The collar round his slender throat made Draco
madly want. "Do you recall your safety word?"
asked Harry, voice dripping lust and need.
At Draco's nod, a grin lit Harry's face.
"Get on your fours," he ordered in demand.
So Draco turned on hands and knees, his bum
up in the air. The collar chafed, but Draco didn't care.
The first hot lash of Harry's tongue brought forth
a primal moan, and Draco squirmed upon
the bed, his hands clenched in the silken sheets.
That wicked tongue did not let up; instead,
it carried on with tender licks, while teeth
got in some naughty nibbles of their own.
And through it all, did Draco writhe and twist
upon the bed, silken sheets in trembling hands.
His parted lips let passion slip in form of sighs.
That clever tongue (oh wicked tongue!) began
to ply his hole, and Draco lost any hold
he had on his control. His spine dipped in
a perfect arch to raise his arse up high.
He begged, he groaned, he shook and moaned for want
of some relief. Harry kept him on the edge,
withholding sweet release. He used his tongue,
that wicked tongue, to tempt and taste and tease.
He kissed and probed and licked that hole
ignoring Draco's pleas. "Don't make me wait,"
he begged, so close now to that edge.
Harry strove to keep him dancing on the ledge.
A tremor ran through Draco's frame, a bead
formed at his slit and dribbled on the sheets.
His sobs and bleats, his cries of need remained
unheeded in that bed as Harry's tongue,
that naughty tongue, drove Draco mad, indeed.
He held onto his safety word, in spite
of how he ached, trusting Harry to
deliver sweet release, which Harry did.
He reached between and underneath
to tickle Draco's balls. It was all it took
for Draco to achieve his sweet release.
He screamed, he came, he felt no shame,
his body convulsing in bliss. Replete
at last, heart beating fast, collapsing on
his side. Then Harry's lips, licentious lips,
bestowed one final kiss. He sat back with
a cheeky grin and said, "Now open wide."