Chapter Text
“Hey.”
“What the ever-loving fuck are you doing here?”
Harry rolls his eyes. “Nice to see you, too.”
“Fuck you.”
“Me-ow.”
“Seriously! Who invited you?”
“I invited myself, actually,” Harry grins, taking the empty seat next to Draco and watching his pretty face twist into a mean scowl. “And it’s a free country, is it not? There’s nothing exclusive about this party, I don’t need an invite to be here.”
Draco huffs. “Well … why are you here?” he gestures at the area surrounding him specifically. “With me? I need you to go and bother somebody else tonight. I refuse to entertain your foolishness when this is supposed to be a — ”
“A what? An evening spent sitting alone at the bar at a boring party?”
Draco’s already red face deepens in colour, much to Harry’s pleasure. He loves getting under his skin. That way, his eventual submission is all the more satisfying. “No. I’m here for a reason. And you, sir, are getting in my way.”
“Hm. How so?”
“How am I supposed to garner the attention of any eligible bachelors when the bloody Saviour is seated so close to me, giving the aforementioned eligible bachelors the false impression that I am not available?”
“That’s a lot of words for I’m trying to get railed tonight.”
“Fuck you.”
“Just ask and I’m yours,” he grins, and Draco glares.
There’s a lull in the conversation, punctuated by the party music and Draco’s annoyed and endearing huffing and puffing.
Then Harry clears his throat. “You haven’t called me for a while.”
Draco shrugs, holding his head up high. “Yes. And?”
“And. I know exactly what that means.”
Draco raises a single brow, blinking slowly. He looks unimpressed. “It means I’ve forgotten you exist. It means I’m completely and utterly over you, no matter how much your overinflated ego tries to convince you otherwise. It means — ”
“It means you haven’t been properly fucked in ages.”
There’s another silence — well, save for Draco’s outraged stuttering and spluttering. Eventually, he manages a semi-full sentence. “Fuck you! You — you crass oaf! You and your — assumptions and accusations and — this is why we could never work out! Because you’re so — so!”
Harry can’t help it when he smirks, too amused to care about how it may only further drive Draco’s anger toward him. “I’m so … what?”
“Insufferable!”
“Mhm.”
“That is what you are. Insufferable. And awful. And disgusting and just the worst person in the world. Did you know that?”
“Eh. You might have mentioned it once or twice.”
“You should always be reminded of it.”
It’s been just under 6 months since they broke up. Their relationship had been a rollercoaster and a half, mentally and emotionally. They hadn’t ended on good terms at all, and for the first few weeks after they definitively ended it, Draco hadn’t called or texted or tried to contact him in any way, shape or form. Then, on one random unsuspecting night in the middle of October, exactly 3 weeks and 4 days after their breakup, Harry got a frantic call from Draco, begging him to come over. And Harry went over, because of course he did, it sounded like an emergency, and as mad as he was at Draco, and as much as he tried to convince himself that he absolutely fucking hated the git, it sounded like an emergency, and he still really, really cared about him for some fucked up reason.
Long story short, the emergency in question had been Draco on his bed with 3 of his fingers buried deep inside his leaking cunt and tears running down his face. Harry had stripped down without a second thought, bounding quickly over to the quivering blond and sinking into the tight wet heat he had been missing out on and fucking him into oblivion.
It became a bit of a routine after that — Draco would call or text or floo or even spontaneously apparate to Grimmauld and Harry would fuck him right then and there. According to Draco, every time was going to be The Last Time, and Harry never believed him because it never was The Last Time.
Then one day it just stopped, and now it’s been 2 months since Draco’s last text/call/floo/spontaneous apparition. Harry won’t say it out loud, especially not to the big-headed blond himself, but he misses him. Or, more accurately, he misses fucking him.
And they’re both here now — no coincidences, on Harry’s part — and Harry will be damned if he goes home tonight without Draco.
Draco is still ranting, his cheeks a pretty pink that just about matches his lips, his eyes wild and his hands waving about. He’s reiterating all of the reasons why their relationship had ultimately failed — and, of course, according to him, every reason can be traced back to Harry and Harry alone. Harry’s shitty work-life balance, Harry’s recklessness, Harry’s saviour complex, Harry’s entire bloody existence. And Harry just sits there for a little bit, mostly tuning him out, and instead picturing that mouth wrapped around his cock, sucking him off from tip to base.
