"Well? Are you coming in?" Potter asks, smile widening. His naked shoulders glisten in the candlelight. His hair's wet and sticking up and out and this way and that, as if he dunked himself in the Prefects' bath and re-emerged only to shake dry like some sort of Crup.
Draco takes three steps and stops.
Potter's eyes twinkle. "It's not like I haven't seen it, Draco."
The sound of his name thrills through Draco's body, but he stays stuck.
Potter goes on, his voice dipping low. "It's not like I haven't touched it."
Draco's cheeks heat. "I'm aware."
And he is, indeed. Potter used to be the last person Draco would have imagined himself messing about with. But now that it's been a couple months and they've messed about nearly everywhere inside or out of the castle that two ambitious wizards with hard-ons for one another can… well, Draco knows very well where Potter has touched and kissed and groped. And where he hasn't. Yet. Which is perhaps what's keeping Draco standing here rather than diving in immediately and snogging the shiny-wet git.
Potter bobs in the bubbles, dark nipples cresting now and again. Draco feels a touch dizzy from the smell of the perfumed steam rising from the bath.
Potter nods to Draco's robes. "Strip and get in with me then. Or do you think I'm taking the piss? I'm naked in here, you know."
Draco sighs. He firms his jaw and rips his robes over his head. Potter's smile returns full-force.
"I had half a mind not to show up tonight," Draco tells him even as he gets his jumper off. "I owe Babbling two feet of parchment on the origins of magical hieroglyphs." It helps to say this. It almost sounds true, the part about not showing up.
"It's not my fault you took Ancient Runes instead of Herbology. All I have to do is keep my Chinese Chomping Cabbage alive for another week."
Potter's gaze follows all of Draco's movements as he strips off his tie and shirt. Draco hesitates only a moment before he takes down his trousers, shedding his shoes and socks with them.
Potter raises his eyebrows. "Still just slightly over-dressed, Malfoy."
Draco forces a look of near-boredom as he takes off his pants and discards them. He doesn't know why he's still shy about it. Potter seems to like... it... an awful lot. Draco plants his hands on his hips and huffs, as though it's some hardship to endure Potter's gaze roving over him so hungrily.
"Not nearly. Care to spin around?"
Draco folds his arms over his chest, heat building over his skin.
"Are you cross with me?" Potter looks positively gleeful. "Can I make you a bit more crossed so you stomp away and I can watch it twitch and jiggle with ire? It's really cute, you know, when it twitches and jiggles with—"
Draco Summons his wand and points it at Potter's chest. Potter raises his arms in surrender which may not be entirely mock. "I like your arse, Draco. Is that worth the wand?"
Draco sighs. "I was just going to warm the water."
Potter lowers his hands.
"Besides, it's not news that you… like it. That's why we're here, isn't it, Potter?" Draco looks anywhere but Potter's face. Blast, his knees are sweating. Draco didn't even know knees could sweat.
"It's more than that."
Draco meets his gaze, and his sweaty knees nearly go out. Sometimes Potter's earnestness, his un-Slytherinness, takes Draco's breath away. Though it really shouldn't. He's earnest and unSlytherin quite a lot.
Potter swallows, seems to at least partially regret abandoning their soothing banter, and quirks a smile at him.
Draco plants his hands on his hips again, feeling a bit bolstered by Potter's warm regard. This is, after all, the boy he's been sneaking away to get off with on a regular basis. They've done… nearly everything. The skin over Draco's chest warms, and the flush starts to rise tellingly up his throat.
"Don't get me wrong – you're nice to look at – but are you getting in? Because we could go somewhere else… do something else… if you wanted. I mean, it's not like we have to be here. Not that I don't" – he gulps – "want to. With you."
Draco takes a deep breath, tosses his wand aside, and saunters – well, attempts to saunter – toward the bath. Potter licks his lips. Draco's prick likes the gesture and gives a little leap upward.
Potter stares blatantly between his legs, and as soon as Draco steps into the water, Potter pulls him by the hand – "Come here." He gets Draco where he wants him, standing on the steps, the water licking his thighs. Potter kisses his hip, his stomach. He takes Draco's cock and angles it into his mouth on a groan.
"Ohhh," Draco whines before he can stop himself. His head drops back, eyes closing. Bloody hell. "Erm..." He makes himself pry his eyelids open. It is rather rewarding to peer down at Potter doing that. "So, did you, ah, did you give them a good, oh Merlin yes, uh, excuse as to—" His hand clenches tight in Potter's hair when he laps under the crown. "Merlin! Uh... as to why you'll be so late, that is?"
