#luciennewrites

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Sex with Potter was always rough. All claws and teeth – a hand wrapped around Draco’s neck, fingernails on Draco’s hips, and Potter’s filthy mouth panting against Draco’s ear.

“I fucking hate you, Draco.” 

Satisfaction bloomed within Draco at the frustrated expression plastered upon Potter’s face, knowing he’d been the very cause of it. 

~

They had been in the Ministry Gala not even an hour before, with Potter’s green eyes piercing through Draco from across the table. Draco made sure they’d been seated right across from each other, so he could slide his socked foot up Potter’s leg. 

Potter ignored him at first, but there was no mistaking the tightening of his fingers around his glass. He tried to close his legs a short moment after Draco settled his ankle against Potter’s knee, but Draco thought quicker than him, sliding his foot right on Potter’s wool-clad crotch, trapping it between Potter’s thighs. 

“The wine is exquisite, Minister,” Draco praised, licking his lips as Potter let out a soft gasp when Draco pressed his foot more firmly against Potter’s clothed cock. 

“I’m pleased to hear it suits your fine taste, Mister Malfoy.” Shacklebolt smiled proudly. “I hope you’ll be as delighted with our dinner. I especially picked out the most luxurious Jamaican dishes, and I plan on developing a trade of goods between my home country and Wizarding Britain this year.” 

“I’m sure the dinner will be just as ravishing,” Draco drawled, eyeing Potter before he made a show of closing his eyes in delight when the first dish was served in front of them. 

Draco settled his foot on Potter’s inner thigh for the entirety of their meal, brushing his heel against Potter whenever he spoke to someone else at the table. Potter tolerated it, until Draco dragged his foot along the length of Potter’s entire cock, now fully hard. 

Potter visibly jumped, earning him looks from almost everyone around the expansive dining table. 

“Alright, Harry?” asked Weasley, glancing suspiciously at Draco before turning his gaze back at Potter. 

“Yeah,” Potter said, breathless. “I just need some air. If you’ll excuse me.”

Potter left the table without another word, and Draco followed halfway through his meal, as to not be too suspicious. 

He found Potter outside, hidden behind the grand oak tree Draco was certain was older than the both of them combined, a cigarette between his lips as he leaned against the brick wall. 

“Took you long enough,” Potter spat, flicking off his fag and crushing it beneath his boot. 

Before Draco could come up with a snarky remark, Potter crossed the space between them, latching is hot, wet mouth against Draco. Out of habit, Draco slot his knee between Potter’s legs. 

But Potter seemed to have a different idea, backing Draco to the wall and snogging him senseless until Draco had to pull away to catch his breath.

“Potter–” 

Without another word, Potter flicked his hand, and a silk magically appeared around Draco’s wrists, tying them together and pinning them in place above his head.

Oh. 

“If you’re going to act like a cock-hungry whore, you’re going to get treated like one.” 

Draco barely had any time to grasp what was happening when Potter knelt before him, hurriedly unbuckled his belt, and pulled his trousers down along with his pants. He inhaled a sharp breath when the cool autumn air hit his cock. 

Potter made a show of mouthing at Draco’s tip, lapping around it like some – well, some cock-hungry whore, but Draco was too occupied with the velvety warmth of Potter’s mouth to make his point. 

“So big,” Potter moaned. “So fucking perfect for me. You like this, hm?” He took Draco even deeper, only pulling off to spit on his palm and wrap a first around the base of Draco’s cock. “You like my throat around your dick? Tell me you like it, Draco.” 

“I love your mouth,” Draco gasped when Potter started fucking Draco’s cock into his mouth hungrily, desperately. “I love it when you suck me off like you’re made for it, Harry.” 

They only called each other by their names whenever they fucked. It was not something they particularly agreed on, but neither of them had complained in the past six months, and Draco hadn’t exactly thought of calling Potter by his first name outside of their rendezvous. 