Right. He needs to kick this plan into motion. At least, before his own cock gives him away.
“ — and don’t even fucking get me started on your borderline creepy friendship with Granger! Why on earth would she have the courage to leave her underwear at our place ‘by mistake’ if she wasn’t entirely too comfortable around you in a way that progresses way past friendship?! I always knew there was something … oh my fucking God, you really are a disgusting perv!”
“What?”
“Why do you have an erection right now?!”
“Why were you looking?”
Draco blanches, crossing his arms across his chest as if in defence. “It’s kind of hard to miss, is it not?”
Harry smiles. “Aw. You’re saying my cock is big?”
Draco grimaces. “You are truly a blight on humanity.”
“Mhm. Keep talking dirty to me, darling.”
Something seems to click in Draco’s brain. His face goes impossibly more red, and he scoots away from Harry. “No,” he says firmly. “No. If you think — if you think I’m letting you fuck me ever again, you’re wrong, Potter.”
Harry doesn’t fret. He shrugs. “But that’s why you’re here tonight, right? To find someone who’ll fuck you. Why not someone who knows your body inside and out?”
Draco shakes his head resolutely. “I don’t need you.”
“I never said that, darling,” he’s still smiling, eyes never leaving Draco’s glacial grey ones. “I said I know your body, inside and out, and if what you’re looking for tonight is a good fuck, I can give that to you. If you just ask.”
“Oh, as if,” Draco is still defiant, nose practically turned up at Harry, eyes rolling. “It’s never happening again, Harry, and the sooner you get that through your thick skull, the better.”
But Harry can already picture him on his bed, all spread out, his ridiculous leather trousers and see-through blouse on the floor, his hair a mess and his neck and collarbones covered in pink and purple marks and bruises. He can already picture his soaking wet underwear — what colour will they be this time? — he can imagine kissing his cunt through the fabric, making him desperate enough to thrust up against his face, to beg him to take them off and kiss him there again. And he will, he always does; he slips off the underwear and he dives straight in and he’s rewarded by the loudest, sweetest moans and cries of his name and with delicate hands in his hair and with perfect, pale thighs wrapped around his head and —
“Potter! My God , you aren’t even listening to a single word — ”
“Sorry,” Harry says, and he sounds a bit breathless to his own ears. He decides to be honest. He can always pass it off as a joke, if Draco is disgusted and tries to run off. “Was busy thinking about eating you out. I miss how you taste.”
He hears Draco’s breath hitch, sees the way his pupils dilate, and how his legs instinctively squeeze tighter together. He opens his mouth, and then swiftly closes it, and it’s the first time all night that he’s been rendered speechless. But then, “How can you just say things like that out loud,” he hisses. “Someone could — and then they’ll tell the Prophet or some other gossip rag and we all know how much Saint Potter cares about his little reputation and — ”
And he’s off again, picking out all of Harry’s flaws and letting him know why their relationship didn’t work out solely because of him. Harry sighs. leaning back in his seat, watching him but not really listening. If they were still together, Harry would shut him up with a kiss — but wait … he can still do that, can he not?
He straightens up, briefly tuning back into Draco’s umpteenth rant of the evening and catching the words selfish and inconsiderate and fucking moron before he’s leaning forward, grabbing him by the jaw and pulling him in. The kiss doesn’t last long enough for Harry to revel in how much he had missed Draco’s lips, because Draco is quickly depriving him of it. He rips himself away from Harry’s grip, and with a scandalised gasp and a splutter of outrage, he’s off again, ranting ranting ranting, bitching bitching bitching, and Harry has had enough. He’s standing up, grabbing Draco by the wrist and pulling him against him, and in an instant he’s apparating them both back to Grimmauld.
Draco still hasn’t shut up. Even as Harry pushes him up against the wall of his living room, tilts his head back and kisses up his neck. He’s still going on and on about how shitty a person he is, how selfish and awful and terrible he is, even as he responds to Harry’s lips on his neck.
He still hasn’t shut up when Harry apparates them again, this time up to his bedroom, still kissing marks all over his neck and collarbones and jawline.
