Heat

Harry felt good. He felt wonderful actually. And that was quite surprising since he had gone to bed

feeling extremely tired, and on top of that, the last couple of days had been intolerably hot, making

sleep and rest precious and unreachable. However, he also felt somewhat confined. As though he got

tangled in his sheets, and all his limbs were too heavy, cruelly impeding his movements. But that

seemed like a minor problem, because something wet and pleasant penetrated his dreams and made

him ache in the most agreeable ways and places.

It took Harry a couple of minutes to wake up fully and determine the source of his pleasure. His eyes

flew open in surprise, and Harry gasped, realizing he still couldn't see anything. Not that he needed

sight to tell him that a skilful tongue was doing wicked things to him.

Becoming completely aware of what was going on, Harry moaned and curved his spine, rubbing his

erection against the sheets, but he couldn't find much friction because there were hands on his hips

and binds on his wrists that made sure he couldn't move.

His legs were spread far apart and thumbs dug into his arse cheeks, holding him open for Draco's

tongue. Wicked, skilful tongue that thrust inside him insistently, stabbing repeatedly into Harry's

opening, making him whimper at the wonderful sensation. Harry couldn't see due to a soft blindfold

that covered his eyes, but he imagined he made quite a debauched sight — spread open like that, as a

willing feast for his husband.

The heat was truly excruciating these days, and this wasn't really helping. Harry felt sweat break

through all over his body; felt the salty tang of it on his lips, as he bit and licked them trying not to

be too loud — worried, that if he were to admit he was awake, Draco would stop.

However, Draco still realized that Harry was conscious and Harry heard him murmur something like

'It took you long enough' before those full lips closed around Harry's pucker, the consequent

sucking making Harry buck and moan as he forgot his previous desire for silence. Draco's warm

breath ghosted over his arse as he chuckled, and Harry really wanted to say, "Shut up and get on with

it," but instead, he just demonstrated his request by wriggling his arse and thrusting it closer to

Draco's mouth.

Draco bit Harry's left arse cheek, probably just to be contrary, and Harry yelped, but then moaned as

Draco soothed the bite mark with a wet, sloppy kiss.

"Lift up a little," Draco said, no longer laughing as he released Harry from his grip.

Harry gladly got up on his knees, un-sticking his front from the uncomfortably wet sheets, and

thrusting his arse in the air expectantly.

"I was trying to wake you in various ways, you know," Draco accused, though his voice was low as he

caressed Harry's sweat-slicked skin. "You're lucky I didn't try it like this."

Harry frowned and opened his mouth to voice his confusion, but then something cold touched the

small of his back and Harry hissed and yelped in shock.

"Yes, that would wake you up fast," Draco mused, dragging — the ice cube? — from Harry's

lower back towards his neck.

Harry shivered violently, especially when the ice reached the sensitive and hot skin of his neck;

Draco's tongue following its slow, torturous progress, lapping up Harry's sweat and water from the

fast-melting cube. It was hard to decide whether the coldness felt nice or not, but Harry's trembling

body ignored the confusion of Harry's brain and made its own decision, and Harry had little choice but

to whimper and beg for more of this exquisite feeling. And when the cube travelled down again and

Draco's tongue touched Harry's opening, Harry's brain stopped functioning altogether. Draco must

have put the ice in his mouth, because Harry's hole was brushed with cold only to be soothed with a

warmer touch of a tongue.

Harry didn't think he'd manage to take anymore of this. The ice was melting and the heat was once

again unbearable. The sounds that Harry was making were embarrassingly high-pitched, interspersed

with pleas and orders such as More! and Faster! and Yesyesyes! but the

noises that Draco made were purely indecent. He sounded as though he was enjoying this as well.

Harry could hear Draco suck and slurp messily; he could feel his tongue moving fast

and deep as saliva coated Harry's hole and dripped down over his balls.

Harry's limbs began to shake and he didn't feel like he could stay in this position much longer. His

hips moved in the fast rhythm set by Draco's tongue as Draco was no longer trying to stop him, but

instead caressed Harry's back in encouragement.

Harry felt his balls tighten and he already prepared himself for bliss when a hand squeezed the base

of his cock, and Draco's tongue was suddenly, intolerably gone.

Harry cursed most colourfully, threatening with bodily harm and with a future use of a paddle, but he

stopped complaining when he felt Draco's cock at his entrance, pushing in and stretching him

impossibly wide. Welcoming the burning intrusion with a long moan, Harry pushed back — lewd wet

sounds of their joined bodies only spurring him on to move faster. Draco easily fell into their flawless

rhythm — perfected through years of dedicated practice — pulling out slowly with an awful but oddly

arousing and satisfying squelching sound, and pushing back in harshly, with a quick twitch of hips,

his angle perfect, the head of his cock hitting the most wonderful bundle of nerves inside Harry's

body. It didn't take Harry long — the continuous stimulation of his prostate sent shivers down his

spine and made sparks erupt in front of his eyes. Harry trembled violently before his body seized up,

and he bit down on his pillow to muffle his scream of pleasure.

Draco's treatment turned rough as he grabbed the flesh of Harry's buttocks painfully, and slammed

inside of Harry — his powerful thrusts shaking Harry's, at that point, useless body, together with the

bed.

With a yell, Draco came, collapsing on top of him, making Harry's knees buck so they ended up in a

sticky heap of sweaty limbs.

Harry was still shivering when Draco moved away and released him from the binds, taking the

blindfold away and then rubbing Harry's abused wrists soothingly. Harry groaned, turning around,

feeling achy and unbearably wet.

He opened his eyes and blinked in surprise. It was still dark.

"It's the middle of the bloody night." Harry turned to glare at the dark, blurry image of Draco.

Despite his bad vision, he could still see that Draco was alternating between grinning at him smugly

and biting his lips — not out of nervousness or shyness, but because he knew it made him look

enticing. The bastard.

"I woke up. I was hot. I wanted to have sex. So there it is." Draco shrugged.

Harry shook his head, his glare probably not very convincing since it was no doubt marred by his

I-just-got-shagged-silly expression. "You're such a —"

"Unbelievingly talented husband, who is capable of satisfying his love at any time of day or night?"

Draco asked much too charmingly.

Harry laughed, snuggling closer. "I was going to say bastard, but —" he kissed the often rude but

always talented mouth lightly. "I suppose that's an accurate description too."

Draco nodded solemnly. "I amaze myself sometimes."

Harry raised his eyebrows, something Draco said registering in his mind only then. "You were

hot?"

Draco scrunched up his nose. "You're right. That's a silly thing to say. I'm always hot."

Harry grinned predatorily. "I can help you with that," he declared, straddling Draco and pinning his

wrist to the pillow in one fluid move. "Now where's that ice?"