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Coming back for an eighth year at Hogwarts was supposed to feel like coming home, but it didn’t. It was the furthest thing from that warm, welcoming feeling this year.
The Wizengamot had made Draco’s attendance a condition of his release from Azkaban, but no one in the castle wanted a convicted Death Eater back inside of the school. Even Draco’s old friends were keeping their distance, and though the new eighth year dorms and their cozy common room were hardly cramped—the space Headmistress McGonagall had gifted the eighth years wasn’t small by any means—the merged quarters still felt like a cage when every set of eyes followed his every move. He’d had enough scrutiny in the Manor the past few years.
Hogwarts was supposed to be different, but it wasn’t.
Like Draco, the school felt tainted by the war. No one trusted him. No one wanted him.
He needed to get away.
Everywhere he went, the castle bled with memories. The halls had been perfectly restored by countless volunteers—Draco had even donated a sizable portion of the Malfoy fortune to the work—but it didn’t matter. The rubble and devastation of the war were still burned into the stones. Guilt clung like ash in his lungs, and he felt like he would choke on it soon. He couldn’t even step foot in the Astronomy Tower for class, and it was a month into term.
His mind healer had warned him it would be this way: face the memories, don’t bury them. That was the only way forward.
That was how Draco found himself standing in the far left corridor on the seventh floor. His wand twirled nervously between his pale fingers as he closed his eyes and worked on breathing through the pressure in his chest. He began pacing before the blank wall, intent only on escape, on finding a space that might give him a semblance of peace and closure. Invasive memories pressed in—of the vanishing cabinet, Vincent, the uncontrollable fiendfyre flames—but as the door appeared before him, the only thing his mind had clung to was the strange, unbidden comfort of hugging Potter’s solid frame close as they fled the inferno together.
He should have known that thinking about the Chosen One was a mistake.
Draco pushed open the heavy wooden door and froze. The Room of Requirement had given him a parlor straight out of a pureblood manor. There were velvet sofas, some dark paneling, even an ornate hearth. Sprawled across one of those sofas was Harry Potter himself.
Potter’s head snapped up, messy hair sticking in every direction, and his vibrant green eyes widened in shock.
“Malfoy?!” His voice cracked as he fumbled for a pillow, slapping it over his lap with frantic urgency. His cheeks flamed scarlet. “Bloody hell. What are you doing skulking around like a dementor?”
Draco blinked once, then twice, realization dawning as his gaze flicked from Potter’s flushed face to the guilty way he clutched the pillow. His brow arched, lips curling into the faintest, dangerous smirk.
“Oh,” Draco drawled, drawing out the word until it dripped with meaning. “Oh. Salazar, this is good.”
Potter’s mortification deepened, and Draco could practically taste his magic in the air. He leaned one shoulder lazily against the doorframe, pale grey eyes glittering with amusement.
“Well, well, well. Here I was, expecting to find a place to breathe, and instead I found Saint Potter panting for me already. I didn’t even have to lift a finger.”
“Shut it, Malfoy!” Potter hissed, knuckles whitening against the pillow.
Draco tilted his head, savoring the sight. Potter was squirming, cornered in this compromising position, and it was beautiful. Potter was completely naked aside from the cushion in his lap. His chest was shining with a thin layer of sweat, showcasing just how worked up he had been.
For the first time since returning to Hogwarts, the crushing weight in Draco’s chest eased ever so slightly.
Draco liked this. Bantering with Potter was familiar. “The Chosen One, the Man Who Conquered, hiding away to stroke his wand all alone? I’d say how fitting, but I thought you’d have witches falling at your feet for the chance to suck you off.”
Potter sputtered, jaw working in irritation, clearly torn between outrage and mortification. His grip on the pillow faltered just enough for Draco to catch the unmistakable outline of his hard cock pressing against the fabric. Draco’s smirk sharpened.
“Ah, or maybe the witches are the problem, hmm?” Draco inferred, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and shrugging the shoulder that was not leaning on the doorframe. “Maybe it’s a wizard you want instead. You know, if you wanted me on my knees for you, Potter, you could’ve just asked. No need for such theatrics."
