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hpkinkfestTitle: Can't Stand the Heat (Some Like it Hot)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cylsus
Prompt Number: 174 submitted bydragontara
Kink Showcased: Alpha/Omega
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: Malfoy is acting oddly, but it's clear he wants nothing to do with him--so why can't Harry stay away?
Warnings: Dub-con in the way all A/B/O fic is rather dub-con, and knotting.
Word Count: 3,309
Author's Notes: Thanks to my beta, S., who is hilarious and helped me through all the tough parts. Thanks to the mods for running this fest, and sorry for my lateness!
Hogwarts is an oddly cheerful place, 5 months after the war. The Great Hall is loud with laughter, voices raucous in the fray. The Enchanted Ceiling is reflecting a sunny blue sky, with plump clouds drifting across the horizon. Harry picks at his roast beef, feeling listless and at odds with the rest of the students. It’s almost as if everyone is forcibly attempting to remove the dark stain of Voldemort from the castle by pretending it’s a bad dream, or the ghost of a memory.
It’s probably a good thing that people are still able to feel joy after so much horror, but he’s had to attend so many funerals that it just doesn’t resonate with him.
“Are you okay?” whispers Hermione, to his left. He gives her a weak grin.
“Yeah, don’t worry about it.”
She narrows her eyes, but turns around nevertheless; Ron’s telling her some fascinating story about his nightly round yesterday as Head Boy, but Harry isn’t paying attention.
He looks up and his eyes automatically drift towards the Slytherin table–notably diminished in numbers, he can spot Malfoy’s blond hair easily. Malfoy, surprisingly, had returned to Hogwarts with the rest of the students who had decided to repeat their seventh years.
Harry tilts his head thoughtfully. Malfoy keeps his head down these days, subdued and quiet, like most of the other Slytherins–he supposes it’s smart, but it feels somehow wrong.
Then he looks straight up at Harry–his eyes flash with heat, and it sends a spark down Harry’s spine and for a moment, he can’t breathe.
Malfoy turns away and the noise of the Great Hall subsumes his ears as usual.
-----
Harry stares at the moonlight shining through the window for a good several minutes before finally giving up on falling asleep. Rolling onto his back, he heaves a sigh. He can hear the snores of the other boys–all the returning students shared a dormitory, due to overcrowding with the seventh years. Ron’s still the loudest. He smirks.
There’s a quiet sound, of cloth rustling–Harry sits up, interest perked. Who’s up at this kind of hour? He peels back the curtains a sliver just in time to see the unmistakable blond head of Draco Malfoy disappear through the dormitory entrance.
Before he can really think about it, Harry’s leaping off the bed, shoving his glasses on and grabbing his wand. He throws the Invisibility Cloak, still by his bedside, over his head as he silently follows after Malfoy.
The wall sconces aren’t very bright, but it’s enough for Harry to see where he’s going. They go down stair after stair, eventually entering the familiar passages of the dungeons. Harry frowns. What the fuck is Malfoy up to this time?
He trips on a loose tile and hipchecks the wall, leaving a dull thudding noise and pain resounding down his thigh. Malfoy whips around, his wand in the air and his eyes suspicious. Harry doesn’t move, trying not to breathe.
Malfoy must decide he’s misheard because he hurries on, turning the corner. Harry scrambles after him, but it’s too late–the corridor’s empty and he has no idea where Malfoy has gone. He waits for a few minutes, but there’s no sound of footprints. Cursing the fact that he didn’t bring the Marauders Map as well, Harry slips off the Cloak and beings to retrace his steps back to the dorms.
He’s taken about four steps when he’s suddenly slammed into the wall.
“Stalking me again, I see, Potter,” sneers Malfoy, his hand tight on Harry’s shoulders.
“You’re up to something,” says Harry immediately, though a little winded. “I’m going to find out what it is.”
Malfoy’s eyes narrow. His face seems sharper in the dull light, the shadows obscuring his face into someone nearly unrecognizable. His irises are nearly indistinguishable, his pupils blown wide. He looks almost feral.
“I suggest,” he says softly, “You think twice about that.”
He leans in and licks a swathe up Harry’s neck–Malfoy’s tongue is hot and rough, and when he bites at Harry’s collarbone he doesn’t even think of moving, shocked. His teeth feel sharper, somehow, and his fingers are pinpricks on Harry’s arms–suddenly, he pushes himself off, almost violently.
“Stay away from me, Potter,” he says, and his voice is rough and low, the words coming out in with edges on the sounds. He’s gone as quickly as he appeared.
Harry is struck with the realization that he is terrifyingly, mortifyingly, hard.
