harry/draco | 300 words | E | @drarrymicrofic word prompt: bristle song prompt: sugar water

for @scrivenshaftquillshop—hope you enjoy! <3

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Sometimes he thinks Potter eats him out just to mark him up, a decadent side dish to the main course: Potter's beard bristling Draco's cheeks and thighs to Gryffindor red. The hex-sting burn clings raw to his flesh for days, sung to life by the scald of his shower. The handle of his Thunderbolt. The wool of his trousers, halfway through a closing argument. Days and days and days.

Never long enough.

"Mine," Potter growls in Draco’s hole, so greedy he can barely detach his mouth long enough to be heard. Wouldn't matter. It's all pretend, the claiming. Cockdrunk heat-of-the-moment rubbish that never survives the afterglow.

I’m shit at relationships.

What the fresh-grown hell does he think they've been doing for six months?

Never been good at commitment.

He’s damn well committed to shagging Draco’s well-appointed brains out in a room off Broadwick every week to quench the ache.

Soulmates don’t exist.

Like Potter hasn’t seen their matching crescent birthmarks with his own two sorely malfunctioning eyes.

“Mine,” still, when he bottoms out, vast hand firm on Draco’s nape to anchor him in the pillow. “Mine,” again, when he licks the prickling sweat off Draco’s spine to leave his own sloppy trail in its wake, like he can’t bear anything in or on Draco’s body that he didn’t put there himself. “Mine,” when he nuzzles Draco’s neck, sandpaper stubble scraping high enough to show above the collar, because he knows it won’t get spelled away. “Mine,” once more when he comes.

“You wish,” Draco plays along, dutifully detached, even as he pants and clenches through his climax, milking Potter pulse by pulse. Someday it’ll slip through the cracks: I wish.

For my Sexy Saturday Tumblr Saucy Wenches, a portfolio, a tribute, an art installation, a panoramic tour though the images of Huge Jackman's Beard. For your consideration...