Staggered

This is the final part of Staggered, thank you all for reading and I do hope you enjoyed it!! ~ Flic xx

***

The cobblestones feel a little springier underfoot today, and the sun is peeking out from a low cloud on the horizon. The sky is mostly blue and in this light, the houses look more quaintly romantic than miserably destitute. There’s that crow again, perching over the door and cawing at him as if laughing.

Harry strides up to the door and takes a deep breath before knocking, double-checking his back pocket to make sure his wand is there, just in case.

Draco opens the door and Harry hardly has time to register the flash of blond hair before the wood is hurtling towards his face again. He sticks his foot out just in time, swearing as the heavy frame slams into it and rebounds, catching Draco squarely in the face.

“Fuck!”

Harry hops forward and manages to get inside whilst Draco is busy clutching his nose and cursing in colourful language.

“Oww! You’ve broken my bloody toe!” Harry accuses, managing to hobble to the sofa before collapsing.

“I suppose having no parents might excuse your pitiful lack of etiquette, Potter, but generally, when someone shuts the door in your face, it’s because they don’t want to fucking well see you!” Draco shouts, though it all sounds rather muffled behind the wall of blood-soaked fingers.

Harry takes off his shoe and sock and rubs his toes, tentatively giving them a wiggle.

“Yeah, well this isn’t your house is it, so you don’t really have any right to stop me coming here. Let me have a look at your nose.”

“No! I can look after myself! Why are you even here?”

Harry stands up and winces but determinedly goes to retrieve a cloth from the kitchen, handing it to Draco before he sits down again, closer to the chair.

“You should at least let Snape look at that.” Harry says gently. “It might be broken.”

Draco briefly flashes cold grey eyes at him, dabbing his nose gingerly.

“For Gods sake, Draco, can we just try and talk civilly for once?” Harry groans.

“ What would you like to discuss Potter? The back-from-the-dead love of your life? The spiteful little Slytherin who didn’t tell you and took advantage whilst you were screaming in your sleep? Funny, because I don’t remember you protesting all that much when you were conscious.” Draco says spitefully.

“You didn’t take advantage, Draco, I wanted to.” Harry says, willing the other boy catch his eye.

“Yes of course you did Potter. That’ll be the reason you were thinking of him as I came all over your stomach.” Draco’s voice is low and unforgiving and for the first time Harry wonders if he might just lose this battle.

“Look, none of that matters now, does it? The thing is, when you left—“

“I know exactly what happened after I left.” Draco says with conviction.

“What? How—“

“You stink, Potter. He’s all over you.”

Oh God. Harry’s stomach flips and threatens to send food he hasn’t eaten back up his oesophagus.

“Fuck, Draco—“

“I’d like you to leave now.” Draco sniffs, wiping away yet more blood. It seems to flow in a never-ending stream from his nose, the cloth in his hand unable to contain it. At some point he must have run a hand through his hair too, because the white blond locks are streaked with red.

“No,” Harry says firmly, leaning forward to entwine their fingers, “I’m not going anywhere unless you come with me. After you left we—look, the point is, before, when it was you, I thought about him and when it was him, I thought about you—“

“So you don’t know what you want.” Draco snorts derisively, shooting another globule of blood into the sodden rag.

“No, that’s just it, I do. I want both of you.” Harry finishes gently, squeezing Draco’s hand.

The undisguised shock on Draco’s face is more than enough compensation for a broken toe, Harry thinks.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter, Severus isn’t going to want to share you.”

“Even if that were true, which it isn’t since he suggested it, I don’t see he has much choice anyway. Don’t you know I’m Harry Potter and I always get what I want?” Harry jokes feebly, though his heart is careering from one side of his ribcage to the other. More seriously, he adds, “I need both of you.”

“This is ridiculous,” Draco repeats, though his voice carries no real conviction.

“Just—come back with me. You need your nose fixed and I really don’t think you should attempt it until you’ve sorted your magic out. Perhaps Snape can help you with both.”

Draco lowers the rag and Harry sees the blood smeared around his nostrils and across his chiselled cheekbones. His lips are amazingly unblemished though, and his nose doesn’t look broken, despite the copious amounts of blood it’s released.