-----
“You’re a werewolf,” says Harry without preamble.
Malfoy looks gratifyingly surprised, but considering that Harry ambushed him to pull him into an alcove as their class trickled out of the Potions classroom, it’s not a huge shock. It’s been three days since their meeting in the dungeons, and Harry has been around enough werewolves (well, okay, two, not counting Greyback, but that’s enough) to know the attributes.
He recovers quickly enough to sneer at him. “And what of it?”
“Does McGonagall know?”
He rolls his eyes. “Obviously. I’d be skinned alive if anything happened and I hadn’t told anyone.”
“What were you doing in the dungeons? It’s not the full moon. You don’t need a place to hide.”
“Look, Potter, not everything’s your business, okay? Leave it–”
“Harry?”
Harry turned around to see Hermione frowning at them.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Just talking.” He winces. When has he ever ‘just talked’ with Malfoy?
She gives Malfoy a suspicious glance and sighs. “All right, but you better hurry up, we’ll be late for History of Magic.”
Harry steps forward and she reaches out to touch him–to give him a reassuring squeeze, or a pat on the arm, but Malfoy’s grabs him around the waist and drags him further into the alcove.
“Mine,” he rasps, arms curling around Harry, his body pressed tight. He acts like he’s shielding him, turning his head to glare at Hermione. She stares back at them, wild-eyed. Malfoy is rumbling, a noise deep in his chest.
“What do you think you’re doing, Malfoy?” she cries, takes a step forward–Malfoy starts to growl threateningly, shifting into an offensive stance–
“Wait Hermione,” cries Harry. She stops, and he manoeuvres himself into a better position in case Malfoy decides to make any sudden movements–he winds his arms around Malfoy and starts hesitantly petting him. Malfoy makes a pleased sound and shifts closer.
“I’ve got it,” he says–Hermione has about ten expressions on her face, but she looks mostly worried.
“I’ll be fine,” he reassures her. Probably.
“You better, or I’ll hex Malfoy six ways to Sunday.” She gives them a last concerned look, but quickly departs towards their next class.
“Er, Malfoy,” says Harry. They’re pressed so tightly together there’s barely room to breathe, and Harry’s starting to get hard. He shifts awkwardly. “What–”
Suddenly Malfoy shoves him away again, holding a palm to his own face.
“Fuck,” he says eloquently. He’s breathing hard, and there’s a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. His face is unnaturally flushed, and Harry doesn’t think he imagined the line of hardness against his thigh.
“Fuck you, Potter,” he says viciously, dropping his hand to glare at him. “I told you to stay the fuck away–”
“You’re in heat,” says Harry abruptly, the realization sending a flood of warmth to his groin. “That’s why you keep to the dungeons. You need somewhere to ride it out, now that the Room of Requirement is gone.”
Malfoy pales. He lets out a laugh; it cuts through the air like a blade. “Of course,” he mutters bitterly.
He takes a breath. “Look,” he says, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. “It won’t be a problem. I’m only in pre-heat now and they cycle with the rise of the moon; my actual heat only lasts for a few days. I’ll be fine if you stay away from me.”
Harry swallows, because that’s the crux of the problem, isn’t it?
“What if I don’t want to?”
Malfoy’s eyes flash and in an instant, he’s got Harry pinned. He rolls his hips against Harry, who gasps at the pressure and arches so hard his head hits the wall.
“Well,” Malfoy purrs, his voice low and heady, “then I’ll pin you to the ground and wreck you; I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll be screaming my name, tears leaking from your eyes as you beg for my cock. You won’t be able to breathe without thinking of my teeth on your skin.”
He lifts up, and this time his smile is bitter. “I’m warning you, Potter.” He drags sharpened fingertips then Harry’s chest.
“I’ll tear you apart.”
-----
Malfoy’s avoiding him, Harry’s sure of it. He’s always the first few to leave any of their shared classes now, and makes sure to travel in groups, pretending not to hear Harry when he calls out his name.
It’s all for naught anyway.
Harry’s on his way to Potions–taught by Slughorn, now that Snape’s gone–when he hears this odd moaning noise off a corridor. Curiosity peaked, he follows the sound to a nondescript brown door. He reaches out to open it–
The arousal hits him like a punch to the stomach. Harry doubles over, staggering over the threshold–“Fuck, of course it’s you,” growls a voice from the corner–It’s Malfoy, and he’s naked, and Harry needs to get over there right now–
“I told you,” says Malfoy–his pupils are full blown, his cheeks ruddy with colour. His voice sounds roughened, animalistic, and he’s hard where Harry can feel him, pinned to the floor with Malfoy on top. He delicately bites at Harry’s neck, but the sharpened canines are obvious.
