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Draco sulked for a week after finding out they were going to Greece. His dark mood resulted in endless rounds of burnt toast, hours in the bath, and the grumpiest clinging in bed Harry could remember in the last year. 
 
Harry was just glad that Draco chose to blame the Minister for Magic, rather than Harry himself, for the fact that the purpose of the trip was for Harry to give a lecture to the Athenian Aurors. He had even optimistically arranged for them to take a Portkey to Crete afterwards, to enjoy a few days together on the island courtesy of the Ministry.
 
That was before Draco had begun his sulk.
 
Harry had thought Draco would enjoy the idea of getting away from London, of being able to lounge in the warmth and explore ancient ruins while lording his superior knowledge of history (both wizarding and muggle) over Harry. But that was before he was tartly reminded of Draco’s deeply held, and enduring, vendetta against sunshine.
 
Draco claimed grey skies did more for his complexion than sunshine, though Harry knew that was a lie through and through. Sunlight on Draco’s hair made it shine like a halo, ironic as that was. And while moody skies highlighted the depths of his grey eyes, a cloudless blue sky made them glow.
 
He claimed that pale skin was the mark of a Malfoy, usually accompanied with a haughty sniff. But Harry had heard him bitching to Pansy one evening over wine about how her glowing tan was making him ‘positively sick with envy, you bloody wench’. And his worshipful adoration of Harry’s own dark skin proved the lie even further, what with his subtle hints about adding the Malfoy appellation to Harry’s own name at some point.
 
Harry mused on his mercurial partner’s apparent doublethink, but didn’t push the subject. He was happy enough that despite his petulant demeanour, Draco was already planning what to wear, where to go, and demanding to know if Harry had written his speech yet.
 
"Honestly, you’d think you’d bloody learn from last time. You were nearly sick into your breakfast when you had to speak at Hogwarts last year – and those were children for Merlin’s sake."
 
Draco had half disappeared into their shared wardrobe and seemed quite happy to rant while he rummaged for the perfect outfit to visit the Parthenon in. Harry was quite happy to listen, so long as it afforded him the view of Draco’s perfect arse and long legs as he reached into their clothes. 
 
"So?" Draco snapped. "Have you written anything yet?"
 
Harry flopped backward onto their bed, rubbing his face and groaning.

"I’ve…tried?"
 
Silence answered him. He dragged himself up onto his elbows and treated himself to the view of Draco’s eyebrow climbing in an ever-higher arch. Harry still couldn’t manage to do the eyebrow thing and Draco was shameless about rubbing it in his face.
 
"Honestly Draco, it's just-" he sighed in frustration. "I never know what the right thing to say is, until it sort of just- pops out at me. And usually that’s...y’know. When I’m up there. I’m not good with words like you are; I can’t plan it out and sound clever. I just have to blurt out whatever feels right in the moment. You know how I am."
 
"I do." Draco draped the robes he was holding over the trunk at the foot of their bed and moved to stand between Harry’s legs. He reached out to tenderly cup Harry’s cheeks in his elegant hands.
 
"I do know how you are. I just think it would be easier on you if you prepared a little bit, at least. We’re leaving in the morning and I don’t want you to be fretting too much." He patted Harry’s cheek. "You don’t want me calling Hermione in do you? She can get you whipped into shape I’m sure – with her sticky notes and colour coded quills."
 
Harry snorted, and was pleased to see an answering smirk on Draco’s face. He must have resolved himself to the trip if he was coming back round to being able to take the piss out of Harry.
 
Seemingly content that he had encouraged Harry to at least try to organise himself a little, Draco pulled away and flicked his wand towards the pile of robes. They floated into the air, folding themselves neatly before settling in ordered piles in the travelling trunk, their toiletries flew in next, then their shoes, before the trunk shut itself up with a series of clunks and clicks.
 
Packing complete, Draco left Harry to ruminate on speech planning, and went downstairs. Harry lay back again, wondering if maybe he should try making some notes as he listened to Draco move around in the kitchen below. A few minutes later the scent of burnt toast wafted up to their bedroom, along with sound of muttered curses. So, Draco was still unhappy about their impending trip, if the kitchen symptoms were anything to go by. But at least he wasn’t planning a dramatic refusal to catch the Portkey, if his ridiculous level of over packing was anything to go by.
 
