Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, but if he was, there would be a lot of leather involved . . . Lots and lots of leather.
Author's Note: So, I wrote this story for myself originally, but I decided that would be selfish, so I've decided to share. It's not that I'm nice or anything, it's just that I'm in a good mood from writing this. It has nothing to do with you people. -DMH
Whimper
Draco whimpered.
It seemed the right thing to do at that moment; biting his lip and whimpering.
Who was he to question the sensations wracking his body?
Who was he to come up with any sensible answer for why any of this was happening?
The most reasonable thing for him to do was whimper his approval of what was happening.
Seeing as he could not form coherent words at the moment, whimpering seemed best.
Just a few short gasps of air, as well.
Perhaps a grunt of confirmation or even a grunt of weak protest.
No true words, however, could leave his lips at the moment.
Not that he'd be able to speak, seeing as his trembling pink lips were a bit preoccupied, helping his mouth to swallow the sweet moans of another.
Moans that tasted more like heat than anything and he vaguely wondered how heat could become a taste until he sampled it again.
Heat with a slight hint of tomatoes . . .
He gasped suddenly, not because he did not like tomatoes, but because of the probing fingers sliding gently back and forth across his most vulnerable area.
He arched against them, not because he wanted to, but because his body needed it.
His body demanded it and who was he to deny his sinful flesh of any carnal desire?
He was, afterall, Draco Malfoy; a man comprised of sex, lies, and cleverness . . .
At least that was how he was described by most others, specifically the man with the probing fingers.
Perhaps that's why he was in the position that he was in . . .
No.
One look at his left leg, slung across his partner's left shoulder while his other leg was pinned under the other man's leg, yet he was still somewhat sitting in the man's lap, his wrists spelled to a headboard, his body shamelessly flaunting its tight entrance to the man and that theory was quickly disregarded.
The Kama Sutra was why he was in the position he was in, but that was neither here nor there.
But the reason he had given himself so easily, and even without the use of alcohol, to the other had to be a good one.
Those fingers finally pushed into his waiting vessel and he wanted to say the pleasure was a good enough reason.
However, it was not a good reason.
It could only be the only reason.
Why else would he have given himself so freely, so soberly, so sluttishly for lack of a better word or even an existing one?
Perhaps it was because Harry Potter had asked to fuck him.
That seemed like a valid reason, but one could never be sure.
His rival was an auror.
An auror that had raided his childhood home several times, finding the means to have Draco prosecuted with the slight evidence he had found.
Obviously, Draco had not been sent to prison, but Potter had never let the dream go.
Or, at least, that's what Draco assumed.
Why would the man, so hell bent on sending him to Azkaban for his aid in Dumledore's death and further service to the Dark Lord be so insistent on having sex with him?
Alright, so he was not 'so insistent'.
It was more like he asked once and Draco's insufferable libido had jumped for the opportunity.
And the blond should figure the use of alcohol on Potter's behalf to the rest of the equation, but it still would not explain the position they were in.
Or the other positions they would be in later.
Maybe Potter had just wanted him.
Had just wanted his body.
Draco almost whimpered at the thought, but instead saved his whimper for the large intrusion of Potter within him.
As welcomed as it was, it pained as much as it pleasured and Draco's whimper turned into a cry as his mind went completely blank.
What . . . Harry . . . Good . . . Fuck . . . Yes . . . Yes . . . Green . . . More . . . Kiss . . . Harry . . . What had he been thinking of?
The question why drifted back into his lust clouded thoughts and they thoughts seemed to have protested the question by making even more clouded thoughts, but the question remained.
Why?
The man pumping inside of him could not possibly want him of all people.
The man pumping inside of him could very well have anyone.
If he had wanted a faceless body for the night, he could have had one.
Draco whimpered at the thought and the pain that came with it.
Then why him?
Was it because he had become faceless?
Was it because he was a familiar face in the bar that night?
Was it because his reputation succeeded him once again?
Had Potter heard the rumors Draco knew to be absolutely true?
Did Potter know what sort of deviant the young Malfoy had become?
Or could he just see the sin in tell-tale silver eyes?
New position, new pounding, new clouds and gasps and whimpers, but the question remained.
Why?
As he was expertly stroked over and over in a spot that made him squeak, he questioned Potter's attentiveness.
Why was the man trying so hard to please him?
Maybe it was because he wanted to demean Draco.
To make him feel overpowered and weak.
To make him have the memory for later that Harry Potter had owned him and his body in a way that no one ever could.
Then the former Gryffindor would throw him to the side with a Slytherin hiss of laughter.
If that's what Potter wanted, why then was Draco so damn happy?
His body felt good . . . cherished even and as if to prove it, Potter released the spell bonding him to the headboard and slid the rutting pair into a more intimate position.
A position that was named after no animals and did not include Draco's body twsting in five different directions.
His arms were wrapped around Potter's neck, his legs around his waist, and Potter was above him, panting into his ear with every new, gentle thrust.
"Deeper."
Draco did not say the word, but whimpered at the sound and feel of it against his ear.
As if ordering himself to do so, Potter plunged deeper in him and Draco just whimpered.
Why?
Why was he being placed under such torment?
Why had he even given himself to this man in the first place?
Perhaps it was because Harry Potter was always in his mind.
Dominating his emotions.
Monopolizing his anger and now lust.
Perhaps it was because Potter had always monopolized everything else as well.
There was no escaping the man for him.
If he was not thrust into his face, he was either lingering in his mind or his dreams.
Maybe he had always been filled with thoughts of Harry Potter.
Even as a child, listening to his father rant about the boy and how he had defeated his lord, thoughts of Potter consumed him.
Potter slid a few pillows beneath him to lever his hips and went in even deeper.
Why?
Why would Potter want someone who had brought him to nothing but anger?
Why would Potter ask for him?
Why was Potter inside him?
Why did he need Potter so damn much?
As the pair threw themselves into one another and shouted out their pleasures and sins either into pillows or to the ceiling, Draco realized the source of his need for Potter.
But what about the man panting into his neck, licking his salty sweat from his still shivering skin.
"Draco, I've needed you for so long."
Oh, that was why.
Draco whimpered.
Author's Note: I was just kidding. I wrote this for you guys. I was just playing hard to get and wanted to appear aloof. Please forgive me! Please don't leave me! -DMH