“Your nose is still beautiful,” Harry says and grins at Draco’s indignation, leaning in to press his lips to Draco’s mouth.

Thank God, thank God, Harry sings in his head when Draco doesn’t pull away, and then loses the power to think once more as he deepens the kiss, tongue gentle yet firm as he probes and parts Draco’s mouth, seeking out the delicious warmth and unique taste. Draco emits a small moan and skims his fingers along Harry’s collarbone, slipping them around the back of his neck to draw him closer. Harry lifts himself off the sofa without breaking contact and straddles Draco’s knees, hands stroking the fine, soft skin of his cheeks, tracing a finger over the proud chin, down over his throat, over the prominent Adam’s Apple, dipping inside the neckline of his shirt. He grinds his arse against Draco’s stiffening cock as his own twitches, unbelievably for the third time that day. Harry is overcome with desire for the man beneath him, hungry for the taste of soft, smooth creamy skin.

The combined weight of two fully-grown men is more than Snape’s antique family heirloom can take, and with a sharp splintering sound, it collapses.

“Get off me, Potter!” Draco yells, pushing the crushing burden of Harry away in favour of attending his now excruciatingly painful nose.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy, it’s hardly my fault the chair’s a thousand years’ old!” Harry says, rubbing his forehead, which he thinks was probably the cause of Draco’s latest nosebleed.

“I used to wonder how you ended up in the Infirmary with such regularity but now it’s bloody obvious! You’re a walking disaster!” Draco sits up amongst broken the pieces of wood and examines the fresh flow of blood in dismay.

“Uh, do you think we ought to go back? I mean, if you’re coming back. Preferably before you lose consciousness,” Harry adds with a smirk.

“Yes, fine.” Draco snaps, allowing Harry to pull him up by the hand.

Harry keeps his mouth shut in case Draco changes his mind. Seizing his arm, he allows the swirling blackness of Apparition to consume him, feeling for the first time like he’s going home.

***

“Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, what an unexpected—what in Merlin’s name have you done to him?” Snape says in alarm, spotting Draco’s copiously bleeding nose. “Are there no lengths to which you are not prepared to go to gain what you want?”

Snape takes Draco’s other arm and together they walk him through the dungeon and into what must be Snape’s private quarters, Harry realises now, noting the bedroom door still ajar from earlier.

“It was his fault, he tried to shut the door on me and I stuck my foot out. I didn’t mean for it to hit him in the face,” Harry explains. Snape pushes Draco into a chair and tips his head back.

“This is an extreme amount of blood for such a minor accident,” he says, dabbing gently with a tissue before extracting a small bottle of liniment from a nearby bookcase.

“Uh, well, then the chair collapsed and I accidentally head-butted him.” Harry offers.

Draco hisses at him. Harry isn’t sure if it’s in pain or annoyance.

“Ah. The seduction went well then?” Snape says, his lip curling.

Harry and Draco both give him an odd look. “Well, sort of.” Harry answers.

The salve makes Draco hiss again as Snape applies it to his nose. “Do try to refrain from making such a fuss. You should try managing the pain caused from healing a giant snake bite.”

Draco snorts. “I did. Heal a giant snakebite. And you certainly showed no gratitude for my efforts. I’ve never heard anyone complain so much.”

Harry’s mouth falls open. “You—saved him? How? He was dead!”

“Must you insist on picking over old wounds?” Snape says tiredly, but fails to hide the accompanying smirk.

Harry shakes his head in disbelief. “Your sense of humour definitely didn’t survive the resurrection.”

“He never had one to begin with,” Draco adds, wincing when Snape dabs harder than necessary.