Not for the first time, Harry fondly reflected on the things Draco was willing to go through by his side – from running the gauntlet of the press when they first got together, to the apparently torturous prospect of a sunny trip in the Aegean. He smiled to himself and headed downstairs to rescue Draco from his cremated bread.  
 

 

The international Portkey had been a uniquely uncomfortable experience, the usual swirling disorientation stretched out and extended until Harry was sure he had somehow gotten permanently stuck in the vortex.  Draco had, naturally, taken it entirely in his stride and stood checking that their baggage had made it through unscathed while Harry wheezed, bent double, trying not to vomit all over the Athens International Arrivals area. Maybe Draco had been right, this holiday lark was off to a horrible start as far as Harry was concerned.
 
But for all his moodiness at home, Draco was almost cheerful now that they were here. He wasn’t bothered by the late hour of their arrival and was apparently even content to handle all of the travel document checks while Harry conducted deep breathing exercises to get his stomach under control. Not for the first time, Harry thanked his lucky stars for having this man beside him, calm, unruffled, and so, so competent.
 
Once they cleared security they took a muggle cab to their accommodation, courtesy of the Greek Ministry of Magic. As they pulled up in a swanky residential area of the city, Harry felt his mouth drop open in surprise at the grand house they arrived at. They were greeted by polite, uniformed staff and shown into their suite within the building, then left standing grinning together as they looked around at the high ceilings, huge windows, and comfortable furnishings.
 
"Somehow, I think your reputation might have preceded us Harry." Draco nodded approvingly as he ran his fingers across the marble fireplace. "That, or the British Ministry is just severely lacking in both class and cash and this is how all visitors get treated by the Greek Ministry. I’d take this over a room at The Leaky Cauldron any day."
 
Harry privately agreed; the rooms were beautiful, all soft greys and whites, marble floors, with cooling charms obviously woven into the walls. He was actually looking forward to sinking under the covers in bed. Only moments earlier as they walked through the grounds the night was still sultry, too hot for comfortable sleep, but now he would relish the comfort of a downy duvet.
 
He watched as Draco opened a door to a bathroom done out entirely in white marble, his shoulders dropping from the anxious pinch they had been in since leaving their flat that morning. Harry could pinpoint exactly what had caused the day’s stress to fall away from Draco’s body as he peeked over his shoulder and saw a bath big enough for two. Draco was particularly partial to lounging in the bath, and though he usually grumbled at first, he always loved when Harry joined him.
 
"Bath and then bed?" Harry nuzzled at Draco’s neck; pleased with the affirmative hum he received.
 
The last week had been a tiring combination of excitement and anxiety about speaking at the conference. Harry contented himself with the fact that by the afternoon of the following day, he and Draco would be out of Athens and safely ensconced in the villa he had rented in Crete. He’d have the bloody speech firmly behind him and his only responsibilities would be to indulge Draco’s love for history and bask in the sunshine.
 
 

 

 
Their first full day on the island had been glorious.  
 
Sunshine. Azure blue skies. The silver green of olive trees. And best of all - the way the ancient palace buildings made Draco’s eyes light up with curiosity and fascination as they explored.
 
Harry had even convinced Draco to brave the sunshine and swim in the ocean with him after lunch, with the promise that the muggle sun lotion would protect his delicate skin. Draco had looked deeply suspicious, but deigned to allow Harry to massage it into his skin anyway, an arch look on his face as Harry’s hands lingered longer than strictly necessary.
 
Now they were back at the villa it was a race to see who could strip the other fastest.
 
Harry was still fumbling with the tiny mother of pearl buttons on Draco’s silk shirt, while Draco had already unceremoniously stripped off Harry’s t-shirt and was working on the button of his shorts. Their shoes had been kicked off at the door to the house, and before he knew it Harry felt the cool air of the bedroom on his arse as his shorts and underwear were shoved down to his ankles.
 
Draco dragged him close and dipped his head for a drugging kiss, soft and wet and open-mouthed, bringing the latent desire in Harry’s belly into rushing, roaring life. Every kiss from Draco was a delight, and some were as sweet as a spring morning. But these kisses were redolent with every drop of salt in the ocean they had swam in that morning, as heady as the rich scent of jasmine in the gardens. These were kisses as a declaration of hot, heavy intent and Harry melted under them.
 