"Fuck. I mean, fuck. I mean, good. So did I." To be precise, he'd told his friends the same two-foot-parchment story he gave Potter. Truthfully, he'll stay up all night writing on it if he has to. He's a bent eighteen year-old wizard who's recently discovered Harry Potter wants to have sex with him every chance they get. Draco does have his priorities.
Potter's hands slide up the backs of his thighs and onto his arse. He squeezes. Draco widens his stance automatically. He tells himself it's so that he's got better balance. If asked, he would deny it's to help Potter's fingers find their way into the crack of his arse... to the place he fears for them to go and for which he also yearns. Draco bites his lip and watches Potter's messy head bob.
"Because I think it's best if, ohhh, erm, best if we have a g-good amount of... uh, time," he gulps, "for..." Merlin, he can't even say the word 'it'. The word 'it' suddenly has impossibly scandalous connotations.
Potter sucks off only long enough to assert, "We've got loads of time." Then he's back to it, and bloody hell, YES his fingers dip in a bit, and he strokes slowly up and down, over that place, again and again, while he sucks gently, glancing up at Draco.
"Stop!" Draco cries, pushing at his head.
Potter blinks at him.
"No, it's just that... Bloody hell, it's... I..."
"I know." Potter licks his lips. "I know, Draco. Fuck, I'm so hard."
Draco feels faint again, and Potter seems to understand that. He moves so that he's sitting on the bench that runs the length of the pool. "Come here." He pulls Draco into his lap, and Draco straddles his hips. "Okay?" Potter asks.
But what if it isn't? What if this isn't okay? How will he know that? And when will he know for sure? When Potter's pushing it in? Because that seems a little late. But what if, at the last minute, he can't?
"We really don't have to, you know."
Potter's hands grip and loosen on his hips, and Draco thinks maybe he doesn't even realise he's doing it. He says it again. "We don't have to do it."
Merlin, there it is.
Potter shakes his head. "No, we could—" His gaze drops to Draco's lips. "Do other stuff."
Draco edges a little closer, and Potter's arms wrap around him. "What other stuff?" He's not stupid, of course. He just wants to hear Potter say it. One thing that Draco's realised about this whole thing, whatever it is, is that he really, really likes when Potter talks about it.
"Merlin," Potter sighs. Then he does the thing: He leans in and puts his mouth close to Draco's ear. "You could—" He licks his lips. "—finish. In my mouth."
Potter scoots closer, too, and their pricks press against one another. "Or this? We could just... move like this?"
"Or you could suck me."
"Fuck yes." Draco thrusts in Potter's lap, hands carding into his hair.
"We could—" Potter pulls back enough that their mouths meet.
They kiss, hot and panting, tongues deep and teeth scraping lips. Sometimes Potter whispers, "Fuck," like it's some sort of spell or prayer, and sometimes their mouths are pressed together too hard, but all the while, they're moving. Potter's hands grab Draco's arse, and they rock together. Draco whines into the kiss, nearing the edge again, so close.
He pushes at Potter's chest and breaks the kiss. "Wait."
Draco's chest pangs with how readily he says it, how quickly he simply does as Draco asks. Even though he looks a bit crazed for it now.
Draco licks his lips. He shuts his eyes, because he doesn't think he can look at Potter when he says it. When he asks for it. "One finger?"
"Oh god yes," Potter breathes. "Yes?" he checks.
Draco nods. "Did you bring any—?"
Potter lifts a hand, and a pot of lubricant zooms into it.
Potter smiles, all lopsided and daft.
"Plonker," Draco says, to get things on more familiar ground between them.
"Ponce," Potter readily joins in. He unscrews the pot and dips a finger in before setting it aside.
"Won't it wash off?"
"I bought it special made. You'll have to use a spell to remove it."
"Oh. Okay." It occurs to Draco that Potter's really prepared for this, maybe researched this, has gone out with a shopping list for things like lubricants that won't wear off during anal sex in water. Draco wants to ask which shops Potter went to, if he was nervous, if he actually had to ask multiple potions clerks for 'lubricant that will keep my ex-enemy-and-possibly-boyfriend's arse really slick during intercourse, because we're both virgins and it needs to feel good.'