“Whisky, Potter, over there.” Snape barks, cocking his head in the direction of his desk. Harry retrieves it and doesn’t stop to think that it’s only about nine o’clock in the bloody morning. It feels as if it’s so much later, after the ridiculously fast-paced events of the day. Harry watches Snape touch the tip of Draco’s nose with his wand, muttering incantations in that devastatingly familiar, deeply arousing melodious tone as he does so. He remembers how impressive the man and his magic is, how very powerful and commanding and Dammit, just downright bloody sexy too. Draco is keeping very still, his fingers entwined in his robes. His sleek blond head is thrown back, exposing a thin line of milky neck that Harry imagines sucking on, perhaps with Snape doing the same to him somewhere else—

“Do not seek gainful employment as a publican, Potter, unless your patrons enjoy death by dehydration.”

Harry hurries to unscrew the cap and fill three glasses. Draco’s nose appears to have stopped bleeding and Snape’s ministrations have set it back in place and eradicated the pain. Draco however, continues to rub a finger along it every now and again, just to check.

“Here,” Harry says, handing them both a glass each and going back for his own.

The three men spend an awkward moment looking at each other, but as usual, it is Snape who regains his composure first.

“Am I to assume by Draco’s presence here that he is agreeable to our proposition? Or was he merely in need of a competent healer?”

“Uh, I think he’s pretty agreeable, yeah.” Harry leers, even though Draco is throwing him death glares.

“Then why the long face? I can assure you I hold no ill will regarding the destruction of my great-great-great-grandmother’s needlecraft chair. Rather a precarious piece of furniture that was liable to collapse at any given moment. You need not feel responsible, Draco.”

“I don’t!” Draco splutters, pointing an accusatory finger at Harry. “It was his bloody fault, trying to curl up on my lap like some overgrown cat.”

“Isn’t there something else you need to tell him Draco? He set your kitchen table on fire too.” Harry mentions smugly.

“Indeed? Another family heirloom destroyed by your hand? Is there anything left worth salvaging?”

“Look, it’s like I told Potter,” Draco sneers into his glass, “Since the Dark Lord fell, my magic has been unpredictable and infinitely more powerful.”

“Yes, I had wondered how you were able to heal the sort of damage wrought on me.” Snape muses.

Draco looks up in surprise and Harry gasps. Snape glances from one with a wryly quirked brow. “Did you think ordinary magic could have reanimated me? Surely you must have realised it was your power alone that saved me, Draco?”

“No of course I didn’t! I had no idea! But why is it so strong? Why can’t I control it?”

“That, I cannot answer. It may have something to do with the redistribution of magic, should such a thing even be possible. You had the Mark, Draco, as I did. The Dark Lord tapped into your power, weakening you over a period of time. I had believed for a long time something similar was happening to me, and when Potter here finally finished him off, an unexplainable surge in my own magic occurred which held me between life and death, mercifully long enough to be found by you. Of course this is all mere supposition on my part. I may be entirely incorrect.”

“But we buried your body!” Harry protests, sounding not unlike a citizen cheated out of a hanging. “How do you explain that?”

“Oh that was easy,” Draco says, waving his hand dismissively, “It was just a load of transfigured junk in the shack.”

“Charming.” Snape mutters.

“But it doesn’t matter now, does it?” Harry says, brightening, “Because we’re all okay.”

Draco and Snape share another sideways glance and Harry narrows his eyes at them. “Hey, if you’re always going to gang up on me—“

“Quiet, brat.” Snape smirks, black eyes daring Harry to defy him before turning back to Draco. “We must work on a way for you to manage this increase and I suggest starting right away.”

“Er… excuse me? I don’t think so,” Harry interjects, earning himself two raised eyebrows; one blond, one black. “There’s a bed in there!”

“You have not been adequately satisfied for one morning?” Snape enquires smoothly.

Draco snickers. “I hate to admit it, Severus, but he does have a point.”

***

“So, er, how—how does this work?” Harry is sitting on Snape’s bed, the same one he vacated less than an hour ago, plying his cock with long, languorous strokes.

Snape is removing his clothes, laying each article tidily across the back of the chair. Draco loiters in the doorway, a heated blush spreading across his cheeks as he watches Harry’s fingers, curling, squeezing, coaxing.

Neither of them seems inclined to give him an answer.

Harry sighs and lowers his lashes, half lidded eyes darting from one man to the other. The tip of his tongue unconsciously wets his lips as his gaze catches and lingers on the tent in Draco’s trousers.

