TOM FELTON AND HIS CHARACTERS IMAGINES!!

rounds (draco smut)

warnings: smut

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there was a pit in your stomach that you couldn't quite understand. a request on the tip of your tongue, a suggestion knocking around in your skull, decidedly turning all that was contained inside to unhelpful mush.

was it too soon? had you reached the point where all you had to do was reach out and ask? could he possibly be in the mood?

because right now, he seemed awfully focused on the book in front of him.

"darling, if you don't stop squirming, i'm going to assume you want to leave." his voice tickled the shell of your ear, seared scenes across your eyelids that you sought to recreate.

"sorry," you mumbled, tucking further under his chin, thighs squeezing together tightly. you must've been flushed, and not from embarrassment.

well, perhaps partially from embarrassment. you couldn't recall a time where you had been so...so horny. it was foreign, and most likely the successor to the constant euphoria he managed to give you when tangled up in the sheets.

sweat would coat your bodies, muscles exerted but never quite so delighted. panting breaths that inhaled and exhaled in sync, trembling fingers that brushed hair from the face and praised, you did so well. eyes meeting and lips quivering and a lasting question hanging in the air like a parenthesis whose match was nowhere in sight, the ending curve an exhaustion you never thought you would meet. not when you were with him. you could never get exhausted of him.

that question, stuck to the roof of your mouth like sticky gum, but still impossibly easier to get out than the one currently plaguing you. one more round? it would ask.

an inquiry for more was much simpler than a request for something to begin with.

"are you okay? you seem...ill."

you buried yourself into his chest, his steady heartbeat washing over you and intended to be a comfort, but all you could imagine was that thudding when it raced. maybe when he was curved over you, kissing the vertebra of your spine and that pulsing capable of being felt when the two of you fit together so perfectly. or maybe when you finished riding him, collapsing on top of his chest in a temporary reprieve from the strain, sweat salty on your tongue as you licked your way up to-

"fine," you snapped, cringing from the crescendo your voice had taken to. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry. i'm fine, sorry."

draco placed his book down, uncaging you with his arms to tilt your head up, sweeping a soft kiss to your forehead. "stop apologizing. i don't think you have a fever, but something is wrong." he twirled a lock of hair around his finger, then untwirled, drawing nails down your jaw and neck.

you gasped, baring up to him. "i'm sorry i distracted you." guilt pounded right beside something else in your lower stomach, yet the bad was notably faint in comparison to its companion.

he slipped that hand around your neck, thumb brushing a sensitive spot behind your earlobe. you shuddered, thighs pressing together like a last-ditch effort. comprehension flickered in his eyes.

draco held every sign of amused understanding, prideful he finally put his puzzle together. teeth biting into his lip. thumb flicking against your skin in a way that had your back arching. eyebrow raising. and at long last, seven words that tumbled out like every prayer had been answered.

"do you want me to fuck you?"

gods, yes.

your shaking had to be unhealthily noticeable by now, eyelashes beating and hoping he'd see the true answer in your expanding pupils, not the dubiety that shaped your reply. "i...i mean if you're not busy...but if you are, it's totally okay....and if you're not in the mood—merlin, this is embarrassing—i don't want to pressure—"