Harry swallows, his heart pounding frantically in his chest. He struggles to think past the fog in his mind and the heat suffusing his body. “I want you,” he says honestly.
“You smell like fear,” says Malfoy, licking at Harry’s collarbone. “Shame that even the great Harry Potter turns helpless in the presence of a werewolf’s heat.”
“I can be afraid and still want this,” gasps Harry. He whines, thrusts his hips up for more friction–the heat is burning now, the need for more skin, and he moans with relief when Malfoy tears his clothes away with a swipe of his claws.
The sound Malfoy lets out is anguished, but Harry is finally naked and he’s licking at Harry’s groin, tongue tracing long swathes up and down his cock, claws firmly pressed to Harry’s hips. Just that bit of stimulation is nearly enough to make him come, he’s so far gone, but then Malfoy’s warm mouth closes down over his cock, tongue pressing just underneath the sensitive head, and he’s cresting over the edge, hips straining against Malfoy’s warning grip.
“Holy fuck,” says Harry, relearning how to breathe, but Malfoy’s crawling up to catch his mouth in a bruising kiss, and he gives it up as a lost cause. Malfoy looks drunk on lust, his skin fever-hot where it brushes against his own, and Harry’s never wanted anything more. His lips are oddly soft against the lean hardness of his body; his tongue, sandpaper rough, slides against Harry’s, all wet heat.
“Turn around,” he growls, and Harry obeys unthinkingly–his mind is a haze of arousal, the primal urge to mate pushing past anything else. He forces his trembling limbs up on all fours, arching his back and offering himself to Malfoy’s burning gaze, dropping his flushed forehead onto his forearms.
There’s a warm palm on his thigh–declawed, thankfully–and then a tongue licking up the back of his thigh. His arse cheeks are being slowly pried open, slim fingers pressing next to his exposed arsehole–Harry shudders against the sensation and startles forward a little. There’s a warning growl against his thigh before Malfoy bites him in the meat of his buttocks–Harry gasps soundlessly–laving the mark with his tongue before moving on to lick at his crack, long sweeping motions.
Harry moans when Malfoy finally stops to lick more firmly at his hole, crying out when his tongue slips inside. He thrusts it in and out for a few minutes, the greedy slurping sounds setting Harry’s face on fire, but then he pulls out and Harry cries out with the loss.
Thankfully Malfoy’s fingers are there immediately, pressing inside–two at a time, sliding in easily–Harry’s arse feels wet and open, slick in a way it’s never been when he’s done this with his own hands. It’s not enough–he needs something thicker, fuller.
Malfoy reaches up to slide his cock along his cleft–it feels huge, all heated skin and velvet smoothness, and he groans when it slips against his hole, once, twice, before it finally breaches past the wrinkled furl. The head of his dick feels much too solid and it burns where it stretches open Harry’s passage–the intensity of the feeling is almost unreal. Then Malfoy pushes in, one slow, inexorable stroke, knocking Harry breathless–he groans, heavy balls brushing against Harry’s arse, and he realizes Malfoy must have bottomed out. The thought sends a shock of pleasure down his spine, making him arch his back and cry out.
Malfoy pulls out, then presses in, slowly at first–then thrusting faster and faster. He moans every time Malfoy withdraws, only to surge back in so hard his balls slap against Harry’s arse. Malfoy’s grip on his hips are bruising, tightening every time he fucks into Harry, but doesn’t care. Malfoy’s panting like a wolf in heat–which he kind of is, some distant part of Harry thinks amusedly–biting and sucking on the part of Harry’s neck that meets his shoulders. Eventually he’s grazing Harry’s prostrate on every instroke, and stimulation causes every nerve in him to pull tight. On some level, he’s aware that he’s begging, moaning, Malfoy, Malfoy, but at this point, he doesn’t care. His orgasm builds, first a fire in the pit of his stomach, but now he’s so close to the edge he can’t do anything but shove back against Malfoy’s hips, panting while he shoves in over and over again.
“Fuck,” says Malfoy, and the unexpected suddenness of his voice combined with the slick sounds of sex push Harry over–he comes untouched, so hard that his brain frizzles out a bit, streaking wetness all over his stomach and the floor. He’d collapse, all strength gone, but Malfoy lets out a high whine, and splays a hand over his stomach, dragging him back onto his cock. He thrusts a few more times, then presses in as close as he can, biting at Harry’s neck nearly hard enough to break skin. Malfoy grinds his hips, still pressed impossibly close, and Harry’s so pleasure drunk that he doesn’t even notice that Malfoy’s cock is growing, getting larger, until it’s too late.
