Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Character: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy
Additional Tags: PWP, Kink, Biting, Bruising, Blood, Consensual Kink, Power Play, Power Dynamics, Love, Slash, Wall Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, Angry Sex, angry kisses, these tags are getting out of control
Notes: Another little piece of smut I wrote for kink bingo, but as I've apparently given up on any sort of order (or perhaps I was subconsciously aiming for a blackout), here it is. PWP, smut, biting kink. Many thanks to my vamp and bookjunkie1975.
It isn't often they actually fight—rare, in fact—but Harry knows that look in Draco's eyes; the icy chill that accompanies a loaded stare from across the room. It sends a tingle up his spine and he bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling in satisfaction as he turns back to his conversation with Dean Thomas.
The night drags on slowly, tension so thick that it nearly chokes him. He could stop it, ease Draco's suffering by just going over to him, but he doesn't.
People talk, laugh, drink and dance, yet every time Draco nears him, Harry turns away, moves on to someone else, denying him any attention. It isn't fair, and Draco's right; Harry is an utter prick. But he also knows how much Harry loves this. How much he loves him.
Harry can feel Draco's gaze on him all night, burning with jealousy, and it takes all he has not to go to him, drag him home right now. The angrier Draco gets, the easier it'll be for Harry to get what he wants.
It's been months they've been together; eight? Maybe nine? What started as a series of not-so-one-offs after late nights at the pub shortly became a desperate scramble to claim one another, a pissing match of who belonged to whom.
Harry always won. The tiny, keening cries he would pull from Draco's lips as he teased him open, nipped at his jaw, bit into the sensitive flesh of his nipples before holding him down and fucking him into the mattress, all proof of the hold Harry has on Draco. Small, desperate puffs of breath Draco would let out, shaky and unsure when Harry would brush against him in public, a hand slipping around Draco's throat as Harry's lips brushed his ear and he whispered filthy things under his breath. To outsiders, it would appear to just be an intimate gesture between lovers, but to Harry, it was a possessive touch meant to remind Draco in case he'd forgotten.
Mine. Always mine.
That's certainly not to say that Draco isn't capable of giving as good as he gets. Harry loves how jealous he can be. How he glares at Harry from across a room, eyes full of promises of what's still to come. Like everything else, though, Draco controls his outward emotions to a fault, never showing in public just how he feels, saving it for when the two of them are alone in the privacy of their own home, of their own bedroom.
Harry stumbles through the Floo with an impatient shove from his partner behind him.
He doesn't even bother to ask what Draco's problem is; he already knows, of course. It's what he'd wanted, after all, to tip Draco's jealousy to just this side of desperate, angry, needful. Harry fears that tonight, perhaps he's taken it a bit too far. Leaning in to Dean so that he could better hear him as his friend rattled on about the dire mood of his Goblins co-workers and various Collective Investment Funds, while Draco glared at him from across the room, was low enough in and of itself, but pressing his body against Dean's back as he leaned over him to reach his drink at the bar and the wicked smirk he wore as he slid his hand down his friend's arm were all perhaps too much.
Of course, Harry would never actually openly flirt with another man that way. He was careful to make sure that each of his small gestures were noticeable only to someone far enough away to miss the words that accompanied the innocent touches.
The living room is dark, but neither of them bother to turn on the lights. Draco will likely just go straight to their room, angry and silent until Harry stumbles in drunk at 3am wanting to fuck. It's rare that they get on this way, but it certainly isn't anything new.
He hears the creak of the bottom step and knows Draco is on his way upstairs. Harry makes his way over to Draco's roll top desk and pours himself two fingers of his boyfriend's favourite brandy. He throws it back in one hot swallow, slamming the glass down impatiently and splashing more alcohol into it. When Harry turns, he sees that Draco is still standing at the base of the stairs, his gaze trained on the bottom step, hand white-knuckle-gripping the rail.
"Why do you do that?" Draco asks quietly.