Eyes closed and heart pounding, he finally managed to undo Draco’s shirt and abandoned it hanging open to blindly set to work on his trousers. Frustrated, and unwilling to tear himself away from Draco’s mouth, he gestured impatiently and wandlessly vanished the fine linen trousers and underwear beneath. A groan broke free as he finally ran his hands over Draco’s perfect arse, not a single layer of fabric hindering his access to soft, warm skin. Just the tail of Draco’s open shirt tickled at Harry’s wrists as he stroked and groped to his heart's content.
 
Draco tilted his head back, breaking the kiss, and let out a throaty laugh.
 
"Finally got your hands on the prize you’ve been eyeing all day have you? You were bloody shameless in that temple you know, I might have been embarrassed if I gave a fuck what people thought of us."
 
Harry grinned against Draco’s throat, where he had sought refuge after having his lips cruelly denied. Who needed to talk when kisses were on the table? When there was a bed mere feet away, singing its siren song of comfort, dark bedding to splay his fair lover out on, and unfailing support when knees inevitably went weak.
 
"Why should I be ashamed?" He laid hot, open-mouthed kisses against Draco’s pulse point. "Anyone in their right mind would be watching you. I know you enjoy all of those ancient paintings of naked youths leaping over bulls, but I’ve more of a taste for something a little more contemporary." He bit down, delighted with the red mark on pale skin he left behind. "And I’m definitely only interested in one youth in particular."
 
Instead of the expected love-bite induced moan, Draco hooted with laughter. His cackles drew Harry away from his happy occupation of making love to Draco’s neck, and he stared at him while he recovered from his ridiculously timed bout of hilarity.
 
"What."
 
"Oh, Harry." Draco put on one of his finest expressions of faux-gravitas and cupped Harry’s cheek, looking ridiculous and yet still so bloody sexy standing naked but for his undone shirt, erection poking at Harry’s hip. "Somehow I don’t think that we qualify as youths anymore!" 
 
And he was laughing again, his nose slightly scrunched up, the finest crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes as his whole face lit up with sarcastic delight. It was moments like this that it struck Harry, how utterly gone he was on this man. How even now, getting laughed at for his rose-tinted view of their shared age, cock-blocked by his own bloody boyfriend, Harry couldn’t think of any place he’d rather be. Of course, that didn’t mean he’d just accept this blatant derailing of his plans for a sordid afternoon in bed.
 
"Alright, alright, so you’re fifty six days older than me, you’re the old man, I’m the youth – I accept the facts as they stand." He leered as he grabbed Draco’s thighs and lifted him up, striding towards the bed as Draco squawked in horror at being labelled old, at Harry’s barbarism in the bedroom, at the indignity of being thrown bodily onto the soft bed covers. "I’ll do all the hard work then, shall I?"
 
At that suggestion, Draco’s indignant look melted into one of supreme self-satisfaction. His tense body immediately relaxed and he stretched languidly where he lay; all long lines and lean muscles, his chest framed by his white shirt, his legs splayed with unconscious grace.
 
If the magically preserved temples of ancient Cretan wizards had had this scene painted on their walls Harry might have found the tour more interesting. But he always had been more of a hands-on man, rather than an observer, and he wasted no time crawling onto the bed between Draco’s thighs, gratified on a bone deep level when Draco spread his legs automatically to make room for him. 
 
As he ran his hands up Draco’s thighs, relishing the feel of the crisp hair there tickling against his palms, his gaze caught at Draco’s hips. His hips where there was a distinctly new tan line. Not that you could call it a tan really. But Draco’s torso was definitely a darker shade of pale than his hips and thighs. Harry leaned down to brush his mouth across this new feature of Draco’s body, soft kisses on delicate skin making Draco writhe against the bed, his hands threaded into Harry’s hair. 
 
