Y Fronts
Wizards do not, as a rule, wear underwear. That sounds oddly funny to someone who has grown up in a Muggle house, but it seems wizards by-passed the underwear revolution. While they would never understand the term 'going commando', it is the custom that, 'if you don't need nappies, you don't need anything.'
My boyfriend has never worn underwear a day in his life. I found out this little tidbit of information on our first night. We'd been at a party, and I was on my way to getting drunk. I'd spotted this gorgeous tall blonde with a Stella in one hand and a fag in the other. I weighed my options as I ran a hand through my hair, not that it did any good to either control the bloody mess or cover my old scar. It is more of a reflex these days, as I've come to live with the scar and the reaction it gets. I pushed my way through the crowd, and passing the bar, I grabbed two more Stellas before I found myself next to him. We hooked up, and we laughingly agreed that is was owed, in part, to our mutual, deep and abiding love for Quidditch and hate for a certain manipulative bastard of a Headmaster. We left the party soon after, deciding to get some real food instead of the shit that was being served.
It was a good hour or so later that we left the small Greek restaurant we'd found, and I was hurrying him along the path back to my flat. We'd passed a small alley, when I hauled him in behind a dumpster, and with my hand on his chest, I pushed his back to the wall. I ran my hand down his body as I sank to my knees and, grabbing the hem of his robes, and threw them over my head. I sat back on my heels and let myself for a moment just smell him, that unmistakable scent of a man, slightly sweaty, salty and musky. Expecting to feel fine wool or soft cotton trousers, I instead found wiry leg hair as I ran my fingers along the ridge of his calf muscles. My fingertips skitted higher, and I felt the softer hair on his thighs. I straightened, intending to slide my fingers even higher in order to pull down his underwear, when his cock bumped by chin. My hands grasped his hips instead, and pulling him close, I took him fully in my mouth. He would have choked me had he been completely hard, but I'd taken him by surprise and because of this and the amount of alcohol and food he had, he was only now responding. His cock felt perfect, and I eagerly set to working his length. I didn't know how long it would take for him to come and I didn't care. I didn't spare a second to cast a cushioning or silencing charm; I wanted my knees red and burning, and I wanted to hear him out of control and screaming my name. I had been hard for the past hour, and now I was roughly pumping my cock in my hand. We came together, loud and hard and trembling so violently that I had to wrap my arm around his hips lest I lost my balance while he clung to the dumpster to stop himself from hitting his knees on the alley's hard pavement.
We'd been together a few crazy months when I told Draco I was buying him underwear. Winter was approaching, and I wasn't going to let him freeze my bits off. He laughed his delicious laugh and raised his left eyebrow, the one that tells me I've said something amusing. He lazily reminded me that he's been through more than one winter, and what did I think was the purpose of a warming charm? I countered that using warming charms on delicate skin make for dry and chapped knobs and I wouldn't be very happy if he damaged my goods. He gave in then but stated he had final say on style and color. I flatly refused, telling him I was paying, so I was choosing. He was more than thrilled with what I brought home - heavy silk boxers, Egyptian cotton boxer-briefs and tiny satin thongs embroidered with "My boyfriend's other wand."
My underwear choice amuses him - Y fronts. He once asked why, when there was such an extensive selection of materials and styles to choose from, would I choose little boy underwear. I told him I loved how my ass felt in them, and then I pulled him on top of me and shoved his hand through the front. "Besides," I whispered hotly in his ear, "they provide easy access." His fingers cupped my balls then quickly found my hot little hole. Soon I was seeing stars.
He surprised me one night when we were at my flat. I was lying on the bed, and he was slowly stripping. I was eagerly waiting for him to unbutton his pants so his long thick dick could spring out. Instead, when his pants dropped to his ankles, my Y fronts were stretched tight across his long, hard cock. I began to drool. I rolled out of bed and crawled to him. I shoved my nose in his crotch, breathing him in and mouthing him over the cotton, my moist hot breath making him moan in anticipation. I eased his cock and balls through the opening and after licking the head like a lollipop and tonguing his slit, I swallowed as much of him as I could fit down my throat. He demanded, he cajoled, he even begged, but I would not let him remove those underwear. He came three times that night, the last time with me on my knees behind him, his Y's pulled to the side and my nose and tongue buried in his sweet ass. When I finally allowed him to peel off the sticky mess so we could shower, I grabbed them and brought them up to my face. I licked his thick cream off the cotton while he stared at me, his hot eyes burning my soul before a look of understanding crept in and his acceptance of my little fetish.
That night, I slept with them under my cheek, breathing in his scent.