“Malfoy, what’s happening to your dick?” pants Harry, breaking off into a whine–it hurts, burns like nothing else, the swell of cock against his swollen rim, but his organismic high turns it into a deepset ache, so that the pain feels good.
“My knot,” says Malfoy after a pause. He sounds drugged, and he nudges Harry, manoeuvring him so that they lie face to face–he can’t help the whimper that slips out from him when he turns on Malfoy’s knot, the tug at his sore rim sending shivers up his spine.
“It’s to keep my semen inside you, to ensure you breed, if you were female.” Malfoy looks drugged too, flushed on sex and still unfairly attractive. His knot is an unyielding pressure against Harry’s prostrate and he swears he can feel Malfoy come–a gush of wetness inside him–that, and with Malfoy’s words–well, it hasn’t been but a few minutes yet, and he’s already starting to get hard.
Malfoy snorts at him, buries his head in Harry’s neck, licking and sucking bruises all over. Christ, marking him. He squirms on Malfoy’s cock, trying to get more pressure without actually fucking himself on it–the knot’s too big to do anything but incrementally thrust, but even that bit of friction feels good. He feels claimed, like Malfoy’s crawled deep inside and staked himself a place, so that he can never touch anyone else without thinking of Malfoy.
As if Malfoy can read Harry’s mind, he starts murmuring, next to Harry’s ear, “I’m going to stuff you with my cock, keep my come inside you for ages until you can’t move without thinking of my cock in your arse. You’re so wet, so tight, it’s like you were made for me, Potter. You’re so good, so ready–”
Harry’s on fire at this point, and kisses Malfoy to shut him up–he’s licking into that wet heat, stroking over Malfoy’s sharp canines. He’s fully hard at this point, and with a thrill of danger skipping up his spine, clenches down as hard as he can.
With a roar and a blur of movement, Malfoy twists so Harry’s underneath him, gripping Harry’s legs just under his knees and leaning forward until he’s nearly bent in half. Malfoy’s jackrabbiting into him, short, abortive thrusts in lieu of actually pulling out, circling his hips so the blunt base drags against Harry’s sensitive rim. Harry’s struggling for breath as Malfoy pumps into him, grinds his balls against Harry’s arse, the knot still feeling impossibly huge where it stretches him open. He can’t help but clench down instinctively, muscles contracting and releasing involuntarily. It must be good for Malfoy because he’s growling, making pleased animal grunts.Harry reaches down to grasp his cock, jerking it in time with Malfoy’s thrusts, his knuckles brushing against the soft skin of Malfoy’s stomach.
He’s so close when Malfoy leans over him to mutter, “God, I need to come in you so bad,” then bites down on his neck–that clean, sharp pain causes Harry’s hips to stutter into his fist, and then he’s coming again, splurting in between their bodies.
Malfoy groans, then slams into him one last time–Harry can feel him coming, a torrent of wetness that leaked around the base of Malfoy’s cock, plugged into his arse as it was; he was so full. Malfoy relaxes onto Harry, turning his body so that they’re spooning. He makes pleased noises into the back of Harry’s neck, runs a gentle hand up and down Harry’s torso to rub at this stomach. He’s still thrusting, but gentler, so that Harry’s on the brink of overstimulation.
Harry’s entirely fucked out, drowsy and warm in the circle of Malfoy’s arms. He dozes in and out of awareness, only waking up when Malfoy’s knot has gone down enough for his cock to slip out. He rolls around to look at Malfoy, whose eyes are half-lidded, looking like the picture of sex–
“What–how are you still hard?” he croaks out, voice hoarse. Malfoy laughs darkly, reaches over to grasp Harry’s soft cock, which twitches in response.
“Did you think we were done, Potter? You ambushed a werewolf in heat. This is far from over.”
Harry swallows.
-----
“Hey,” says Harry drowsily, sometime in Malfoy’s second day of heat. It’s winding down now, since they only really need to have sex once every few hours–they’ve conjured a bed, complete with blankets and pillows, a whole bunch of lube, and scattered plates of food Harry had stolen from the kitchens. He’d come back only to have Malfoy pounce on him, literally.
“Hmm?” says Malfoy, lazily lifting an eyebrow. They talk sometimes, in between frantic bouts of sex, and while Malfoy’s still a bit of a bastard, Harry finds he doesn’t mind so much, anymore.
“I was just wondering–“ he hesitates, lifts up a little to look at him. “Don’t werewolves mate for life?”
Malfoy tenses visibly, then says very carefully, “Sounds like you already know the answer.”
Harry flops back onto the bed. A slow, brilliant smile is spreading across his face.
“Yeah, I do.”
