Tempus Fugit DRARRY

Chapter 8: Buried Suspicions

There was no soft tenderness, no gentleness, none of that careful application that had defined their other kisses. This was hard, exhausting and driven by a lust so strong that it shook them to the core. It was no more than a few seconds before Harry felt Draco become hard beneath him, and he moved slightly, so that they were aligned against each other, and so close that every motion was felt, and their heartbeats hammered against each other.

"Are you going to show me everything you saw, then?" Draco breathed into Harry's mouth, involuntarily grinding against him.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard you scream," Harry muttered back, grinding into Draco with much more force and feeling the blond arch beneath him, "and you're going to love every moment of it." He gasped as Draco sucked on the hollow at the curve of his throat, silently submitting himself. Harry could feel their heartbeats thudding next to each other between the cage of skin, both pulses racing as their blood flowed more quickly through their veins.

Whatever words Harry was going to say were snatched from his lips as Draco moved his mouth up and down his neck, alternately licking and nipping at the sensitive skin there. He felt the most wonderful tingling sensations as the warm tongue ran the length of his throat, sending shivers down his spine and making him want to drown himself inside Draco.

The Slytherin slept only in grey boxers, which Harry was very grateful for as he slid a little down his body and began to suck insistently at one of his nipples. Draco writhed beneath him, sufficiently encouraging Harry to move to the other one, darting his tongue over it, teasing it with his teeth until it became firm and then soothing it with the warmth of his mouth. The puckered flesh became sensitised enough for Draco to gasp raggedly, all breath seemingly snatched from his lungs. Other than the night after Ron's party they had been constrained by a teenage awkwardness that seemed particularly out of place in their current bodies. The huge divide they had crossed in one night had not changed as many things as they might have hoped but Harry could feel that Draco wanted this as much as he did. He had been wanting to touch him again and again but had rarely dared to. Now he was throwing caution to the wind and taking just what he wanted.

Harry paused in his activities, his stomach clenching with anticipation as he felt Draco's hand rub against his groin, slip beneath his waistband and begin fisting him so hard that he was a second away from orgasm before he regained control of himself. For a minute or two they stayed in that silent limbo of eliciting pleasure, knowing that each other's shaky control was wavering, knowing that this was all just a prelude to something that promised to send sparks from the rooftops.

Draco withdrew his hand and skilfully divested Harry of his t-shirt, throwing it to the floor and scratching his nails down Harry's back. Harry enjoyed the pain quite as much as the satisfaction, and the stinging edge added a new dimension to their fervency. He kissed and licked a path up Draco's chest, flitting his tongue into the cavities between his collarbones, mapping the series of planes and angles that made up this beautiful human being.

Draco was a canvas, as pure white as a dove, however dark and corrupt his soul might have been. Harry itched to make his mark on that pale skin, to bite and tear and own a piece of Draco for himself, the way no-one else could. His senses were flooded with the taste, smell and sound of Draco. He smelt like coffee, the way he always did, he was making soft noises of gratification, and he tasted faintly salty. No-one else he had been with had ever been this piquant. Ginny Weasley had tasted like cotton, her cold breasts nothing more that folds of material draped into her unresponsive tapestry. Harry hadn't felt anything for her, even after weeks of flirting to please her and Ron, but now he was half in love with Draco, if only for the passion the blond managed to invoke in him.

He moved into alignment with Draco's body again, and the blond wrapped his legs round Harry's waist so that they were grinding against each other with strength enough to leave them both groaning with ecstasy. They fit perfectly, and for a few moments they established a glorious rhythm of thrusting and grinding, steadily working themselves to completion, whilst their hands clung painfully tightly to each other.