#drarrry

Still Waters:

Draco drew a deep breath and waited. The hand on his neck slid up, cupped his chin, and settled lightly over his mouth, blocking his nose. A promise. A command, but not a threat.

The sharp edges of teeth dug into the top of Draco’s shoulder; an arc of burning points along his collarbone that fed the ache in his hips. His gasp was muffled by the hand, and melted into a jolt down to the base of his cock, heavy and ready.

His breath strained against the pressure. Air attempted to escape as moans, absorbed as vibration with no sound; nothing but the skim of skin over skin in the room.

The fist around his cock caught those threads of pleasure winding around, and twisted them, stroke by stroke, into a strangling, overflowing mass that writhed through him, waiting for him to let it break.

His breath caught, no, was caught, as his own hands grasped the forearm over his chest, clutching it in a war between his lungs and the seething pressure in his hips.

His head turned and broke the seal over his mouth. His chest heaved, lungs gasped, and cock throbbed as air rushed in, followed by a broken groan. His hips thrust into the fist around his hard length as it jerked, releasing thick white streaks over his hips.

Slowly, slowly, the grip on him eased, replaced by soft strokes and whispered affections. The teeth at his shoulder melted into soft lips and murmurs like spring rain. A thumb and forefinger wrung his cock out, and he thrust one last time into the grip with a satisfied hum. Another thumb and forefinger cradled his chin, stroking along his jaw as his breath slowed.

He cleared his throat, and the fog cleared, as well. Arms wrapped around him and rolled them over. A wall of heat lay along his back, and a thick quilt covered them.

“Go to sleep, älskling.”

“Mm hmm,” Draco hummed, spent and drowsy and home for the night.

"I love you, too/also":

I want him. I want every fucking drop of him, and I want to keep it forever, and he knows. He wraps a fist around my cock, and I groan a warning into his hand.

He’s so hard, and I’m too fucking close, and I will die if he stops now. I will die like doused embers and extinct stars, and I reach behind me to grab his hips, and I won't let him stop.

The teeth behind my ear hurt, and I don’t give a fuck.

“You fucking want it?” he asks, pitch rising.

Harry, Harry, Harry, and he knows what I want without my lips moving.

“Oh, God, Draco,” his voice cracks, and my body starts to break. “I fucking love you.”

I shatter; a marble statue destroyed by its own sculptor, screaming into the hand that carved it.

I don’t say it back. I can’t, even after his hand slides down to cup my jaw. Thank you. Gratitude is deeper than love, because it’s earned.

"So good," he whispers, nipping my earlobe.

He rocks against me, pulling satisfied little hums from my throat under his palm. He squeezes the last drops from me, and his hips hitch against my arse; bodies throbbing in time; the shudder and jerk of primordial, eager exchange. That flow, ancient but revelatory every time.

His breath flutters in as his hold on me loosens. Through unfocused eyes, I watch him lick my release off his fingers, and I suppress a loopy giggle.

Congrats on Your Loss, DLM:

Their hands are everywhere. Snarled in his hair, gripping his nipples while he squirms, fingers shove in his mouth and he sucks them. The cock inside him hits home on every. fucking. thrust. But they exchange a worried glance and stop.

"Christ, Malfoy, never took you for a church mouse in the sack."

He clears his throat and resents the pause. "What?"

The other man huffs a laugh. "Yeah, mate. Merlin knows you've got a fuckin' mouth on ya. Use it for more than sucking."

"Oh, fuck you-"

The man inside him claps a hand over Draco's mouth with a dark chuckle and starts to move, and the expletives on the tip of his tongue melt into long groans. His body echoes his voice as tension winds tight, lodges just behind his cock, and unspools with a muffled scream that trickles into soft growls against the calloused palm.

"Good boy."

"Mm."

Return to Sender, Harry J Potter:

Draco rolls over, arm flinging dramatically.  "I do not say this to diminish you.  But.  The best night."  He blows out a long breath and gathers himself enough to crawl over to Harry, head on his thigh.  "I... learned things," he rasps.

"Oh?" Harry asks, brow quirked down at him.  "What kinds of things?"

Draco blinks slowly, gaze on the ceiling more than Harry.  "I am a bit of a screamer."

"You are not," Harry says with a huffed laugh.  "You could come in your trousers in the middle of the Gringotts lobby, and no one would notice."

"Not so, apparently."

"Show me."

Draco is sprawled, jointless and languid, along Harry's front as he leans against the headboard.  Harry's hand over Draco's mouth feels wrong, on some fundamental level, but he does as he's told, because, for the muffled sounds trickling from Draco's nostrils, he would hold his hand in open flame.

His fist glides over Draco's cock, and he tries to ignore his own erection leaving impatient wet imprints on his pants under Draco's arse as he moves.  And bloody hell, does he move, and indeed, scream against Harry's hand as he thrusts into Harry's fist. His eyelids flutter shut as the whites show, and Harry watches.

Muffled shouts under his hand trickle into yelping whimpers as he comes, and deep, satisfied growls as he slows.  Harry comes in his pants as Draco crescendos, and they slow together.  Teeth bite into his index finger, then hold tighter as he tries to take his hand off Draco's mouth.

"You're loud when you're forced to be quiet, hm?"

Harry's fingers trail through the spatter up Draco's abdomen and chest to his shoulder, and graze across Draco's lips.

"Mm hm."

--

Thanks for the ask!