised his hips were still jerking; he was still fucking Potter with pathetic feeble thrusts. Potter was loose and limp, his ragged breathing and wet slaps their bodies made the only sounds in the room.
Draco forced himself to stop, to pull out and roll off on his back. That simple movement had exhausted him; he couldn't feel his legs. He wanted to turn his head to look over at Potter, but that seemed like too much effort.
"You okay?" he managed to ask.
Something heavy landed on his midriff, knocking out the little breath he had in his lungs. Potter had straddled him, hands gripping Draco's upper arms and pressing them into the mattress, as though he thought Draco had the strength to fight back. As though he'd want to even if he could. Potter looked wild with his flushed sweaty face, vibrant green eyes and black hair in a shocking mess, even for Potter. Draco never wanted to move again.
"Have you lost your mind?" Potter asked.
"Well, aren't you hard to please. I bet I just gave you the orgasm of your life and here you are -- complaining."
"Hardly. This was completely amateurish and I'm appalled by your inadequacy."
Draco frowned. "I'm a very bad influence on you."
Potter's lips twitched. "You're a crazy person, is what you are."
Draco concluded that Potter looked ridiculously happy. "Mmm," he said, realising that Potter's grip on his shoulders didn't actually trap his arm. He pushed his hand between Potter's legs, past his balls and stuck three fingers inside him. Potter was loose and wet and warm, and he clearly didn't expect Draco to do that. He yelped, both hands flying to grab Draco's wrist. To what end, Draco had no idea because Potter made no attempt to actually stop Draco's fingers from exploring. He only closed his eyes and shuddered. "I'm not crazy," Draco said. "I did it because I hate you so much." That statement came out a little too ragged and quiet for his liking.
Potter opened his eyes. He stared at Draco for a moment, then said, "Now you want to cuddle, don't you?"
"Not really." Draco massaged Potter from the inside. Potter rocked slowly on Draco's hand. "I'd rather fuck you again. But much slower this time."
"As if I'd let you," Potter said, still rocking, as though he couldn't stop. "Not you. A Malfoy. And a goddamn virgin, apparently."
"Oh dear. Sounds like you really hate me."
Potter licked his lips. "So much." He grimaced, clenching around Draco's fingers. "Love your hand, though."
"I gathered." Draco pulled his hand away. "I think we're moving too fast. You should at least kiss me first."
Potter glared, then gave a long-suffering sigh. He leaned in, lips hovering over Draco's. "Clearly, I should be more careful who I drag home when drunk."
"Clearly. I'm afraid you're not getting rid of me now."
Potter grinned and kissed him.
Draco allowed himself to believe that Potter really wasn't drunk.