What Draco Loves

It had never been this good. It had never been this tender or erotic. Draco rolled his hips and grasped Harry’s thighs tighter, knowing his lover would have matching bruises on both legs. He slid deeper into Harry, gasping as Harry tightened his muscles around him.


These were the moments that Draco lived for: moments of quiet passion or, even better, noisy release. He loved to watch Harry’s face when they were making love. It wasn’t what some naysayers would think about two men having sex. It wasn’t always about finding release or just fucking, but about becoming closer and taking it slow and taking it without rushing or fucking like dogs in heat. It was about pleasing someone because you wanted to, and it didn’t matter if you didn’t have a mind-blowing orgasm, but that your lover was satisfied and, most importantly, that he knows you love him—even if you can’t say the words.


Draco had found the easy rhythm that Harry loved and began to thrust a little harder. Harry’s eyes closed, dark silky lashes fluttered over flushed cheeks, as he moved with Draco, lowering himself as Draco thrust upwards. Harry worried his bottom lip with his teeth, and little moans escaped faster with greater frequency.


Draco shifted slightly and rolled his hips slowly, finding the spot that sent shivers of delight through his lover. He watched Harry shudder and pause in his pace. Draco thrust again and Harry whined low in his throat, the throat that Draco wanted to taste and kiss and suckle.


It was slow and easy and amazing. Harry’s head fell back and his mouth had dropped open; Draco could see a tiny drop of blood on his lover’s lip where he had bitten it earlier. Still, he kept his pace slow and steady, deep movements in and out, done only so that Harry would melt into a puddle of sated goo by the time they were finished.
“Oh, Draco,” Harry whispered, before letting another moan slip from his lips.
Just two little words. Just two simple little words. Words that meant nothing when said apart from each other, but when Harry said them in that tone, and in that way meant everything to Draco.


Swallowing the lump in his throat, Draco bit his lip, then gasped. He was close and getting closer, but not yet—not now!—not until after Harry came would Draco allow himself to lose control.


He sucked in a deep breath and shifted Harry with his hands, but Draco never let up with the slow-but-steady rhythm of his hips. Harry’s eyelashes flickered and Draco could see deep emerald green eyes watching him, gauging him.


Then he said it. Just one small word said from the heart. One small word said with every emotion running through Harry’s body. Just one word that had been said with anger and disbelief and hate in the past and now was said with love.


Draco allowed a slow and easy smile spread across his lips. “Say it again, Harry. Oh, Merlin—Say it again.” Harry whimpered and trembled as Draco thrust harder, deeper into the heat and tightness, into Harry.


“Draco,” Harry moaned, his voice dying off into an incoherent whimper.


Raising his knees, Draco forced Harry to open himself wider and Draco pushed him down until Draco was sheathed to the root. A low growl escaped from Draco before he had a chance to stifle it.


Harry was starting to lose it, the rhythm was gone; his poor bottom lip reddened and tender, his eyes were squeezed shut, and his mouth twisted into a grimace of pleasure. His legs quivered under Draco’s tight grasp, and Draco knew he could bring Harry to orgasm, but—oh Merlin!—it was so much better to keep him on the edge. Draco fondled Harry’s cock, feeling how hard and slick it was from Harry’s pre-come. The prick was heavy and firm in his hand, and the velvety skin slid so easily through his rounded fingers. Draco glanced up to see Harry gazing at him, his black hair in a messy tangle around his face and his eyes dark and lustful. He reached up and pulled Harry down into a violently passionate kiss, his mouth moving against Draco’s as he thrust his tongue into his lover’s mouth and drank of the taste of what was uniquely Harry. Dark as night, but sweet as nectar, and light as fairy wings at dawn was the sweetness of their kiss. Harry moaned and wrapped his legs under and around Draco’s forcing himself down.


Draco’s quiet lovemaking deserted him and he groaned and pushed up and Harry cried out, sobbing and shaking as he came in spurts of creamy white jism over Draco’s stomach and chest. Draco thrust again and again and again and stopped as Harry wound his arms around his back and shoulders and latched his mouth upon Draco’s neck. He suckled and then his teeth bit into the straining cords of Draco’s pale neck; and Draco came hard, his muscles quivering from the strain and his heart pounding through his chest.


Draco unravelled. He closed his eyes and spiralled down into white-hot pleasure. If the gods had made a hell, Draco would have sworn that, at that precise moment, he’d have thrown himself willingly into the void, as long as he could carry with him the memory of these moments with Harry.


Moments later, Harry rolled limply off Draco’s chest, and rested in his arms, his horribly messy black hair a stark contrast to Draco’s pale bicep. His fingers skimmed and danced over Draco’s chest, caressing the hollow of his neck, his nipples, down the flat planes of his stomach, until they reached the soft blond curls surrounding his cock. Harry’s hand was as slow and sure and thorough as Draco’s lovemaking, and Draco liked to imagine that Harry desired him more than any of his other lovers. And if he closed his eyes and dreamed, it would be true.


Draco carefully moved a lock of sweaty hair from Harry’s forehead, kissed the scarred skin beneath, and drew his lover closer. He lifted Harry’s chin and watched through half-closed eyes how Harry willingly came to his mouth and kissed him. A suckle to the bottom lip, a swipe of his tongue over his teeth and gums, a nibble at the corner of his mouth—Draco revelled in Harry’s gentleness and sweetness.


He sighed and tucked Harry into his arms and closed his eyes. The memory of Harry’s words, and his beautifully dark eyes, stayed with him. Could Harry love him? Even more outrageous, would Harry want to be his only lover? If Draco closed his eyes and forgot his doubts and fears, he could dream a singular answer to those questions: yes.


Draco drifted into sleep and wondered if, when he woke up, Harry would still be in his bed when he awoke. He shifted slightly and Harry snuggled into his embrace.


As awareness faded to hazy dreams, Draco felt the soft press of lips to his chest and heaviness descend over his heart. As he resisted the final pull of the arms of Morpheus, the faint murmur of Harry’s words cut through any doubt and fear that Draco carried.


Harry’s three words resonated through the fog of sated sleep and Draco repeated them to himself as he finally surrendered to the dreams waiting to be dreamt. “I love you,” Draco repeated once more and then he slept.


Okay... it's totally warm and fluffy. But, it's my birthday and I want warm and fluffy! Tee hee! Here's to another year of aggravating the hell out of the people I don't like and having massive amounts of fun with the ones I love.

Reviews are always appreciated!