Warnings: DRACOxHARRY, m/m, pure smut, gay sex, slash, homosexual activity, etc. In essence, there's a guy shagging a guy. If that squelches you, leave. No flames - I've warned you properly.
It had all started in dueling club in second year. At the time, Draco had still felt the roiling hatred of Harry Potter that had defined his school days thus far. But the power that Harry had flung about so easily was attractive, and over the next seven years, something secret had grown between them, a sweet, deep running, very passionate love.
Tomorrow was Harry's nineteenth birthday. There was a party raging downstairs on the two lower floors of Grimmauld Place, but Draco didn't join it. The sight of a radiant, shining, lightly drunken and thoroughly happy Harry would have driven him over the edge, and their secret affair would have become very public very quickly. Harry's smile and awkward drunken dancing had always been a secret kink of Draco's.
And so, Draco lay in wait on the third level of the house, in the armchair behind Harry's bedroom door, sipping a glass of firewhiskey. He had plans for Harry, a slow seduction, quiet words of love, and a thorough ravishing upon the kingsized, decadent, silk sheeted four poster bed that loomed just beyond the doorway.
Harry stumbled in well after midnight, but well before dawn, and Draco knew that they still had hours and hours. Harry's birthday was to be entirely devoted to them.
His steps wobbled a bit, and he looked thoroughly disheveled, but Draco was beyond caring. The hours of waiting, planning and detailing, fantasizing about what he would do to Harry had worn on Draco and now all he wanted was skin on skin, heat and sweat, and the bliss that their bodies brought each other.
He slunk up behind Harry, catlike and predatory. His hands slithered under the darker man's shirt, stroking the defined muscles he found there. Harry tried to turn, muttered something that sounded like a protest. Draco clung tighter, slipped a hand up to tweak one of Harry's nipples.
He squeaked, shocked, but relaxed when Draco ran his hands down the rugged muscles of his abdomen, sending soft, questing fingers under the hem of Harry's pants. Only Draco touched him like this, warmed his entire body with a simple caress. Only Draco touched him so possessively and evoked this ridiculously powerful response in Harry. A few light touches, a dip of the hand below his pants, and Harry was already hard for him. It was ridiculous and he loved it. He loved Draco.
"Happy birthday Harry," he whispered, warm hands meeting silken, burning flesh beneath Harry's trousers. "I have a present for you."
One of his hands remained, stroking the considerable length of Harry's cock, eliciting breathy moans and hisses of pleasure. Harry was usually quiet, usually restrained during sex but the alcohol in him made him vocal, free... and deliciously responsive.
His other hand, the one not manipulating Harry's cock spectacularly, turned his head toward Draco's for a searing kiss. Yes, they were both a little drunk, and yes, they may have fallen onto the bed rather less gracefully than Draco had planned. But now clothes were coming off and there was heat between them. They attached themselves to each other, mouths fused, hips grinding into on another, hands touching and slicking and preparing, rolling about on the bed until there was just kin and no space between them. Moans rose and fell, gasps of pleasure as hands groped and mouths sucked and tongues tortured. It was a thorough ravishment, and it seemed endless.
"Draco," Harry panted, close to coming from the hours of attention paid to his cock and the bittersweet ache that Draco's fingers inside him brought. "Draco, Merlin, please - need you, please, have to stop, not like this - AH!" He let out what was almost a scream as Draco found hi prostate, stroked and prodded and nearly blinded him. He was going to pass out if Draco continued. There wasn't enough air to breath, or if there was he couldn't suck it in fast enough. It was all Draco, everywhere. Inside him, behind him, in front of him, in his hands and mouth, right before his eyes and whispering to him of every decadent thing he planned to do. And touching him - bloody hell, Draco was touching him and driving him to the edge of his control again and again.
And then it stopped. Draco was off the bed and rummaging for his clothes. It made Harry wild - not in lust, but in panic. Draco leave him now, not when he was so close to coming, so damnably close to exquisite pleasure for both of them. There wasn't enough air for words, but a whimper, a moan, some pathetic begging noise must have slipped out because Draco was back. He was still gloriously naked, still hard and totally dominant. Harry had never seen a more delicious sight than Draco, Kneeling before him on the bed, wand in one hand and cock in the other, completely prepared to take him.
"I don't want to hurt you Harry," he whispered, because he was suddenly everywhere again. "Don't want to hurt you, but I need you. Stay on your back and bring your legs up love."
Harry did as he was told, and then Draco's hands and mouth were back, and the frenzy started all over again, more intense because the heat between them had never died. Draco's hands touched everywhere and everything, but there was something cold at his entrance and inside him and - oh. Lube. That's what Draco's wand had been for, and how stupid of Harry to think Draco would leave him and -
Harry screamed in earnest this time because it wasn't just Draco's fingers inside him, it was Draco. More accurately, Draco's cock, and it felt far better than anything had or, Harry imagined, anything else ever would.
Draco was nearly mindless at this point, barely coherent enough to look past the haze of desire and the driving need to take Harry and make him his. But he did, long enough to find his wand, to get Harry in position and prepare him; long enough to make sure that Harry's scream was of pleasure and not pain.
And it was. It was glorious and wild and unlike anything he'd heard from Harry before. The scream broke what little rational mind Draco had left, turned both of them into mindless, needy animals. They locked eyes, fucked like beasts, shagged and thrust faster and harder again and again.
And then Harry came.
It wasn't like fireworks, wasn't stars behind the eyelids. This wasn't a bodily orgasm, though, surely, the physical aspect was bloody fucking amazing. His mind came, filled with Draco and perfectly, incandescently blank. It was a sense of fulfillment, of being so inexorably connected to someone else that nothing could separate where one began and the other ended.
And then the physical pleasure came, and Harry, for just a few seconds, blacked out.
Draco had never heard such a feral, desperately, unashamedly sensual cry in his life. It was soft at first, a whimper that built to a moan, then to a shout, and then to a shriek and a scream and on into something that transcended even those, something that bespoke a bone deep satisfaction and satiation.
Harry was his. And with that thought, he came, harder than he ever had before, and collapsed, spent and shaking against Harry's sweating tremulous form.
It took about fifteen minutes for either to recover enough to speak. Harry was still shaking, though now with exhaustion rather than hours they'd spent making the most wild, satisfying form of love to each other. Both were drifting, somewhere between sleep and waking. Draco managed to pull the sheets over both of them.
Just before Harry slipped into unconsciousness, he heard Draco whisper, "Happy birthday love. I hope you enjoyed your gift."
Harry fell into dreamless, perfect sleep with his lips lightly pressed to Draco's and his lover's arms around him.