Draco had been waiting in anticipation all day. All week, if he's going to be completely honest. These days held a revenant place in his calendar, carefully marked with a black X. It was the day he and Potter would play.
Bent over a beam, legs splayed out, bollocks hanging heavy between his thighs, was the only time Draco felt permitted to Potter's attention. When Potter would whisper things into his ear, things he'd always wanted to hear.
Such a good boy for me, Draco.
Draco wanted that. He wanted to hear his name on Potter's tongue, to feel Potter's hands wrapped around his hair, his arse, his cock. He wanted it more than he wanted the Dark Mark off of his arm.
Still, stepping into the dark room, full of metal hooks and wooden trunks, made his heart clench. His instincts told him to run from the space, run from the pain that most assuredly waited for him. He had to take three long deep breaths to remind himself that pain led to pleasure, that pain led to Potter.
The wooden table was already set up in the middle of the room, taunting Draco with its sharp edges. The only soft thing was Potter's lap, as he leaned carelessly against the hard surface.
Draco padded in, barefoot, head bent towards the floor. His legs trembled as he walked, his body a mix of excitement and trepidation with every step. Potter cracked his knuckles as his eyes flickered up and down Draco's body.
"You know what's about to happen?" Potter asked, his voice deep and powerful as it echoed around the room.
Draco hesitated for a moment. He had received Potter's owl earlier in the morning, outlining every detail of their scene in rushed, scribbled handwriting. Draco had combed over the parchment, heart racing as he read, the black ink wrapping its way around his pulse points.
"Yes, sir." Draco's voice wavered, his cock twitching slightly.
"Good. Bend over my knee, Draco."
Merlin, to hear Potter say his name like that.
He felt a warm hand on his neck as his knees bent, comforting him as he positioned his chest over Potter's thighs. He wished the heavy breathing would subside; that the shaking in his hands would dissolve. Draco knew neither would dissipate until the first few moments had passed.
Potter ran a soothing hand up and down Draco's side, while another grasped firmly across his arse. The mixed sensations were confusing, exciting, provocative. Draco didn't know where to focus, his mind racing with thoughts.
Will it hurt? Will he care if it does?
"I want you to count for me, Draco," Potter's voice was now soft as his chest pressed against his back. His hands were now rubbing firm circles on Draco's cheeks, parting them. He traced a finger up Draco's cleft, pausing quickly to circle his hole.
Draco felt one hand leave, felt the air adjust as Potter cracked his flesh against Draco's arse. His body jerked, more from the fear of the hit than the hit itself. The sharp sting was replaced quickly by Potter's soothing hand. Draco felt the man below him adjust as Potter moved his other hand to the base of Draco's spine.
"Draco," Potter breathed, his voice hitched in warning.
"One," Draco grunted.
His head jerked to the left as Potter laid another hard smack on his arse. The swat hit the same spot, and Draco could feel Potter's eyes on him, watching, waiting.
"Two."
Draco groaned, relishing the way Potter's hands caressed his reddening cheeks. His hands were firm, sure, secure, as they kneaded his skin, already hot to the touch.
"Gods, baby, you are so hot like this," Potter grunted before delivering another smack, his fingers trailing in the sharp pains wake.
Draco craned his neck, desperate to look at the man who was delivering such sweet torture, but he could only catch the dark outline of Potter's frame. Fingers dipped into his crease, prodding as they searched. The pad of Potter's thumb grazed roughly over Draco's hole, causing his skin to erupt into goosebumps.
His head dropped back down as he grunted, "Three."
The next two smacks came so quickly that Draco had barely finished the word before the sharp pain hit him again. Potter rubbed his hand over the sting, his hands gliding quickly to Draco's thigh before cupping his tender arse once more.
It was getting hard for Draco to focus. His cock, hard since the first spank, dangled untouched between Potter's thighs. It wasn't until he felt the hands still that he remembered.
"Four! Five," Draco choked.
"What was that?" Potter's voice echoed through the room. "Louder, Draco, I want to hear it."
"Five," Draco grunted loudly. He squirmed slightly, feeling Potter's clothed trousers beneath his thighs.
Another sting hit his arse before Potter's hands rubbed sweet circles over the heated flesh. The pain was slowly turning into something else, something more, something Draco wanted desperately to feel.
"Six!" he shouted, his voice yearning for the next impact. He was desperate for it and didn't care if Potter knew how much he loved it, loved this.
Potter's fingers were pressing into him, ghosting around his furled hole as they rubbed up and down his cleft. He lifted his arse, begging Potter's hands to continue.
"Four more, can you do it for me?"
