Some soft drarry porn, bc @fairydrarry and @saintdrarry said it was good enough to share it with the world, so… yeah. Hope you enjoy.
Harry was sleeping, and feeling miserable.
His boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, had left him for a ‘business trip’ for the ministry: a trip that had taken four days.
That was four days without kisses, hugs, gentle teasing smiles in his direction whenever he’d burn the toast again, four days without Draco’s hands on him – Draco’s hands, everywhere.
Harry wanted him so bad, wanted Draco’s touch so bad, that he could almost feel it, feel the soft caress against his thighs, the hot breath roaming over his neck and –
Wait a minute. That felt a little too real to be Harry’s imagination.
“You’re home,” Harry whispers breathlessly, digging his head back into the pillow and revelling in Draco’s mouth on his neck, arching up into the warmth of his body. He sends up a silent plea to whatever deity might be listening that Draco’s hands, currently roaming down his chest, his stomach, continue to touch him.
“Home and with time to unpack before your arse woke up,” Draco says in an amused tone, finally pausing for a moment, his mouth hovering near Harry’s neck.
“Tired,” Harry mumbles, still half caught in the haze of sleep. “So tired. I tried waiting up for you, but I couldn’t anymore.”
Draco hums thoughtfully and licks into the hollow of Harry’s throat. Harry bites back a moan. “I’ll help you get back to sleep then, shall I?” Draco asks.
Harry can only nod, perhaps far too eagerly. His whole body tingles as it comes awake, alive, and maybe for the millionth time, he considers how much magic is in Draco’s touch to be able to make him feel like this. Once upon a time, there’d been other people who tried, who had tried to unravel him, who had tried to make him feel like this. But that’s all they did, didn’t they? Try. Every time they did just enough and never more, but Draco, oh Merlin, Draco – he gives in spades and doesn’t let up until Harry has to beg him to stop for the sake of his own sanity.
And still, he can never really have enough. Who could?
Draco’s breath tickles Harry’s skin, warm and tempting, and his body understands before his brain does, responding accordingly. Draco curls a hand around him through the thin cotton of his boxers, runs his thumb along the head of his cock until Harry gasps.
“Someone missed me,” Draco whispers, amused.
“Yes,” Harry murmurs as he rolls his hips against Draco’s palm, still sleepy but hoping for more. He lets his eyes fall shut again, his fingers curling into the sheets. “You gonna touch me?” He tries not to let it sound like an outright plea, even though that’s what it is and they both know it.
“Everywhere,” Draco promises. “But first…”
Draco takes advantage of Harry’s bucking hips to slide his boxers down around his thighs, and almost immediately, his mouth is on him. Harry’s eyes fly open and one hand lands in Draco’s hair, the other now gripping the pillow beneath his head as he thrusts up into Draco’s throat, suddenly wide awake and desperately needy.
“Oh, fuck,” Harry whines, and Draco sucks hard, runs the flat of his tongue along Harry’s cock and then flicks the tip across the slit until he’s whimpering. “So good, you’re – fuck, that’s so good, baby, please…”
Harry will admit he’s been known to babble during sex (as if he doesn’t babble literally any other time whenever Draco was near him), but nothing of substance comes out when he does. His brain, usually so full of things he’d like to say and do and be, is reduced to a muddy, foggy puddle of please and yes and more and pet names he doesn’t usually call Draco. Draco doesn’t seem to mind; if Harry had his own eyes open just now to look at Draco’s, he’s sure they’d be full of a gentle mischief.
And mischief is the right word, because almost as soon as he’s begun, Draco is pulling away, all tease and no follow through. That mouth of his, previously (and sometimes still) a source of much strife between them, plants kisses all along his thighs while Draco’s fingertips trace patterns around his hipbones. Harry shivers; he’s always loved the things Draco can do with his tongue, but sometimes all he wants is for Draco to map him out with hands alone, warm palms covering every inch of him as if he is uncharted territory.
He’s not, of course, but it doesn’t matter how many times Draco does touch him, because he always does it like it’s the first time. Every time, it feels the way it does when you first decide to fuck somebody, and you don’t know a damn thing about their body except how badly you want it. And so you explore all of it, learn it like it could teach you the secrets of the universe, treat it sacred like a temple that you plan to worship at because you will. Sometime later, the novelty wears off for most people and a body is a body is a body. But Draco still touches him like he’s tending to an altar.
In the past, other people have touched him like they’re checking for all the places where he’s flawed. Looking for other scars to match the one on his head. But Draco always touches Harry like he’s looking for all the little places where the hands of some artist reached out and sculpted and made perfection.
So Harry reacts the way he always reacts, arching into it, aching for it, close to begging. “Please,” he whispers, and he opens his eyes now and pleads with those, too.
“Impatient,” Draco laughs, shaking his head.
Harry slides his arms around Draco’s neck, pulls him down for a kiss. “I’m not impatient, you’re just the devil,” he insists.
Draco hums against his lips, nipping with his teeth at the bottom one until Harry whimpers. “You wouldn’t love it half as much if I didn’t make you need it this badly.”
Harry rolls his eyes, bucks his hips up to make sure Draco can feel him and just how badly he really does need it. “Just fuck me already,” he whines. “Been waiting long enough. Four days.”
Draco chuckles, lets his fingertips dance along Harry’s chest, brushing across one nipple, enjoying the way Harry arches up to his touch. “Four whole days and you’re already a sex-starved maniac. Can’t wait to see what happens if I ever leave for an entire week.”
Harry huffs. “You’d better take me with you if you go for a week.” He wraps his legs around Draco’s waist. “You’re getting off track.”