Author:
cylsusPrompt Number: 174 submitted by
dragontaraKink Showcased: Alpha/Omega
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: Malfoy is acting oddly, but it's clear he wants nothing to do with him--so why can't Harry stay away?
Warnings: Dub-con in the way all A/B/O fic is rather dub-con, and knotting.
Word Count: 3,309
Author's Notes: Thanks to my beta, S., who is hilarious and helped me through all the tough parts. Thanks to the mods for running this fest, and sorry for my lateness!
Hogwarts is an oddly cheerful place, 5 months after the war. The Great Hall is loud with laughter, voices raucous in the fray. The Enchanted Ceiling is reflecting a sunny blue sky, with plump clouds drifting across the horizon. Harry picks at his roast beef, feeling listless and at odds with the rest of the students. It’s almost as if everyone is forcibly attempting to remove the dark stain of Voldemort from the castle by pretending it’s a bad dream, or the ghost of a memory.
It’s probably a good thing that people are still able to feel joy after so much horror, but he’s had to attend so many funerals that it just doesn’t resonate with him.
“Are you okay?” whispers Hermione, to his left. He gives her a weak grin.
“Yeah, don’t worry about it.”
She narrows her eyes, but turns around nevertheless; Ron’s telling her some fascinating story about his nightly round yesterday as Head Boy, but Harry isn’t paying attention.
He looks up and his eyes automatically drift towards the Slytherin table–notably diminished in numbers, he can spot Malfoy’s blond hair easily. Malfoy, surprisingly, had returned to Hogwarts with the rest of the students who had decided to repeat their seventh years.
Harry tilts his head thoughtfully. Malfoy keeps his head down these days, subdued and quiet, like most of the other Slytherins–he supposes it’s smart, but it feels somehow wrong.
Then he looks straight up at Harry–his eyes flash with heat, and it sends a spark down Harry’s spine and for a moment, he can’t breathe.
Malfoy turns away and the noise of the Great Hall subsumes his ears as usual.
-----
Harry stares at the moonlight shining through the window for a good several minutes before finally giving up on falling asleep. Rolling onto his back, he heaves a sigh. He can hear the snores of the other boys–all the returning students shared a dormitory, due to overcrowding with the seventh years. Ron’s still the loudest. He smirks.
There’s a quiet sound, of cloth rustling–Harry sits up, interest perked. Who’s up at this kind of hour? He peels back the curtains a sliver just in time to see the unmistakable blond head of Draco Malfoy disappear through the dormitory entrance.
Before he can really think about it, Harry’s leaping off the bed, shoving his glasses on and grabbing his wand. He throws the Invisibility Cloak, still by his bedside, over his head as he silently follows after Malfoy.
The wall sconces aren’t very bright, but it’s enough for Harry to see where he’s going. They go down stair after stair, eventually entering the familiar passages of the dungeons. Harry frowns. What the fuck is Malfoy up to this time?
He trips on a loose tile and hipchecks the wall, leaving a dull thudding noise and pain resounding down his thigh. Malfoy whips around, his wand in the air and his eyes suspicious. Harry doesn’t move, trying not to breathe.
Malfoy must decide he’s misheard because he hurries on, turning the corner. Harry scrambles after him, but it’s too late–the corridor’s empty and he has no idea where Malfoy has gone. He waits for a few minutes, but there’s no sound of footprints. Cursing the fact that he didn’t bring the Marauders Map as well, Harry slips off the Cloak and beings to retrace his steps back to the dorms.
He’s taken about four steps when he’s suddenly slammed into the wall.
“Stalking me again, I see, Potter,” sneers Malfoy, his hand tight on Harry’s shoulders.
“You’re up to something,” says Harry immediately, though a little winded. “I’m going to find out what it is.”
Malfoy’s eyes narrow. His face seems sharper in the dull light, the shadows obscuring his face into someone nearly unrecognizable. His irises are nearly indistinguishable, his pupils blown wide. He looks almost feral.
“I suggest,” he says softly, “You think twice about that.”
He leans in and licks a swathe up Harry’s neck–Malfoy’s tongue is hot and rough, and when he bites at Harry’s collarbone he doesn’t even think of moving, shocked. His teeth feel sharper, somehow, and his fingers are pinpricks on Harry’s arms–suddenly, he pushes himself off, almost violently.
“Stay away from me, Potter,” he says, and his voice is rough and low, the words coming out in with edges on the sounds. He’s gone as quickly as he appeared.
Harry is struck with the realization that he is terrifyingly, mortifyingly, hard.
-----
“You’re a werewolf,” says Harry without preamble.