“Get out, Malfoy!” Potter shouted, his voice cracking on Draco’s last name.
Draco lingered deliberately in the doorway, savoring the power he had in that moment. “You know,” he said lightly, “the Room of Requirement gives us what we need. Fascinating, really, that it decided I needed to walk in on you like this.”
Potter’s eyes blazed, but behind the blatant fury was undeniable panic. Draco only smiled wider. He was right. He knew it.
The crushing weight of the war loosened its grip on Draco. It was replaced by something wicked, something electric. Harry Potter never failed to make Draco Malfoy feel alive.
“This isn’t a fucking game, Malfoy! Get out!” Potter shouted again.
Draco didn’t leave. Instead, he pushed the door shut all the way with a soft click. The sound made Potter jolt as if he’d been hexed.
“What are you—?”
“Relax, Potter,” Draco cut in smoothly, stepping out of the doorway and crossing the room with deliberate leisure. “I’m not here to duel you this time. Been there, done that,” he joked darkly, gesturing at his shirt-covered chest where the sectumsempra scars peeked out just above the collar. His eyes flicked to the pillow, still clutched in a death grip on Potter’s lap, and he arched his brow suggestively. “Though, it seems you’re already armed this time around. I hope you at least know what that can do.”
Potter groaned into his hands, dragging them down his face before glaring at Draco through his fingers. “Merlin’s sake, Malfoy, can you not? I’m sorry about the bathroom. Please? Just…fuck, just turn around, leave and forget this awkward arse moment ever happened.”
Draco stopped a few paces away from him, tilting his head like a predator sizing up its prey. “Oh no,” he refused. “I’m not forgetting about this anytime soon. You’ve given me enough wanking material of my own for the rest of the year. Permanently pensieve worthy.” He let his eyes trail over Potter’s disheveled hair, his flushed cheeks, the desperate way he hugged the cushion to his lap. “In fact, I think I ought to stay. For the sake of…let’s say observation.”
“You’re vile,” Potter muttered, but the tips of his ears burned crimson.
Draco winked, stepping closer until he was standing at the edge of the sofa, looking down at him. “Am I? Or are you just embarrassed that someone caught the Saviour without his halo? Because I can’t help but notice you’re still hard. Bit naughty are we?.”
Draco’s hands reached out lazily, brushing his fingers along the carved wooden arm of the couch as though he had every right to be there.
Potter swallowed loudly, eyes looking up to meet Draco's and then hastily darting away. His grip on the pillow tightened even more.
Draco leaned forward slightly, voice lowering into a purr. “You know, you’re terrible at hiding things. That’s why you weren’t a Slytherin. That’s always been your problem, hasn’t it? You wear your heart on your sleeve.” His eyes wandered over Potter’s naked form. “Well, you would be. If you were wearing sleeves to begin with.”
Potter shot him a glare, sinking back into the couch further, but the effect was ruined by the tremor in his voice. “You—For the love of all things magical, shut up, Malfoy, I beg of you. You don’t get to stand there and just read into me and—”
“—point out that you’re nice and hard for me?” Draco finished silkily, his typical smirk widening when Potter’s blush deepened even further. “Merlin. Don’t look so scandalized, Potter. The room wouldn’t have let me in unless it thought I belonged here. Maybe,” he added, titling his head, “it thought you needed me.”
Potter sputtered harder than before, opening his mouth, closing it, and only letting out a strangled sound.
“You’re an insufferable tosser,” Potter finally managed to say.
“Mmm hmm. Yet, you’re still holding that pillow like your life depends on it.” Draco let his voice dip lower, softer, the words almost a dare. “Do you want me to take it away for you?”
The room seemed to hold its breath with the both of them. Potter was speechless, his green eyes locked on Draco’s stormy grey ones. The silence stretched between them, sexual tension rolling off of both of them in waves. This moment had been years in the making, unknown feelings colliding into a dramatic moment of opportunity.
