Of Blood and Lust and need and want
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
3,984
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
3,984
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.
Breathless
Title: Breathless
Author: flaming_jay
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The boys are Ms Rowlings creation.
He’s back.
You devour him with your eyes, the way he eats away at your defences. All at once and totally consuming. He’s a fever in your blood and you’re not sure that there’s a cure and even less sure that you want one. He stalks you as a hunter stalks his prey and you feel vulnerable under his scrutiny. You can’t help that sudden lurch in the pit of your stomach at the sight of him, but you wait, sitting silently, humbly, demurely on the bed until told what is required from you.
There’s a fluttering of anticipation crawling over your stomach and you hope that he doesn’t see the quivering because he’ll play with it, teasing you about your weakness, flooding you with fear that he will leave you unsatisfied, unfulfilled and alone with your addiction. You tell yourself to hold things together, hold yourself together and rein in your passion until he allows you more. And you almost manage it, but he touches you and you groan. That earns you a slap across the face and as the tears sting behind your closed eyelids, you can’t help but feel relieved. He will give you what you need.
His hands are rough on your cheeks and the blunt fingernails dig in under your jaw. You can feel his hot breath on your face, close to your lips and they ache to kiss him, but you don’t move, you hardly even dare to breathe. Your eyes are still closed because to open them would be giving away how much you need this, how much you need him. But he knows all your weaknesses, three years of his visits has taught him everything he needs to know about you.
There’s no need for him to tell you to strip, because you’re already naked and waiting when he comes. You always are. Always naked, always ready, always his whore. That’s your role in his life and you thank all the Gods in creation that you ache for this as much as you do. He pushes you back on the bed with his hand closed around your throat, and you can’t help the groan that escapes. Your eyes fly open as he tightens his grip and growls that he never told you to make sound. Good whores are supposed to remain silent. In response you close your eyes and nod, spreading your legs for him and arching your back. Your fingers slide down and into your anus, preparing yourself for him, and all the while he is watching you with a smile on his face, watching you struggle to breathe, struggle to stay conscious, struggle to not moan at the invasion into your arse.
He tells you that you are a good little slut, his slut, and forces his way inside you, past the muscles that scream for you because you can’t make a sound. Your mouth opens in silent sympathy but your body cries out for more. It wantonly opens itself to him, your legs as far apart as they can go, heels grinding into the bed pushing your hips up and at him to take you deeper. He doesn’t like you touching him when he fucks you, and it’s not often that he fucks you face to face, so despite the fact that you can hardly breathe let alone think, you remember this.
Your insides feel ripped apart, jagged and torn; he’s taken you dry and though you want him and trust him and need him, your body begs for the pain. As he roughly fucks you, his hand tightens round your throat more and the need to breathe becomes urgent. You begin to thrash around, torn so torn between the pain and the need and it all rolls into one and you don’t know if you need to come or to breathe first. Your lungs are crying for air and you try short shallow breaths but he does not allow it and his fingers, so loved, so needed, so harsh, bury themselves in your throat and he laughs at your struggles. You cant stop pushing yourself at him, your body has a need all its own and despises you for wanting to breathe, and you writhe more, trying to tell Harry that you need more, harder, faster. Fuck the breathing; who needs it? You just need this and only this and if you died from this…
Suddenly, you’ve lost any sense of where you are or who you are. You’re fighting the need on both sides now and your mind is confused. You’ve never wanted, needed Harry more than right now, you want to beg him, yell at him to fuck you and never stop, never ever stop, never ever stop. All you know is the touch of Harry’s free hand on your cock that makes your eyes fly open again but your vision fades into grey as warmth floods your arse and he jerks your cock in time with his coming thrusts.
He tells you to scream as you come wildly, desperately, harder than you have ever come in your life.
But you can’t breathe, cant move anymore, can’t think.
Silently you scream as he watches your face as everything goes black around you.
