Author: tigersilver
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: H/D
Word Count: 1,000
Summary: It's the end of Advent, it is Christmas Day and both of them are stuck staying at Hogwarts for the holiday, this final year. And Harry is at last ready to give his fairly new lover his last, best gift of the season. Because, really? It takes a Gryffindor to keep up paces with a Slytherin.
Warnings: Fluffly Hogwarts-era post-War smut for Christmas! A blow job, because everyone needs to read about a blow job on Christmas, don't they? Right, right, of course they do. This is a little giftie for a few Friends of mine I've not had a chance to wish a Merry, Merry to personally, such as a_execution, stellamoon, mayfly_78, lovely_slyth, blamebrampton, faithwood, sesheta66, rickey_a, alisanne, magicallioness, wemyss, treacletartlet, and about a whopping boat-load of lovely others, far too many to stick in one wordy Author's Warning, sorry! I am fortunate to have you all as Friends, my dears. You're a blessing, just being out there, breathing away. Keep doing that good thing, will you? Oh! And have some cock for Christmas, why don't you?
HD 'End Advent'
This was not an act Harry was necessarily prepared for. At all, ever. However?
It seemed quite like the thing to do, at the time.
"Could you—would you—p-please?" Draco Malfoy's voice above his head, a raspy sort of whisper laced with overtones of posh and poncy anguish, is barely audible when a person has his head stuffed up winter weight school robes and his nose right into a bloke's expensive shorts. "Just—just—suck it? Harry!? Please!"
"Mmh-nrff! Giii-yam!" Harry attempts to defend himself, and is largely unsuccessful as he's a mouthful of bits. Smelly bits—the aroma of Man is pungent, quite. Salty shag-hungry Man, that is.
Oh, no. This is not something Harry's ever prepared for, this simultaneous sucking, licking, remember-not-to-bite-down balancing act of acrobatic oral dexterity. Also, he mustn't gag, he knows, though he'd really like to. Really, he'd like to, yes.
His stomach flips at the thought. And—'Oh, fuck, oh fuck, Harry!'—at Draco's stifled shriek, his whole-body jolt and his convulsive thrust forward. Damn the wanker!
"Anngh-ack!" Harry spits it out, promptly, this cock he's been mouthing in a fairly horrid, very untried manner. He raises his head to give Draco a nasty Look and a rolling stink-eye. "What the bloody fuck, Draco!"
A great plea for succor is writ large in those narrowed grey eyes. A great plea. Also, Draco's perspiring freely and he seems to be in pain. Not unsurprising; his dick's on the edge of spontaneous explosion.
"Harry, Harry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but, please—will you just get on? Dying here, Harry!"
"Mmm." Harry returns his regard to the one-eyed trouser snake; no! Make that trouser-Slytherin, the sly thing, confronting him. He's not quite gotten his breath back and it looks to be bloody huge and very anxiously insistent to his jaundiced eye. It bobs about, emitting sperm fumes at him. He gulps, gathering up his Gryffindor, as it's the 25thof December, it's Christmas, and he owes his lover a bloody nice gift. So be it, then. "Ye—es, okay. If I must."
Really, he must. As Draco had done it for him, with enthusiasm, even, just the day before, and had demonstrated that his wicked tongue was truly wicked in all the right ways as well as all the wrong. Harry sighs and takes it up, the rod of man-flesh poking impatiently at his upper lip and left nostril. All drippy. Ew!
"Harry!"
"All right, all right, keep your hat—omph! Nurgle!"
"Thank you, thank you, thank you, you graceless wanker," Draco croons, his kneecaps trembling under Harry's grasp. "I think I love you—yes, yes, I do love—oh, fuck, don'tstop, Harry! Don't—ever—ever—stop!"
"Gnmphh-nnmmph." Harry, despite his woeful lack of preparation for this life-altering event he's stuck himself into the midst of, does not stop. He concentrates on the sucking thing instead and firmly chastises his glottis and his gut, both of which seem to want him to rebel against having a cock inserted near half down his frantically swallowing throat. Also? His lips hurt, where they're stretched thin, and he's about drowning on a combo cauldron made up of Malfoy pre-ejaculate and his own saliva. "Oh? Rrriii?"
"Oh-fuck-oh-gods—oh, I love you, you bastard," Draco groans, rocking on his heels and thumping the back of his head up against the broom closet wall with abandon. "Love you, do love you, love you so much—ah! That's—that's! P-perfect—Potter!"
"Oooo—ouuh!"
It's a bit atrocious, really. But Draco had seemed to really enjoy doing it him, humming blissfully all the way through and moaning along when Harry had spent. He'd made it look as though having a cock to lick and nibble—like a lolly, what?—was the best thing to ever happen to him, not excepting his first broom.
And Harry loves him, the owner of the prick in his mouth. Quite a lot, really. Fancy!
"Nh! Nh! Nhhh! Harry—Harry, oh, I'm almost—oh, gods! Gods, Harry."
Harry finds it helps considerably to stop actually thinking. If he doesn't think his body takes over, and whilst lapping up a chap's prick is not something he thinks necessarily comes naturally to him, it's not really all that awful. It's Draco's prick, for one, so it's meticulously clean. Mostly—wait, not so much, though, given all the bodily fluids they're producing.
Right. Harder. Harder it is. And faster, for fuck's sake, as Draco has finally grasped at Harry's ears and is tugging on them. Insanely hard.
Harry sucks harder, with a stray bit of tooth, and throws his one hand on the base of Draco's cock as a last minute bow at a venture. He rubs the shaft, all velvety-damp and steely, gripping it andputting his knuckles into it, the motion. This git will come for Harry and he will come sooner than later—like this year, cheers, not next—and that would be best, as Harry's choking to death. Oh, and cock, if it's the cock of the chap he loves, isn't too, too awful.
…Much. Fancy. Bah, humbug!
"Ple—ple—ple—ahnngh! Oh, Har—ahhhhnnghhhah!"
"Ack! Hold up! Let me—!"
Harry catches Draco as he abruptly collapses, straight down the wall of the closet, and spares a thought to the saline spew that's desperately trying to make its way straight back up his esophagus. He swallows very hard on it, scowling, and yanks his lolling, clearly dazed and rather awestruck-looking opposite number onto his lap. Highly awkward but really comforting, this, and maybe similar to hugging a strangely beloved stork or something? Or a bicycle. Whatever—it feels good. Even his gut feels better, so, yeah—good all around, then.
"Oh, oh, oh!" Draco pants happily against Harry's neck. "Do—do love you, Harry. Do!"
"And a very Merry Christmas to you, you beautiful arse," Harry mutters darkly, making sure to wipe his chin on Draco's shiny, pretty hair. "Hope you like your present. I'm sure—Merlin help me—there'll be more where that came from."
Finite.