Malfoy looks gratifyingly surprised, but considering that Harry ambushed him to pull him into an alcove as their class trickled out of the Potions classroom, it’s not a huge shock. It’s been three days since their meeting in the dungeons, and Harry has been around enough werewolves (well, okay, two, not counting Greyback, but that’s enough) to know the attributes.
He recovers quickly enough to sneer at him. “And what of it?”
“Does McGonagall know?”
He rolls his eyes. “Obviously. I’d be skinned alive if anything happened and I hadn’t told anyone.”
“What were you doing in the dungeons? It’s not the full moon. You don’t need a place to hide.”
“Look, Potter, not everything’s your business, okay? Leave it–”
“Harry?”
Harry turned around to see Hermione frowning at them.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Just talking.” He winces. When has he ever ‘just talked’ with Malfoy?
She gives Malfoy a suspicious glance and sighs. “All right, but you better hurry up, we’ll be late for History of Magic.”
Harry steps forward and she reaches out to touch him–to give him a reassuring squeeze, or a pat on the arm, but Malfoy’s grabs him around the waist and drags him further into the alcove.
“Mine,” he rasps, arms curling around Harry, his body pressed tight. He acts like he’s shielding him, turning his head to glare at Hermione. She stares back at them, wild-eyed. Malfoy is rumbling, a noise deep in his chest.
“What do you think you’re doing, Malfoy?” she cries, takes a step forward–Malfoy starts to growl threateningly, shifting into an offensive stance–
“Wait Hermione,” cries Harry. She stops, and he manoeuvres himself into a better position in case Malfoy decides to make any sudden movements–he winds his arms around Malfoy and starts hesitantly petting him. Malfoy makes a pleased sound and shifts closer.
“I’ve got it,” he says–Hermione has about ten expressions on her face, but she looks mostly worried.
“I’ll be fine,” he reassures her. Probably.
“You better, or I’ll hex Malfoy six ways to Sunday.” She gives them a last concerned look, but quickly departs towards their next class.
“Er, Malfoy,” says Harry. They’re pressed so tightly together there’s barely room to breathe, and Harry’s starting to get hard. He shifts awkwardly. “What–”
Suddenly Malfoy shoves him away again, holding a palm to his own face.
“Fuck,” he says eloquently. He’s breathing hard, and there’s a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. His face is unnaturally flushed, and Harry doesn’t think he imagined the line of hardness against his thigh.
“Fuck you, Potter,” he says viciously, dropping his hand to glare at him. “I told you to stay the fuck away–”
“You’re in heat,” says Harry abruptly, the realization sending a flood of warmth to his groin. “That’s why you keep to the dungeons. You need somewhere to ride it out, now that the Room of Requirement is gone.”
Malfoy pales. He lets out a laugh; it cuts through the air like a blade. “Of course,” he mutters bitterly.
He takes a breath. “Look,” he says, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. “It won’t be a problem. I’m only in pre-heat now and they cycle with the rise of the moon; my actual heat only lasts for a few days. I’ll be fine if you stay away from me.”
Harry swallows, because that’s the crux of the problem, isn’t it?
“What if I don’t want to?”
Malfoy’s eyes flash and in an instant, he’s got Harry pinned. He rolls his hips against Harry, who gasps at the pressure and arches so hard his head hits the wall.
“Well,” Malfoy purrs, his voice low and heady, “then I’ll pin you to the ground and wreck you; I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll be screaming my name, tears leaking from your eyes as you beg for my cock. You won’t be able to breathe without thinking of my teeth on your skin.”
He lifts up, and this time his smile is bitter. “I’m warning you, Potter.” He drags sharpened fingertips then Harry’s chest.
“I’ll tear you apart.”
-----
Malfoy’s avoiding him, Harry’s sure of it. He’s always the first few to leave any of their shared classes now, and makes sure to travel in groups, pretending not to hear Harry when he calls out his name.
It’s all for naught anyway.
Harry’s on his way to Potions–taught by Slughorn, now that Snape’s gone–when he hears this odd moaning noise off a corridor. Curiosity peaked, he follows the sound to a nondescript brown door. He reaches out to open it–
The arousal hits him like a punch to the stomach. Harry doubles over, staggering over the threshold–“Fuck, of course it’s you,” growls a voice from the corner–It’s Malfoy, and he’s naked, and Harry needs to get over there right now–
“I told you,” says Malfoy–his pupils are full blown, his cheeks ruddy with colour. His voice sounds roughened, animalistic, and he’s hard where Harry can feel him, pinned to the floor with Malfoy on top. He delicately bites at Harry’s neck, but the sharpened canines are obvious.