Potter’s breathing became more uneven, his fingers trembling against the soft velvet fabric of the pillow. Draco could feel the magic of the room itself responding to their energy, urging them to continue.
Afraid to scare Potter away, Draco moved slowly. He perched on the arm of the sofa, close enough for Potter to feel the brush of his expensive robes, close enough for the tension to escalate even more.
Potter was always so tense. Draco would be lying if he said he didn’t want to know what the Boy Who Lived looked like when he came undone. If anyone had earned some proper relaxation after the war, it was Potter.
“Go on then,” Draco said with more care in his tone than he’d ever admit. “Pretend I’m not here.”
Potter’s eyes flew up to his, horrified. There was something darker in his eyes as well, something that made Draco’s heart race. “You’re out of your bloody mind, Malfoy.”
“That wasn’t a no, Potter.” Draco said conversationally, as if they were in the courtyard and not in such close proximity. “I can be very patient. It would be awful if you had to sit here unable to take care of your…not so little problem.” He gestured at the pillow, chuckling when Potter did a double take at his indirect compliment. “So, either I sit here imagining what you would look like while you die of blue balls, or you give me the truth and a show. Your choice. Scared, Potter?”
For a long moment, Potter sat still. His chest was heaving, and he was caught between pride and unbearable want. Then Potter muttered something that was a muggle curse Draco didn’t understand, but he ended it with his typical response. “You wish, Malfoy.”
Potter shifted, the pillow sliding off of his lap at a glacial pace until it was at his side. His body shuddered as the soft material dragged over his cock, making it harden even further. He cleared his throat, unsure but committed, spreading his legs and wrapping a tanned hand around himself. He squeezed the head, rubbing over his slit with his thumb. His eyes fluttered shut, his lips parting around a sigh. He needed this.
Draco’s breath hitched, his eyes stuck on the delicious sight of a fully naked Potter, but he covered it with an appreciative hum. “Well. Looks like gryffindor courage extends beyond the quidditch pitch and the battlefield.”
“Don’t,” Potter said in a more confident tone of voice.
He didn’t lift his eyes to look at Draco, choosing to keep them shut as his hand betrayed his wish for patience. He gave himself a firm pull, squeezing the base of his aching cock with a distressed urgency, trying to regain control.
Draco didn’t touch him. He didn’t need to. He simply sat there, body angled towards him, grey eyes filled with predatory satisfaction. “That’s it,” he whispered, the words traveling between them like a song in the gentle wind. “Show me how you touch yourself, Potter. Such a needy little thing you are.”
Something about Draco’s words seemed to drive Potter wild. He let out a broken moan, one that sounded like Draco had pulled it out of him. Potter’s eyes were dazed, as though he was already slipping into some kind of floaty feeling. Draco’s hope soared. Potter was trusting him enough to start entering a subspace.
“Good boy, Potter,” Draco praised, adjusting himself on the arm of the sofa due to his own excitement. “Keep going. Stroke that pretty cock of yours nice and slow. Keep your fist tight.”
A peaceful smile spread on Potter’s face and Draco knew he was right about the gryffindor’s sexual preferences. The slytherin watched as Potter’s eyes squeezed tighter and he brought his other hand to rest of his lower stomach, right over his happy trail that was wet with his leaking arousal. His other hand started stroking the way Draco said to, and the slick sounds the motions made were obscenely loud between them.
“There you go. How does that feel?” Draco asked, leaning an arm down to rest on the back of the sofa behind Potter.
Potter took a deep breath, his head lulling to the side and his seductive eyes squinting open to stare right at Draco. “Good. It’s so good.”
Potter looked wrecked and Draco hadn’t even touched him yet. Draco couldn’t stop now.
“Yeah? You’re nice and wet, aren’t you?”
Potter whimpered, moving his first over his cock faster, twisting it at the head and rocking his hips forward into the movements. His other hand dipped into the curve of his stomach by the bellybutton, where some of his precum had gathered. He spread it over his stomach, dragging tense fingers over his abdomen and leaving marks behind, and pushed his hand back down over his groin. It was obvious that he enjoyed the added pressure because he increased his speed, stroking faster and faster.
