I saw this post, and knew immediately that I had to write a fic for it. This is my first fic above a T rating, so it was written in one sitting before I could lose my nerve. What follows is the softest, most gentle M-rated fic I think you can find. Additionally, I am very ace, and thought that I was writing Harry as allosexual, until Vukovich told me how much ace Harry came through in this fic, so please take a moment to laugh at my naïvety and then to thank @vukovich for being a wonderful beta reader and for ensuring that I tagged this properly 💜
Words: 1,828
Rating: Mature
Summary: There was a tumblr post asking who in your ship cries during sex, and I knew my answer immediately - Harry cries during, and Draco cries afterwards in secret.
Read on ao3 here
It’s all so good. Everything has been so good, for months now, that Harry can’t really figure out why it took so long for him to finally ask Draco out. He can’t figure out why multiple years of amazing friendship didn’t turn into dating and kissing sooner, not when it only took him six months to realise that his feelings for Draco weren’t just platonic. He can’t figure out why it took them so long to get here, but he’s beyond glad that they finally have.
Harry’s lost count of how many dates they’ve gone on (although Draco probably knows; he’s obsessive like that, and Harry loves that he knows that about him), or how many times they’ve kissed, or how many scorching looks Draco has given him from the other side of the room. They’ve been taking things slowly, per Draco’s wishes, although Harry hasn’t minded, and has, in fact, been delighted to watch Draco open up to him even more with every dinner and every kiss, like a flower opening so slowly into the morning sun.
Now, though, they’re here, in Harry’s bed with Draco pink-cheeked and sweaty over him, for the very first time. And it’s so good, just like everything else, just like Harry knew it would be, because it’s Draco here with him. Draco’s nerves have dissipated, and he’s radiant, leaning down to kiss Harry, making soft little noises that Harry could listen to forever, beaming and laughing, pressing his eyes shut even as his mouth falls open. There’s a strand of hair that’s come free from its queue, falling alongside Draco’s flushed cheeks, and Harry is overjoyed to watch it sway back and forth, curling up into a gentle ringlet, because that means that Draco must secretly straighten his hair, and Harry knows this now, an intimate little secret to discover even in the midst of this intimate act itself. They’ve been together for so long tonight that Draco’s hair straightening charms have worn off, and he’s comfortable enough with Harry that he hasn’t bothered to refresh them, and now Harry gets to know that there’s a wave to Draco Malfoy’s pin-straight hair, and no one else gets to have that secret.
He reaches a hand up and twirls a finger through Draco’s hair, then cups his face to simply admire him for a moment. Harry doesn’t think that anyone could ever really look attractive during sex. It’s too sweaty and red-faced and slightly gross for anyone to actually look hot the whole way through, but Draco right now is so lovely, so captivatingly beautiful, both for his red-flushed, sweaty face and for how open he is in this moment of vulnerability.
“I love you,” Harry says, before he can stop himself. He’s said it before, a few times, and he’s certain that Draco feels the same way, even if he hasn’t said it back yet. Still, Harry hadn’t wanted to pressure him right now, hadn’t wanted to risk making Draco think that he had to say it back to him at this moment because of everything else. Draco beams, though, and kisses him fiercely, and somewhere in the middle, Harry tips over into ecstasy, coming back to himself moments later with tears wet on his cheeks and more still streaming from his eyes.
They kiss some more after, and then just hold each other close, drifting in and out of sleep for a while. Draco doesn’t say anything about the tears that took a few minutes to stop, although Harry thinks he’d be well within his rights to. Honestly, who cries during sex because their boyfriend secretly has curly hair? Instead, Draco just kisses him, and runs his thumbs under Harry’s eyes to wipe away the tears, and kisses him again while fresh ones appear.
When Harry wakes up an unknown amount of time later, he can still feel the salt, tacky on his cheeks. He passes a hand over his eyes, then scrubs it across his face, before reaching out to pull Draco close to him once more. His hand meets nothing but empty sheets, still warm from Draco’s body, but rapidly cooling. And Harry knows, because he knows Draco, that he’ll be back soon. He hasn’t gone far, nor has he gone for good, and Harry is sure of it even before he sees the light shining from under the ensuite door. If Harry could be patient for two minutes, Draco would surely return to him, eager to reclaim his place next to Harry in their warm bed, and to press his always freezing toes in between Harry’s legs. But Harry’s in love with him, and everything is so good when they’re together, and he doesn’t want to be separated even for the next two minutes, and so he gets up and pads over to the bathroom door, knocking gently to preserve the quiet of the pre-dawn stillness.