Draco leans in for a soft kiss. “My deepest apologies,” he says, not sounding sorry at all.
Harry lets go of him, falls limp against the mattress, closes his eyes. “May as well go back to sleep,” he says lightly, his tone innocent. “If you’re not going to do anything…”
There’s a pause where Harry thinks Draco really isn’t going to do anything, and then out of nowhere there are warm, slick fingers pressing inside him. His eyes pop back open and he gasps, looking at Draco who is wearing an absolutely shit-eating grin.
“You sure about that?” he asks, fingers curling in just the way that Harry likes, and Harry has no idea where the lube came from. But it could have materialised out of thin air for all he cares. All he wants is for Draco to keep going, to keep slowly opening him up.
“Okay, I’m awake,” he hisses, hips rocking up from the bed again and again now. Suddenly, he doesn’t care if Draco fucks him; this is good enough. Good enough for this moment in the too-early morning, in the dark of this room, where Harry’s brain is cloudy and the only thing clear to him is that he’s pretty sure he can taste every letter of Draco’s name as it rolls off his tongue.
Harry’s fingers dig into the sheets, then into Draco’s shoulders, and his legs go back around him, heels pressing hard into his back, toes curling. Harry is reminded of how this was hasty the first time they’d ever fucked; so desperate were they for the act itself that Draco had spent a minute on him, maybe two before replacing his fingers with something a hell of a lot bigger.
But god, does Harry love it when he takes his time. When every thrust of his hand is punctuated by one of Draco’s own heavy breaths. Harry can’t pretend he doesn’t know it turns him on to watch Harry fall apart like this with a finger or two in just the right spot, but the search is half the fun. He knows Draco could find it in seconds after all this time, but he doesn’t. He teases first, coming close but never hitting that exact spot until he’s good and ready to do it. And Harry is always panting, squirming, begging by that point.
A throaty plea comes out of his mouth now at the thought of begging. “Please?” he asks, but it only makes Draco go even slower.
“So impatient,” he repeats, grinning down at Harry, who has no leg to stand on with regards to pretending he could do without this now. There’s no stopping, even if he wanted to.
“Yes, I’m goddamn impatient,” he moans, because he’s dripping precome along his belly, hard and aching and longing for Draco to touch him there, too. But he doesn’t, not just yet. All bark for the moment, barely a hint of bite.
Draco hums softly, lets out a breathy sigh though his own chest is not heaving the way Harry’s is. “Think four days is bad, huh? I could do this all night. Let you ride the edge and not give you quite enough…”
“I would kill you,” Harry hisses, and Draco laughs, strokes the knuckles of his free hand along the heaviness of Harry’s balls.
“I have no doubt,” he says, and without warning, he gives in. His hand surges forward until his fingers are all the way in, far as they’ll go, and then he curls them, twists them, starts stroking fast, insistent at Harry’s prostate.
Harry lets out a noise that sounds like a sob, wonders if the neighbours can hear him losing it. Wonders if they’re always listening when Draco is touching him. Wonders if they’re jealous, because they should be, nothing else on earth than being with him could possibly feel this good, this exhilarating, and his hips slam against the bed as he tries to rock back on Draco’s hand, greedy for more.
There’s none of the impossible thickness of Draco’s cock, and Draco’s touch is much gentler than the aggressive thrust of his hips, but fuck, Harry feels like he could float away on this. He’s getting close to orgasm now, moans broken, back arching, and Draco takes pity on him, wraps a firm hand around his cock, lets him fuck into the circle of his hand while his body writhes. His thighs tremble and his spine shudders and he’s almost there, almost -
Harry can feel his cock throbbing just like his heartbeat in Draco’s hand, and his own fingers find one stiff nipple, pinching and rolling and pulling and Merlin, the touch of his own hand is almost as good. His body sets itself on fire, and he feels the weight of the heat in the room, the strength of his own desire, of Draco’s. As it always is with Draco, Harry feels as though it’s them and the universe, that it’s Draco or the moon or the tide or all three offering an irresistible hand to pull him under until he’s drowning and parts of him are dying and being reborn all at once.
Harry thrusts into Draco’s hand once more and comes, hard enough that he can’t remember the last time it felt this good, perhaps because he blacked out then as he just about does now. All his muscles go taut and tight until it aches, and his knuckles go sore grabbing at the sheets. Then he really does go limp, wonders if the feeling of sinking into the mattress is real or if he’s just drunk on this. Draco pulls his fingers free and Harry feels the loss immediately, feels cold until there’s warmth and he realises dimly that Draco, gasping quietly, has just added to the mess all over him.
“Sorry,” he mumbles and his voice feels thick, heavy, all wrong for his mouth. “Shoulda helped you.”
Draco just looks down at him for a moment, and a smirk curls up one corner of his mouth. “You did,” he says. “Believe me.”
Harry gives a soft ‘hm’ of a laugh, counts his breaths, in and out, until they return to normal. Only then does he speak again.
“Wanna come fuck me in the shower?” he asks, and Draco groans, collapses next to him and rolls his eyes.
“We’re not sixteen. Even the great Harry Potter has to wait for it. Imagine that.”
Harry smiles a lazy smile, and he’s all too wide awake now. “Okay,” he says. “Then at least come clean me up until you can fuck me.” Draco lets himself be dragged from the bed.
“How can you possibly want it again so soon?” he asks in the shower, once Harry has handed him a bar of soap and his hands are again tracing every inch of Harry’s body.
Harry’s laugh echoes off the tiles. “If I could touch you the way you touch me, you’d never stop wanting it, either.”
Draco pauses, then reaches down to bring one of Harry’s hands up to his chest. “Well, then. You better get some practise in, huh?”
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