Harry gave in to the gentle urging downward, and nuzzled into the soft flesh where Draco’s thigh met his body, inhaling deeply, loving the faint traces of Draco’s sandalwood soap, and the heat, the musk of his skin, the sharp scent of his arousal. He nudged Draco’s balls with his nose, before sucking one into his mouth and gently tonguing it, listening to the high whine that broke free from Draco at the sensation. He gave the same attention to the other, before letting it pop out of his mouth and laying wet, sucking kisses up the length of Draco’s cock, humming with contentment as he licked at the salty precome wetting the head.
 
"Come up here then and kiss me, if you’re not going to make a proper job of it down there." Draco’s smirk was audible, putting on his most imperious tone as he wriggled out of the confines of his shirt, finally bared completely to Harry’s hungry gaze.
 
"I might have, if I wasn’t so rudely interrupted." Harry snarked as his kissed his way up Draco’s belly and chest, idly sucking on one pink nipple and grinding down into the instinctive thrust of the hips it induced from Draco. His cock hung heavy between his legs, and he couldn’t help but roll his hips again and again, the rub against Draco’s erection tacky with precome and hot with friction. Every drag and glide sent skittering sparks up his spine, electric in their intensity, shocking the breath from his lungs.
 
As he kissed across Draco’s chest to lavish the same attention on his other nipple, Harry’s attention was caught by another new feature on his lovers’ pale body. In addition to the faint tan, there were now freckles dusting Draco’s skin. Freckles so delicate and light that Harry didn’t notice them until he was inches from Draco’s skin. Freckles that somehow made Draco’s otherwise utterly unblemished skin more delectable than ever before. Harry was dropping kisses on them before he had made the conscious decision.
 
It was as he was tracing between three darker freckles around Draco’s nipple with his tongue that Harry’s brain caught up with what he was seeing, and he whipped his head up so fast he nearly put a crick in his neck.
 
"You vain bastard!" Draco’s nonplussed expression only goaded harry on. "All that bloody sulking about coming here. Because you get fucking freckles? You insufferable snob!"
 
"Are you alliterating on purpose? You sound ridiculous, you know. You should be putting that mouth to better use." An arched eyebrow, an affectedly casual drawl, an unsubtle wriggle of his hips.  
 
Classic Draco deflection techniques. He was actually uncomfortable with Harry pointing out the damn freckles.
 
It had been years since they got together, but Draco still found it hard to talk about things that made him self-conscious. His self-esteem still had peculiar gaps where his towering confidence suddenly deserted him, and Harry had become adept at negotiating them, bridging those gaps with quiet words or direct action.
 
Judging by Draco’s tart response and immediate attack on Harry, this wasn’t the time for gentle whispers. He leant down to drop one last kiss on Draco’s freckled pectoral before biting down on his nipple, gently at first, then with growing pressure, until the only response Draco could muster was gasping breaths at the shock of sensation.
 
Leaving his nipple red and swollen, Harry moved his attention to Draco’s neck. Lavishing sucking kisses to the column of his pale throat Harry began a slow but steady roll of his hips down against Draco, the full length of their bodies pressed tightly together, sweat already dampening their skin, unflagging erections dragging aching-hot-desperate against each other.
 
"Like this better do you?" He growled into the soft skin under Draco’s jaw, nipping at his adam’s apple as he gulped for air and moaned under him. "No clever words for me now Draco?" Another, harder, thrust down. "Just going to lie back and let me give it to you like I know you want it, hmm?"
 
At his words, Draco’s whole body relaxed under him. His arms fell from Harry’s shoulders to lie at his head, his legs splayed wide, his head tilted back, his body exposed at every single vulnerable point. Harry revelled in the unfettered access this granted him, rearing up onto his knees to better take in the sight of all of that skin. He dragged his fingertips down Draco’s body, from delicate collarbone to his waist, dipping into the sensitive dips below his hips, trailing down his inner thighs.
 
He studiously avoiding his straining cock.
 
Instead he sat back on his heels and gave his own length a lazy stroke, watching Draco’s eyes flutter open at the lack of contact. They immediately narrowed, focusing unerringly where Harry toyed absently with his own foreskin, smearing his precome over his shaft. Draco licked his lips, unconsciously, and his grey eyes darkened with simmering heat.
 
