Midnight's Children
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did... well... yaoi, of course.
Warnings: SLASH! This is yaoi; boy on boy. It that squirks you out then you're reading the wrong fic.
Enjoy!
He was waiting in the shadows by the window, as always. Shirtless tonight, bare back beautifully on display, the slight musculature shifting and flexing with each breath that fogged the glass. The blonde's hand reached towards the bronzed skin, slender milky fingers tracing down the line of the spine, marvelling at the smoothness, the contrast of his silvery skin to the darker gold.
The simple touch sent fire curling up Draco's arm.
Harry's nerves tingled, a warmth blossoming, spreading, consuming. He wanted nothing more than to melt back into the coolness off the touch but he wouldn't moan yet. Not even when the blonde's lips were doing that incredible thing with the skin beneath the corner of his jaw, because even this, even now it was a competition.
And Harry would win.
The hands again. Fingers brushing along the crest of his hips. Rougher now as they gripped and pulled him 'round. The moon reflected off the silver in his eyes and the darker boy found his own fingers rising.
Seekers skill; nimble fingers, Draco could feel his breath rasping through his chest, but it was ok, this wasn't loosing yet. Harsh breath against his cheek, this hiss of parsletongue against his ear and his legs go weak. He drops his hands down to the waistband of Harry's jeans and plays with the soft skin just above, then with the zip and with the rips across the upper thigh everywhere but the place Harry wants him most and all with the intention of making Harry moan.
The blond drags his hand down inch by inch, tortuous; teasing. The brunet's lids flutter over the emerald fire of his eyes but he choked back the moan, it caught by the swell of his voice box and Draco dropped his head to suck it free.
Harry wondered again at the coolness of the blonde's touch, the cool swipe of the tongue laving against his burning neck. It amazed him, how Draco always so unnaturally cool and Harry himself burnt hotter and hotter. He knew the other had seen how close he'd come to loosing just then but he knew just how to tip the scales.
The fire trailed lower, coiling in their stomachs. Harry drops his fingers to brush a trail between Draco's abdominals. The thin hips snap forwards in response as Harry's other hand drops the bulge of his trousers, caressing the hot length hidden by the fabric. And he marvels at the feel of it, because with Draco's cool skin pressed against Harry's chest, the warmth of this area stood in stark contrast.
Draco kept his face was carefully composed as he raised it to the smirk of the other. The bright green of Harry's eyes sparkled with mirth, easily discernable even in the dim light. Draco smothered his own smirk, the boy didn't know him at all if he thought that that simple touch alone would make him-- holy shit!
The brunette's smirk grows more pronounced as the blonde's head drops to his shoulder, breath huffing against his skin. He had so very nearly won, so close, just one little moan, the admission of defeat. The blonde's hands shifted slightly on his hips bunching by his pockets, he ignores it, focusing on the swell of solid flesh under his fingers, pumping with a slow twist, brushing over the leaking slit at the head on the upstroke, trailing the pulsing vein on the down stroke. The hands on his jeans shift suddenly, the button is popped, the zip flicked down all before his lust filled mind can comprehend... the cool hands on his shaft, his mind short circuits.
Draco's grin is blinding in the dim room, his entire face lighting up, shining silvery and triumphant. Oh sweet success. The lust filled moan reverberates through Draco's body raising goose bumps on the pale boy's skin; the victorious smile meets the horrified expression of the darker face.
Harry had lost. But somehow he couldn't find it in himself to feel any real regret. The triumphant smile was so beautiful, luminescent. Harry could almost admit that he wouldn't mind bottoming tonight. Not if the Draco would keep smiling like that. And all at once, the smile twisted into something very... mischievous.
Burning heat. Harry was always so warm, even now, in the drafty tower room. Harry arched his back, wreathing away from the cold stone floor and into Draco's talented hands. Oh, victory was so, so sweet. Already, though, Draco could feel it building, could feel them both on the edge ready to fall. And Harry had started up a slow grind into his hips through the fabric of their pants, he dipped his forehead to the other's, squeezing his eyes shut tightly, trying desperately to regain some control, to starve off the orgasm he could feel building and when he opens his eyes, scorching silver gaze touches the cloudy green and for a moment it seems they'll both loose this time.