He does finally shut up when Harry pulls away, stands back and orders him to, “Strip.”
He narrows his eyes to slits and huffs, breathless, “Excuse me?”
“Strip,” Harry repeats. And when Draco continues to stand there, outraged and gobsmacked and as fucking stubborn as always, Harry vanishes his trousers and his blouse and leaves him standing there in just his knickers – they’re red and lacy, so Draco wasn’t lying about his intentions at the party. He was indeed there to get laid; and now Harry gets to reap the benefits.
Draco gasps as he looks down, beholding himself in all his naked glory. “That was my favourite blouse, you fucking asshole!”
“You’re rich enough to buy another,” Harry says, entirely absentmindedly, because he’s too busy swallowing down all the drool gathering inside his mouth at the mere sight of Draco’s soaked underwear. And God, he’s so fucking soaked; there’s a wet-spot, large and dark, right over his cunt. He ignores Draco’s continued bitching and complaining about his precious clothes, pushing him back onto the bed and coming face-to-face with his cunt. He rubs him through the panties and his fingers come away sticky and wet. Fuck. “You’re so fucking wet, Merlin,” he says, reverently.
“Fuck you,” Draco hisses.
Harry smirks, says, “Fuck you, too.” He pulls the red panties down his slender legs and shoves them into his back pocket. Then, he’s digging into Draco like he’s a starving man with a five-course meal laid out before him. And, Merlin, fuck, he tastes just as heavenly as he remembers, no, even better. He rubs his tongue along his clit, revelling in the way it makes Draco’s thighs quiver around him, makes him yell, “Potter!” and throw his head back so hard it hits the headboard. He licks between his soft, glistening folds for what feels like hours, kissing in between them and not stopping even when Draco digs his fingers painfully in his hair, pulling on it this way and that. He does that when he’s about to come, and Harry eagerly doubles his efforts, sucking and nipping and biting and licking and kissing until Draco is arching beautifully into him, covering Harry’s mouth and nose and chin with his come.
Draco is still panting as Harry presses one last open-mouthed kiss against his pulsing centre, before moving down his body, kissing along the insides of both his thighs, the insides of his knees, his calves, the soles of his feet –
“You and your f-fucking – weird fucking foot fetish,” Draco manages through his panting, one hand draped over his face as he comes down from his orgasm.
“Don’t have a foot fetish,” Harry says, even as he presses more kisses up and down Draco’s feet. Then he climbs back up Draco’s body, so they’re face-to-face, and goes in to kiss him when Draco slaps a hand over his mouth, a disgusted grimace on his face.
“If you think I’m letting you kiss me after that – ”
Harry snorts. “It’s your come.”
“You kissed my feet!”
“Shut up,” he mumbles, impatient in his desire to kiss the fucker quiet. He does so, a deep kiss that he’s certain both of them feel in their bones. “You like how you taste?” he whispers, and Draco glares at him, and then he spits in Harry’s face –
Draco is being roughly manhandled onto his stomach before he can properly process what’s happening. He chokes out a startled gasp when Harry spanks him, and still has the audacity to say, “Weak.”
“Weak?” Harry laughs, and spanks him again, harder than the last. “You think I’m weak?”
“Ye-es,” Draco whines.
Harry doesn’t humour him with words; he keeps spanking him, harder still, until his big red handprint seems permanently etched onto both arsecheecks and the very tops of his thighs, like several tongue-in-cheek tattoos. Harry’s pristine pillowcase is soaked where Draco’s mouth is, copious amounts of drool drenching the fabric, and he’s moaning like a whore, and Merlin, Harry really has missed him.
“I’m gonna fuck you,” he informs Draco, delivering one final spank. He pulls him up so that he’s on his hands and knees. “I’m gonna fuck you and remind you just how much you need me, can’t fucking live without my cock inside you.”
“Don’t – don’t n-need you,” Draco insists. And he’s so fucking full of shite, because he’s pushing his arse back against Harry’s crotch even as the treacherous words leave his mouth.