Potter went out and bought lubricant. He actually looked another witch or wizard in the eye and exchanged a couple Galleons. Or maybe he had it Owled in? Either way, he went to some trouble and—
"Draco? Do you still want to?"
Draco nods. "Y-yes. Of course. Uh, wh-what do I do?"
"Just tell me if it hurts. Or if you need me to stop." Potter waits for him to nod again before his hand disappears into the water, and he feels around Draco's bum for the right spot. When he finds it, he circles gently, and Draco whimpers. Potter asks, "All right?"
"Mm-hmm." It's stupid, but he's not ready to look Potter in the eye while he puts his finger up there, so even though it's against his better judgement, Draco moves in a bit closer and lets his forehead rest on Potter's damp shoulder.
Potter immediately cups his neck with his other hand. Draco lets out all his breath.
Potter pushes. He retreats. He does it again.
It feels so good to be just almost breached. But not quite good enough. Maybe that's the point. Maybe Potter's trying to get him hot for it, get him to want it so much he begs. Draco widens his knees and, very slightly, arches his back.
"Christ, Draco..." Potter pushes in again, but this time he doesn't relent, and with a gasp from both of them, the tip of his index finger dips inside.
Draco turns his face into the curve of Potter's neck.
"Yes," Draco whispers.
Potter's finger slips in to what feels like the knuckle. Draco pants into his neck, his hands tightening around Potter's arms. Potter's finger pulls almost all the way out, and Draco shivers a little. It feels nearly as good as when he pushed it in. Potter presses in the same amount, and then eases out. He's pulling gently at the ends of Draco's hair as he fingers him.
"Is that… half?" Draco asks, blushing fiercely.
"Oh. Yeah. About. Is that okay?"
Draco nods. "Yeah. It's—" He swallows thickly. "—good." Potter's fingers brush the nape of his neck, and he shivers violently.
Potter exhales. Draco thinks he can feel him smiling. His slippery finger fucks slowly and gently into Draco's arse up to that knuckle. Well, almost up to it. Draco's a bit afraid of that knuckle if he's honest. And yet Potter's finger, what there is of it inside him, feels so bloody fantastic. It's not long before Draco's moving a little bit in counterpoint. His cock, having flagged a little in fear, is fully hard again and leaking against Potter's stomach.
"M-more?" he murmurs against Potter's neck.
Potter doesn't double check this time. Draco simply feels his finger pushing, that knuckle opening him up a tiny bit more, yet it feels like a lot. He holds his breath as Potter pushes past the knuckle. But as he lets himself exhale, it blooms through him – this intoxicating arousal. It's different than Potter stroking his cock, that faster, sharper rise toward orgasm. This… it's no less. In fact, it's deeper. He feels the heady, confusing mix of emotions flooding his veins like a potion: shame and lust, degradation and desire. Draco feels humiliated that someone is stroking inside his arse, is feeling him there, both because of the act and because of how much he wants it.
Draco feels excited by the idea of pushing past this shame, of letting Potter do this, letting Potter take him further. Of letting himself be opened. And then filled.
"Please…" he whines, and Potter answers without pause, fucking his finger in and out, tickling with the tip on the retreat only to thrust easily past his thick knuckle in the next breath. Draco clutches at him. His cock leaks out a whole stream of pre-come at the delightful burn of friction as Potter goes a little faster. Draco widens trembling legs. He didn't know. He just didn't know this would feel so good.
"God, Draco. You're… you're… Fuck, I love doing this to you."
Hearing that, in Potter's aroused voice, gives Draco just enough courage to ask again, "More?"
"This angle," Potter says. "I don't think I can get deeper like this."
He withdraws his finger slowly, and Draco gasps. He feels hot and tingly all over.
"Can I… get behind you?"
Draco's hands tighten on his arms. Those words send a bolt of arousal through him so sharp it's almost agony. His cock twitches. He nods.
Draco climbs off Potter's lap.
"Here," Potter says. He Summons his wand and casts a softening charm on the side of the pool.
Draco positions himself, laying himself out over the cushioned edge, arse on display, the warm water lapping at the backs of his thighs, kissing his bollocks. "Like this?"
"Holy Merlin yes," Potter breathes. "I mean. Is that all right?"
"Yeah." Heat flares up his entire back, and Draco is sure Potter sees it. In fact, in this position, Potter can see everything. He can watch. Draco hides his blushing face in the pillow of his arms – but he opens his legs. His cock aches with how wickedly good it feels, exposing himself to Potter.