“Slow down, Potter,” Draco instructed, not wanting this to be over too soon. The gryffindor was close to working himself into a frenzy and Draco had a much better idea.
Potter’s abdomen rippled with the effort of his restraint, and he let out a whine of protest. He squeezed the base of his cock with a punishing strength, his knuckles white once again. His entire body was shuddering, visibly overwhelmed by the pleasure that had been cut off for the second time. Despite his initial hesitance, the gryffindor’s hips kept moving, continuing to fuck up into his shaky hand.
Draco slipped down off the arm of the sofa and into the seat right next to him. His slender fingers pushed Potter’s hips down and halted the erratic movements. “I said. Slow. Down,” he said right next to Potter’s ear, emphasizing the words.
Potter sobbed. Whether it was from being stopped on the edge of his orgasm or from finally being touched, Draco didn’t know, but the Gryffindor Golden Boy had actual tears streaking down his flushed cheeks.
Draco brought his hand up to wipe them off on one side of his face, bringing the other to wrap around the back of Potter’s neck. Potter’s skin was blissfully warm against Draco’s much cooler fingers, the gryffindor leaning back into his touch gratefully.
Potter licked his lips breathlessly, tasting the salty twinge of his tears and sweat. Draco’s mercury eyes followed the path of his tongue and he licked his own lips in yearning. He would bet Potter tasted divine.
“Hands off,” Draco ordered, prepared to take full control.
Potter looked at him with his wet eyes filled with confusion and betrayal.
“Tsk. Silly boy,” Draco said, admonishing Potter for having doubts when they’d come this far. “I’m not that cruel, darling. I’m going to help you.”
Potter’s pupils were blown wide and he eyed Draco with hunger and acceptance. Reluctantly, he released himself and brought his hands down to his sides, his body tensing in anticipation and his erection standing tall.
“There’s just one rule. Do you think you can follow it?” Draco asked, removing his robes and undoing his button down shirt as he waited for Potter’s answer.
Potter’s eyes were open wide, locked on his chest in startled wonder. The gryffindor clearly liked what he saw, and Draco didn’t know if it was his pale, muscular chest or the scars on it that turned the savior on more. Potter’s gaze lingered and his eyes seemed to be tracing the outline of every scar, committing the map of Draco’s chest to memory.
One of Draco’s fingers lifted Potter’s chin, guiding his eyes back up. “The rule, Potter. Yes or no?”
There was some doubt in Potter’s eyes, but the need to find his release was more pressing than his concerns. The gryffindor nodded back frantically in agreement, unable to find the words.
Draco pinched his chin, holding Potter’s head still. “Say it.”
“Yes! Please, touch me.”
“I’ll touch you, darling,” Draco promised, thumb stroking Potter’s chin before pulling away, “but you won’t touch yourself no matter what. Do you understand? I’m in charge now.”
Potter’s brow furrowed. “But I—”
“Ah, ah, ah.” Draco cut him off with a shake of his finger, natural dominance and authority seeping into his tone. “It’s a yes or nothing, Potter. You agree, or I walk out that door and you can go back to rutting into your fist or humping the pillow cushion.”
Potter was silent for one second too many and Draco reached for his shirt and started to get up.
“No!” Potter exclaimed, protesting his departure. His hand flew out to grip Draco’s forearm, effectively halting the slytherin. “I mean, yes! Yes, I agree. I won’t touch myself. Please? Stay. Touch me.”
Potter’s eyes were impossible to deny. Draco always had a soft spot for them. He slowly sat back down, much closer to Potter than he was the first time.
“Good boy. Scoot forward for me.”
Potter bit his lip nervously. “Why?”
Draco sucked his teeth in mild annoyance. “Don’t ask questions, Potter. Don’t think at all. Just follow my directions and do it.”
Potter was entirely too desperate to argue or ask another question. He scooted further up on the sofa and waited for Draco to tell him what came next. He was so naturally eager to please.
