Favs of Ao3

Love Bridge, Actually (Drarry🍋)

Love Bridge, Actually
PrinceMalice

Technically, it wasn't the first time Harry had sunk his prick into Malfoy— it was just the first time he knew it was Malfoy. And didn't that make all the difference?

The toy, if such a magical and lewd relic could even be called a toy, was incredible, yes, but nothing compared to being able to trace the curvature of Malfoy's lean and opalescent lumbar. To watch the soft tan of his own fingers paint bruising imprints where he held onto the handles of his hips. For a second, Harry wondered how his day had brought him to that moment, where he watched his cock be welcomed home into Malfoy's body for the second time.

More notable a difference than anything else, the experience with the magical mirror was very quiet, and Malfoy was very much not.

"Merlin's fucking cock, Potter! Where do you hide that monstrosity?" Malfoy bit out between distorted moans.

His face had long ago dropped into the pillow— hands scrabbling at the rumpled sheets, trying to gain some sort of leverage against Harry's never-ceasing thrusts. His back bowed like a branch in the wind. It was beautiful. It was better than he had ever imagined.

Oh, how he had imagined. Probably every day for the last several years, if he was being honest. Everybody knew Harry was obsessed with Malfoy, and that did not exclude Harry himself.

Maybe it was the concept of forbidden fruit, or maybe it was the long and lean stature that Malfoy had been molded into by puberty. Or maybe it was the way the blonde boy could stoke a flame in Harry with not a twig of tinder.

He'd been telling the truth, when he told Malfoy it was him he had thought about while he'd fucked that toy. The fantasy had been right there on the shelf of his mind, always within grasping distance. He'd laid in Malfoy's bed and sucked down the debilitating scent of him while he'd licked open that sweet little pink hole.

Harry had taken his time, cycling through all the things he'd wanted to do to the real Malfoy if he'd ever had the chance— wished he had access to nipples or a bulging prick to really live out the fantasy, but far be it from him to look a gifted Hippogriff in the mouth.

So yes, while he wanked himself off with that disembodied hole, he'd thought only of Malfoy, but never once did it even cross the deepest trenches of his mind that he was literally fucking Malfoy.

He wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been hexed out the window or transfigured into a slobbering mongrel when he realized what he had done. But Malfoy never raised his wand. He'd looked at Harry with batshit crazy eyes and not five minutes later, there they were— blistering with tears as Harry went from fast and brutal to slow and languid.

"You're so sensitive," he whispered into the back of that flushed red neck. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Harry did not know what he would do if Malfoy told him to stop, but he had to ask. He'd already essentially assaulted Malfoy with that mirror stunt, even if he hadn't realized it at the time. He needed to know it was okay to keep going, to keep gliding in and out of that loosened and obscenely wet hole.

"I don't care," Malfoy moaned, thrashing his hips to try to get Harry to move faster. "Don't stop, no matter what. Come on, Potter. Take me!"

Fuck.

He hoped Malfoy meant it, because he couldn't stop. Not when Malfoy writhed and trembled, nor when he dissolved into snot and tears and came all over those evergreen sheets.

"I should take that mirror with me," Harry gasped, chasing desperately after his orgasm. "I could keep it under my pillow. Use you any time I'd like. Tell me, Draco, how heavy of a sleeper are you? Would you wake up on my fingers, or on my cock?"