He looks up at Malfoy, who has an enigmatic expression on his face. “Who indeed,” Harry replies. His voice sounds raw and alien. He grins, can't help it, before he bites down and captures Malfoy's obscene blood vessel between his teeth.
“Fuck,” Malfoy curses, but he doesn't pull nearly strong enough. Harry holds him tight, his arm, his hips. He wraps his hand around Malfoy's cock again and strokes him while sucking on his wrist. There's no rhythm or finesse to it. Something primal alone. There is no stopping. Downstairs, the band has switched to softer sounds and couples are supposedly dancing close and exchanging besotted looks.
Malfoy grips Harry's hair with his right hand and pulls, hard. Harry moans.
Garbled words spill from Malfoy's throat as he comes, bucking his hips and squirting semen on Harry's cheek and suit jacket.
Reluctantly, Harry lets go and finds a blossoming bruise on Malfoy's wrist. He smiles to himself, presses a kiss to the abused flesh then uses the back of Malfoy's hand to wipe the spunk off his face. Malfoy lets him. Harry will puzzle over that later.
“Going back to your fiancé?”
Harry gets up and meets Malfoy's eyes, which are lazy and glowing in the dimmed light of the first floor corridor. “Yeah. You?”
Malfoy tucks himself in. “None of your business.”
“Huh.” Harry steps closer – as close as he dares – and inhales Malfoy's scent once more. Malfoy smells like a man who showered with expensive product, then climaxed in a public place and got some on his trousers. He smells like a dangerous obsession and a graceful secret. Harry's throat hurts with desire.
I'd fuck you right here, Malfoy's eyes say, but he himself doesn't say anything like it. Just runs a hand through his ruffled blond hair.
“Don't look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Harry wants to know. He doesn't know.
Malfoy pulls his sleeve down and closes the cuff-link. Maybe he can regain enough composure to order another drink down there, but Harry doubts that he will.
“Going to stick around and pretend nothing happened?” Malfoy asks.
Harry drags a hand across his mouth, almost instinctively. “Mhm,” he mumbles into skin. He'll ask Ginny to dance, but won't let her kiss him until he's had another pint; and then he'll have another to forget what he wants, who he wants, always does.
He won't watch Malfoy's hands as he takes his coat and leaves. He won't.
Fill: "Cuff-links" (1,750 words, something R-rated) - pt. 3 (fin)
“Fuck,” Malfoy curses, but he doesn't pull nearly strong enough. Harry holds him tight, his arm, his hips. He wraps his hand around Malfoy's cock again and strokes him while sucking on his wrist. There's no rhythm or finesse to it. Something primal alone. There is no stopping. Downstairs, the band has switched to softer sounds and couples are supposedly dancing close and exchanging besotted looks.
Malfoy grips Harry's hair with his right hand and pulls, hard. Harry moans.
Garbled words spill from Malfoy's throat as he comes, bucking his hips and squirting semen on Harry's cheek and suit jacket.
Reluctantly, Harry lets go and finds a blossoming bruise on Malfoy's wrist. He smiles to himself, presses a kiss to the abused flesh then uses the back of Malfoy's hand to wipe the spunk off his face. Malfoy lets him. Harry will puzzle over that later.
“Going back to your fiancé?”
Harry gets up and meets Malfoy's eyes, which are lazy and glowing in the dimmed light of the first floor corridor. “Yeah. You?”
Malfoy tucks himself in. “None of your business.”
“Huh.” Harry steps closer – as close as he dares – and inhales Malfoy's scent once more. Malfoy smells like a man who showered with expensive product, then climaxed in a public place and got some on his trousers. He smells like a dangerous obsession and a graceful secret. Harry's throat hurts with desire.
I'd fuck you right here, Malfoy's eyes say, but he himself doesn't say anything like it. Just runs a hand through his ruffled blond hair.
“Don't look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Harry wants to know. He doesn't know.
Malfoy pulls his sleeve down and closes the cuff-link. Maybe he can regain enough composure to order another drink down there, but Harry doubts that he will.
“Going to stick around and pretend nothing happened?” Malfoy asks.
Harry drags a hand across his mouth, almost instinctively. “Mhm,” he mumbles into skin. He'll ask Ginny to dance, but won't let her kiss him until he's had another pint; and then he'll have another to forget what he wants, who he wants, always does.
He won't watch Malfoy's hands as he takes his coat and leaves. He won't.
*** /// ***