Harry swallows, his heart pounding frantically in his chest. He struggles to think past the fog in his mind and the heat suffusing his body. “I want you,” he says honestly.
“You smell like fear,” says Malfoy, licking at Harry’s collarbone. “Shame that even the great Harry Potter turns helpless in the presence of a werewolf’s heat.”
“I can be afraid and still want this,” gasps Harry. He whines, thrusts his hips up for more friction–the heat is burning now, the need for more skin, and he moans with relief when Malfoy tears his clothes away with a swipe of his claws.
The sound Malfoy lets out is anguished, but Harry is finally naked and he’s licking at Harry’s groin, tongue tracing long swathes up and down his cock, claws firmly pressed to Harry’s hips. Just that bit of stimulation is nearly enough to make him come, he’s so far gone, but then Malfoy’s warm mouth closes down over his cock, tongue pressing just underneath the sensitive head, and he’s cresting over the edge, hips straining against Malfoy’s warning grip.
“Holy fuck,” says Harry, relearning how to breathe, but Malfoy’s crawling up to catch his mouth in a bruising kiss, and he gives it up as a lost cause. Malfoy looks drunk on lust, his skin fever-hot where it brushes against his own, and Harry’s never wanted anything more. His lips are oddly soft against the lean hardness of his body; his tongue, sandpaper rough, slides against Harry’s, all wet heat.
“Turn around,” he growls, and Harry obeys unthinkingly–his mind is a haze of arousal, the primal urge to mate pushing past anything else. He forces his trembling limbs up on all fours, arching his back and offering himself to Malfoy’s burning gaze, dropping his flushed forehead onto his forearms.
There’s a warm palm on his thigh–declawed, thankfully–and then a tongue licking up the back of his thigh. His arse cheeks are being slowly pried open, slim fingers pressing next to his exposed arsehole–Harry shudders against the sensation and startles forward a little. There’s a warning growl against his thigh before Malfoy bites him in the meat of his buttocks–Harry gasps soundlessly–laving the mark with his tongue before moving on to lick at his crack, long sweeping motions.
Harry moans when Malfoy finally stops to lick more firmly at his hole, crying out when his tongue slips inside. He thrusts it in and out for a few minutes, the greedy slurping sounds setting Harry’s face on fire, but then he pulls out and Harry cries out with the loss.
Thankfully Malfoy’s fingers are there immediately, pressing inside–two at a time, sliding in easily–Harry’s arse feels wet and open, slick in a way it’s never been when he’s done this with his own hands. It’s not enough–he needs something thicker, fuller.
Malfoy reaches up to slide his cock along his cleft–it feels huge, all heated skin and velvet smoothness, and he groans when it slips against his hole, once, twice, before it finally breaches past the wrinkled furl. The head of his dick feels much too solid and it burns where it stretches open Harry’s passage–the intensity of the feeling is almost unreal. Then Malfoy pushes in, one slow, inexorable stroke, knocking Harry breathless–he groans, heavy balls brushing against Harry’s arse, and he realizes Malfoy must have bottomed out. The thought sends a shock of pleasure down his spine, making him arch his back and cry out.
Malfoy pulls out, then presses in, slowly at first–then thrusting faster and faster. He moans every time Malfoy withdraws, only to surge back in so hard his balls slap against Harry’s arse. Malfoy’s grip on his hips are bruising, tightening every time he fucks into Harry, but doesn’t care. Malfoy’s panting like a wolf in heat–which he kind of is, some distant part of Harry thinks amusedly–biting and sucking on the part of Harry’s neck that meets his shoulders. Eventually he’s grazing Harry’s prostrate on every instroke, and stimulation causes every nerve in him to pull tight. On some level, he’s aware that he’s begging, moaning, Malfoy, Malfoy, but at this point, he doesn’t care. His orgasm builds, first a fire in the pit of his stomach, but now he’s so close to the edge he can’t do anything but shove back against Malfoy’s hips, panting while he shoves in over and over again.
“Fuck,” says Malfoy, and the unexpected suddenness of his voice combined with the slick sounds of sex push Harry over–he comes untouched, so hard that his brain frizzles out a bit, streaking wetness all over his stomach and the floor. He’d collapse, all strength gone, but Malfoy lets out a high whine, and splays a hand over his stomach, dragging him back onto his cock. He thrusts a few more times, then presses in as close as he can, biting at Harry’s neck nearly hard enough to break skin. Malfoy grinds his hips, still pressed impossibly close, and Harry’s so pleasure drunk that he doesn’t even notice that Malfoy’s cock is growing, getting larger, until it’s too late.