“Draco?”
There’s no answer, but Harry can hear the sink running, so he pushes the door open a crack and says Draco’s name again, sees his bare back stiffen slightly at the sound of Harry’s voice. He splashes water on his face once, then turns around with a towel pressed to his cheeks, patting himself dry even as Harry steps into his space and puts his hands gently around Draco’s waist. Draco leans into the touch, but doesn’t respond in kind, continuing to dry his face, the towel now an obstacle, keeping Harry from kissing him like he so desperately wants to. Instead, Harry slips his pinkies into the waistband of the boxers Draco has put back on, and gently smooths his thumbs up and down Draco’s sides.
“Hi,” he says, still making an effort to be quiet for no reason.
“Hello,” Draco whispers back, the towel still obscuring his face and muffing his voice slightly.
“Is everything alright?” Harry gives one of Draco’s hips a gentle squeeze, and Draco sways slightly into his hand.
Draco nods, but doesn’t say anything, and the towel is still hiding his face, which means Harry is forced to judge by Draco’s stiff shoulders how much of a lie his nod was. Harry slowly pulls the towel down, revealing Draco much as he was only an hour before; his face is red and blotchy, his hair is mussed, and his eyes are closed. Unlike before though, his face is now wet with tears instead of perspiration, and Harry feels a stab of pain go through his heart at the idea that something is marring this perfect night for Draco.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, moving his hands to cup Draco’s face, almost able to see the same motion echoed between them from earlier in the evening.
Draco shakes his head, and another tear falls to meet Harry’s thumb before being wiped away.
“Nothing. I’m fine, truly I am. I don’t know why I’m crying.”
Harry wipes away another tear and tilts Draco’s chin up gently until he meets his eyes. He can’t quite parse the emotions that he sees going across Draco’s face, but he can understand, at least in part, how Draco must be feeling. Tonight was a big step for both of them, their first time together, but it was Draco’s first time ever, and Harry feels like his chest might burst with love for Draco for letting him share this moment with him. Some of that must be reflected on his own face, because Draco gives him a watery little smile and tries again to explain.
“I’m fine, it’s just…” ‘A lot’ finishes Draco’s voice in Harry’s head, but he remains silent and gives Draco the chance to say the words for himself. “A lot,” he says, with another small smile, and then his lower lip begins to quaver again. “It’s all been really good!” he hastens to add. “And I’m fine!” he says, more tears splashing down his face. “It’s just a lot, all at once.”
Harry nods his head, wipes Draco’s tears, and kisses him. It’s not one of their best kisses, Draco sniffles in the middle of it, and Harry’s pretty sure that there’s snot in his mouth, but it’s still absolutely perfect, because it’s the two of them standing together in the middle of Harry’s bathroom at some wretchedly early hour in the morning.
When they pull apart, Harry swipes his thumbs across Draco’s cheeks again and says, “I get it.” At Draco’s raised eyebrow - and, oh, what a joy, to see Draco’s dearly loved prickly little personality pushing through his tears - Harry reminds him, “I was crying earlier tonight, too.” He shrugs. “It can be overwhelming sometimes, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t amazing.”
Draco scrubs the towel across his face once more, then fits himself to Harry’s body, pressing his face into the spot between his neck and shoulder that he had been kissing earlier that evening. Draco’s nose presses into a tender area, and Harry thrills to consider that he might have a bruise there in the morning, and can’t wait to avoid all of Draco’s attempts to heal it with magic, instead letting it linger for days as a reminder of tonight. Maybe, he thinks nonsensically, he could even get a tattoo there, to preserve it for all eternity.
“I woke up and wanted to wash my hands,” Draco says out of nowhere, the words slightly muffled against Harry’s skin, “and when I saw myself in the mirror, I just. I don’t know. I guess I thought that maybe I would look different, afterwards. Which, I know that’s silly, but I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to see. And I couldn’t tell if I looked different or not. All I could think about was how I must have looked to you-”
“Absolutely gorgeous,” Harry interrupts, and Draco laughs a little before pressing on.
“And then I was thinking about how you looked at me, and, and, and you love me-”
“I do,” Harry says,
“-and,” Draco’s fists tighten against Harry’s back, and he can feel the material of the towel Draco is still holding move against his spine. Draco pulls back slightly, and looks Harry in the eye. He’s a bit of a mess, with his cheeks a chaotic pink and his eyelashes spiky from tears, but once again Harry is certain that he’s never seen anyone more lovely, “and, Harry, I love you too,” he says, and possibly some other words after that, but those are lost into Harry’s mouth, kissing him thoroughly before lifting him up, letting Draco wrap his legs around Harry’s waist, and carrying him back to bed.
