The cock within him pumped a few times, shimmying; throbbing as it thrust against the constriction; Draco felt every inch of it, and was gladder than he’d ever been of anything, including the death of Voldemort.
This was it: proof, then.
“Oooooh, Draco!” his heart-mate growled, trailing sloppy kisses across Draco’s disappeared part, his marvelously mussed and sweaty tendrils of curly fairer-than-fair hair. “Oh, my love, you’re so—so—beau—Ahh! Ah-hah!”
And he came, Harry Potter did, all at once with a great burst and all up Draco Malfoy’s willing arse, and Draco arched his spine into the sensation as a kneazle would into a petting, practically purring even as he choked out his own satisfaction.
“Oh—o—ohhh! Harry!” he cried out, and spurted his load into the stinky, sweat and lube soaked fabric of the sofa. “My Harry…” he added, determined to make that known for al to hear, for it was crucial, he knew for certain—in the way far back of his mind—to point that out.
To make it known and particularly to these two gits, Harry’s bloody mates. The gits. Gits, gits, gits!
“Um, ahhhh…” his lover collapsed atop him. “So, so good. Draco.”
“Love you, twat—and next time do take a little longer, okay?” Draco sniped fondly, glancing with great effort over his shoulder, peeping at his Harry, all scarlet-cheeked and panting loud enough to deafen him, right there by his well-licked ear. “I barely had a chance to catch up to you.”
“Um,” Harry nipped his earlobe in sweet vengeance. “Oh! Oh, Draco—look there! See them?”
It practically fused his eyes blind, the horror of it. Weaselbee’s cock and Granger’s matching bushy muff—right there before him, bobbing up and swooping down—naked! Starkers!
Yuck-blech-phooey!
“Oh, Roooon! Ronniekins!” Granger sang out; Draco shuddered.
“Isn’t it sweet?” Harry prodded at him, tickling Draco’s perspiring ribs. “They’re so in love it’s gross, yeah?”
“Ick! Ack!” Draco shuddered again, eyeballs rolling frantically away for fear of intense pain caused. “Fucking save me, Harry! Get a goddamn Room of your own, you two! Argh—yuck, my poor eyes! They burn!”
“Now, Draco, love—calm down.“
Heterosexual lap sex—especially between Harry’s two best mates—had to be the biggest turn-off ever. Draco wrestled his way out from under his lover, Harry’s softened cock leaving his slightly sore arse with a squishy sound.
“Out!” he demanded querulously, whipping ‘round and standing tall, gathering his shirt about him protectively. “I want out, Harry! You never said I’d have to deal with this, damn it!”
“Oh, now…Draco, love,” Harry gripped him before he could bolt, wrapping their damp satisfied bodies together in an affectionate embrace. “At least admit it was an effective tactic. ‘Sides—I’ve set a recording spell on the Room. I’ve a Pensieve of it, see? A Muggle one. On real film. All of it—us and them, going at it like bloody rabbits. If they so much as say a single word against you from now on—“
“Ron-Ron-Ronniekins!”
“Oh, Hermione! Heeer--my—own—neeee!”
And here it was clear the other two were approaching their mutual culmination, judging by the growls, howls and high-pitched giggles they were making.
“I’ve got blackmail material,” Harry snickered wickedly, rubbing his stubbly chin against Draco’s chest, scraping it. “Thanks to the Room. Right there.” He pointed to a Muggle-style recording camera, positioned just so, and humming away as it gathered evidence for use of, as needed. “Camera. Plays back, it does, and doesn’t even need a Penseive bowl. Fancy, eh?”
Re: Exhibitionism/public sex.
“Baby!”
“Harry…ah! Urrrgh—nnnh—Harrrreee!”
The cock within him pumped a few times, shimmying; throbbing as it thrust against the constriction; Draco felt every inch of it, and was gladder than he’d ever been of anything, including the death of Voldemort.
This was it: proof, then.
“Oooooh, Draco!” his heart-mate growled, trailing sloppy kisses across Draco’s disappeared part, his marvelously mussed and sweaty tendrils of curly fairer-than-fair hair. “Oh, my love, you’re so—so—beau—Ahh! Ah-hah!”
And he came, Harry Potter did, all at once with a great burst and all up Draco Malfoy’s willing arse, and Draco arched his spine into the sensation as a kneazle would into a petting, practically purring even as he choked out his own satisfaction.
“Oh—o—ohhh! Harry!” he cried out, and spurted his load into the stinky, sweat and lube soaked fabric of the sofa. “My Harry…” he added, determined to make that known for al to hear, for it was crucial, he knew for certain—in the way far back of his mind—to point that out.
To make it known and particularly to these two gits, Harry’s bloody mates. The gits. Gits, gits, gits!
“Um, ahhhh…” his lover collapsed atop him. “So, so good. Draco.”
“Love you, twat—and next time do take a little longer, okay?” Draco sniped fondly, glancing with great effort over his shoulder, peeping at his Harry, all scarlet-cheeked and panting loud enough to deafen him, right there by his well-licked ear. “I barely had a chance to catch up to you.”
“Um,” Harry nipped his earlobe in sweet vengeance. “Oh! Oh, Draco—look there! See them?”
It practically fused his eyes blind, the horror of it. Weaselbee’s cock and Granger’s matching bushy muff—right there before him, bobbing up and swooping down—naked! Starkers!
Yuck-blech-phooey!
“Oh, Roooon! Ronniekins!” Granger sang out; Draco shuddered.
“Isn’t it sweet?” Harry prodded at him, tickling Draco’s perspiring ribs. “They’re so in love it’s gross, yeah?”
“Ick! Ack!” Draco shuddered again, eyeballs rolling frantically away for fear of intense pain caused. “Fucking save me, Harry! Get a goddamn Room of your own, you two! Argh—yuck, my poor eyes! They burn!”
“Now, Draco, love—calm down.“
Heterosexual lap sex—especially between Harry’s two best mates—had to be the biggest turn-off ever. Draco wrestled his way out from under his lover, Harry’s softened cock leaving his slightly sore arse with a squishy sound.
“Out!” he demanded querulously, whipping ‘round and standing tall, gathering his shirt about him protectively. “I want out, Harry! You never said I’d have to deal with this, damn it!”
“Oh, now…Draco, love,” Harry gripped him before he could bolt, wrapping their damp satisfied bodies together in an affectionate embrace. “At least admit it was an effective tactic. ‘Sides—I’ve set a recording spell on the Room. I’ve a Pensieve of it, see? A Muggle one. On real film. All of it—us and them, going at it like bloody rabbits. If they so much as say a single word against you from now on—“
“Ron-Ron-Ronniekins!”
“Oh, Hermione! Heeer--my—own—neeee!”
And here it was clear the other two were approaching their mutual culmination, judging by the growls, howls and high-pitched giggles they were making.
“I’ve got blackmail material,” Harry snickered wickedly, rubbing his stubbly chin against Draco’s chest, scraping it. “Thanks to the Room. Right there.” He pointed to a Muggle-style recording camera, positioned just so, and humming away as it gathered evidence for use of, as needed. “Camera. Plays back, it does, and doesn’t even need a Penseive bowl. Fancy, eh?”