Here We Come A-Caroling

Well, this will be my first chaptered fic. Thanks to Marcy for uploading the last story and again for beta'ing this one. I guess I'll also throw in thanks to Chelsea who thoughfully wrote commentary on Marcy's editing. That's it- Merry Christmas and enjoy part II.
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The bed is twined in red and green Christmas lights- further proof of how enamored with the holiday you and he are. From under the bed he plucks another strand, unlit and untangled. You watch from your place amidst the pillows as he twirls the plug in teasing circles over your skin, brushing it over your lips, allowing it leeway to dip into the hollow of you neck, dancing it across your nipples. The trail of lights follow your arms, which you raise up, toward the illuminated headboard, allowing his gentle dragging torment to linger.

Ever so slowly he winds the lights around one slim wrist, carefully making certain none of the pointed bulbs are allowed to prod your smooth skin. He presses a loving kiss to your inner wrist then shifts his focus. He pulls the other, unbound arm, closer, then encircles it as well. He now holds both your hands- bound together- above your head. He ties the dangling cord to the headboard, leaving them unplugged.

Another strand is recovered. This time however he is taking a different path over your anxious, sensitive body; following the thin trail of dark hair, dipping playfully into your naval, teasing your cock. He follows the actions of the lights with warm kisses that have you panting and crying out, moan his name in pleasure. At you ankle he delicately loops the lights- once, twice, three times- and then retreats.

He pulls out yet another strand. Following the path of its predecessor, the lights begin their downward journey. You are less than surprised- yet breathless- when they arrive at you unbound ankle, allowing him to entrap this one as well in his ribbon of bulbs.

Next he pulls a scarf, striped in red and white, from the side of the bed. You watch curiously as he brings it closer. He leans in and whispers softly, “It’ll just be a minute. Trust me.” He presses a quick kiss to your temple and before you can comprehend his message, he has covered your eyes with the crocheted material. He winds it around a few timed for good measure- effectively blinding you.

You can still feel him though, every dip in the mattress: You hear every squeak of the springs. The bedside drawer is slid open. You hear him pull out the box that is kept there- the lid gently lifted, the rustle of something withdrawn. The box is closed, returned to its place, the drawer thudded shut.

He’s carassing your body, every touch radiating over taut nerves. You are shocked at the abrupt splash of cool oil, gasping in surprise, breathing in the intense peppermint scent that has become almost tangible. He rubs it into your stomach muscles, massaging well developed ridges. You enjoy the ghosting fingertips, he intermingles with deep kneading. He keeps you on edge- every sensation is new. You can’t find any order, just chaos of hands and oil.

He runs up your arms, working slippery liquid into every inch of flesh. You gasp when you feel the bindings tighten. What has he done? You fruitlessly attempt wish away the scarf.

He has backed away and stillness reigns, holding you trapped within it. He lets the tension mount.

You gasp when he reappears at your feet. Your legs are hoisted up and bent back. You can only assumes he is tying your ankles to the same place he has bound your hands. This new position is not entirely comfortable but passion and lust holds your focus. Comfort is not a necessity, not now.

He places a pillow under your hips, and though you have just decried the need for comfort, you bless him for the thought and effort. Gods how badly you wish you could see him, reach out and touch him, kiss his lips.

“Hold on,” he whispers the words heatedly against your ear while his other hand covers your erection. You buck into his touch. Just a few strokes and you could easily come- you are so on edge. He slips a cock ring over your arousal and you could cry at the loss.

“I know, Harry. You are just so fucking beautiful- bound like this. You are completely at the mercy of my touch.” He strokes you, proving his point. His hands draw patterns over your skin and all you can do is pant. “This was more fun than decorating the tree, Harry. Tied up like an angel in Christmas lights. You most certainly made the naughty list this year, didn’t you?” He cups you, gently licking your flesh. Bound, vulnerable and blinded, you are feeling too much- sensation bombarding every nerve.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he unwraps the scarf from your eyes. “Keep them closed.” You feel him lean in, his breath dancing over your lips. The scarf is pulled away; your eyes remain shut.

“Open,” he finally whispers, as he catches your lips. You don’t open your eyes. Instead you meet his kiss, allowing your lips to part, his tongue to dance with yours.

He lazily relinquishes your mouth and your eyes drift open.

You are stunned. The snow-white lights are lit up, illuminating his soft expression of awe and love as he takes in the image you make.

Your arms and legs are secured to the antique headboard with the dim pristine Christmas bulbs. The peppermint oil he has smoothed into your skin catches and reflects back the pale lights, casting an aura both angelic and pure though your position in nothing short of sinful. The wreath though, secured firmly at the base of your erection, is the most breath taking- its golden form studded with sparkling ruby holly.

From your position you can’t see how truly beautiful you are but you wouldn’t trade the view you have for anything. From where you lie, bound, all you can see is Draco- the intense love that seems to flow between you, the passionate lust that consumes you both. You watch as his eyes close and he takes a deep, steadying breath. You delight at watching him struggle for control, at the power you hold over him.

He leans over and picks up a peppermint, discarding the flimsy cellophane wrapper. He holds it between his teeth, then leans down. His lips touch yours and you willingly accept the rounded mint candy, letting the flavor melt in your mouth. He withdraws, taking another mint, but this time, keeping it for himself.

He presses kisses to your skin with great care: your lips, your elbow, your toes. You close your eyes, letting the kisses come as he grants them, enjoying the slight sting of mint against your skin.

You jerk, cursing the light ropes, when he reaches his apparent destination. Straining your necks, you can see him, his pale hair shining from between your legs. Kisses are trailed over your inner thighs. He’s circling your entrance, his tongue making tiny ovals, occasionally slipping in, testing the muscle. You whimper, enjoying the feel of his tongue within you, desperately wishing for more.

Stroke. Stroke. He is taking his time, exalting in your nonsensical mutterings interrupted by sighs and gasps. He is pushing you closer and closer to completion and you can do nothing against his tongue nor the wreath.

The strain on your legs, tied up as they are has grown uncomfortable, noticeable over the haze of passion. He eases the pain by bracing his hands against your legs, taking advantage of the better positioning.

You moan when you feel his tongue, twisting and turning, working something into your body. Your insides burn faintly, slowly building into intense stings as he works it back and forth, pushing the object around. He has slipped his half melted peppermint from his mouth, and with careful steering, directing the candy along you prostate.

The candy slowly dissolves inside your body, the overpowering burn and his warm, soft tongue have you thrashing wildly against your bindings. He times his actions carefully. Knowing your body as well as he does, he coordinated the disappearance of the candy to the removal of the wreath.

You come, catching in the stands of his hair, staining his pale flesh. He runs his hands through the mess you have made before bringing it to his own erection, using your come to bring himself off. Gods, he is gorgeous in the glow of the Christmas light. Pleasuring himself.

Then it’s over. Your bindings are unplugged and unwound. The Santa shaped pillow from under your hips removed and dropped to the floor. Now it’s just the two of you, lying against red silk sheets, covered in seed, panting.

“Look up, Harry.”

… That’s when you see it. There, in the canopy directly above your head, he has tied a single sprig of mistletoe. He leans in and you greet Christmas morning by sharing a perfect Christmas kiss.

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Thanks for reading. Hope you liked it enough to leave a review because they trully do keep me writing. Also there is one more part left and if you have any Christmas items I've neglected so far and you'd like to see- let me know and I'll try to work them in.
Happy Holidays!