Snape moves across the room towards him, momentarily obscuring Harry’s view of Draco as he glides past, dropping onto his hands and knees to crawl onto the bed, insinuating himself behind Harry.

Long, elegant fingers explore Harry’s biceps, making him shiver in anticipation. Snape lowers his head to the exposed column of neck, first licking to taste, then kissing to devour. Harry makes a small breathy moan, his head falling sideways in acquiescence, eyes still firmly fixed on Draco as his mouth falls open in wordless pleasure.

Draco looks Stupefied; the quickening rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he is still alive. Well, that and the painful attentiveness on display.

Snape continues to ghost hot breaths across Harry’s ear, seizing the lobe gently in his teeth and nibbling hard enough to make him hiss. His fingers continue to stroke, up and down, up and down, and there is an insistent poking in the small of Harry’s back that he is having a hard time ignoring.

“Draco,” Harry says breathily, patting the vacant space in front of him, “Come here.”

Draco’s hands move hesitantly to his throat, fingers deftly slipping buttons from their holes until his shirt falls open. Harry’s eyes rake the exposed creamy skin, tracing the taut lines and ridges of gently defined stomach muscles. Snape breaks the suction on Harry’s shoulder to glance up and admire what Harry is already busy salivating over.

“Come now, Mr Malfoy. I did not expect such modesty from you,” Snape admonishes. His lip quirks in amusement but his eyes are dark and demanding; Draco can feel them branding his skin, marking his flesh. It’s Snape giving his permission; but more than that, Snape wants him to join them, and the knowledge spurs him to finish undressing quickly.

Harry is the very definition of sublime in his nudity; strong, tanned, compact musculature. Snape is lean, wiry, and sallow, more sharp angled bone than flesh or muscle. They are perfect together, and he cannot look away.

He’s seen both of them naked before, of course.

Draco has glimpsed Snape’s lithe frame; but not in this context. When he fought tooth and nail to save the man’s life, balanced precariously on the brink of death, Draco spent night and day healing the wounds of his flesh. Yes, he has seen it many times, but he had never thought about it like this. And certainly never imagined it wrapped around Potter’s body, coiled like a snake ready to strike while he himself can only stand and watch helplessly from the door, fumbling with his zipper.

Potter had been right to ask how this would work, because Draco himself would very much like to know. For the time being though, to quote a certain unruly haired Gryffindor, it doesn’t matter. Draco will field questions later because right now, Slytherin that he is, he has a situation to take advantage of.

He shrugs off the shirt and steps out of the trousers, crossing the room to join the boy he has coveted and the man whose life he saved, both currently regarding him with tempestuous greed.

Harry is enraptured as Draco moves towards him, miles of creamy, unblemished skin, delicate limbs and porcelain features submitting to his desire. Their desire. He smiles as he feels Snape’s cock twitch in appreciation.

Draco falters at the foot of the bed and meets Harry’s gaze, offering them one last chance to deny his involvement. He has witnessed the depth of Harry’s feeling for the man sitting behind him, remembers whose name it was Harry called out in orgasmic ecstasy.

“I want to see all of you,” Harry murmurs, reaching out a hand. Draco feels the mattress dip under his weight. It feels like falling. Harry catches his fingers and guides him forward until he is kneeling between two parted thighs.

Two questing thumbs slip into the waistband of his pants, peeling them down, easing them carefully over his erection and sliding them away. Two simultaneous sighs reach his ears as they marvel at his beautiful cock, long and thin, willowy like the rest of him.

Snape’s hands are travelling the plains of Harry’s chest, so precisely that he looks to be memorising each and every dip and curve. His thin mouth is still pressed to Harry’s jaw line, but his eyes are firmly set on Draco.

Draco leans forward and sucks a nipple into his mouth, trapping it between his teeth before teasing it with his tongue. Harry’s hands stroke through his hair, giving an occasional tug in praise of his actions. There is pressure on his head, more questing hands, then gone again, as Snape’s touch replaces Harry’s, nails lightly scratching his scalp, caressing the fine strands between his roughened fingertips.