"Fucking do something you utter—" 
 
Harry neatly derailed Draco’s rising invective by the simple method of reaching forward and dipping the fingers of his right hand into Draco’s cleft and gently stroking between his cheeks, all the way up to his balls. Immediate silence filled the room. Draco’s eyes were still locked on Harry’s hands, but no words escaped him, his bottom lip pale where his teeth dug in.
 
Still fondling himself, Harry focused enough to wandlessly conjure lube on his fingers, slicking the way as he stroked his fingers across Draco’s entrance. At the first touch to his hole, Draco drew his legs up to his chest, hooking his own arms under his knees to hold himself open for Harry’s questing fingers.
 
The sight of Draco like that, exposed, shameless; his prick red and swollen against his belly, his arse clenching and releasing every time Harry dragged his fingers across it, forced Harry to shift his hold on the base of his own cock into a ruthless grip to slow down the coiling heat in his belly before it was all over too soon.
 
A sly smirk curled Draco’s lips at the sight. Sensing the upper hand he immediately capitalised on it, reaching down to hold his own cheeks open, his long fingers splayed out, leaving indents in tender flesh. 
 
Never one to be bested, especially by Draco, Harry retaliated immediately by pressing two fingers insistently against his clenching hole, knowing Draco loved the burn of a little too much, a little too fast. As they slid in to the first knuckle he darted a glance up at Draco’s face, deeply gratified to find his mouth slack and panting. And then Harry’s attention was back on the movement of his own fingers, the inexorable press inward, the tight heat around his digits. His own hole clenched in sympathy, or envy, as Harry began the slow slide in and out to stretch Draco enough to take him.
 
He never grew tired of this part of sex with Draco. He never lost that punch in the gut of sticky-hot arousal as he watched the pink rim of Draco’s hole clinging at his fingers as he dragged them in and out. He never grew tired of the way Draco’s breath hitched and stuck in his throat as Harry’s calloused fingertips stroked and pressed at the tender flesh inside of him. And he never took for granted that moment when Draco’s whole body writhed with ecstasy as Harry’s questing fingers finally brushed his prostate. 
 
Too lost in the waves of sensation, Draco didn’t even demand more. Harry kept his touch light, delicate, rubbing gently around that perfect spot inside of Draco. Even those feather-light touches were enough to start a quiver in Draco’s thighs, enough to make him clench rhythmically around Harry’s fingers, enough to break Harry’s determination to make him beg.
 
He gave one last tug on his own cock before stroking Draco’s thigh to get his attention. Grey eyes opened again, pupils blown wide, unfocused as he blinked through the continued movement of Harry’s fingers.
 
"Turn over, onto your knees."
 
Draco moved to pull away from Harry’s hand, to disengage them before he flipped over, but stopped short with a shocked gasp when Harry simply thrust his fingers in harder and crooked them to press hard and sudden against that electric bundle of nerves inside of him. Harry felt a fierce grin steal across his face as he watched Draco’s eyes roll back in stunned pleasure.
 
"Ah-ah – let's leave my fingers exactly where they are," Harry scolded. "Get on your knees for me, let me see how much you want it."
 
Draco was his most compliant when some part of Harry was inside him. And this was no exception. He didn’t try to pull away again, just navigated his leg over Harry’s arm as he slowly, achingly, turned himself over and rose onto his elbows and knees. As soon as he was settled, he dropped his chest low, his back arched and his arse high. Just watching the way the movement made his fingers tug at Draco’s hole had Harry groaning, the sensations of those slick walls rotating around his digits making his head spin. If the guttural moan that broke out of Draco was anything to go by, it felt as shockingly good on the receiving end too.
 
The changed angle meant it was even easier for Harry to manoeuvre his hand, using his thumb now to massage against Draco’s perineum – a duel attack on his prostate that dragged a ragged cry out of him as he slumped into the covers. 
 
Draco had been ready for his cock for a while now, neither of them tender virgins, but Harry loved fingering Draco on a visceral level. Loved to focus entirely upon his body. Some days he loved to bring him to orgasm just like this – Draco quivering as he came with only Harry’s fingertips inside him.
 
Today was not one of those days.
 
From this position he could see the faint tan line that Draco’s swimming trunks had left behind at his waist and on his thighs. He could see the way those sand coloured freckles graced his broad shoulders, the dimples at the base of his back, even the back of his knees.
 
