Hole

As Draco waited beside the Floo to bid farewell to the last of the guests his mind ran over the information he had accumulated during the course of the evening. Much of it was trivial - who preferred whose company, whose eyes followed the girls and whose the boys. Some of it was potentially lucrative, such as information on future directions planned by the Ministry or certain influential parties. Some of it - Draco's eyes skittered sideways to MacNair, standing beside his father - was potentially lethal.



Archie needed a hand to fasten his cloak, having finished the night sagging unconscious over one of the settees. Draco had cast a mild 'sobrietas' over him to get him moving and was considering whether a second would be needed to enable him to use the Floo, but Archie batted away his hands and, stepping onto the hearth, was gone. Now the room looked desolate, strewn with empty glasses and plates of half-eaten canapes. The four slaves knelt in a row by the door waiting for further orders.



Lucius and MacNair shared a look before gesturing to Swan and Pretty to follow them up the stairs to Lucius' suite. Draco wondered what sort of condition the slaves would be in in the morning. He snapped his fingers.



"The room is free now," he told the house elf who answered his summons. At the door he stopped and looked wearily at the slaves still kneeling there. "You may go, Butter," he directed. "Hole, come with me."



It would be light in only a couple of hours, but Draco was too fastidious to go to bed smelling of whisky, sex and cigars, not to mention the damp trail running down Hole's legs. He considered a quick shower, but the thought of a warm soak with the ministrations of Hole was too tempting.



"Run me a bath, Hole, and then have a quick shower yourself while it fills. I don't want a scum of cum floating in the bath with me."



Hole ran swiftly to the bathroom, where Draco heard the bath begin to run and then the shower. Slowly Draco began to strip, his mind running frantically over those few fragments of conversation between MacNair, Lucius and Higginbotham.



"Rather a waste, just when he is getting good with his mouth," Lucius had said.



"Has to be done. Can't risk a popular uprising," urged Higginbotham.



"At the Anniversary Ball," MacNair had agreed. "For maximum impact."



Draco's interest had been firmly caught, but he had only caught a few more fragments of the conversation over the risque anecdote his neighbour was telling. 'Can't risk another martyr' and then 'werewolf pit' seemed clear enough.



Draco's eyes dwelled on Hole as he emerged from the bathroom to say that the bath was ready.



Draco's bath was fragrant with sandalwood, deep and square, after the Japanese model. Hole slipped in behind him as Draco directed him to wash his hair. The warm water seemed to leach him of stress, easing him into bonelessness as strong fingers first massaged shampoo into his hair and then rinsed it all away. Clean and light, Draco drew Hole onto his lap, probing for the recently scoured arsehole and finding it. His eyes were closed as he dreamily slipped past the slight barrier of muscle, finding it comfortably stretched, but still warmly welcoming. His hands rested easily on Hole's hips, giving him control over his languid thrusts.



When his eyes opened he was disconcerted to find blond prettiness hovering over him and reached for his wand to remove the glamour. Hole's solemn face, framed by dark shaggy locks, came into view, causing the heat in his groin to flame up. He thrust up more strongly, shifting the boy so that his cock was seated deeper inside. "Use your muscles, Hole," he commanded, and Hole began to rhythmically contract around him, seeming to squeeze pleasure through every part of his pelvis. Draco came in one sudden, overwhelming spasm. He threw back his head and shouted as his body convulsed, fingers digging deep into Hole's hips, head thrown back to crack against the tiled wall and his body one glorious arch, supporting Hole at its apex. His cock pulsed with glory, sending gush after gush in to flood Hole's arse, until at last the feeling ceased, leaving Draco to sag, sated, into the side of the bath.



He closed his eyes, feeling his breathing and heartbeat slowing. His head hurt where he had cracked it against the wall but he had no regrets. He pulled Hole down to rest his dark head on Draco's chest as he floated, savouring the moment.



At last they had to move. Hole climbed out to dry himself in the shower before carefully towel-drying Draco when he climbed out. Draco's bed was soft and inviting, and he was indignant to find that Hole had not automatically joined him there, but had gone to his rug. "Get over here, Hole," he ordered irritably. He pulled the slave in close, falling asleep with his arm over the boy's waist. Beside him, Hole lay quiescent under the restraint.