A lingering kiss and he pulls back as Harry, beneath him, whispers his utter surrender in one word: please… The cool fingers grip convulsively on Harry's hips as he lets the word slip and the grey blue eyes above his go hazy and flutter. Harry feels a blush colour his cheeks and is glad for the obscuring shadows when those kiss swollen lips dip to his chest and against that gleaming canvas mutter a fervent "oh yes".
The blond was amazingly talented; the things he did with his tongue against the golden skin of Harry's stomach would have been enough to keep Harry's brain addled for days, but the cool fingers that simply traced across the waistband of his trousers, dipping to trace the triangle of flesh exposed by the open zip, monopolised his attention.
Draco stood up suddenly, pushing away from the prone boy on the floor, fingers moving to play with the waist of his own pants easing them over his hips to let them drop to the stone floor. He smirked as the boy below him bit his lip and whimpered slightly gazing at the exposed flesh with dilated pupils before squeezing his eyes tightly shut.
The cool hands again, suddenly on his burning shaft one slick finger of the other hand tracing the crease of his thigh and dipping between his legs. Draco mutters a breathless laugh at the tortured moan when his finger drops to trace the pucker of Harry's arse. Harry burns under his hands, receptive and wreathing and when he finally works the finger inside, he finds that the Golden Boy of the wizarding world has a mouth better suited to a gutter.
Please! Harry forces the single world past his lips with the greatest of effort, and with an even bigger force of will manages to wriggle himself away from the blonde's tantalising digits and wrap his legs around the waist of the boy between his thighs. Draco's hands fold under his hips, lifting him, pushing insistently with the blunt head of his cock against the slick hole. His eyes are scrunched tightly, his forehead creased as he eases himself inside, immediately beginning an insistent nudge, slowly lengthening and deepening into a leisurely thrust. Harry growls and Draco tuts; there's one more step in their dance yet.
Harry wriggles his hips, desperately searching for more from the leisurely pace but unwilling to admit complete defeat. Draco leans across his chest and bites at his collarbone and Harry drops his head to the floor with a sharp crack of pain. Draco's length suddenly rubs against his prostate and Harry cries out, fling his hips up and arching into the caress of those cool hands. But the next thrust misses and the next too and Harry realises that Draco's doing it on purpose. His next moan is one of frustration.
Draco shifts his angle slightly, rubbing against Harry's prostate again, smirking at the moan and nudging the skin under Harry's ear with the tip of his nose before shifting his lips to the shell of his ear. Say my name.
Harry's breath becomes a sob as one cool hand drops to his aching member, pumping it with the same lazy pace as his hips and breathing softly against the erogenous zone at the base of his skull and all at once it becomes too much. He has to come. Now. The tortured shout echoes in the chamber and Harry's resistance crumbles completely. Draco! Please!
Draco's hips snap forwards, the pace immediately becoming rougher, a grapple for the finish line. They feel it , coiling and building in their stomachs, their hearts pulse wildly, their breathing stutters and zeros. They come in a mess of thrusting sweaty limbs and muffled curses.
Draco collapses against Harry's chest, their breathing finally evens and in their sweaty vulnerable state they begin to chill. They gather their clothes, passing each other pants and socks as they come across them. Harry sits to tie a lace and Draco stoops to press a kiss behind his ear before disappearing out the door.
They would see each other in the halls again tomorrow, and they'd fling curses and sneer and the like. Hermione would haul him away, threatening him and trying to placating him in the same breath and he'd glance back to see Draco smile and maybe they'd do this again tomorrow night. His bed was warm and he fell onto it face first and didn't move till his head was spinning with oxygen deprivation. He kicked off his jeans and yanked the covers up and wondered idly, what it would be like to do Draco in a bed. Maybe he'd conjure one up next time.
Or maybe they'd just do it on the floor again.
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