Potter picks up the lube again and does things Draco can't see. Draco can feel him getting settled between his thighs. Then a slick finger strokes over the pucker of Draco's arsehole. Draco's first instinct is to clench closed. But three more tender strokes later, he exhales and relaxes – and he hears Potter's breath go ragged behind him before he feels the new, slow but relentless slide of Potter's finger into his arse. And this time, there's no stopping until it's all the way inside him. Draco hears himself make this horrid mewling sound. He clamps his lips closed. He knows if he doesn't, he's going to beg.
Potter's other hand comes to rest on his lower back, warm and reassuring. "How's that?"
"So good," Draco sighs.
"Good. Good." And Potter sounds genuinely pleased. Not gloating, but excited and nervous and happy. He starts to fuck Draco with his whole finger. And Draco wants to burst out of his skin with it.
"You're so soft," Potter murmurs to him wonderingly.
"No. No, it's good. Most everywhere else you're sharp… and hard. But here… You're… tight. And warm. And slippery. And… Merlin, Draco don't hex me, but … your arsehole's so pink, and it's got this golden ring of soft hair around…" Potter traces Draco's rim, and when he speaks next it's almost more to himself, "It's so soft."
Draco's face flames where he's got it buried in his arms. A whimper of a 'fuck you' is on his lips, just to save face, even though he feels brilliant, absolutely brilliant. But then Potter pushes his finger back inside, and all Draco manages is a rather desperate moan. Potter turns his finger this way and then that on each new stroke. He pushes in a little harder, and Draco gasps.
"Did I hurt you?"
Draco shakes his head. "Nnnn-no." He arches his back a little more. He doesn't thrust back into Potter's hand. He just holds himself still and open and lets Potter finger-fuck him – and it's brilliant and wicked and dirty. "Potter?"
"Yeah." Potter's finger continues screwing into him, and his voice has gone deep and low.
Potter stills. Draco can practically hear him thinking in the stunned silence. "But… this is my whole finger."
Draco can't help but smile at that. "Then I suspect I'm asking for two."
"Oh," Potter says. "Oh. You're sure?"
Draco nods, burying his face again. Potter pulls his finger out. Draco feels empty and cold, and his cock throbs where it's trapped between his body and the cushion. There's the wet sound of the lubricant, then Potter circles two fingers at Draco's entrance.
Draco cannot help but gasp. Oh god, why did he ask for more? What was he thinking? It'll be too much, won't it? Potter's hands aren't slender and pureblood-dainty like Draco's. He's got a man's hands. It's going to hurt now. Draco braces.
"Hey," Potter whispers. Then he's covering Draco's back, lain gently atop him. His lips brush behind Draco's ear. "It's okay. I won't hurt you." Potter's fingers just slowly pet his arsehole. Draco sighs back into relaxation. "If you don't like it, I'll stop. Or I don't have to at all, we could—"
Draco turns his head, and, cheeks burning, meets Potter's gaze. "Potter," he says. "Do it."
Potter searches his eyes but, even still, pushes. Draco feels the resistance of his body giving way – and then there's the slow, wonderful burn of it, up and up and up.
"Yeah?" Potter asks.
Draco's eyes flutter closed, and he lays his head back down, lifting his hips for Potter's fingers. "Yesss."
Potter turns his hand, the slick easing the way, and seats his fingers in Draco until his hand nudges his balls.
Draco grunts, Potter whispers, "Oh fuck," and then Potter starts again, pushing in, turning his wrist, and it sends a tingling heat straight into Draco's cock. Draco can no longer stay still for it. He starts rolling his hips back, arching into the apex of Potter's thrust.
"Does that feel good?" Potter's lips move softly on his back.
"Can I go faster?"
"Oh god yes."
Potter ceases the twisting motion. He pushes off Draco's back again. He thrusts with his arm now, just holding his fingers straight and still as he fucks. Lightning erupts up Draco's spine. He obeys his body's desire and holds still for it again. He just lets Potter do it, just lies there with his legs spread so wide they ache and lets Potter make him feel better than perhaps ever he has.
There is a thrumming, continuous sound, and it takes Draco a moment to realise it's him – that he's moaning. He'd be ashamed of it except that he's reasonably sure Potter can't hear him over his own panting breath. He's reasonably sure about something else, too: if Potter keeps this up, Draco's going to come.