Fingers still stroking that sensitive bundle of nerves, Harry leant down to kiss the flecks of colour that scattered across Draco’s back.
 
"Did you know you have them here too?" He murmured against sweat-slick skin. "Freckles, I mean."
 
Even in his state of fucked-out bliss, that comment caused a line of stress to suddenly radiate up Draco’s back. Harry felt the muscles tense under his tongue.
 
"Tiny little freckles, almost as fair as the rest of you."
 
Harry dropped one last kiss at the base of Draco’s spine and then drew back to look down at him. He finally dragged his fingers out of his hole and grabbed a palm-full of each pale arse-cheek to pull them apart, exposing Draco’s dusky pink furl to his hungry gaze.
 
He knew exactly what Draco needed. When he felt insecure or self-conscious, he needed Harry’s attention. Needed to know how wanted he was. How loved he was. Sometimes that was as simple as a compliment, sometimes a proud arm around his waist in public, or an unexpected gift. Sometimes it was this.
 
The sight of Draco splayed out, face pressed into the bed, hands helplessly grasping the covers as he allowed Harry to manipulate his body and just look made Harry’s mouth water. He let the saliva pool in his mouth and then carefully let the stream of spit drop right onto Draco’s twitching hole. It trickled down across pale bollocks, leaving his whole crease wet and shiny. Draco gasped, a tiny sound in the room, but it caught every part of Harry’s attention.
 
"Look at you. So fucking pretty. Shall I take you like this? Just spit to ease the way?"
 
Harry took his cock in hand, rubbing the head up and down Draco’s crack, his own saliva slicking the path. Draco was pushing back insistently, his body instinctively reacting, all pretence at restraint stripped away.
 
"Fuck- yes…Harry…please…fuck me now-" Draco’s words were muffled, his face still half pressed into the bed. 
 
Harry was half tempted to keep teasing him, but he was as desperate as Draco at this point and wasted no time conjuring more lube onto his cock. With his free hand he tilted Draco’s hips to the perfect angle, and bore down on him until the blunt head of his cock finally breached him. Both of them groaned, guttural and deep, at that first sensation of filling, and being filled.
 
After a deep breath to centre himself, Harry grabbed Draco firmly by the hips and steadily dragged him backwards onto his cock without pause. His blood roared in his ears, the sensation of finally being buried deep in Draco’s heat enough to make his toes curl. Sweat prickled on the back of his neck as he started thrusting with a fast, shallow rhythm, pounding into Draco’s hole with carefully controlled power.
 
Tiny punched out sounds were all he could hear from Draco, driven out of him with the force of Harry’s hips. A white knuckled grip on the dark bed covers seemed to be the only tension left in him, the rest of his body bouncing with each thrust he took. Harry was determined to take even that bit of resistance out of him.
 
Slowing their coupling, he slid his hands from Draco’s hips up his chest to wrap under his shoulders as he blanketed his lover’s body with his own. Once again he was struck by how perfectly they fit together; Draco’s arse nestled in the crest of his hips, Draco’s shoulders in the palm of his hands, chest to back – their hearts pounding together. 
 
This new position pushed Draco flat, gave him no leverage, Harry’s body weight bearing him down into the bed. Harry pressed his advantage and nudged Draco’s legs wider around his own, planting his knees slightly in order to power the dirty grind he started up. There was no furious thrusting to be had in this position, just a deep, deep, deeper rut that made Harry pant and Draco raggedly groan. 
 
Decisive action had been taken. Now was the time for gentle words.
 
"I think your freckles are beautiful." Whispered right into Draco’s ear, followed by a wet suck to his earlobe – prompting a desperate roll of his slim hips beneath Harry.
 
"Like kisses from the sun." Gasped into Draco’s neck as he clenched around Harry’s cock, their slow grind devolving into frenzied fucking for long moments until Harry could restrain himself.
 
"I want to lick every single one of them." A sucking kiss at the side of Draco’s throat, leaving a flushed red mark behind.
 
"I’m going to make constellations out of them." A bite at the juncture of shoulder and neck, the muscle jumping under Harry’s teeth, a strangled groan breaking out of Draco.
 
