In Your Arms, Rests My World

In Your Arms, Rests My World. Pt. 3

Harry deliberately walks slowly, looking around the dark, dilapidated corridor that still retains a lingering smell of singed hair and smoke, with its huge chunks of missing walls, and an enormous gaping hole right in the middle of the corridor floor, so that you had to sidle carefully around its perimeter, back pressed to the wall, if you wanted to get to the classroom at the end. The vacant alcoves where statues and suits of armour had once stood are now thick with dense spider webs, and the torch brackets, soot still clinging to the wall around them, sit empty and cold. It's due for repairs in the following summer, and nobody, not even the ghosts visit this part of the castle anymore. It's one of the few pockets around the castle that's not been restored yet.

Harry lets himself into the tiny classroom, the desk below the blackboard slightly askew, the chair behind it lying on its side, the tables few, all of them in need of repair, piled into a heap in the corner. Malfoy is standing by the window, his back to him, the twilight making the very tips of his light hair shine silver.

When he hears the door being opened and then spelled shut, Malfoy turns around, sweeps gracefully up to Harry and after carefully taking his glasses off, kisses him hungrily without preamble.

Harry, for one, can't bring himself to object. He slams Malfoy into the stone wall, his glasses flying out of his grip as he pins his hands above them, enthusiastically kissing him hard, digging his teeth into those soft, pouty lips, roughly jabbing his tongue around.

When they break apart for air, Harry turns him around and presses his erection into the small of his back, eliciting a gasp from Malfoy, and then a strangled moan as he bites into the side of his neck, his hands making quick work of the buttons on his shirt.

"You wanted to return the favour, didn't you?" Harry murmurs into his hair, running his hands up Malfoy's heaving chest, loving the way the other man shivered under him.

"Yes," Malfoy breathes, turning his head and biting his way up Harry's jaw. "If only you'd stop being so fucking noble and let me, Potter."

Incited, Harry bites over the same spot on his neck once more, digging his teeth in deep, sucking the flesh into his mouth.

"Potter!" Malfoy cries, and then presses his arse back into Harry's crotch.

"Fuck," Harry growls and before he can convince himself not to, he's ripped off Malfoy's outer robes.

When the white shirt is hanging off one arm, he yanks at the belt buckle, roughly pulling down trousers and pants until Malfoy is standing there with his temple pressed into the wall, clothes pooled around his feet, panting quietly over his shoulder, watching Harry's face. His arse is spotless and milky white, taut, round and one of the most beautiful things Harry has ever seen.

"Still think I'm being noble?" Harry taunts even as he runs his palms over the soft flesh almost reverently, grazing the crack with his thumbs.

"Well, I can't feel your cock in my arse yet, so yes." Malfoy pushes into his touch. When Harry doesn't reply, he smirks slowly and his eyes glow with smugness.

Meanwhile, Harry has to lean bodily against the Slytherin so he doesn't buckle at the knee. His cock... in Malfoy's... arse?

He has to hurriedly undo his fly then because his cock strains so hard against the material that it's more painful than pleasurable.

"You want me to fuck you, Malfoy?" he says softly, running the tip of his nose against the purple bruise he's left on the pale neck before him. Malfoy hisses through his teeth.

"Potter, do you think I would let you manhandle me, strip me naked and bite out a chunk of my neck unless I didn't desperately want your golden cock inside me?" Malfoy's voice is way too steady and sure for Harry's liking. "Yes, I want you to fuck me; why else do you think I'm still standing here with my arse out?"