Harry licks the remnants of the sticky drink off his bottom lip, not even attempting to answer Draco's question. He doesn't know how to, anyway. They've never actually talked about this little game of theirs; it's always just been there between them.
He tucks a hand into his pocket, looks down into the swirling amber liquid before taking another long pull. It isn't meant to be drunk that way, in such a careless, unappreciative manner, and he knows it's probably infuriating his boyfriend more than his little display at the gala this evening.
A small smile pulls at the corner of his lips before he gulps down the remainder of the brandy. This time, before he has a chance to unstopper the decanter and refill his glass, Draco's hand is on his wrist, gripping tightly.
Not tight enough to leave a mark, though, Harry notes with barely veiled disappointment. He yanks his hand away, taking a step back and glowering at Draco.
"I asked you a question, Potter," he hisses, voice low and charged with the energy of his anger.
The tiny v creased between his brows is unrelenting. Harry wants to smooth it away with kisses, soft words, or just fuck him so hard and deep that Draco forgets how to scowl that way, as if it isn't some innate gift of his pompous breeding.
It is possible, though. Harry has taken great pleasure in doing it many times. He loves Draco that way; pliant and sated, completely accommodating. Loves to roll him over, kiss his swollen lips and continue to fuck him open with his fingers, sliding through the slickness of his own come until he's rock hard again and Draco is begging him with weak and tired whispers to stop or keep going, too sensitive to want more, but the sheer need too great to pass it up.
Draco usually doesn't have such difficulties controlling himself, but he feels that Harry has pushed him beyond his limits tonight, brushing him off repeatedly as if he were nothing more than one of Potter's common followers, fawning over him and meriting no more than a disdainful glance from The Great Saviour.
It's unacceptable, and Draco has never quite grown out of the spoilt brat mentality that he grew up with.
"What do you want?" Harry asks after pulling his arm free of Draco's grasp.
Draco's jaw clenches as he watches the depths of Harry's green eyes shimmering in the dim firelight. What does he want? He nearly laughs out loud at the ridiculous question. He only wants what he's always wanted.
Draco takes a step forward, and then another, closing the distance between him and Harry as if he's a predator stalking his prey, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, and he grips Harry's arms firmly, pushes him back against the wall, demands silence, attention.
Harry's lip curls in anger, and despite the fact that he's allowed Draco to pin him against a wall, his eyes never lose the challenging glare that penetrates Draco's very soul.
Hot breath moistens the air between them. "You," Draco says, voice low and dangerous.
"You have me," Harry replies. "I'm yours."
Tense silence stretches between them. Draco breathes a shaky sigh as he watches Harry's eyes darken with desire.
"No one else's," Harry says, words whispered like a promise and a threat all at once. Harry reaches out, draping his coat over the back of the chair beside him, freeing up his hand, eyes trained steadily on Draco's.
A knot twists in Draco's stomach, tense with nerves and desire. The need he feels now is so great he isn't sure he's ever experienced its match before. He wants Harry all to himself. He wants the fucking world to know who their Saviour belongs to. Really belongs to.
He must have said it out loud, if Harry's response is any indication.
"Do it," he says. "Show me. I want you to, Draco. I want you to show the whole world that I'm yours."
Draco swallows nervously, realisation finally dawning. He knows what it is Harry wants from him. His eyes dart from Harry's steely gaze to the tender, creamy patch of skin at the base of his throat. "But you aren't," he whispers finally. "You aren't just mine, Harry. You're the hero of the entire wizarding world."
Harry is shaking his head before Draco is even finished making his point. He curls a hand round the back of Draco's neck, resting their foreheads together as he breathes heavily, trying to centre himself the way that he always does.
Draco pulls back, blinks away the bleariness in his eyes, lifts his chin in defiance and looks down at Harry. "You're public property, Potter. Nothing more."