“I haven’t fucking missed you at all, you know,” Harry spits, unbuckling his belt and pulling his jeans off with his boxers. His hand on his own cock feels too good to be true, and he has to squeeze its base to stop himself from exploding all over Draco’s arse. “I haven’t missed you, and your constant fucking bitching and complaining,” he shoves Draco’s head down onto the pillow, so that his arse is high up in the air. “You know what I have missed?” he whispers, teasing Draco’s cunt with the tip of his cock, watching as he writhes desperately and whimpers into his pillow. “This tight fucking pussy, my fucking pussy. That’s what I’ve missed.” And with one hand on his cock and the other on Draco’s lower back, he sinks into the tight, wet heat.
He doesn’t start slow, or give Draco any time to adjust, immediately burying himself right to the very hilt.
“P-Po-tter!” Draco’s trembling hands scramble for purchase, tugging desperately at Harry’s sheets. “You fucking animal, I c-c-can’t – ”
“What, baby?” Harry coos mockingly. “You can’t handle it? Has it been too long?”
Draco doesn’t respond with coherent words, just a weak and pathetic whine.
“You’ll get used to it, darling,” Harry says faux-sweetly, pulling out all the way and then thrusting back in just as quickly.
In no time he’s established an unforgiving rhythm, pounding in and out of Draco’s cunt without any semblance of mercy. And Draco takes it, like he’s made for it, because he is.
“This is my pussy, you know that, don’t you?” he tells him through gritted teeth. “My tight fucking cunt. No one fucks it like I do.”
“Shut – sh-shut – ff-fuck – ”
“Mine,” Harry continues, ignoring Draco’s pathetic attempt at shutting him up. Each word is punctuated by a thrust that pushes Draco forward. “Mine, mine, mine. My fucking pussy.”
“I hate you,” Draco chokes out, and Harry laughs again, breathless.
“And I hate you,” he assures him. “But I fucking love this pussy.” As if in direct response to the revelation, Draco’s pussy clenches even tighter around his cock at the words, and Harry groans as his hips stutter.
He keeps fucking him like that; Draco’s head pressed into the pillow, barely muffled moans and sobs and drool, his hands fisting the sheets, his back arched and his arse in the air as Harry brutally pounds into him, over and over and over. It’s a sight and a half, and Harry knows that if his pensieve were a sentient being it would grow tired of how many times Harry plans to revisit this memory in the weeks to come.
Draco gets impossibly louder as he gets closer to coming, his cunt pulsing and clenching around his cock. With one particularly hard thrust, he’s screaming and – oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck – squirting all over Harry’s cock. Harry pulls out before he can blow his own load, because he can’t be done just yet, he has so much more in him. He grabs hold of Draco’s hips and turns him over, mesmerised at the sight that greets him – Draco’s still squirting, eyes rolled all the way back and mouth in a perfect O. Harry’s sheets are drenched in it, and the sick and twisted part of Harry never wants to wash them ever again. Draco is whimpering his name, and it’s HarryHarryHarryfuck instead of Potter and Harry needs to be back inside him, needs to fuck him until he comes. He restrains himself, though, because he knows just how sensitive Draco gets after such an intense orgasm. Of course, part of him wants to say fuck it – that sick and twisted part of him – and just grab his legs, push them up against his chest and start ruthlessly fucking in and out of him again.
But he’s a good man. A patient man. So he waits.
Eventually, Draco stops his mindless wailing, his tear-stricken face relaxed, his eyes droopy and dazed. If they were still together, this would be the part where Harry kisses him, soft and sweet; the part where he tells him he loves him, and always will.
Harry bites the inside of his cheek, swiftly snapping himself out of it. He can’t be having thoughts like that. Not right now. Even with the way Draco’s looking at him, with those wide, teary grey eyes, and that kiss-swollen pink mouth, and –
“You’re gonna suck my cock,” Harry says, matter-of-fact. “Like a good princess.”
Fuck. Princess. He hasn’t called him that in a while.
Draco definitely catches it, eyes opening impossibly wider. Harry doesn’t wait around; he lays back on the bed, waiting for Draco to do as he’s told.
Draco gets up on shaky legs, straddling Harry’s thighs, taking his cock in his hand and looking up at him with those dazed eyes before taking just the tip into his mouth. He only takes his cock down his throat for a sum total of 6 seconds before he’s pulling off and getting into a different position entirely.