Draco tapped the top of his feet gently. “Feet up, darling. Bend your knees.”
Potter listened, moving his feet up and pulling his knees closer to his chest. He was clearly resisting the urge to cover himself up and put his legs back down. They’d made it this far and Potter was visibly desperate for a release. Draco watched as his sensitive cock jumped where it laid on his stomach and his hole clenched around nothing.
Draco’s gaze darkened in hunger. He was ready to change that, and his intent must have been obvious because Potter’s eyes widened.
Potter shifted his feet, his toes pressing down into the velvet of the sofa in an attempt to calm his nerves. He was the perfect picture of vulnerability and tentative trust. Draco savored the sight, one corner of his mouth curling up into a satisfied smirk.
“That’s a better position, darling,” he said in approval, his voice low but carrying the weight of his pleasure. His hand reached out, trailing lazily along Potter’s thigh. His movements weren’t rushed or overly indulgent, but deliberate, testing how much patience the gryffindor really had.
Potter trembled under the featherlight touch, biting down hard on his lower lip as though it would stop him from begging for more. His legs twitched again, pulling together and shying away from Draco’s touch.
Draco leaned forward, a strand of his silky platinum blond hair falling into his eyes, and stroked Potter’s thighs soothingly. “Don’t hide from me. I want to see every reaction.”
Potter’s lip slipped free and his legs fell back open, even wider than before. His breathing was uneven and his eyes were still wet with the tears from earlier. Draco’s commands were welcomed and Potter listened to each one so well.
“Good job, Golden Boy,” Draco praised, his tone warmer than before. He leaned in closer, letting his breath ghost across Potter’s neck without granting him the satisfaction of anything more than that. “You’re learning already, doing so well for me.”
Potter swallowed audibly, eyes darting down to Draco’s lips before back up to his eyes. He leaned in closer, but he didn’t initiate any kind of kiss.
Draco chuckled quietly at the apparent struggle. His hand lifted to brush just beneath Potter’s chin again, guiding his head back when it threatened to dip down in shame. “New rule. Eyes on me. Always,” Draco commanded. “If you can’t do that, you can’t come for me.”
Potter’s breath hitched at Draco’s assured behavior and threat to deny him a third time. Draco stayed close, savoring the tension. “Now,” Draco said softly, “you’re going to sit there, exactly as you are. You’re going to wait until I’ve decided you’ve earned more than this.”
The gryffindor made a strangled noise of protest, but he didn’t move. He didn’t dare break one of the rules Draco had given him. His eyes stayed on Draco and he hoped they conveyed his need enough. He needed Draco to touch him.
“Perfect,” Draco whispered, his smirk deepening again. “You’re already proving how much you want this, want me, need me.” Draco huffed in amusement when Potter let out a whine, impatience written all over his face. The gryffindor’s thighs twitched and his fingers dug into the cushions of the sofa to stop them from wandering over his own body. His cock was even harder than before, the flushed tip still leaking precum slowly, veins on the underside throbbing as his core muscles clenched again.
Draco stroked one of Potter’s wild curls out of his face. “That’s right, darling. Poor thing. You’re already struggling. You need me don’t you? Need me to take care of you, to touch you.”
Potter didn’t speak, only letting out a needy whimper in agreement.
Draco trailed his fingertips along the inside of the gryffindor’s knee, pulling his right leg over his own lap. He drew small circles into the sensitive skin there, never climbing higher, no matter how much Potter squirmed.
“We’ve barely begun, Potter,” he said, his voice rich with amusement. “Slytherins don’t rush into things like you brash gryffindors.”
Potter gave in, his leg pressing into Draco’s lap as he lifted his arse of the velvet to slide closer to the slytherin. His lips parted, wonderfully bitten and red. “Please, Malfoy. Why? I—”
A single raised eyebrow cut him off. Draco’s hand tightened briefly at the back of Potter’s knee, not painful, but just enough to remind Potter who was in charge now. “Let’s add another rule, Potter.” The gryffindor sobbed again, burying his disappointment behind another high pitched noise of refusal.