When you wake later, you find his glasses in your hands and you smile.
He will be back.
Author: flaming_jay
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The boys are Ms Rowlings creation.
He’s back.
You devour him with your eyes, the way he eats away at your defences. All at once and totally consuming. He’s a fever in your blood and you’re not sure that there’s a cure and even less sure that you want one. He stalks you as a hunter stalks his prey and you feel vulnerable under his scrutiny. You can’t help that sudden lurch in the pit of your stomach at the sight of him, but you wait, sitting silently, humbly, demurely on the bed until told what is required from you.
There’s a fluttering of anticipation crawling over your stomach and you hope that he doesn’t see the quivering because he’ll play with it, teasing you about your weakness, flooding you with fear that he will leave you unsatisfied, unfulfilled and alone with your addiction. You tell yourself to hold things together, hold yourself together and rein in your passion until he allows you more. And you almost manage it, but he touches you and you groan. That earns you a slap across the face and as the tears sting behind your closed eyelids, you can’t help but feel relieved. He will give you what you need.
His hands are rough on your cheeks and the blunt fingernails dig in under your jaw. You can feel his hot breath on your face, close to your lips and they ache to kiss him, but you don’t move, you hardly even dare to breathe. Your eyes are still closed because to open them would be giving away how much you need this, how much you need him. But he knows all your weaknesses, three years of his visits has taught him everything he needs to know about you.
There’s no need for him to tell you to strip, because you’re already naked and waiting when he comes. You always are. Always naked, always ready, always his whore. That’s your role in his life and you thank all the Gods in creation that you ache for this as much as you do. He pushes you back on the bed with his hand closed around your throat, and you can’t help the groan that escapes. Your eyes fly open as he tightens his grip and growls that he never told you to make sound. Good whores are supposed to remain silent. In response you close your eyes and nod, spreading your legs for him and arching your back. Your fingers slide down and into your anus, preparing yourself for him, and all the while he is watching you with a smile on his face, watching you struggle to breathe, struggle to stay conscious, struggle to not moan at the invasion into your arse.
He tells you that you are a good little slut, his slut, and forces his way inside you, past the muscles that scream for you because you can’t make a sound. Your mouth opens in silent sympathy but your body cries out for more. It wantonly opens itself to him, your legs as far apart as they can go, heels grinding into the bed pushing your hips up and at him to take you deeper. He doesn’t like you touching him when he fucks you, and it’s not often that he fucks you face to face, so despite the fact that you can hardly breathe let alone think, you remember this.
Your insides feel ripped apart, jagged and torn; he’s taken you dry and though you want him and trust him and need him, your body begs for the pain. As he roughly fucks you, his hand tightens round your throat more and the need to breathe becomes urgent. You begin to thrash around, torn so torn between the pain and the need and it all rolls into one and you don’t know if you need to come or to breathe first. Your lungs are crying for air and you try short shallow breaths but he does not allow it and his fingers, so loved, so needed, so harsh, bury themselves in your throat and he laughs at your struggles. You cant stop pushing yourself at him, your body has a need all its own and despises you for wanting to breathe, and you writhe more, trying to tell Harry that you need more, harder, faster. Fuck the breathing; who needs it? You just need this and only this and if you died from this…
Suddenly, you’ve lost any sense of where you are or who you are. You’re fighting the need on both sides now and your mind is confused. You’ve never wanted, needed Harry more than right now, you want to beg him, yell at him to fuck you and never stop, never ever stop, never ever stop. All you know is the touch of Harry’s free hand on your cock that makes your eyes fly open again but your vision fades into grey as warmth floods your arse and he jerks your cock in time with his coming thrusts.
He tells you to scream as you come wildly, desperately, harder than you have ever come in your life.
But you can’t breathe, cant move anymore, can’t think.
Silently you scream as he watches your face as everything goes black around you.
When you wake later, you find his glasses in your hands and you smile.
He will be back.