Draco knew this was only the beginning. It was only the warm-up, for fucks sake, and he was already so hard, so ready to come all over Potter's soft thighs. He rutted quickly, seeking any friction he could.
"Tell me, Draco."
"Yes, please sir, please," he moaned, a dribble of come dropping from his cock to the dirty floor of the warehouse.
"Good boy," Potter crooned. He rubbed his hands calmly down Draco's legs, circling his calves before bringing them back up again. "No need to count these, baby, but I want to hear you."
Draco's chest tightened as he tried to keep his breaths steady and failed. He wanted to melt into Potter's hold, but his body tensed against the pain. His arse was burning, tender to the touch, and no matter what he thought, he couldn't get his body to relax.
Potter's hand spanked Draco's thighs in quick succession, each blow filling the room with a loud 'smack.' Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Draco thought, and then he was groaning, a loud moan that started in his chest and escaped willingly from his throat.
Potter shifted, pushing upwards so that Draco could feel his hard length tucked into the denim of his jeans. Draco let out another groan when Potter canted, pushing his clothed erection against Draco's in a rough slide.
"Yes, Merlin, you're so good, Draco, taking your spanking." Potter cast a wandless spell, turning the palms of his hands colder as he kneaded Draco's tender cheeks, dipping his fingers once again into his cleft, teasing against his hole.
Draco bucked at the sensation, both for the cold against his heated skin and the tenderness of Potter's touch. He wanted to wrap his hand around his prick and tug, twist and pull until he spurted white ribbons onto the floor, shivering in relief. He knew, though. He knew he couldn't come until Potter permitted it. And he wanted to be so good for Potter.
"Stand for me, baby. Let me see your long legs," Potter whispered close to his ear. Draco smiled softly. He knew Potter had a fascination with his legs, particularly with his delicate ankles. He often tied them up, wrapping them in soft fabrics like silk and satin. One time he had wrapped Draco in intricately-spun lace, the weave creating supple divets as it dug into his skin.
Don't break the beautiful threads, darling, and you'll get your reward.
Draco stood on his heels, swaying forward to his toes as he flexed his calves. He licked his lips when he caught Potter's hungry gaze.
"So beautiful," Potter moaned as he pulled two straps from the wall. He gently maneuvered Draco to the wooden table. "Arms down, palms flat," he commanded, his voice husky and low.
"Yes, sir," Draco nodded, his cock twitching, as he lowered himself onto the surface. The leather was cinched roughly around his wrists, securing him to the flat surface. He wiggled his arse tauntingly in the air, hopeful that Potter would see, would want, would taste.
He knew he'd succeeded when he felt Potter's hands on his flesh, parting his cheeks. He blew softly against Draco's hole, and Draco could feel it flutter, pulse with need.
"I don't want you coming, baby. Not until I say so. If you need me to stop, use your safeword."
"Yes, Sir," Draco grunted. He'd been wanting to come for hours, for days, but Potter's praise and Potter's pleasure seemed to take over his mind, his need to please him was all he wanted. Potter would be pleased if he waited, if he came with permission.
He shuddered when he felt the wet swipe of Potter's tongue, starting at the base of his spine, working his way downward. He paused, circling the soft skin around Draco's hole, before dragging to his perineum. He lapped against his bollocks, pulling one into his mouth and giving it a hard suck before he retreated back to his epicentre.
Draco bucked, trying to garner any sort of friction against the thin edge of the table. He cried out, his words garbled, a mix of profanity and begging as he bucked against Potter's tongue. How could Potter do this, make him feel this way, so good, during their brief moments together?
They never talked about their 'X days' outside of the room. Not when they'd pass each other in the halls, nodding quickly as they fetched their afternoon cuppas. Not when they'd scour over files, searching for the missing link in their cases. Certainly not while they were on stakeouts, watching movements of suspects for hours on end, waiting; the silence of their unspoken deeds crackled thickly in the air.
No, only within the four walls of the room did Potter call him Draco. Did Draco call him Sir.
He focused on Potter's tongue, the one that spat sharp wit in his direction during the day, the one that was currently plunging into him, curling upward, delving into his tight hole. His thighs felt weak, quivering under the onslaught of Potter's mouth. He keened, his throat babbling obscenities as he felt himself relaxing, opening up.
Potter hummed, his tongue thrusting in and out, the vibrations causing goosebumps to explode over Draco's pale skin.
"Yes, Potter, yes," Draco cried, knees buckling. He was suddenly so grateful for the rough surface, holding him up under Potter's undulations.
Potters hands were everywhere, nipping up the sides of his hips, gripping solidly against his chest. The nail of his thumb plucked against Draco's nipples, nursing them into pebbled peaks.