Potter slows at the foreign sound of his name. And Draco truly didn't mean to say it. He didn't. He only uses it when he's alone. And he hardly ever voices it aloud. It's just this secret thing that happens in the quiet of his mind.
"Three," Draco says. "I want three."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course not."
"I'll tell you if it hurts too much," Draco insists.
"O-okay." For the first time, it's Potter who sounds a bit scared.
Draco lifts his head to look at him again. "You're… you're good at this, all right?"
Potter blinks, stunned for a moment, but then he beams.
Draco rolls his eyes. "Oh Merlin." He drops his head again, because it's too much having Potter look at him like that. It's easier to embrace whatever shred of animosity might be left between them than to admit what that smile does to the rapidly beating heart inside Draco's chest. "Don't go all Hufflepuff on me. Be a bloody Gryffindor and give me a thirrr-oh!"
Potter pauses, the tips of three of his fingers stretching Draco's rim. "Draco?"
"Should I stop?"
"N-no. Don't stop. Just… go slow. All right?"
"Like this?" Potter eases his fingers maybe an inch inside and back out again. That same inch inside, and back out.
"Oh yes like that," Draco breathes. Because that is oh so very good. It almost tickles. Even while it teases him with how it's going to ache. "Oh, Potter, like that."
"You like how that feels?" Potter's voice goes all breath.
Draco nods, lifting up on his knees a bit for an answer, his inner thighs screaming.
"Oh," Potter sighs. "I can see your cock when you do that. Merlin, look how hard you are."
Draco whines. His cock leaks at Potter's words, at his fingers pushing in a half inch more and filling him up. The whine turns to a long, unabashed groan. Draco's pre-come strings an undignified line from the tip of his cock to the side of the pool.
Potter withdraws his fingers, pushes them back in, withdraws, pushes back in, each time going just a bit farther, only the slightest bit. Draco gets so lost in it, his head goes slightly foggy and muddled and empty in this wonderful way that makes him feel like he's safe no matter what, that it's okay to feel this good, to need this much, because Potter keeps giving it to him, and so he doesn't realise at all when…
All Draco has known is how brilliant he feels, how warm and aroused. But now he feels Potter's hand slapping up against his bollocks as his fingers, all three of them, bottom out inside his arse.
The slick friction is heaven. It's bloody perfect. And yet his body feels like it's climbing toward something. Something he can't even hope to grasp onto. And he wants…
Potter's fingers sink inside him and halt. Draco throbs around them.
"Do you want… my pinkie finger, too?" Potter asks.
"Are you, Harry Potter, so patient a bloke that you would give it to me if I asked?" Draco sighs.
"Well… I… Yes." Yet every word out of his mouth and every pause in between sounds like 'of course', and Draco knows that he is. Harry Potter is patient and caring and good.
Draco remembers holding out his hand to be shaken and instead meeting rejection. He remembers thinking he would die and that hand reaching out for him through the smoke and heat instead. Both because of how very good Harry Potter is. And, for Draco, everything else between those two moments falls away.
"I want you to fuck me, Harry."
A whoosh of breath leaves Potter's lungs. His fingers pull halfway out of Draco's loosened arse, his lips descending to Draco's lower back and pressing a kiss there.
"My legs, though. I can't…"
"Oh, of course." Potter withdraws, and Draco hisses in pain as he rolls over onto his side, letting his poor legs shut finally.
"Bloody hell," Draco groans. He rests there for a moment, letting the complaint in his muscles and tendons subside. "You know what I think would be good for overstretched muscles?" he asks Potter, his eyes still shut on the weakening pain.
"A hot bath?"
"Indeed, Potter." He squints one eye open. "Will you help me?" Draco holds out his hand.
"Yeah." Potter takes it. His fingers are warm and dry (the other hand, Draco realises); they're strong and solid and gentle, and Draco has a very distinct feeling he could become obsessed with Potter's hands if he's not careful. And, in the space of even thinking that and feeling Potter's fingers give his a reassuring squeeze, well, there's no 'could become', is there? There's only the deep, involuntary flutter in Draco's chest and that tight warmth in his belly.
Draco sits and then gingerly slips back into the welcoming heat of the pool. "Oh that's nice." He smiles.
