An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Carey ‘W’Recs Wednesday(｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ presents:
Fantastic Flip Fuck with Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy!
hoko_onchi @hoko-onchi-writes
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: Porn Star Harry Potter, Porn Star Draco Malfoy, Sex Work, Flip Fuck, Saucy Porn Titles, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Mutual Pining, Pining While Fucking, Praise Kink, Draco Malfoy Has a Breeding Kink, Porn Star AU, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Getting Together, Falling in Love on a Porno Set, Multiple Orgasms, No Refractory Period, Switching
Summary:
“Thaddeus cancelled. But he sent a replacement.”
Harry’s stomach sinks. He’d really been looking forward to sucking Thaddeus’s cock and coming inside of him, but, at this point, it really doesn’t matter what sort of hole he fucks, as long as it’s hot, slick, and properly outfitted with protective Charms. He also wants to get fucked because that’s what this day promised to bring.
“You know I’ll fuck anyone, C,” Harry says, as if this needs saying. He supposes Cho needs the reminder since she’s all bent out of shape about a casting change.
“Will you fuck anyone?” A shadow crosses the floor right in front of Harry. The words are a posh drawl, nothing like the lilt of Cho’s accent. “Anyone with an available hole? Because that’s what I’ve heard. You’re the village broom. Anyone who fancies a ride can use you whenever they like.”
Harry’s head snaps up so fast there’s reverb in his neck. He blinks rapidly. This must be an illusion spell because sodding Draco Malfoy stands before him, wearing tight black trousers and a carelessly unbuttoned silk shirt in an irritatingly Slytherin shade of green.
~~
Or:
Draco fucks Harry. Harry fucks Draco. They are porn stars. That's it.
(*’▽’)ノ ＾. * ･ ｡ﾟ☆
Excerpt:
Harry is nervous in a way he hasn’t been since he did his first porn at eighteen. At twenty-eight, he’s fucked hundreds of people. Sex shouldn’t be daunting with anyone, no matter what sort of pointy twink Cho throws his way. It’s maybe just that it’s this pointy twink, and Harry’s been half-hating, half-fantasising, fully-smitten about Malfoy for years, and he’s never told a soul.
Harry’s breathing is rapid when Malfoy climbs on the bed, and his face goes hot when Lee counts down and the cameras go on. There’s no hiding his excitement, his hot anticipation, and Harry wouldn’t, even if he could. It’s part of the trade they’re in, pretending that every touch is a gesture of desperation, a prelude to a grand romance. So what if it’s not just an act this time?
Catlike, Malfoy slinks his way up Harry’s body and presses a thigh between his legs.
“Hello, lover.” Malfoy’s breath is hot against Harry’s ear. “I’m going to kiss you until you’re absolutely mad with it.”
Before his porn career, if someone asked Harry to describe what it would be like to kiss Draco Malfoy, he would have written out a list of adjectives that would make Moaning Myrtle cringe. Biting and acidic, mean and pointy. Threatening, harsh. Not that those things didn’t confusingly turn Harry on as he chased Malfoy through the castle halls. He beat off to the idea of Malfoy drawing blood from his lips a fair number of times sixth, and more horribly, seventh year.
Since studying Malfoy’s work, Harry knows he’s not like that at all. He’s passionate, but solicitous of his partner’s needs. His lips look sweet-tasting, his tongue seemingly quite talented when he’s coaxing pleasure out of his partners. Harry’s thought about it, imagined it, in a deeply visceral way.
Nothing could prepare him for the reality of it.
Wixen film sets are famously more immersive than Muggle sets. Cameras are hidden; illusion Charms are cast on the walls to transform them into rain-streaked windows that let in moody, pearl-grey light. Even the camera people and director are hidden.
But Harry always remembers he’s working. His body is aware of where everyone is, their magical signatures apparent in different corners of the room. When Harry tunes in, he can even hear the hum and click of the cameras beneath their muffling Charms.
When Malfoy’s lips touch Harry’s, all of that—every bit of it—snaps out of existence. The first brush is tentative, the second deeper and more certain, a flick of tongue against Harry’s lips and the opening of a plush mouth. Harry stills; holds his breath. For a moment, he forgets how to kiss entirely, but his body wakes up when Malfoy puts a sure hand to the centre of his chest and pushes Harry, hard, so he lands on the bed.
When Malfoy swoops in and claims his mouth again, Harry is slightly more prepared. Harry grabs Malfoy by the nape and kisses him with all the longing he’s kept pent up inside of him. When his teeth drag across Malfoy’s smooth, straight jaw, Harry thinks of a decade of furtive midnight wanks. When he licks into Malfoy’s mouth, he recalls the dozens substitute men he’s fucked after watching Malfoy leave a party with someone else, after seeing Malfoy in the Prophet next to the name of a model or an actor, after almost confessing to him in Amsterdam. After almost saying—wait, don’t leave.
Malfoy makes helpless sounds and pants into Harry’s mouth. Every so often, Malfoy rocks his muscular thigh against the obscene bulge in Harry’s jeans. As much as Harry needs to come, he wishes he could kiss Malfoy forever.
(♡´❍`♡)*✧ ✰ ｡*