Potter’s eyes, lightning green and striking, stared through Draco as he opened his throat a bit more, taking Draco deeper than he’d ever taken him. Draco shut his eyes closed, eyebrows furrowing as Harry’s name fell from his lips. “Harry, god, don’t stop. Fuck – fuck --” Pleasure rose from the depths of him, his knees growing weak, mouth going slack, and fingernails digging through his own palms.

On the brink of Draco’s orgasm, Harry pulled off, and the pleasure stopped. 

Draco opened his eyes to find Potter wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, tucking Draco back into his pants and smirking devilishly as he rose from the ground. 

“Don’t like the taste of your own medicine?” Potter smirked. 

“Fuck you, Potter.” 

“With pleasure.” 

~

The Apparition to Potter’s flat made Draco dizzy, as though he just downed an entire bottle of whiskey. Upon trying to balance himself, he realised Potter didn’t even bother to untie his wrists. Draco shut his eyes and braced himself to fall face flat on Potter’s hardwood floor, but Potter wrapped a steady arm around his waist, unabashedly pressing his fucking crotch against Draco’s arse. 

“Bend over.” Potter’s breath was hot against Draco’s ear. 

“What?” Draco asked, bewildered. “Right here?” 

Without another word, Potter vanished both of their clothes with a flick of his wand. Draco shivered, gooseflesh rising on his skin as Potter’s magic wrapped around him like an intoxicating curse.

Potter placed a firm palm on the back of Draco’s neck, guiding him to the red velvet couch and bending him over. 

“Draco –” 

Draco smirked, cheek against the cushion as he looked back at Potter smugly. He arched his back even more, relishing the surprise on Potter’s face as he eyed the plug nestled into Draco’s hole. 

“Draco,” Potter sighed. He reached for the base of the plug, pressing a firm finger against it and pushing it back. Draco closed his eyes, breath hitching as pleasure jolted within him. He knew there was no other way to end this night than to fuck Harry – or rather, be fucked by Harry, so Draco got himself ready earlier that evening by fucking himself with his fingers at the thought of Harry. Both for the intent of preparation and because he knew Harry would like it. 

“Fuck me, Harry,” Draco panted. 

Harry was already hard, pre-come glazing the tip of his pink cock. He pumped himself a few times, gaze never leaving the sight of the plug in Draco’s arse. Draco’s mouth watered at the sight. He wanted Harry to fuck him now, the desperation nearly all-consuming.

But Harry had different plans. He pinched the base of the plug between two fingers, pulling at it before letting go with only the tip in, and letting Draco’s body pull it back. 

“Oh.” The protest was at the tip of Draco’s mouth, but pleasure and want only kept building up within him. So, he resorted submitting rather than complaining. “Oh, Harry.” 

“Yeah?” Harry hummed, fucking the plug slowly into Draco. “You like that?”

Draco closed his eyes, mouth going slack as he tilted his hips higher. He could come like this – untouched, only by the mercy of his plug and Harry’s fingers. “Hmmpphhh – Harry, fuck, fuck, fuck —” He was close again, cock sensitive from rubbing against the velvet couch. He thrashed under Harry, whimpers falling from his lips like a whispered prayer, a promise, a curse – begging for Harry to let him come. 

Without warning, Harry pulled the plug from Draco’s arse. Draco gasped. He could feel himself gaping and dripping from the lube, his hole desperate to be fucked. 

Harry shifted above him, dipping the cushion with his weight. Draco braced himself to be filled by Harry’s cock, but something wet, hotter, and softer pressed against his hole.

The moan that spilled from Draco’s mouth would’ve embarrassed him if it weren’t for the scorching pleasure soaring through him like lightning blazing through a sky. Harry’s mouth kissed Draco’s hole, tongue prodding at it like Draco was something to devour. 

Draco had never come from rimming before. No doubt, it was pleasurable to him, and it aroused him to the point of neediness, but he never found it to push him over the edge. It was a pleasure that crossed the line but not quite enough to finish him off. 