“No questions. No begging. I’ll decide when you’re ready.”
Potter nodded reluctantly in understanding, falling into the role of a submissive so easily. Draco’s confidence grew and his hands kept teasing Potter in the most delicate places.
They carried on like that, Draco teasing Potter with the slightest touches, and Potter using all of his willpower to hold himself back from coming without permission.
“So good,” Draco praised again after a while, leaning closer until his lips nearly brushed the shell of Potter’s ear. His whisper was charged by his own heated state, voice not as soft as it had been earlier. Potter was like a feast laid out for him and Draco was ravenous. “You have no idea how tempting you are when you’re obedient. I could tell you to do anything right now and you would, wouldn’t you?”
“No, I—”
Draco cut him off by boldly reaching out and holding his cock at the base. Potter leaned up in shock and cried out loudly.
“No?” Draco asked. “I think that’s a lie,” he whispered into Potter’s ear, wrapping an arm around the gryffindor’s torso and pulling him into his lap completely. “I think you’d do anything for me, Potter. You’re not going to think straight until I let you come for me.”
The slytherin kept one hand on Potter’s chest and the other one stayed painfully still around Potter’s cock. The hand on Potter’s chest stroked over his nipples, chuckling darkly as they hardened instantly under the attention.
A beautifully wanton noise escaped Potter and Draco was thrilled by it. He torturously removed his hand from Potter’s chest in favor of cradling the gryffindor’s jaw, fingers trailing over the delicate line of his throat.
Draco tipped the gryffindor’s head back gently, exposing his body to him. “You’re wide open for me now, and you’re still following the rules. That’s exactly what I want from you. See? You can do this. Be a good boy, and I’ll let you come.”
Draco cruelly stroked Potter's cock a few times before letting him go.
Potter’s legs fell open again of their own accord, half expecting Draco’s hands to finally trail down lower. Following the rule, his eyes were still on Draco’s and they were pleading with the slytherin to do something else.
Draco leaned in just enough to let his lips hover over Potter’s a single breath apart, but he didn’t close the distance between them. Instead, he whispered against Potter’s mouth, their lips brushing slightly, but not enough to satisfy.
“Wait a little longer for me, darling,” Draco demanded in a cruel, delicious taunt. “You’ll thank me when I finally let you have it.”
The pause that followed was the longest Draco had ever waited with a partner. Potter looked like he was aching for more, his chest heaving beneath Draco’s wandering hands. Draco considered letting him stay like that, letting him tremble in desperation, but the gryffindor had been so good for him.
“You’ve earned a little more,” he whispered to Potter, like he was doing him a favor by being merciful of his depraved state.
Potter’s body relaxed into his further, some of the tension of suspended anticipation giving way to relief. Draco let his thumb brush over the gryffindor’s lower lip, tugging it down just slightly.
“Open for me.”
Potter didn’t question why this time. He obeyed at once, lips parting and breath catching in his throat.
Draco leaned in and kissed him. The kiss was slow and controlled, the perfect pressure. It was not the frantic clash that Potter would have been likely to initiate, but something more steady. A claiming, so the gryffindor could feel how thoroughly Draco was in command of him and the situation.
He drew back from the kiss even slower than he’d started it, letting the gryffindor chase him for more, only to deny it with a teasing smile.
“Do you feel that?” Draco asked. His hand rested in the center of Potter’s chest, feeling the frantic thud of his heartbeat under his palm. Draco watched the gryffindor’s face, drinking in every indication of longing. “Do you feel how desperate you are for a simple touch? That’s what having patience does for you. Your body is charged with need and if you listen to me, I promise you’ll be seeing stars by the time I let you come.”
Potter shivered, his mouth working for words he couldn’t seem to find.
Draco leaned in close again, pinching a pebbled nipple between his fingers, his lips grazing the sensitive skin just below Potter’s ear. “If you listen to me, I’ll give you the best orgasm of your life. Intense enough to break you apart piece by piece.”
“You’ll be good for me?” Draco asked, lifting Potter up off of his lap.