When Harry wakes up the next morning, it’s with Draco curled around him, his face pressed against Harry’s chest, and the bathroom hand towel, which Harry now realises is the novelty Celestina Warbeck one that Draco got him as a joke, squashed under his armpit. It’s so strange, and so perfect, that Harry wants to laugh. It’s all just really good.
So. I wrote this little two shot during NaNoWriMo and have finally got it all up and ready to go for you! A huge thank you to @darkangelofsorrow for making the manip and also to @caitlincheri28 for being my bestie and my go to girl. This fic is a gift for her.
Inspired by James Bay & Julia Michaels' 'Peer Pressure'
Peer Pressure, a Dramione 8th year.
Rated Explicit, sitting at 18,491 words.
Inter-House unity is at an all-time high as students return to Hogwarts after the war. An Eighth Year common room and attached dormitories create the perfect place for parties. A simple game is created wherein Veritaserum helps the party-goers participate honestly.
Hermione never participates. Neither does Draco. Slowly, they gravitate towards each other and discover each other's secrets. Slowly, they realise what they mean to each other.
Goyle's taken it upon himself to act as Malfoy's personal, one-man guard and Harry can't help but feel like it's only making the bullying worse.
He was easily the most beautiful and tragic thing Harry had ever seen, stubbornly retaining all his elegance in the face of what the war had done to him, what he'd done to himself. Defiantly ethereal even with a Dark Mark on his arm.
Yesterday was @lazywonderlvnd’s birthday and I decided to celebrate this wonderful addition to our fandom by reading a fic that’s been on my list since it was published, I was just waiting for the right time. Yet another fave, this is a lovely angsty 8th year fic, combining Draco & Goyle’s brOTP and virgin!Draco, two tropes that are bound to attack my heart. But listen, if you haven’t checked out lazy’s works yet, you’re def missing out. They write the most delicious fics, with excellent build up, spot on characters, A+ scorching hot smut and organic dynamics that won’t let you take a breath until you’re finished. I love how this fic portrays protective Goyle and vulnerable Draco under Harry’s watchful gaze. His concern and fascination with both are very realistic (I could almost see it in the book!) and it was nice to see sympathetic Gryffindors, for a change. Insecure Goyle dealing with his grief gave me ALL the feels and the Drarry slow burn is quietly soft and sweet despite all the angst - okay, I admit I like seeing Draco being bullied at bit 👀- but friends to lovers is my ultimate jam and by the time they got together I was smiling like an idiot. This is a cathartic and comforting read, with horny boys being horny and Draco discovering subspace in a way that’s both sexy and heart-wrenching, a mix of angst with hot porn and intimacy that only skilled authors can pull off. I love how they’ve explored it together and Harry figured out what Draco wasn’t (too) aware of and made sure to keep it all safe, sane and consensual. Besides, I can’t deny a fic with such a soft ending and the most relatable line ever written: "Oh, I hate feeling sorry for people I don't like," said Hermione miserably. Enjoy!
(it’s when a guy rubs his penis between another guy’s butt cheeks without penetrating the anus.)
Malfoy was a virgin. Not a big deal, really. Not at all. So why was Harry’s cock achingly hard since he got to hear the news just about five minutes ago?
Never Have I Ever, Room of Requirement. If you’d ask Harry, he’d never guessed that’s how the Houses would have found a way to reconcile after the War, but you know, take whatever comes.
They were all long gone when Neville had sobbed his “Never Have I Ever Had Sex,” claiming that he wasn’t really interested in sex, don’t judge him, thank you very much. Harry had drunk his shot, as all his friends, as all the Slyth— though, no. Malfoy’s shot was shyly resting full in front of him, his cheeks blotchy with a rosy flush.
“Really, Malfoy?” Ron snorted, spluttering a few drops of his shot all over Harry’s face. Gross.
“Mind your business!” Pansy hissed, taking her shot, barking, “Never Have I Ever Kissed A Girl,” weirdly glancing at Hermione.
Harry spared a second to wonder when that could have possibly happened but his eyes were still trained on Malfoy, his blotchy cheeks, glossy eyes. Was it really true? Someone like Malfoy, always bragging around, smirking, bullying and mocking everyone… handsome, lean, sweet-smelling… never had sex?
The thought didn’t leave Harry in the following days. Every time he met Malfoy his mind shut down and all he could think about were Malfoy’s arsecheeks, so firm, so perky, graciously wrapped in his robes, so posh. And no one had had the privilege to sink their cock there?