Potter smiles back at him. He wraps his arms around Draco's back, pulling him close. Their half-hard cocks nuzzle between their bodies, and a frisson of pleasure spirals up Draco's spine. His arse aches. It's still open from Potter's fingers, but it won't be for long. Draco bites his lip and worms a hand between them, wrapping his fist around Potter's cock.
"Do you still want to?"
Potter gasps, his prick swelling in Draco's hand. "Are you joking?"
Draco leans in and kisses the words onto the shell of Potter's ear. "Are you nervous?"
"Yeah. I mean, of course." That deep, trembling voice gives Draco strength.
Draco lifts his feet from the floor of the pool. It's nothing for Potter to hold him up, the water carrying his weight. Draco releases Potter's erect cock and wraps his legs around Potter's waist. "I'm not afraid," he whispers.
"I don't know if that helps, honestly," Potter says.
Draco's unsure if he's even telling Potter the truth. His pulse is fast, his breath short, sure markings of fear. But he also almost wants to laugh. Draco leans back a bit, takes Potter's face in his hands, and kisses him. He slides his tongue between Potter's lips, and that's all it takes for Potter to plunge his tongue into Draco's mouth and moan. Draco wants to smile, but it's hard to smile while someone's kissing you – when that someone is Harry Potter.
Potter backs him up against the side of the pool again, but this time Draco lays his head back into the cushion, hopefully at a different spot than the one his cock's leaked all over, but hey. He feels good enough not to care about that right this minute, though when all's said and done he and Potter may have a few words on the matter if he comes away with his own spunk in his hair. Maybe. It's difficult to care when Potter's kissing him slow and hot, and Draco can feel him fumbling around, trying to get his cock lined up.
Harry Potter's cock. Oh, Merlin.
But then the fat head is pushing against his slick entrance. Potter breaks the kiss to ask, "Ready?"
Draco nods jerkily. "Yeah." His heart's going to break free of his chest.
Draco watches Potter's eyes flare – then the concentrated look that comes over him. He bites his bottom lip, shoves a little, and his cock slips off to the side. "Bugger."
Potter slants him a look, half warning, and it builds a beautiful heat in Draco's core. Potter feels around some more, grunts a little. He looks Draco in the eye, bites that lip again, and gives a little thrust. Draco gasps as the head breaches him, wide as Potter's three fingers were at their deepest yet all at once. Draco's lost the breath to speak, and Potter surges forward, half his cock sliding in. The only response Draco can have is to clamp down.
Harry nods, red in the face and frowning in real effort. "Dr-draco…"
"Wait, just—Oh my god."
"Are you okay?" Harry pants. "Does it hurt?" While he waits for the answer, Harry pushes some stray damp hair out of Draco's face, confident and tender and easy. It steals Draco's breath for an instant.
"Maybe? Um…just…" Draco breathes. He looks at Harry biting his lip so hard it looks painful. "O-okay."
Potter nods. "I will." He holds Draco by the hips and drives forward, eases back, drives forward a little more, eases back.
"Oh god…" Draco's eyes roll shut.
"Good like that?"
"Oh my god…" It burns, but somehow that's good. It's warm, and it's wet, and he's tingling, it feels like all over. Harry Potter is fucking him. Harry's cock is moving inside him. Draco closes his eyes and whispers it: "Brilliant."
Draco smiles. "So bloody brilliant."
"Like this?" Potter thrusts a little faster, still not pushing any deeper.
Draco whines. "Oh Merlin yes."
He can't help arching into it, and his nipples clear the water's surface. Immediately, Potter's on one, licking and biting and humming as he fucks. And his tongue, his teeth, his lips, his slick cock are making Draco absolutely crazy for him. "Oh Harry. Oh god please Harry. Please. I think… I think… more now."
Harry lifts wet lips from Draco's sore nipple to pant, "Yeah?"
Harry growls and shoves his cock up Draco's arse until they're pressed tight together, until Draco's once again gasping, his arse stretched wide around the girth of Harry's thick cock. Until Harry's moving again, rutting, and he's panting against Draco's neck. Draco clutches at his shoulders, his hair, and what began as a bright stinging pain now dulls to heat and ache. What seemed like too much a moment ago is now so perfect. Tears build behind Draco's eyes. Once again, he's spreading his legs, opening himself, and Potter is there to fill him. He pumps Draco full over and over, and the slick friction has Draco's mouth dropping open. The water laps at their bodies, sloshes over the side. Potter whips his hips and instead of being painful, it's just right. Draco's cock lays in the crevice of his hip, leaking and ready. Potter squeezes the globes of his arse, and it changes the shape of him around Potter's cock, and they both gasp.