Until the moment Harry inserted a single finger alongside his tongue, pumping slowly until he was knuckle deep. Draco wanted to cry from it. He was certain he’d do anything just to come – he’d live and die and go to the ends of the earth if it meant Harry made him come by his tongue and finger. There wasn’t anything Draco wanted more. 

But like all the pleasure brought by Harry tonight, he pulled away, leaving Draco panting, desperate, wanting, on the verge of madness from it all. 

Draco was limp and boneless, sedated by being brought to the edge, as he let Harry turn him over to his back. 

“Fuck you, Potter,” he said weakly. 

“I fucking hate you, Draco,” Harry said. Both of them knew it didn’t matter if they hated each other or not – not when Harry was finally pushing inside Draco with a punched out gasp. 

The tension coiled within Draco like a whirlwind brewing through a thunderstorm. A tear rolled down his cheekbone when Harry’s cock slid inside of him, overwhelming relief rushing through him. Harry started moving, slowly and earnestly at first, like Draco was delicate and untouched. Like he was someone in need of softness. 

Sex with Potter was always rough. All claws and teeth – a hand wrapped around Draco’s neck, fingernails on Draco’s hips, and Potter’s filthy mouth panting against Draco’s ear. 

But sex with Harry – his Harry, was always gentle. Soft lips mouthing at the intricacy of Draco’s silver scars; calloused palms caressing the expanse of Draco’s body; lightning green eyes rolling back from pleasure. 

Draco didn’t know who he wanted more. But he’d always been a selfish man, unashamedly so. He decided he wanted to have them both. 

With what was left of his strength, he hiked both of his legs up and settled them atop Harry’s broad shoulders. Harry opened his eyes, mouth slightly agape in surprise as Draco gazed up at him in challenge. 

“Fuck me like you hate me, Potter,” he said through clenched teeth. 

Harry let out a breath, eyes darkening as he held Draco’s calves on his shoulders, hips pistolling into Draco like he was being paid for it. He fucked and fucked until Draco was reduced into aching hunger, his mouth only ever knowing how to moan Harry’s name. 

Above Draco, Harry was a powerful storm blazing through his violent desire. He was anger and rage and fire bursting into flames – a feverish desperation clinging to Draco’s bones. Draco wanted only to have him – all of him – both Potter and Harry. He thought he could die from it and live for it. He would kill for it. 

He opened his eyes just in time to marvel at Harry in all his orgasmic glory – mouth hung open and eyebrows furrowed as he pumped his hips harder and faster. Like he was desperate for this as much as Draco was. Like there was nothing he craved more than being inside Draco. 

It hit Draco when Harry opened his eyes in post-orgasmic haze, starlit emerald eyes telling more than words ever could. 

I hate you; I hate you; I love you. 

And so he cried. Cried and cried until his mouth was dry and his throat hurt. Cried until his eyes burnt like wildfire, a river of tears flowing yet never eliminating the sting. 

Draco almost missed the sound of leather boots sinking on muddy soil. The storm had started to calmed a bit, but his sobs have only gotten stronger. 

He could feel someone beside him–a familiar warmth and the distinct scent of spices and lilies. 

Draco quieted down, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“S’okay.” Harry mumbled softly. Too soft that it almost made Draco weep again. “It’s just me.” 

Draco wanted to say it wasn’t ‘just’ Harry. It was never ‘just’ Harry. It was his home– all that was left of it. 

A hand–too cold for Draco’s comfort, but he didn’t mind–laid on top of his, rubbing the water that has settled on surface of his skin. 

That was when Draco broke down again. 

Almost no sound had left his mouth, only dry heaves as he frantically apologised. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I’m not perfect and–” 

“S’okay.” Harry kept repeating, as though it was the truth. “It’s just a ceremony.” 

But it wasn’t just a ceremony. It was supposed to be their wedding. They had it all planned for more than half a year–from the date and venue down to the flowers scattered along the secret garden. 