Yet.
“Yet” was the thought that worried Harry more than anything else. Why, why was he so obsessed with the idea of being the one to deflower Malfoy?
His obsession found an end two weeks later, after a game of Truth or Dare. Everyone went back to their dorm, it was Harry and Malfoy’s turn to clean the Room that night. Drunk, messily moving around to toss away bottles, glasses, forgotten scarves…
“Are you really a virgin?”
“Excuse me?” Malfoy turned to Harry, mouth opened in a shocked ‘O’, disbelief written all over his face.
Harry cocked his head, squinted. “Did I say that out loud?”
Malfoy blinked a couple of times, the side of his lips lightly curving in a smile. “Git.”
“Idiot,” Harry retorted, then thought better than that. “Virgin idiot!”
Malfoy’s angry blush was all Harry could have asked for. “I refuse of feeling guilty over the fact that I’d rather wait for the rig—”
Harry snorted, alcohol clouding his thinking process. He stepped right in front of Malfoy, placed his hands around Malfoy’s face. Merlin, but was his skin unfairly soft, so soft it begged to be stroked. Without thinking too much about what he was doing, Harry brushed his thumbs over Malfoy’s cheekbones.
“W-what, when, why are you doing this, Potter?”
“You’re handsome, you know,” Harry whispered, leaning forward, placing a kiss to Malfoy’s nose.
Malfoy tensed under Harry’s touch, eyes wide. “For your information, I’m not a piece of meat for you to deflower.”
But their encounters hadn’t finished there. They started hanging out, sober, happy, laughing, joking together, studying. Kissing. They were the most told tell at Hogwarts, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.
But Draco, yes Draco, wanted to wait. And Harry wasn’t one to be disrespectful. He was full of patience. Lots of patience. Oceans of patience. Miles of—
Okay, patience never was Harry’s strong suit.
It especially wasn’t while his fingers were knuckles deep into Draco’s bum, the skin around them puckered and soft and hot, the walls of his hole clamping down on Harry’s fingers, pulsing around them, and really, Harry was a patient bloke, but—
“Please, please, please, let me have you.”
Draco turned his head, huffing. “Is this one of those times you say things you’re thinking without realising it?”
Harry’s eyes refocused on Draco’s face. Fuck.
“Erm, yeah, sorry, Draco, it’s— it’s f-fine, I—”
Draco rolled his eyes, leaning his head again on the pillow, between his arms. He inhaled, moaning softly. “I’m sorry I’m making you wait so long, I don’t feel… ready yet, but,” he slowly rolled his hips on Harry’s fingers, fucking himself on them. “You turn me on like nothing else. I… Take them out.” He wiggled again against Harry’s fingers. Harry complied, already missing the heat of Draco’s arse. “Just… don’t penetrate me, okay? But fuck, I want to feel your cock…”
Harry stared blankly at Draco’s hole fluttering under his attention, trying to understand how could he give Draco his cock without penetrating him when all the wheels clicked in the right way. Trembling with anticipation, Harry grasped Draco’s hips and pulled him close, brushing the tip of his cock to that glorious arse.
They groaned together, and Harry quickly murmured a lube spell, a thin liquid coating his cock and Draco’s whole cleft, Harry’s mouth watering at the sight. He dragged his entire length down Draco’s cleft, slowly, stopping again at his hole, lightly rubbing on it and then lower, over his balls.
“Okay?” Harry asked, short for breath. He really hoped it was okay for Draco because he wasn’t sure he could stop now.
“More than,” he replied in a whisper. “Keep going.”
Harry set up a frantic rhythm, brushing his cock between Draco’s arsecheeks over and over again, lowering to kiss between his shoulders, bite at his neck, digging his fingers into Draco’s hips to steady him.
He felt his orgasm coming all too soon, what with months of waiting, his arousal already high from their previous activities. He slowed down, grasping Draco’s cock and giving it long tugs, murmuring into Draco’s ear, “Come, sweetheart, come on my hand, I wanna feel you coming.”
“Yes, ah!” Draco came with a shudder, hot spunk covering Harry’s hand, making his head spin. He quickened his thrusts, brushing his cock over Draco’s hole once, twice, three more times before he was coming too, straightening his shoulders to watch as his come oozed over Draco’s arsecheeks, streaming down toward the hole, his thighs.
Draco sat down, leaning his back on Harry’s chest, both panting.
“I’m ready now,” he whispered.
--
Thanks to the amazing @primavera-cerezos for the super swift beta! 😍
