The Ties That Bind Us DRARRY

Twelve

It couldn't have tasted good - it was cloth for fuck's sake. But one wouldn't make such a conclusion when staring at Potter's face. Potter hummed as his tongue traced the outline of Draco's cock, dampening the material before he pressed his open mouth to Draco's crotch, making a sound that a person made when eating a particularly scrumptious piece of candy. Though really, you were supposed to unwrap the candy first, you didn't lick the bloody paper.

The touch of Potter's tongue was barely there; Draco almost couldn't feel it through layers of fabric. He should have complained, and he would have if he wasn't worried that Potter would be insulted enough to stop. And Potter stopping wasn't an option. Thinking about that terrible possibility, Draco wrapped his hand around the rope connecting his wrist to Potter's neck, his fingers edging slowly toward the knot pressed against Potter's skin. He gripped the rope tightly, shuddering from the overwhelming desire to pull it and make Potter suck his cock already.

He didn't dare to do it, however. He didn't dare to move out of fear that Potter would be startled by the smallest movement like a wild animal. He didn't even dare to wipe Potter's sticky come off his left hand. He didn't know where to wipe it, anyway, except on his shirt, which was an unappealing thought.

Draco could do nothing but wait and pray he wouldn't come just because of a couple of non-touches as Potter took his time. He licked and caressed as he slowly unfastened the button of Draco's trousers and slid down the zipper, tongued the silk of Draco's boxers - dark red, which was embarrassing because, officially, Draco detested red - and toyed with the dark blond hair of Draco's crotch, pressing his face into it and - sweet Merlin - breathing in Draco's scent. The first touch of Potter's fingers against the bare skin of Draco's cock made him shiver and say, "Fuck!" quite loudly - he said it, he most certainly didn't whimper it.

Draco's cheeks heated as Potter wrapped his hand around the base of Draco's cock and stared at it as though it was a never before seen miracle rather than a standard part of male anatomy.

"I thought it would be smaller," Potter said, his voice rough and his gaze fixed on Draco's cock. He didn't sound disappointed.

"That's because you're a conceited part and you think yours is the biggest," Draco couldn't help saying, though he regretted it immediately because he had forgotten that it was important not to insult Potter right now.

Potter looked up, his lips twitching and eyes dancing, and Draco realized that Potter was teasing him, and when Draco actually thought about it he found that there was a compliment hidden in that statement. Which was unusual and it made Draco grin stupidly as a strange feeling settled pleasantly in his stomach. Fortunately, he wasn't forced to ponder the bizarre reaction, because Potter leaned in and his lips touched the head of Draco's cock. Draco watched them stretch around it before a tongue brushed the sensitive tip, sending rivulets of pleasure through Draco's body. This time he couldn't deny his pathetic whimper and he clutched his shirt with his sticky hand to stop himself from intertwining his fingers into Potter's hair. Potter looked up, his lips still wrapped around Draco's cock, eyes smiling though his mouth couldn't, and he swirled his tongue again, teasing the slit before sucking lightly. Draco's cock twitched, as eager to push deeper into Potter's mouth as Draco was himself, but Potter refused them both, clearly intent on tormenting Draco like the cruel git he was. Potter looked down and stuck out his tongue, licking firmly and lapping the liquid that gathered on the tip. The sight of Potter's tongue and mouth sliding over the head of his cock was as maddening as the sight of the rope wrapped around Potter's neck; they were all there, as though designed to give Draco pleasure, but he couldn't use them. More than anything he wanted to pull on the rope and force Potter to open his mouth and let Draco push inside, but he knew he couldn't do that, not without risking the complete loss of Potter's mouth. The mouth that kissed and tongue that licked Draco's cock wetly, which felt nice and looked spectacular, but it wasn't enough. Or maybe it was, but it shouldn't have been because Draco was determined not to lose it before he pushed at least once into that warm mouth. He felt as though he was standing on the brink, trying and failing to jump, and no one was willing to give him a push.

"Potter," Draco whispered, or at least he thought he did; the word didn't sound like it came out of his mouth; he didn't even know his voice could be so low.

Potter looked up and mercifully took the head of Draco's cock into his mouth. Draco held his breath, for a second caught off guard by a strange thought that wished to convince him that the image of Potter - messy haired and bespectacled, lips thin around Draco's cock, shirt all but hanging from his shoulders and the skin of his neck red beneath the ropes - was the most beautiful vision he had ever seen in his life. In that moment, Potter looked positively attractive. The thought was not only strange, but utterly insane, but it was right there in Draco's mind, as though someone had viciously Conjured it and forced it into Draco's head, because surely he couldn't have meant it. Simpering young girls found Potter attractive, and they were stupid and wrong; that was an empirical fact. Why had such a thought assaulted him; threatening to turn him into one of Potter's fans?

In the next moment, Draco stopped worrying he'd become a fan of Harry Potter, however. Potter pulled back, grinned, and then continued to lick the tip of Draco's cock as though that was the only thing he knew how to do; as though they had all the time in the world; as though Draco wasn't a shivering wreck that needed to fucking come. Draco's hand clenched into a fist, his left yearning to grab Potter's hair and push him forward and his right desperate to yank on the rope and pull the prat closer.

"Potter," Draco growled, pleased to find that it sounded quite intimidating.

Potter clearly didn't think so, however, because he looked up at Draco again with that same maddeningly amused smile before he took the head of Draco's cock into his mouth, not moving, not sucking, not even licking, just holding it in his mouth and looking at Draco as though he waited for something.

Fucking bastard.

"Please?" Draco asked quietly, telling himself it was okay to say it because no one except Potter would ever know that he had begged. Which was silly, because Potter should have been the first person Draco didn't want to witness his moment of weakness.

Potter swirled his tongue a little and then pulled away.

Draco felt like sobbing. Perhaps he had sobbed out loud; he was pretty sure he had said please a few more times to no avail. Potter leisurely dragged his lips over the tip, pressing kisses - fucking kisses - over it. Draco's right hand twitched, pulling Potter's head sharply forward, his mouth pliant enough to let Draco's cock slip inside. Draco froze, terrified that Potter would pull away completely; kisses and licks were better than nothing, after all, but Potter didn't pull away - he moaned. Fucking moaned before he looked up at Draco again with that same expectant look that made Draco conclude earlier that Potter wanted him to beg. Confused and astonished, Draco pulled on the rope again, carefully, in case he was wrong, and Potter came closer willingly, letting Draco drag him forward.

Apparently, Draco thought hazily, he didn't need Potter to suck his cock properly in order to make him come. Draco pulled on the rope once more, his cock sliding into Potter's waiting mouth easily, and Draco's vision darkened as Potter made a tiny sound of contentment. It was the realization that Potter was well aware that he was bound to Draco's wrist and that he was waiting for Draco to use that link to drive himself into Potter's mouth that pushed Draco over the edge. His body seized up, pleasure rushing through him in long tremulous surges as his hand tightened around the rope, trapping Potter in place and making him stay still as Draco filled his mouth with his come. Draco shut his eyes, for a few wonderful moments feeling as though he was flying on his broom, soaring toward the ground, not caring if he would crash or not.

He didn't have to care; he wouldn't crash. Hands held him tightly, warm and strong on his thighs, and Draco was positive that Potter wouldn't let him fall.