"Fuck you," Harry growls out before pressing his mouth violently to Draco's. The kiss is equal parts tongue and teeth, and it tastes of sheer desperation tinged with the faintest hint of blood. "Fuck you," he repeats, lips still pressed to Draco's.
As their kiss deepens and their bodies press together, Harry's grip on Draco becomes frantic, desperate. Draco can't help the feeling of satisfaction that consumes him as a result of the turn of play; now it seems Harry is the one who can't control himself. He tugs Draco closer, pulling blindly at the clothing that separates them until he manages to get Draco's shirt off.
Draco tries to speak, to ask Harry what exactly he wants from him, but he's capable of nothing more than shallow breaths between deep and biting kisses. His lungs burn for oxygen, his lips ache for more.
Harry's fingertips dig into Draco's hips before finding their way to his belt loops, tugging him even closer still.
Draco's hands grip Harry's biceps, squeeze once, then slide down his arms. He takes hold of Harry's wrists, gripping just tightly enough that Harry can't pull away. Draco doesn't break their kiss as he moves Harry's wrists above his head, pressing them to the wall at Harry's back. Harry moans against Draco's tongue, letting his jaw go slack just a bit as he pushes his hips off the wall and shifts against Draco.
"Mine," Draco growls out, kissing his way down Harry's jaw.
Harry nods weakly. "Please, Draco," he whispers, the desperation in his tone sending a jolt of pleasure straight to Draco's cock. "Just once. Just tonight."
He's so wracked with desire, so fucking painfully hard for Harry that he doesn't even care to Apparate them into their bedroom. He can't seem to spare a thought beyond how desperate he feels, how unbearable the desire to possess Harry is.
Harry arches forward as much as he can, licks up the front of Draco's throat, pausing to suck at that sensitive spot just behind his ear before nipping at the skin there. Draco holds Harry against the wall, relishing in the attention that's being lavished on him as they rut against each other like a couple of randy teenagers.
With a low growl, Draco drops a hand down between them and flicks open Harry's trousers. He can't tell if it's actually an impressive level of skill brought on by this surge of desperation, or some wayward magic at play for the same reason. It doesn't matter. Draco frees Harry's cock, curling his fingers around the hard, hot length and pushing the foreskin back as he drags his thumb over the tip. Harry hisses in a sharp breath, precome dripping over Draco's fist.
"Draco." Harry tilts his head back, inviting, encouraging.
Draco hates the idea of hurting someone he loves so much, but he knows what Harry wants. He doesn't want to think about the fact that the curl of heat inside his belly is due this time to excitement.
His lips part against Harry's throat, tongue peeking out to taste his salty-sweet skin. It's a strange sort of feeling, knowing he's responsible for the level of pain inflicted on his lover. It isn't the first time he's held such power over another, but it's certainly the first time he's wanted to so badly.
Draco wonders what that says about himself. Of course he doesn't want to hurt Harry, he loves him—even if he's never admitted that out loud before—and wants every kiss and caress, every single touch to show just that, but in the last moment, he realises there's something so freeing about casting those feelings aside, even for just a little while, and focusing entirely on raw, primal instincts.
His teeth scrape, first lightly against Harry's throat, tugging at delicate flesh and tasting. Harry moans, dropping his head back against the wall as his hands move down to Draco's arse. He grips him hard, pulling him closer as he grinds his erection against Draco's.
It's such a delicious sensation, the commanding strength in Harry's hands, the hardness that reminds Draco of just what he can do to Harry, and this new and sweet sense of power he has as he tugs yet more of Harry's flesh between his teeth.
He bites down, hard, harder, until he's certain any more will break the skin, and then he eases back, licking and sucking at the angry mark he's left on Harry's throat.
"More," Harry says, using his leverage to fuck up into Draco's hand, his own hands still gripping violently.
Draco's fingers trace a line up Harry's chest, pulling apart the buttons of his shirt without breaking eye contact. He can feel the heavy rise and fall of Harry's chest against his fingertips, see the pure desperation sparking in his eyes, renewing Draco's sense of power and control.
