The ties that bind us part 2

XIV

Potter was enchanted, Draco concluded as his breath ghosted over Potter's hole and it fluttered. Someone had charmed him to make his skin pull Draco's lips toward it. It didn't matter which part of Potter he was staring at: his lips, neck, chest, cock or arsehole, Draco was drawn toward it, forced to yield and press his mouth to whichever alluring part of Potter's body was presented to him. It was the only explanation, the only possible reason that could have made Draco feel compelled to touch Potter's hole with the tip of his tongue before he opened his mouth and kissed it as he had kissed Potter's lips.

Potter bucked wildly and positively hollered, sounding shocked to the core. Draco pulled away slightly, but had no desire to move too far. It was possible he had done something very, very wrong; in fact, he was sure of it, but he couldn't make himself care. Just as he couldn't have stopped himself from licking Potter's neck and smelling his hair earlier. It was clearly a vicious enchantment, but that meant it was pointless to try and fight it.

"What are you —?" Potter gasped, twisting around before he whimpered, "Sweet God. Malfoy, that's . . ."

Draco didn't know what Potter wanted to say, but he supposed it was something positive since his last word trailed into a tortured moan. Emboldened, he caught Potter's flailing hand and gripped it tightly, intertwining their fingers, though considering that Draco's right hand was stretched taut and pressed against Potter's thigh, it seemed unlikely that he was the one who had initiated hand-holding. Regardless of which one of them made the first move, it calmed Potter down somewhat, though he was still chanting Malfoy and occasionally crying out for God. His thigh shivered beneath Draco's left hand, the muscles in his arse clenching in front of Draco's face. It was a good reaction, Draco decided, one he would like to prolong. So Draco did it again, licking a long stripe over Potter's cleft, moving toward Potter's hole as a long moan escaped Potter and he dragged out the name Draco, purring the r and moaning the o just as Draco reached his hole again.

It didn't taste sweet and delicious as the skin of Potter's neck, but he didn't taste bad, either. He tasted Potter-like, which was a flavor Draco was rapidly becoming attracted to — addicted to. As addicted as he was to Potter's moans and gasps, and the tight grip Potter had on Draco's hand. The sounds that Potter made were the most beautiful part of it, Draco decided as he licked the wrinkled skin of Potter's hole with short firm licks, then flattened his tongue against it and dragged it firmly up and down, occasionally pressing his lips to the skin and sucking as harshly as he dared. Potter's cries were a beautiful melody to Draco's ears, interspersed with whimpers of disbelief, moans of pleasure and Draco's name that was gasped with wonder.

Draco's tongue slipped inside Potter with ease, though after it did, Potter clenched and cursed indecently, bucking against Draco's mouth, nearly pushing him away. The desk squeaked in protest and Draco squeezed Potter's hand and trailed his fingertips over Potter's sweaty thigh, trying to calm him down without moving his mouth away from Potter's arse. It worked incredibly, or Potter had simply lost all of his energy, because he stopped fighting. He's body sagged as though defeated, becoming pliant beneath Draco's touch; he even stopped yelling — all he seemed capable of were tiny choking whimpers, though his grip on Draco's hand remained strong.

It was incredible, Draco though giddily, that he had managed to reduce Potter to that, but it still didn't make him feel powerful, just satisfied and oddly grateful to whatever deity allowed him to do it. He moved his tongue in and out of Potter with ease, which shouldn't have made him happy, but it did, and he pushed as deep as he could, remembering only after a long while that he could push something else even deeper inside.

Draco slowed his movements, planning to move away, though he did so reluctantly. The fear of McGonagall made him speed toward his goal, which was pushing his cock where his tongue had been. His lips made an embarrassing smacking sound as he pulled away, and Draco cringed but wasted no time thinking about it. He pressed his finger to the reddish skin, rubbed it a little, and then pushed inside firmly. The digit slipped into Potter's arse easily, and Potter made no sound of discomfort; Draco wondered if he was even aware that he was now being penetrated by Draco's finger and not his tongue. Potter seemed utterly lost, moaning ceaselessly and shuddering so much the desk shook with him.