Finally Harry gave himself permission to let go. He reached up to grasp Draco’s hands; tangling their fingers together as he began to fuck him in earnest. Draco’s thighs had been shaking since before Harry’s cock was even in him, he was sure that he wasn’t far off orgasm, and the way he gripped Harry’s hands for dear life only made him surer.
 
Draped over him like this, it felt like they could simply melt into each other. The heat and friction and sheer fucking bliss building between them like an ocean Harry wanted to drown himself in. His own orgasm felt like it had been waiting all day; heat in his belly swirling lower and lower into his hips, his balls pulled high and tight.
 
Even in this reclined position he could thrust into Draco hard enough for the slap of skin on skin to be audible, enough to break through Draco’s constant moans and mewling. Enough to make him chant under his breath.
 
"Yes-yes-yes-Harry-yes-fuck-yes-"
 
Spurred on by the desperate tone of Draco’s voice, Harry drove into him savagely, chasing both of their peaks with every ounce of energy in his body. It was one particularly deep grind that finally sent Draco over the edge, every muscle going rigid, except for his passage which fluttered and clenched wildly around Harry’s length as he sobbed into the covers.
 
Harry couldn’t stop the momentum he had built up, hammering into Draco while he squirmed with oversensitivity beneath him. His own orgasm was coiled like a snake at the base of his spine, ready to strike. It was the sight of the love bite he had left at the base of Draco’s throat that drew Harry to his own oblivion. The mark he had left, along with all of these new sun-kissed freckles, that brought his possessive desire to boiling point.
 
With one final thrust Harry buried himself deep in Draco’s body, tucking his face into his pale neck, gripping his hands tightly as his orgasm blinded him with its intensity. As the aftershocks rippled through him, he lazily ground his hips, luxuriating in the wet slick his own come created around his spent cock. Draco even tilted his hips up, eager for the obscene sensation of Harry’s seed being fucked into him. 
 
Harry relaxed his fierce grip on Draco’s elegant hands and nuzzled at his cheek until he properly turned his head to receive a lush, open-mouthed kiss, both of them clumsy in the aftermath of their orgasms. 
 
With deep regret Harry gently pulled out, pleased at the dissatisfied sound Draco made at the move. Warm lassitude was already weighing his muscles down, so with his last vestiges of energy he bodily dragged them both to the head of the bed. 
 
Nestled in the plush pillows, with Draco lying across his chest, and a profound afterglow settling into every cell of his being, Harry decided a holiday like this should become a regular thing. 
 
His body felt sun-warmed down to the bones, the open window admitted the calm sound of the sea, the sweet scent of the garden; Harry’s arms were wrapped around the love of his life, and if he reached down enough…yes, he could slide his fingertips through the slick mess of his own come as it slipped out of Draco’s arse. 
 
It was the perfect end to a perfect day, as far as Harry was concerned.
 
Draco seemed to agree if the way he draped his leg across Harry’s hips was anything to go by, allowing Harry’s lazily questing fingers freedom of movement. 
 
"You’re a dirty bastard you know, playing with your mess like that." He nipped at Harry’s chest. "I expect you to clean that up before you fall asleep"
 
Harry snorted and then hummed in agreement, the insult a familiar part of their post-coital routine. 
 
Draco’s thumb brushed back and forth across Harry’s arm as they lay together, ever more slowly, ever more softly as he drifted towards slumber. Harry’s own heart had calmed from its thundering gallop, his body sinking into the soft cotton bedclothes, the warmth and closeness of Draco’s body filling him with absolute satisfaction. 
 
Just as Harry thought Draco might have actually dropped off to sleep, he broke the silence of the room with a sly tone of voice.
 
"I think we should spend tomorrow at the beach."
 
"Yeah? You sure?"
 
"Yes." Draco raised his head from Harry’s chest, an arch look on his face. "We should go to the nudist beach. I want to see if I freckle everywhere."
 
Harry barked a laugh and pulled Draco further into his arms, casting a wandless cleaning charm over both of them before dragging the covers over their cooling bodies. He couldn’t help the wave of smug satisfaction that he knew was written all over his face. Another of Draco’s insecurities thoroughly dealt with, and Harry could see all of their future holidays including sun-drenched beaches and freckles.