Harry thumbs Draco’s eager nipple, playfully drawing curlicues across his abdomen before moving downwards to circle the base of his cock. Draco lets out a needy moan and Harry catches his chin, tilting his head up as Snape massages the nape of his neck to pull him forward, lips crashing against Harry’s with the force of their combined efforts. A slick tongue demands entrance and Draco cannot resist, doesn’t want to resist, the heat and wetness and slide of mouth over lips causes his cock to harden further in Harry’s cradling palm.

He feels the glide of a hand separating their chests, working its way down to Harry’s cock and he can’t help but gasp and pull back to watch long fingers slip around the thick, rigid shaft, stroking the silky flesh with gentle, even movements. His own cock is being manipulated in the same way, Harry echoing the rhythm applied to his own throbbing length. Draco hesitates only a second before leaning forward to cover Snape’s mouth across Harry’s shoulder. The kiss is harsh and ruthless, as he knew it would be, and it thrills him to hear Harry’s encouraging moans of approval in his ear as he is pressed between them.

When Draco breaks away, panting, Harry’s head falls back onto Snape’s shoulder, turning his face until he too is engulfed in the same violent clash of teeth and lips and it’s so hot that Draco thinks he could come just from watching them.

“Fuck, this is hot,” Harry gasps, resting against Snape but eyeing Draco hungrily. Harry darts forward and pushes Draco onto his back, pinning his hips to the bed as he swoops down and sucks him into the blessed wet heat of his mouth. Draco cries out and thrusts himself further. Harry’s muffled chuckle turns into a sharp intake of breath, and Draco feels him falter.

Snape has taken advantage of Harry’s exposed arse and is licking a path down the cleft, probing deeper until he feels the puckered hole contracting under his tongue. It takes no effort at all to slip past the ring of muscle. Harry writhes and pants around Draco’s cock, his eyes glazed and glowing and Draco reaches down to thread fingers through the messy dark head as it works his length. Harry starts rocking backwards, impaling himself further onto Snape’s tongue, then forward to swallow Draco to the root.

Draco knows he won’t last like this; it’s too fucking good to feel Harry urgently thrusting himself both ways. “Harry, I—I can’t,” he groans, forcing his eyes to stay open, needing to watch every inch of his unbearably solid flesh being devoured by the wickedly sweet mouth of Harry Potter.

“I know,” Harry whispers conspiratorially, “God, I know.”

He doesn’t know; he can’t know how disgustingly erotic it is for Draco to hear the slurping, messy sounds of Snape’s tongue fucking Harry’s entrance, to see the crown of black hair there, just visible down the line of Harry’s back, whilst Harry’s mouth is wrapped around his cock, working the head of it, sliding down it until his nose rests against the thatch of blond hair. Harry can’t know how it feels to have bruising fingertips pressing his hips, firmly pushing them into the mattress and most definitely not letting Draco surrender his remaining shred of self-control and fuck his mouth senselessly. Hot, sweet, dirty, perfect mouth.

It’s too much; the continuous symphony of dual moans, grunts, gasps, the doubly intoxicating musk of their sex that is perforating the air and cloying at Draco’s nose, the soft pads of fingers, palms, lips, skin, flesh, so much naked flesh, the sight of Harry swallowing him down: Draco thrashes his way out of the confinement and pumps his hips as violently as he can before his orgasm makes the short journey from his balls to Harry’s throat, barely uttering a cry in warning as it comes; as he comes. As he comes undone.

Harry lets out a long groan as he tastes the first splash, swallowing greedily everything that follows; finally letting Draco pound his mouth. The beautiful blond head twists from side to side, hands balled uselessly in rumpled sheets, eyes screwed tightly shut as he christens his completion with incoherent profanities. Draco barely manages a whooping breath before he twines his hands around Harry’s neck, dragging him up and forward until their chests are flush and he can savour his own salty tang in a solid, bruising kiss.

Snape growls at the sudden change of position and drapes himself across Harry’s back, grinding his cock until he’s worked it between the saliva slicked cheeks. Harry whimpers into Draco’s mouth.

