Title: HD 'This Thing We Call Ours'
Author: tigersilver
Characters: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): AU; EWE
Word Count: 390
(Original)Prompt: hd_seasons – 13 Nights of Smut, Prompt #11 (graveyard; scream)

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: I lied, again! Through my pointy teeth. I sat down to write 200 words of PWP earlier, to prompts, and came up with some mildly foul language, PG-13 and a tantalizing TBC. Well, screw that! Smexing right here and right now! Boffing Wizards! Boffing Wizards in an established, long-standing, caring, mutually satisfying relationship, natch!

"No, no, Harry."

"Yessss." The fingers didn't stop.

"No! I want you in me—Har-ry!"

Still, they pattered over his skin: nipples, elbows, knees. Backs of knees. And tongue, following straight after. Draco was damp; shivering with ague, for the 'other' fingers—the ones deep in him; three now? Four? They twisted in a mind-bollixing rhythm that left him rocking as if he were but a babe aloft, helpless.

"Harry, no! Please! It's enough, alright? Just—please—stop!"

"No. Oh, no. Not."

"You're a—sodding—bloody—bastard!" Draco cursed, for in a moment more it would be too late. "Killing—me!"

Fingers only, when he wanted cock in him. All of it, buried so deep he'd feel it nudge aside his kidneys; feel it in him, a part of him, integral. Radiating Harry's magic, moving in time to the thud-thud-thump! of his too-rapidly beating heart.

"Har-ry!"

"Yessss!"

There. There. Balanced on knife-edge, the spill of that heartfelt plea finally went home, darting sure and swift. As Harry did—brilliant!-following after, fingers gone and prick replacing them, all in a fluid, torn-flesh moment. Cock bit deep into reddened skin, found purchase, and was swallowed.

Hungry mouths; starving arse and that feast that filled it. That which they had between them left no gaps.

"Yessss!" Draco's moment to gasp, triumphant. Whatever he asked, Harry gave. "Now—oh, now—move, Harry!"

Whatever Harry gave, Draco gave back again tenfold—a thousand. The thud-thud-thump shaking Draco's chest had a stuttering hitch to it now; a slick squish that was his innards giving, gripping, sucking in and then reluctantly allowing Harry an out.

One he never, ever took, bloody Gryffindor. One, thank Merlin, he'd never once opted for, in all this long while. Draco had that—and this.

Oh, this.

"Harry, now—harder!" And their nightly conversation was likely inane and not particularly witty. There were so few murmured sweet nothings and no real endearments beyond the syllables of their names. Nothing extra; no frills or add-ons.

"Harry, yes!"

"Draco!"

And then: "Fucking Merlin—Draco!"

Where fingers had been, tormenting, was all cock now, so thick and rich and heavy within, he'd happily combust 'round it—a flambé of Draco Malfoy. A spontaneous fire, never quite burnt down to ashes.

"Fucking—Draco—fu…!" Harry's green eyes were burning, and Draco blinked, dazzled even in the half-light. That which he had—they had. They.

"Yes-yes-yes-yes-Harry-yes!"

Never ended.