Draco waited all his life to marry Harry. But as he stood at the end of the altar–looking back at Harry’s handsome face–Draco knew he deserved none of it. 

And so he turned his back before he could fully watch Harry’s fallen expression, running away from everything he has ever dreamt of. Running away from the life he desperately wanted to hold at the palm of his hands. 

“I’m sorry.” Draco kept repeating. Despite his honesty, the words felt like lies spilling from his lips. He hated himself the most. He hated himself for hurting Harry. 

“S’okay.” Harry echoed. “We shouldn’t have rushed into it. I’m sorry.” 

Draco opened his eyes, squinting at the sudden burn from all the crying. He was met by the sight of Harry, handsomely dishevelled. His clothes just as ruined as Draco’s. 

The truth was, they weren’t rushing into it at all. They had been together for four years until they decided– thought– to get married. It was Draco’s idea, because Harry kept telling him of his dreams to be married and start a family he so longed for. Draco didn’t want to keep him away from that. All he ever wanted was for Harry to be happy, and now he was ruined. They both were. And it was all Draco’s fault. 

“It’s not your fault.” 

It was as though Harry had read Draco’s mind–he probably did. 

“You don’t have to pretend it isn’t,” Draco says, his voice hoarse. He couldn’t look directly at Harry’s eyes. He was afraid of what he might see–afraid of hurting Harry even more. 

Harry takes a shaky breath. “We don’t have to get married.” 

“Harry–” 

“Marriage is just an economical proposition or some shit people made up to get miserable people to stay together.” 

Draco looked at Harry. “We are miserable.” 

“No, we aren’t.” Harry denied, even though they both knew Draco was right. 

They fell silent for a while. The rain finally stopped, light slowly replacing the darkness of the sky. 

“We don’t have to get married now,” Harry says. Draco could tell he was hurting, and all he wanted to do was to take Harry’s pain away and give it to himself. He would take Harry’s pain even if they were sharp knives; even if they were the worse of curses; even if it were the kiss of death. But Draco knew couldn’t, not when he was the one causing Harry pain. 

“But it’s your dream,” Draco replies softly, full of regret. 

“You are my dream, Draco.” Harry’s bottom lip quivered, as though he was just as frustrated as Draco was to himself. “And if you aren’t ready for marriage now, we can do it later. When we’re both a little bit older and wiser…” He trailed off. “Hell, we could never do it even.” 

“Harry–” 

“Marriage means nothing if it’s not with you.” Harry reached out, cupping Draco’s face with his hands. “And I can wait, I promise. For as long as you want– need– even if it takes me a hundred lifetimes.” 

“And what if I’m never ready?” Draco asked. He thought he’d never been more afraid of saying something until this moment. “What if I’m not fit for marriage?” 

“You are not obliged to marry me,” Harry said, firm as though he had been so sure of his decision all his life. “I mean it when I say we could never get married and I’d still love you.” 

Warmth blossomed within Draco. He loved Harry too, he always will. 

“Whether you’ll ever be ready or not, I still love you.” Harry whispers, as though he was keeping a secret. “And if the time comes, I’ll be here waiting. I’m a patient man, Draco. I would wait longer than forever for you.” 

Draco laughed wetly, pressing a kiss against Harry’s lips just to keep him from promising things Draco didn’t deserve. He kissed Harry harder and pulled him closer, even though he didn’t deserve it. To him, Harry would always be too good to be true, too good to be his. 

He knew he didn’t deserve a lot of things, but Harry deserved everything . Harry deserved to be held, through his worse and better days. He deserved to wake up in a soft bed, his body wrapped in warm blankets, pressed against the one he loves. He deserved a cup of freshly brewed coffee against his lips every morning; his fingertips stained with pigment as he painted the most beautiful scenery there was to exist. 

Harry deserved to be loved . And so Draco loved him– loves– and will love him for as long as he lived, for as long as he could, for far longer than the end of time.