The gryffindor nodded his head erratically, whining. “Yes! Ple—” Potter cut off his pleading word and looked at Draco apologetically.
“That’s it. You’re okay,” Draco reassured him, pressing him backwards to stretch out on the sofa comfortably. “Relax for me. Keep following those rules, darling. Eyes on me.”
Potter nodded once, his eyes watching Draco’s every move.
The slytherin’s hands wandered back to Potter’s chest first, ghosting his fingers over the gryffindor’s collarbone and drifting them back over his nipples.
“Oh!”
The shiver that ran down Potter’s spine in response was nearly violent.
“Sensitive?” Draco asked, doing it again.
Potter arched his chest up into Draco’s touch, moaning in response. That was the answer.
Draco pinched them for the first time and Potter let out a guttural moan, throwing his head back and breaking eye contact.
“Fuck!”
“Not quite,” Draco replied humorously, choosing not to scold him. “Right now I have something better.”
Before Potter can dare to ask Draco a question, the slytherin conjured his nipple clamps—a product of his explorative phase. He’d never used them on anyone. Many of his previous partners were far too pureblood and vanilla for such things. Draco was dying to try the clamps out. There was no one better to use them with than someone who already had sensitive nipples to begin with. Potter was perfect for his sexual tastes in more than one way it seemed.
Draco pinched one clamp open and carefully placed it on one hard nub before moving on to the other. The metal was cold and hard against Potter’s heated skin and his abdomen rippled as Draco dropped the chain connecting the clasps and trailed his hand down the gryffindor’s stomach, barely skimming over his cock.
“Malfoy,” Potter whined, voice small and yearning. His hands were shaking at his sides, inching towards his own chest.
“No touching, Potter,” Draco reminded him distractedly, focused on picking up the chain connecting the clamps and gently tugging it. “Watch me.”
When Potter didn’t immediately follow that instruction, Draco yanked harder.
“Malfoy!” Potter shouted his name, upper body trembling with need.
“Oh, Merlin.”
The gryffindor covered his mouth with his hand, trying his best to silence the noises streaming out of his gasping mouth, but from that moment on he kept his eyes on Draco obediently.
Draco could feel himself straining in his pants, more turned on that he’d been in his entire life. Potter was a sight to behold like this, better than any wet dream fantasy.
Though, Draco’s smirk faltered just a little when Potter looked at him like that—all flushed cheeks and wide, desperate eyes, his chest rising and falling too fast. It was intoxicating.
Draco had only ever dreamt of someone putting themselves at his mercy so willingly. Yet, here Potter was, submitting to him despite their contentious past. Draco wanted to see how much further he could go. He needed to know what Potter sounded like when he was brimming with unbearable need.
“Now you can beg for it,” Draco said softly.
“Malfoy! Please, please, please,” Potter started begging flawlessly, as if he’d only been waiting for permission to do so. “I’ve been so good. Let me come. Please.”
Draco didn’t answer him right away. He kept tugging on the chain, causing Potter’s body to jump with each stimulating pull, and leaned in between the gryffindor’s open legs. His thumb stroked over Potter’s hole, purposefully ignoring his straining cock in favor of teasing him some more.
Potter’s body pushed down into Draco’s touch, and the blissful look of surprise on his face told Draco this was the first time he was being touched in such intimate places.
Draco tugged on the nipple chain at the same time he applied a gentle pressure to Potter’s quivering hole. The gryffindor’s entire body almost flew off of the sofa and Draco was drowning in self-satisfaction by that point.
“So bloody sensitive,” Draco whispered in awe, gazing up at Potter with a sinful expression. “I wonder if I could get you to come just like this.”
Potter groaned at the thought, turning his head to the side and nuzzling into the softness of the cushions, seeking some form of relief from his overstimulated state.
“I think I can,” Draco continued saying, confident in his ability to work the gryffindor into ecstasy with such simple touches. “I think you’re practically gagging for it. You want my fingers inside your tight, greedy little hole. Don’t you?”
“Yes! Please, please, please!”
