Estrus
A muscovado-sweet stench—dark and treacly—and Draco's rendered instantly, dizzyingly hard.
“Fucking hell, why didn’t you owl?”
He looks around: wand on floor; inkwell spilled over parchment; bedsheets soaked through.
…and a trembling, sweating, whimpering, naked Harry.
Draco caresses a burning cheek, unbuckles his belt.
“Let’s get you taken care of.”
Written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt 'ink'. Crossing off the following bingo squares: 50 words, Omegaverse, Rated M, Draco POV, Established relationship, Hurt/comfort