"I can't wait to get inside your perfect little hole," Harry murmured, his lips tracing up Draco's spine until it found the hollow of his throat. "I'm going to fuck you now, darling."
That was the only warning Draco got before he felt Potter's cock pressed tightly against him. It was instantaneous; the soft sound of the worddarling juxtaposed with the hard breach of his hole.
Potter slid in, forcing himself deeper and deeper with frantic little thrusts, as Draco canted back, relishing the burn.
"Merlin, you're so tight," Harry rumbled, his voice echoing in Draco's ear as he draped himself over his back, thrusting, pulsing against his flesh.
Draco could only whine, hands tied, at the mercy of Potter's pace as he canted his hips, tucking deeper and deeper with every hard, pounding thrust.
Potter leaned back, leveraging Draco against the wooden surface as he charged. Draco heard the air whip around Potter's hand before he felt the swift burn on his arse.
"Merlin, the heat coming off your arse," Potter moaned as he rubbed the tender skin, tapping it lightly with his rough palms. "You look so beautiful like this, Draco."
It was almost too much, the praise rushing from Draco's lips, the way Potter's cock was sliding roughly in and out of his puckered hole, getting close, so close to his -
"Fuck, yes," Draco cried as Potter's thick cock found his prostate, rutting into it over and over until Draco thought he was seeing stars. He couldn't handle the onslaught, his cock hardening even further, dripping long, steady ropes.
"Potter, nggh, yes, Sir, it's so good, aghh, fuck, I'm so close!"
Harry stilled, pausing in his assault. He ran his thick fingers soothingly through Draco's hair.
"Almost, darling. Almost there. Think you can hold on for just a moment longer?"
Draco trembled as Potter ran feathery kisses down his spine. He could still feel the weight of Potter's cock deep within him, twitching with need.
"Yes, sir," Draco moaned, nudging his hips backward, encouraging Potter to begin his thrusts anew.
Potter placed one hand above the base of Draco's cock, holding his hips still as he drove, frenzied, into his core.
"Fuck, Draco, you're so good for me, yes," Potter plunged into him unrelentingly, cock dragging over his prostate with every buck, and all Draco could do was take it, take all that Potter had to give.
His arse felt raw, as if he had been stripped down to his core, everything laid open for Potter to view, to examine. He wanted Potter to see him like this, delicate and sore, perfect and wanting.
"Come for me, Draco," he purred, his voice like velvet, like sinking into a rich bed covered with fluffy blankets. "Merlin, fucking Jesus, Draco, come for me, please ."
Potter grabbed his neglected cock, twisting his wrist as he dragged upward. The rough pad of his thumb pushed into his slit, grinding out the last moments of pain before Draco was overcome with pleasure, shaking rapidly as he chased his release.
"Nnnggh, yes, Potter, thank you," he groaned as the pulsing white streams of his orgasm spurted erratically over Potters fist, still clenching in tantalizingly rhythmic squeezes. He could feel his arse tightening, clinging to Potter's cock as he plunged, deeper and harder.
"I'm going to fill you up, fill your tiny arse until you're dripping with my come," Potter chanted, his hips becoming erratic until he stilled, making the most glorious sound as he came.
Draco laid there, tied, bound blissfully while Harry recovered, righting himself behind Draco before slipping out in a wet slide.
Potter pulled against the restraints and Draco shivered as they tightened slightly before releasing his raw wrists. Thick fingers were instantly on him, rubbing a soft ointment into his skin in soothing circles.
He was tugged down, resting easily in Potter's lap, as a cup was brought to his mouth.
"Drink, Draco, come on, just a sip," Potter coaxed the cold water down his throat. It felt luxurious, the coolness of the drink and the warm comfort of Potter's arms wrapped around his waist.
"You were so good for me, baby," Potter murmured softly in his ear as his hands rolled down his back, and Draco couldn't help it. He began to cry - soft, silent tears filling his lids, rolling down his flushed cheeks, dripping onto his skin.
He wanted so badly to be good for Potter. He hoped that if he was good, so good, that Potter would want to keep him, hold him outside of days marked with the black X. Maybe Potter would want him on days that end in Y too.
"I could be good for you again," Draco whispered, his voice a heated muffle behind his tears. "I could be so good for you."
Potter's hand stilled, frozen against Draco's spine. "Would you like that?" His voice came out shaky.
Draco hummed, tucking his head into his muscled chest, breathing in the smell of wood and sex.
"Yes, Harry." He loved hearing the name roll off his tongue. His pulse was racing, and he could also hear the chest below him rapidly rising and falling.
"I'd like that too, Draco. I'd like that too."