“How does he taste?” Snape rumbles against his ear, eyes fixed on Draco’s flushed cheeks. Harry turns his head and kisses him in answer, letting Snape suck Draco’s seed from his tongue.

“Oh God,” Draco moans, eyes fluttering closed at the desperately arousing scene before him. He tells himself he cannot possibly be hard again, but there is the familiar rush of blood regrouping and pooling in his groin.

Harry breaks the kiss and smiles wryly. “He’s getting hard again, Severus.”

Snape smirks. “I cannot imagine why. Perhaps Draco would care to sample your distinctive taste, Potter.”

Draco’s mouth is open and silently begging before the last syllable is spoken.

Snape places teasing licks across his chin and Draco arches up to capture his tongue, but he has the weight of two men pressing down on him and if he wasn’t so desperate for a taste of Harry he might have surrendered to the need to inhale by now. Harry laughs delightedly at Draco’s frantic efforts and grinds his hips further into the reawakened heat beneath him.

Snape finally takes pity on him and presses his mouth to Draco’s, letting the boy suck the musky flavour from his tongue.

“Did you like that, Draco?” Harry asks in a deeply husky voice. Snape licks along the curve of Draco’s jaw, dragging his teeth across the pale, milky collarbone and Harry mirrors the progress on the other side. Draco finds each of his hands grasping differently textured hair as he hisses at the sudden nip of sharp teeth on both sides of his neck; marking him, claiming him, taking him as theirs.

Harry finds his ear and nuzzles the baby soft shell. “I want to fuck you so badly, Draco. Can I?”

As if Draco has the willpower to refuse him; as if he wanted to. “Yes,” he whispers. “Yes, Harry.”

“Dear gods,” Snape groans, pulling away to attack Harry’s shoulder fervently. Harry arches his back and lets his legs fall further apart, so that the thick long cock cradled between his cheeks rubs against his greedy hole.

“Fuck me, Severus?” Harry begs, “I want you inside me.”

The crushing pressure on Draco’s chest is suddenly relieved as Snape wordlessly falls back on his haunches, pulling Harry’s hips up with him. Draco props himself up on an elbow and watches the older man reach back to retrieve a pot from the bedside table. Scooping his fingers through the clear liquid, he tosses the vial to Draco, running a slicked hand down Harry’s cleft, before easing a finger into his tight hole.

“Oh fuck,” Harry whimpers, pushing himself back onto the probing digit. Draco hastily lathers his own hand in the lubricant, reaching forward to work it along the length of Harry’s cock.

“Oh God, Draco, wait,” Harry pleads, “I’ll come if you touch me.”

Snape snorts and leans forward, whispering words in Latin that Harry hasn’t heard before. A tightening pressure coils around the base of his cock, and Harry gasps in surprise.

“What was that?” he demands.

Snape catches Draco’s questioning eyebrow and smirks. “You may touch him all you like now, Draco, he will not come unless I allow it.”

***

“Oh God, what have you—oh yes,” Harry hisses, as Draco’s cool, elegant fingers curl around his flesh, dragging the skin gently, up and down, up and down, swiping a thumb over the leaking slit, spreading the lube and mingled pre-come to cover every glorious rigid inch of it.

Snape adds another finger and brushes Harry’s prostate, and Draco is nearly forced back onto the bed by the violence of Harry driving into his firm fist. Draco assails him with fierce biting kisses to the hollow of his neck, splashes of sweat from Harry’s brow dripping onto his face, blending with his own wet beads of exertion.

Harry fucks himself impatiently on Snape’s fingers. “Please, Severus, please,” he chants, “I need you, want you, need you.”

The words compel Draco to flip over and present his own arse to Harry, urgently overwhelmed with a similar desire to be owned and filled. Harry caresses Draco’s hips, pulling them back until his impossibly hard cock is rubbing against Draco’s arse. He curses and fumbles for the pot, torn between concentrating on preparing Draco and the feeling of having his own passage mercilessly stretched and readied. His shaky fingers skim the sweaty crease, lightly pressing a thumb against the beautiful pink entrance that has opened up to his gaze.

