The ties that bind us part 2

XIV

"Then say it."

"Potter —"

Potter's grip on Draco's wrist tightened. "Spell it out, Malfoy," Potter said through clenched teeth.

Draco rolled his eyes. "For fuck's sake! I smear it over my prick and shove it into — What?"

Potter looked pained. "You're supposed to use your fingers first. One by one, to make it, er, easier. It would hurt, otherwise."

Draco scowled. "I haven't taken your delicacy into account."

"It's pretty standard, Malfoy."

"Well, excuse me Mr Gay All-knowing."

Potter sighed. "If you don't want to do it, I can do it myself."

Draco's eyes widened as the image of Potter lying on the desk and pushing his fingers into his own arse appeared unbidden in his mind. He would have begged Potter to do it himself, but judging by Potter's displeased expression, the delicate git would have been insulted.

"I'll do it, Potter, stop moping," Draco said and gave Potter a little push toward the desk.

Potter grimaced and mumbled something that sounded like, "not moping, you uninformed prat," but then he turned and sat on the desk. He shifted around and squirmed, clearly uncomfortable sitting on the rough wood with his bare arse. The teacher's desk was taller than the others in the room — of perfect height, in Draco's opinion — and Potter's feet barely touched the floor.

"We can't do it like that —" Draco said and then yelped as Potter lay down suddenly, pulling Draco with him by his wrist.

Potter — the evil bastard — laughed breathlessly as Draco was forced between Potter's legs, his head all but slamming against Potter's stomach.

"Really, Potter," Draco said reproachfully, but his lips did not appear to be bothered and they took advantage of the situation by trailing over the skin of Potter's stomach, pressing a few small kisses there. Potter stopped laughing, gasping a little instead, and Draco grinned against his skin, pleased that he at least still knew how to shut Potter up. Potter's fingers ran through Draco's hair and Draco sighed a little at the pleasant caress and then, a bit reluctantly, he shook off both of Potter's hands and straightened slowly, testing the length of the rope. He could reach Potter's hip with his right hand, but couldn't move it any lower.

Lovely as the sight of Potter lying down was, the backs of Potter's thighs were pressed to the desk's surface, his legs enclosing Draco's body, and Draco might have known little about anal sex, but he was sure that this would not work.

"Um." Draco looked at Potter's face. "Shouldn't you . . ."

"Right," Potter said quickly, clenching his jaw, his expression tight. He raised his legs a bit and Draco moved to the side, so Potter wouldn't smack him with his knees and feet.

Potter, apparently, wasn't someone who did things half-way. Draco was caught off guard as Potter swung his legs upward, spread them and bent them at the knees, pulling them toward his chest. It left him shamelessly exposed in a way no one had ever exposed themselves to Draco's gaze. His position was one Draco would have thought funny if he had merely imagined it, especially with Potter's too-big socks on his feet, but now he couldn't bear to describe the position as anything but incredibly erotic. Dazedly, Draco edged closer and stood directly between Potter's spread thighs. He maneuvered his right hand, stretching the rope over Potter's stomach, so he could grip Potter's leg below the knee, helping Potter keep his legs in the position they were in. After a few steadying breaths, he trailed his free hand over Potter's thigh, pale and perfect, leading a path to Potter's arse; his very firm male arse that shouldn't have been referred to as beautiful but that was the only epithet Draco could think of at the moment. Draco's gaze swept over Potter's cock that fell heavily on Potter's stomach, his balls that looked ready to be pulled into Draco's mouth so he could suck them, and his arsehole, dusty pink and tiny, so fucking tiny Draco suspected that whoever claimed it was possible to push one's cock in there was insane.