He leans in slowly as if to kiss his lover, but stops short, teasingly.
With his nose, he nudges Harry's chin up, sucking and nibbling a path down his throat until he gets to the fleshy juncture of his shoulder.
Harry's moans are unrelenting, alternating between desperate little whimpers and deep, feral groans. Draco's never heard him make so much noise before, so he takes it as confirmation that he's doing this right, that this is exactly what Harry wants from him. Needs.
Dragging the pad of his thumb over Harry's hardened nipple, Draco sinks his teeth into his lover's shoulder.
He doesn't hold back this time, allowing Harry's pained groans and whispers of encouragement to propel him. His movements are erratic, uncoordinated and rough, in direct contrast to his typically controlled demeanour. Draco can feel the exact moment when Harry loses it completely. His fingers press bruises into Draco's hips, pushing, pulling, sliding, and as Draco's teeth sink deeper into Harry's flesh, ripping through, the metallic tang of blood coating his tongue, Harry cries out and comes, his cock pulsing in Draco's hand.
He whimpers, arms going limp at his sides, pliant and weak, held up by the press of Draco's pelvis against his, the teeth in his shoulder, firm hands on his hips.
Draco is certain that mark will scar without the aid of Dittany, but he also knows Harry won't allow him to use the potion. He wants the marks; scars to show the world he belongs to someone—to Draco.
Draco's cock is achingly hard by the time Harry begins to respond again. Glassy eyes blink open, a weak smile tugging the corner of his lips.
Draco is just about to ask him if he's all right when Harry lurches forward so abruptly that Draco is nearly knocked off balance. His arms encircle Draco's waist and he kisses him fiercely, licking into his mouth, tasting his own blood on Draco's tongue before breaking away to slide to his knees.
With fumbling hands, he manages to open Draco's trousers and tug them down his thighs. Harry wastes no time with his usual licks and kisses. He swallows Draco's cock in one go, throat constricting around the sensitive head and sending sparks of pleasure shooting through Draco.
Draco looks down at the mess he's created of Harry. On his knees, trousers still open, soft cock still oozing come. His gaze focuses on Harry's shoulder, where blood is still smudged across the pale skin, an imprint of Draco's teeth visible in the purple and red indents. He presses his thumb to the centre of the mark, unsure of his own intention until he feels the tingling sensation of a simple cleaning Charm emanating from his fingers.
Harry moans around the cock in his mouth, tongue swirling around the head as he pulls back and glares up at Draco.
"leave it," he says firmly before taking Draco's cock back into his mouth.
Harry grabs Draco's hand from his shoulder and guides it to the back of his head, sliding Draco's fingers into the messy, dark hair. Draco takes the hint and grips Harry tightly by the hair, pushing his cock farther down Harry's throat as he holds his head in place. His hips stutter slightly as he refrains from full-on fucking Harry's mouth. He's done with the rough play for tonight. Harry got what he wanted, and neither of them are worse off for it, but Draco thinks that's enough for now.
He focuses all of his attention on the feel of Harry's tongue on him, the sight of his spit-slick cock slipping in and out of Harry's mouth, the grip of Harry's fingers pressing into the backs of Draco's thighs. It doesn't take long before he's coming down Harry's throat, blinding white light blurring his vision.
"You're an arsehole," Draco says affectionately once his vision has returned to normal only to find that Harry is once again standing before him.
Harry smiles and kisses Draco, deep and filthy. "You love me," he says when finally he pulls away.
Draco cocks an eyebrow at him, but doesn't say anything. He loves Harry more than he could ever express, but he thinks that admission would be better left for the light of morning, when all of this jealousy and bitterness isn't trailing right behind them. He grabs Harry's hand, laces their fingers together, and Apparates them both to their bedroom to curl up together in the quiet comfort of their own bed until that time comes.