Draco moans and curves his spine at the touch, and Harry thinks how striking he is, how he’s always known it, too—

He shouts out as the head of Snape’s cock unexpectedly pushes into him, forcing his gently resting thumb into Draco, who echoes his yell and then there is nothing but slick walls and burning tightness.

“Harry,” Snape says, “God, Harry, so tight, so good.”

“Harry,” Draco says, “Please, Harry, just do it, want you.”

And if Harry could have come right then, he would have done, because the two men he wants are both right here with him, both so different, both so hot for him and he for them and it feels perfect, complete and whole, the three of them together.

Snape keeps still while Harry lines up, biting his lip with the intense amount of concentration he needs to stop himself thrusting forwards too hard, or backwards too fiercely. But Draco pushes back against the blunt weight and groans as Harry sheaths himself, and then Snape is moving and Harry is falling and Draco is begging. Long, deep thrusts push Harry into him, and they move with inelegant, ungainly grunts and moans and guttural cries.

Snape’s fingernails dig into the flesh of Harry’s hip, making him shout and buck, his orgasm dangerously on the brink of imploding inside of him since the invisible coil will not let him find release.

“Severus, please, fucking hell, please let me come,” Harry pleads as his prostate is repeatedly hammered, the head of his cock engorged and engulfed in the inferno of Draco’s channel.

Snape grunts and thrusts harder, ignoring the plaintive cries as he feels his own orgasm approaching.

“Draco,” Snape manages to croak, “Are you—“

“So close,” Draco moans, “Oh god, Harry, Severus, so close.” Their names, uttered together in breathless pleasure pushes Snape over the edge, as one, two more brutal slides into the tightness around him has him jerking fitfully, seeing stars as he coats Harry’s insides.

Harry feels the pulsing in his arse and Draco hears the desperate sounds of Snape’s fulfilment, tripping his own climax, and he soars, headlong into currents of pleasure, spraying jets of white-hot liquid across the bed.

“Now, Harry, come for us now,” Snape growls. Harry’s hips snap back and forth and Snape’s softened cock slips out from the force. He watches with darkened eyes as Harry drives himself one final time and stiffens, spasming helplessly. It doesn’t just come from his balls; his orgasm torpedoes through his veins, dragging itself from every nerve ending in his body. Draco cries out and grinds harder, wrenching the last of the convulsions as Harry shudders and collapses, sweat raining down his face and washing over the sweat stippled skin of Draco’s back as he rests his forehead against it. Snape is at his side, brushing the dampened hair from his forehead and Harry sighs gratefully, turning his head for an affirming kiss.

Snape pulls away to speak but Harry hushes him with a finger to the lips. “You’re not going to say anything to ruin this are you?”

A raised eyebrow scolds him. “I merely planned to say that watching the two of you together is far more preferable to imagining it.”

Draco’s knees give out as he crumples into the mattress. “Merlin, that was—fucking gah—.”

“It would appear that your dreadful lack of eloquence is contagious, Harry. Before long, we shall all be reduced to incoherent babbling.”

“Er, I think we already have been,” he smirks, coaxing Draco to sit up and join him under the sheets. Snape slides in next to Harry and hooks a long arm around the still-breathless boys, pressing a gentle kiss to Harry’s temple.

They lay quietly, each listening to the life-affirming breaths of the others until Harry breaks the silence.

“What happens now?” he says softly, needing to know if this was a one-off, thinking he may not be able to bear it if it is.

“Does it matter?” Draco says sleepily, “Because we’re all okay, aren’t we?”

Harry looks up at Snape who presses his lips together to smother a smile.

“Is he taking the piss?”

“I have no idea,” Snape drawls with immense effort at keeping a straight face. “However, it does not seem that Draco is in any rush to leave us. Perhaps he might consider making this a more—permanent arrangement.”

Harry rolls on his side and cups Draco’s hip, mouth pressed against his ear. “Well?”

Draco pushes his arse against Harry, who responds predictably. “I suppose I’ll have to. It’s hardly fair to make an old man bear the brunt of your deviant libido, Potter.”

Harry grins and rolls back to face Snape. “I think that’s a yes.”

***