“Yes, what?” Draco prompted, wanting to hear Potter say such a filthy thing out loud.
“Yes, I want your fingers inside of me! Please do it already!” Potter begged, almost delirious.
“You want my fingers where?” Draco asked smugly, accentuating his words by pushing a finger into Potter’s hole slightly and then pulling it away quickly. He bit into Potter’s fleshy thigh to tease him further, enjoying the increase in the trembling of the muscles underneath.
The gryffindor pushed himself up off the pillow, sitting up to look straight down at Draco between his legs. His emerald eyes were blazing with an intensity Draco had never seen before.
“I want your fingers inside of my tight, greedy little hole. Right. Now. Please,” Potter bit out the words with a clenched jaw and tense posture, trying to stop his body from reacting to Draco’s touch.
Draco grinned at Potter’s bold demand. His gryffindor still had some fight in him. That would be fun to explore later on.
“As you wish, little lion,” Draco replied.
Before Potter could even comprehend what was happening, Draco cast a lubrication charm and thrust a single finger knuckle deep. Potter was so aroused there was little to no resistance, only delicious heat clenching around his finger. Draco withdrew slightly before pushing his finger back in, pressing up against the gryffindor’s prostate with a practiced ease.
Potter’s eyes rolled at the sudden increase in pleasure, throwing his head back into a soundless scream. His body shuddered again and it was only a few short strokes later that he started begging with a newfound sense of urgency.
“Oh, Merlin. So fucking good. Please, Malfoy. Please, don’t stop. Let me come. Please, let me come.”
Draco didn’t acknowledge the begging beyond adding another finger, thrusting them in steadily and scissoring them out to stretch Potter open.
The gryffindor kept babbling nonsensical pleas and he held the sofa cushions tightly within a vice-like grip.
Draco kept up a steady rhythm, applying a firmer pressure as he pushed three fingers inside of the whimpering gryffindor.
Potter keened, high-pitched and drawn out, when Draco curled his fingers and started stroking his prostate relentlessly. His cock was twitching before Draco’s eyes and the slytherin was elated. He wanted to tease Potter some more, but he also wanted to see how beautiful the gryffindor was when he came just for Draco.
Potter was already stunning like this, knuckles white and every muscle fighting to hold back his release. Draco didn’t know if it could get much better than this, but he was certainly ready to find out. He gave the nipple clamps a final, violent pull and moved his fingers at a faster, more punishing pace.
“Come for me, Potter.”
That was all it took. As if Draco’s words were the only thing needed to break the gryffindor’s control, Potter exploded without one touch to his cock. Long stripes of thick, white cum painted his own chest and his body arched off of the sofa at a wonderfully tempting angle.
Draco knew Potter would be beautiful, but he’d never imagined such a satisfying sight. He could do nothing but continue to finger him through his orgasm, reaching up to release his puffy nipples from their clamps and ghosting his hand over them.
The game of overstimulation lasted longer than either of them would have expected. When Potter’s cock was finally spent of every drop of cum and his body stopped shuddering from the aftershocks, Draco gently pulled his fingers out.
Potter gave one final whimper at the loss and his body, still glistening with sweat and cum, relaxed fully into the soft velvet sofa.
Draco stood and took a seat beside him, stroking sweaty curls out of the gryffindor’s closed eyes.
“See, Potter?” Draco asked jokingly, smirking down at him. “You did need me.”
“Harry,” Potter said breathlessly, his chest still rising and falling at a fast pace.
“What?”
Potter opened his eyes and looked up at Draco with nothing but sincerity.
“It’s Harry, Draco. Call me Harry.”
Draco gave Potter, Harry, a small genuine smile before resting his head against his hand and stroking Harry’s hair some more. They both relaxed further, basking in the warmth of the fire and drifting closer on the sofa. Harry ended up sprawled across Draco, his head tucked into the delicate curve of Draco's neck.
As their breathing synched, Draco thought maybe the Room of Requirement had given both of them exactly what they needed, each other.
Draco couldn't wait to see how else he could make Harry come for him. Something told him they were nowhere near done with each other.