"Okay?" Potter asks.
"Oh holy fuck more than, you idiot."
Potter looks into his face. Draco's lips quirk up, and he'd laugh if he weren't so close to coming. Harry raises his hands and smooths the hair from Draco's face again. "Draco…" His gaze touches everywhere. He's thrusting deep inside Draco's body. He bites his lip, closes his eyes, holds his breath… and then he comes. Draco watches Harry come, his brows creasing, mouth opening on a groan. He pounds into Draco hard and slow. His eyes slowly open again, fixing on Draco's face, his pupils dilated. He fucks, shaking, so deep and so slow. It's frightening, how beautiful it is to watch.
Hot come pulses inside him, and Draco watches Harry's face tense and relax with each wave of it.
"Merlin, that's the hottest thing I've ever seen," Draco tells him.
And then the great Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, blushes, unable to look at him, and buries his face in the crook of Draco's neck to finish. Draco cups the back of his head. Before he thinks, he kisses Potter's temple.
After a long moment in which Draco wonders if Potter might be falling asleep inside him, Potter lifts his head. "Wow," he breathes. His hair is a riot, his lids drooping. "Did you…?"
Draco can only shake his head. His cock is throbbing, and he's nearly ready to beg Harry to touch it.
"Fuck, Draco, I'd meant to—I sort of got too, er—" Potter's cock slips out of his arse. "I'm sorry."
"Just... give me your hand?"
Okay, so Potter goes a little barmy after he comes. Good to know. Draco might be amused except that he's dying to come, too. "Your dominant one."
Potter quirks him a daft smile and holds his right up out of the water.
Draco takes it, folds down all but two fingers. "I think this should really do it."
Draco turns in his arms.
"Really?" Potter breathes. He strokes between the globes of Draco's arse.
Draco gasps, already swollen and sore. "Actually, maybe just one?"
"Mmm." Potter's kissing his shoulder, up to the back of his neck, across to the other shoulder. He circles one finger around Draco's rim and then gently pushes it in all the way. Potter grunts in appreciation, tenderly biting at Draco's flesh and starting to finger-fuck him. His other hand slides around onto Draco's stomach and then down. His fingers run through Draco's wet curls first, and Draco's cock jumps.
"Bloody hell, Potter," Draco growls.
Mercifully, Potter takes his cock in his hand and then times tugging on it with the press of his finger into Draco's arse.
Draco lays his head back on Potter's shoulder.
Potter murmurs behind his ear, "I'm sorry for the sloppy hand job. It's my left and—"
"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck… Harry…!" Draco's balls tighten and he comes.
"Or that, okay." Potter kisses his ear, tightens his fist under the crown, tickles at Draco's rim with the tip of that glorious finger, and Draco shakes and gasps in his arms.
His climax comes to an end, and Draco sags back against Potter's body. Potter's finger slips from inside him, and he lets go of Draco's cock. He rests a hand on Draco's hip, the other working its way onto his stomach. Potter's body is so solid at his back, so alive. Draco can feel the beating of his heart, a shuddering breath stirring his hair.
And Draco feels so bloody good, thrumming and sated.
A moment more and Potter's hand shifts on his stomach, roaming up onto his ribcage. The silence starts to feel thick and heavy. Draco knows he can't stay like this, leaned against Potter's chest all night, but...
What will Potter expect? Do they just get out, get dressed, and leave? Do they need to call each other some colourful names?
Maybe he could just stay here… never have to turn around… never take the chance.
"Can I… kiss you?" Potter asks at his ear.
And why didn't Draco think of that? It's really the perfect reason to face him, the best excuse. It certainly beats, 'I've two feet of parchment for Babbling, you horny git.'
So Draco turns, slinking his arms around Potter's neck. Their lips meet, and for a strange moment, it's so gentle. Then Potter smiles; Draco smiles. Potter opens Draco's lips and deepens it. Draco relishes the strength in him, the heat of his skin. The perfumes are once again making him dizzy. Or something.
Potter pulls back. He sighs.
"Had enough?" Draco asks. He tries to sound like his prickliest self, but he thinks it comes out a tad breathless. Bollocks.
But Potter just grins at him, that full-force smile that makes Draco's knees sweat. He says, "Not nearly." And then he kisses Draco again.