“Malfoy, what’s happening to your dick?” pants Harry, breaking off into a whine–it hurts, burns like nothing else, the swell of cock against his swollen rim, but his organismic high turns it into a deepset ache, so that the pain feels good.
“My knot,” says Malfoy after a pause. He sounds drugged, and he nudges Harry, manoeuvring him so that they lie face to face–he can’t help the whimper that slips out from him when he turns on Malfoy’s knot, the tug at his sore rim sending shivers up his spine.
“It’s to keep my semen inside you, to ensure you breed, if you were female.” Malfoy looks drugged too, flushed on sex and still unfairly attractive. His knot is an unyielding pressure against Harry’s prostrate and he swears he can feel Malfoy come–a gush of wetness inside him–that, and with Malfoy’s words–well, it hasn’t been but a few minutes yet, and he’s already starting to get hard.
Malfoy snorts at him, buries his head in Harry’s neck, licking and sucking bruises all over. Christ, marking him. He squirms on Malfoy’s cock, trying to get more pressure without actually fucking himself on it–the knot’s too big to do anything but incrementally thrust, but even that bit of friction feels good. He feels claimed, like Malfoy’s crawled deep inside and staked himself a place, so that he can never touch anyone else without thinking of Malfoy.
As if Malfoy can read Harry’s mind, he starts murmuring, next to Harry’s ear, “I’m going to stuff you with my cock, keep my come inside you for ages until you can’t move without thinking of my cock in your arse. You’re so wet, so tight, it’s like you were made for me, Potter. You’re so good, so ready–”
Harry’s on fire at this point, and kisses Malfoy to shut him up–he’s licking into that wet heat, stroking over Malfoy’s sharp canines. He’s fully hard at this point, and with a thrill of danger skipping up his spine, clenches down as hard as he can.
With a roar and a blur of movement, Malfoy twists so Harry’s underneath him, gripping Harry’s legs just under his knees and leaning forward until he’s nearly bent in half. Malfoy’s jackrabbiting into him, short, abortive thrusts in lieu of actually pulling out, circling his hips so the blunt base drags against Harry’s sensitive rim. Harry’s struggling for breath as Malfoy pumps into him, grinds his balls against Harry’s arse, the knot still feeling impossibly huge where it stretches him open. He can’t help but clench down instinctively, muscles contracting and releasing involuntarily. It must be good for Malfoy because he’s growling, making pleased animal grunts.Harry reaches down to grasp his cock, jerking it in time with Malfoy’s thrusts, his knuckles brushing against the soft skin of Malfoy’s stomach.
He’s so close when Malfoy leans over him to mutter, “God, I need to come in you so bad,” then bites down on his neck–that clean, sharp pain causes Harry’s hips to stutter into his fist, and then he’s coming again, splurting in between their bodies.
Malfoy groans, then slams into him one last time–Harry can feel him coming, a torrent of wetness that leaked around the base of Malfoy’s cock, plugged into his arse as it was; he was so full. Malfoy relaxes onto Harry, turning his body so that they’re spooning. He makes pleased noises into the back of Harry’s neck, runs a gentle hand up and down Harry’s torso to rub at this stomach. He’s still thrusting, but gentler, so that Harry’s on the brink of overstimulation.
Harry’s entirely fucked out, drowsy and warm in the circle of Malfoy’s arms. He dozes in and out of awareness, only waking up when Malfoy’s knot has gone down enough for his cock to slip out. He rolls around to look at Malfoy, whose eyes are half-lidded, looking like the picture of sex–
“What–how are you still hard?” he croaks out, voice hoarse. Malfoy laughs darkly, reaches over to grasp Harry’s soft cock, which twitches in response.
“Did you think we were done, Potter? You ambushed a werewolf in heat. This is far from over.”
Harry swallows.
-----
“Hey,” says Harry drowsily, sometime in Malfoy’s second day of heat. It’s winding down now, since they only really need to have sex once every few hours–they’ve conjured a bed, complete with blankets and pillows, a whole bunch of lube, and scattered plates of food Harry had stolen from the kitchens. He’d come back only to have Malfoy pounce on him, literally.
“Hmm?” says Malfoy, lazily lifting an eyebrow. They talk sometimes, in between frantic bouts of sex, and while Malfoy’s still a bit of a bastard, Harry finds he doesn’t mind so much, anymore.
“I was just wondering–“ he hesitates, lifts up a little to look at him. “Don’t werewolves mate for life?”
Malfoy tenses visibly, then says very carefully, “Sounds like you already know the answer.”
Harry flops back onto the bed. A slow, brilliant smile is spreading across his face.
“Yeah, I do.”
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Date: 2014-06-01 09:02 am (UTC)