He’s positioning himself so that his cunt is directly above Harry’s hard cock. He bites his lip and rubs Harry’s length over his pussy, like the wicked fucking minx that he is.
“Draco.” He says it through gritted teeth. “Come on.”
“You don’t deserve it,” Draco says, in that tone of voice that he likes to employ when he wants to convey how superior he is to whatever lesser being he’s speaking to. But it doesn’t matter if he’s right – if Harry truly doesn’t deserve the slick heaven of Draco’s insides – because Draco allows him the privilege anyway, slowly and steadily sinking down onto Harry’s cock and making him see stars again.
Draco rides him slow and hard, keeping his hands on his chest for leverage. Harry feels feral with the need to flip them over and pound Draco silly, but it’s cute whenever Draco thinks he’s in control, so he’ll give him these few minutes of bliss.
Deep down, Harry knows he’s lying to himself. He knows just how in control Draco truly is. He knows that he’s the one who can’t live without Draco; Draco’s body, Draco’s mind, Draco’s soul. He’s the one who needs Draco with every fibre of his being. His sex controls Harry utterly and completely, and he’ll never admit it out loud, though he’s sure Draco’s well aware of it regardless.
Draco rides him faster, maintaining fiery eye-contact and all in all making him want to lose his mind. He doesn’t want to come like this; he wants to come with Draco pinned underneath his body, Draco’s legs wrapped tight around his waist, wrists pinned above his head, tearful eyes locked onto Harry’s.
So, with all the strength he can muster in that moment, he flips them both over, his chest squeezing at the little squeal of surprise Draco lets out. Draco’s flushed red face greets him, more beautiful than anything else Harry can think of.
He re-enters him quickly, as if he can’t stand to spend even a single millisecond not wrapped up in that tight heavenly heat, because he truly can’t. Draco’s legs wrap around him easily, like they’re meant to be there, and Harry pins his wrists above his head with one hand, just like he’d imagined. He pounds him at the perfect pace, coaxing out his favourite sounds in the world.
“Harry.”
“Are you close, Draco?” he coos. “You gonna come all over my cock again, like a fucking slut?”
And Draco is so gone that he nods, and Harry declares it a silent victory. Because as much as Draco’s body controls him, he can still reduce Draco to the mess he is right now.
“Look at me,” he grunts, “Look into my eyes when you come, that’s it.” Draco does as he’s told, tears streaming down his cheeks as he holds eye contact the best he can. Harry keeps pounding into his willing body, so hard that the headboard bangs against the wall and the bed makes worrying creaking sounds. And when Draco comes, Harry does, too, so hard that he momentarily blacks out, Draco’s screaming moans ringing in his ears. He shoves himself all the way inside him, and comes, and comes and comes and comes.
“Get off, you fat oaf,” Draco says shakily, minutes/hours/days later. “You’re crushing me.”
“Good,” Harry snaps in response, sighing as he lifts himself up and off Draco’s body, pulling out of Draco’s ruined cunt.
“Ow!” Draco cries out, glaring at him. “Too fast. I’m fucking sensitive.”
Harry rolls his eyes, resolutely ignoring the fondness creeping into his chest. “You asked for it.”
Draco huffs. “Can’t fucking believe I let you fuck me again.”
“I can believe it,” Harry grins.
“Fuck you.”
“I make you come 3 times and this is how you treat me? I’m wounded.”
“Stay wounded.”
The afterglow seems to have faded, judging by Draco’s scowl, but Harry is suddenly overcome with the desire to kiss him, maybe even hold him, just for a while. They’ve been here before, and it’s clear that not much good comes from it. But, right now, with Draco in his bed, sated and glowing after several orgasms and looking like something out of Harry’s wildest dreams, he couldn’t give less of a shite.
“You’re staying here tonight, yeah?” he says, sitting up with his back against the headboard.
Draco’s eyes fly open, and he scowls at him again. “As if. I’m going home.”
This is your home, Harry wants to say. He stops himself. Instead, says, “No. You’re staying. You’re gonna shower, have some tea. Maybe sleep for a bit. Then I’m gonna wake you up for round 2.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I’ll tie you to the headboard if I have to.”
“I’ll call the Aurors!”
“I am an Auror.”
“Fuck you!”