Tom was walking him backwards in the direction of the castle. Harry's cock throbbed each step they took, and his heart rate soared. They all but stumbled through the corridors and Tom managed to keep a hold of him until they reached the kitchen again and Tom was hauling him over to the table. He turned him around, then pressed between his shoulders until his chest was flat against the tabletop.
He yanked Harry's jeans and briefs down, exposing his ass. Harry tried to rear off the table, but Tom pinned him.
Harry nodded, knowing Tom wanted him to stay right where he was, bent over, no shame, no embarrassment, only unbelievably needy. He moved his head slightly so he could see Tom, his focused expression as he stared at him while stripping off his clothing. He got the lube from the side, lathered his cock, then spread Harry's cheeks.
"How do you want it?"
Tom's cheeks were red, his brown eyes still filled with unmistakeable lust, and he stared at Harry with unmasked want. Harry managed to croak out,
"Rough… I want it rough."
It was sex after all, not love. He couldn't feel guilty about sex, at least not in comparison.
Tom's lashes fluttered, and a soft noise left his lips. Harry wasn't sure if it was a moan, or a curse, but Tom seemed pleased Harry desired it rough.
He pushed two wet fingers past Harry's rim with no apology. Harry cried out at the burn, curling his hands into fists on the table. Tom inquired,
"You sure?"
Harry nodded. He really was. He wanted the pain, the roughness, and Tom didn't disappoint. He took his fingers out, added more lube to them, then sank them inside again, stretching and loosening. Then he lined himself up, pressed his cockhead on Harry's opening until his rim stretched enough, then popped inside, and Harry let out a long moan.
Not only did his stretching skin burn, but Tom punched the breath out of his body with his thrusts. Harry clawed at the table, clinging on. The pain gave way to a dominating pleasure. Harry's body yielded, accepted the harsh treatment, willed it, until his prostate throbbed and his hard-on left smears on the table. The pain faded into insignificance, until Harry was a mewling mess, sobbing quietly, trying his best not to come.
Tom flattened Harry to the table with his chest. The scent of him, the breath on the back of Harry's neck, and the powerful thump of his heart were nothing short of intoxicating. The wet pants, the slapping flesh, and his nails scoring the table, Harry lost himself to the noises, trying his best to arch his back, lift himself, but he knew his efforts were feeble. Still, him trying, excited Tom, and he panted louder, holding Harry's hips harder, pressing down with his chest firmer, until Harry was completely incapable of moving. He was on the edge of letting go. Tom whispered into his ear,
"Wait."
Harry frowned. He couldn't have been talking to him, only himself. Tom stopped, eased his cock out, but still stayed plastered to his back. Harry panted,
"What's wrong?"
"What makes you think something's wrong?"
"You stopped."
"Well, maybe something is wrong…"
Tom straightened, then maneuvered Harry on to his back. His head spun at the sudden movement but and his vision blurred but it came back to focus when he looked at Tom. His eyes were dark with arousal, and his raven black messy hair and sweaty brow made him look feral. He spread Harry's legs, realigned himself, then sank inside. He closed his eyes and parted his lips as he pressed all the way in.
Harry preferred it the other way, not face to face, not romantic. He squirmed, doing his best to roll onto his front, but Tom shushed him, then reached for his throat. He pinned Harry to the table, pressure building, grip tightening, holding Harry's neck to keep him in place.
"Now this … this is right…"
Harry should've been scared, feared what Tom was doing, but he shivered at the possessive hold, and his stomach fluttered. Tom restricted Harry's airflow, until black edged around his vision, closing in until he could only see Tom's face, then nothing at all.
He didn't know whether he'd closed his eyes, or whether they'd just given up seeing. Heat built in his skin, in his cheeks, behind his eyes, all through his body. He heard the wheeze of his body, the breathless gasp rushing in his ears, hearing it internally instead of externally.
There was a touch to his mouth, and he opened up instinctively to let Tom's tongue inside. He tasted even sweeter when he was clinging on to consciousness.
A heat so all-consuming and suffocating took over everything until his awareness started to fade. He couldn't recall his own name, let alone the man's pinning him down, and caressing his lips with poison. He needed air, but he wanted his kiss more.
His prostate tingled, his cock felt tight, overly tight, and the knife's edge he was on seemed to last forever, a build-up of euphoria he'd not experienced before. He started shaking, an involuntary tremble, and his mind spun, faster and faster, until he was dizzy with the pleasure of it all.
Only one thought surfaced from his cotton-stuffed mind: he was about to orgasm, couldn't warn or moan, could only do, and when the moment came, he slipped away, no longer able to think, only feel as his orgasm ripped through him.