Of Blood and Lust and need and want
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
3,985
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
3,985
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Icicles
Title: Icicles
Author: flaming_jay
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Ms Rowling owns these boys. If I did I would have them together by now.
There are icicles pricking into your skin, all over, from the tip of your toes where it tickles to the roots of your hair where it numbs. You know they’re not real, though they feel real enough stabbing at your arms with the pain that makes you feel like you’re stuck in a hailstorm.
But underneath, the fire roils and burns and rages through your blood like molten lava, because he is touching you, feeling you, fighting you, fucking you, loving you and you could die from the sizzling just under your skin where the heat meets the ice.
He twists your arm up behind your back, wrenching it hard, pushing, forcing it so that you could grab your hair if you could just get past the pain long enough to unclench your fist. Any minute now, your shoulder is going to pop but you’re just too fucking turned on by the pain to care.
His nails rake your back into rivers of red, and you scream his name because he owns you, perfect body and dark soul. You spread yourself wider, take him in more, yell at him to just fuck you harder, faster, to hurt you deeper, anything to intensify this itching, searing under your skin. You know you’re his whore, his bitch, his fuck toy and you love every second of it.
There are growls coming from your mouth now because he is hammering into you as hard as he can and you’re bent over with your head hitting the post at the end of the bed with every forceful drive forward. You have your arse stuck in the air, open and vulnerable and you’re exactly where you want to be. You squeeze your muscles because you want to feel him more. You want to feel him forcing you open; you want to feel the fiery pain of him splitting you apart.
He seizes your hair and twists it in his hands, pulling on it violently, compelling you to rise on your one free arm. His breath is heavy and harsh in your ear and he calls you every dirty thing he can think of. You hear his feral voice, hoarse and lustful, telling you he knows how much you love being his slut, his whore, his lover, his everything. How he loves how much you want his cock slamming into your arse, how he gets off listening to the need dripping from your lips.
And then his breath smells sharp like the lemon soap he uses every morning in the shower and it clears your head for an instant before you fall apart. The icicles melt and your whole body is aflame and flush and you scream at the orgasm ripping through your body and the feel of him spurting hot inside you.
As he leaves, he gives you one long look and you meet his eyes and see the promise there.
He will come again.
Author: flaming_jay
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Ms Rowling owns these boys. If I did I would have them together by now.
There are icicles pricking into your skin, all over, from the tip of your toes where it tickles to the roots of your hair where it numbs. You know they’re not real, though they feel real enough stabbing at your arms with the pain that makes you feel like you’re stuck in a hailstorm.
But underneath, the fire roils and burns and rages through your blood like molten lava, because he is touching you, feeling you, fighting you, fucking you, loving you and you could die from the sizzling just under your skin where the heat meets the ice.
He twists your arm up behind your back, wrenching it hard, pushing, forcing it so that you could grab your hair if you could just get past the pain long enough to unclench your fist. Any minute now, your shoulder is going to pop but you’re just too fucking turned on by the pain to care.
His nails rake your back into rivers of red, and you scream his name because he owns you, perfect body and dark soul. You spread yourself wider, take him in more, yell at him to just fuck you harder, faster, to hurt you deeper, anything to intensify this itching, searing under your skin. You know you’re his whore, his bitch, his fuck toy and you love every second of it.
There are growls coming from your mouth now because he is hammering into you as hard as he can and you’re bent over with your head hitting the post at the end of the bed with every forceful drive forward. You have your arse stuck in the air, open and vulnerable and you’re exactly where you want to be. You squeeze your muscles because you want to feel him more. You want to feel him forcing you open; you want to feel the fiery pain of him splitting you apart.
He seizes your hair and twists it in his hands, pulling on it violently, compelling you to rise on your one free arm. His breath is heavy and harsh in your ear and he calls you every dirty thing he can think of. You hear his feral voice, hoarse and lustful, telling you he knows how much you love being his slut, his whore, his lover, his everything. How he loves how much you want his cock slamming into your arse, how he gets off listening to the need dripping from your lips.
And then his breath smells sharp like the lemon soap he uses every morning in the shower and it clears your head for an instant before you fall apart. The icicles melt and your whole body is aflame and flush and you scream at the orgasm ripping through your body and the feel of him spurting hot inside you.
As he leaves, he gives you one long look and you meet his eyes and see the promise there.
He will come again.