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Draco makes his way back to the eighth-year wing, heat already thrumming under his skin in anticipation. It’s an opportunity he’s been waiting weeks for—where he’ll finally get to put the mysterious potion vial hidden at the bottom of his trunk to the test.
Over the summer, Draco found himself having to reluctantly frequent Knockturn Alley, the dodgy row of establishments adjacent to the much more palatable wizarding shopping district of Diagon Alley. He didn’t like it, having had more than a taste of the damp, musty shops there during trips with his father when he was younger. Unfortunately, though, he didn’t have a choice, since he was no longer welcome in the more respectable areas of wizarding society, being an ex-Death Eater and all.
Thus, Draco was there stocking up on a few supplies over the winter holidays—the halfway point of his eighth year at Hogwarts, which had been offered for the seventh years whose educations were interrupted by the war. Strolling by, he turned abruptly as he passed a potions shop that was tiny even for the cramped space of Knockturn. It looked like it could barely fit three customers, let alone the stock of ingredients and potions Draco knew to be necessary for a proper apothecary. Curiously, he pushed open the rotting, wooden door.
It wasn’t nearly as small on the inside, possibly due to the use of wizard space, and Draco assumed he should’ve expected that. It was a fairly standard potions shop, too, albeit a bit dingy—which Draco thought nothing of given the shop’s location. He was just about to turn and leave, having disappointingly sated his curiosity, when a display in the back corner caught his attention. It seemed to be focused on potions of the more adult nature; Draco spotted what he knew to be a few varieties of lust potions as well as a handful of vials with notes that claimed the contents to increase one’s stamina in the bedroom.
Draco’s eye, however, was drawn to a lone vial containing a viscous, cloudy grey liquid at one end of the display. Since he had never seen a potion quite like it, he reached for the small piece of parchment tied to the vial, wanting to know exactly what it was. To his annoyance, the note simply read that the potion “gives the drinker immense pleasure.” With the context of the potions surrounding it, Draco was fairly confident he could infer what that probably meant.
And maybe he was a little bit interested. It had been a while since he was able to talk to someone who didn’t look at him like just being in his presence was akin to being Cruciated, let alone have any kind of sexual partner. Not to mention that with his return to Hogwarts, his libido seemed to have doubled, so quick wanks in the shower just weren’t as satisfying anymore.
Draco, frustratedly thinking about the reason for his suddenly increased sex drive, snatched the potion off the shelf and brought it to the counter. The haggard old wizard there barely batted an eye at Draco as he took his payment, and Draco soon stepped back out on Knockturn Alley. His pockets were a few Galleons lighter, sure, but the swell of excitement inside him at the thought of using the potion was priceless.
Since he didn’t have much time until he was to return to Hogwarts, Draco made the decision to wait to use the potion. Admittedly, he had some second thoughts about it at first, as he didn’t make a habit of imbibing suspicious potions with unknown effects. The hesitation quickly passed at the promise of what the potion could bring, though, so Draco packed it carefully in the bottom of his trunk, hoping that it wouldn’t break, and began eagerly looking forward to the moment he would have his dormitory to himself long enough to try it. It was significantly more likely, now that the eighth years were assigned two students to a room, than it would’ve been in the cramped Slytherin accommodations. However, if it weren’t for his current situation, he might not have been so compelled to buy the potion in the first place. As with most things in Draco’s life, Harry bloody Potter, his roommate, was the cause of his problems.
Having Potter as a roommate tested Draco’s patience in every way imaginable. Draco barely resisted the urge to hex him when he continually left his dirty clothes strewn about the room, or woke Draco up in the middle of the night as he walked loudly to the bathroom, or let Weasley sit on Draco’s bed during one of his many visits. Unfortunately for Draco, though, rooming with Potter also brought about a whole other host of unforeseen issues. Namely, the fact that Potter seemed to have developed a penchant for exposing himself to Draco. He always walked out of their attached bathroom after showers that were much too lengthy to be purely utilitarian, a lone towel slung low around his hips and bare skin still flecked with water droplets. And it wasn’t just then—Potter hardly ever wore a shirt in their room, shrugging off Draco’s hissed annoyances about his behaviour with claims of increased comfort within his personal space. Draco suspected it also had something to do with the new ripples of defined muscle and tanner-than-usual skin the other apparently acquired while helping to repair the castle over the summer. Even as winter approached and Potter’s skin faded to its typical shade, however, the git still had no qualms lounging about half-naked, driving Draco mad with want.
Yes, want. That was another unforeseen issue—how much Potter’s newly toned body affected him. All it took was that first time when Draco’s mouth had gone dry and his trousers increasingly tight. A bit of begrudging introspection later, he reluctantly concluded that his feelings had been lingering for some time and that Potter’s uncanny ability to rile him up since their first year at Hogwarts was not quite as straightforward (pun not intended) as it had seemed.
So, Draco was left with an intense desire for his roommate, one Harry Potter, with whom he spent most of his school days as bitter enemies and was only beginning to be tolerated by due to the nature of their close proximity. Draco’s libido had been pushed to an all-time high, a consequence of having the object of his new fantasies so close at hand, and the frustration of it all had culminated in him purchasing an admittedly suspicious potion that could give him a chance for something more robust than yet another quick and unsatisfying wank.
Draco is nearly vibrating with the heady excitement of what he’s about to do as he pushes open the door to Potter and his shared dormitory. He learned earlier that his roommate would be out until sometime that evening, as he and his clan of Gryffindors were taking advantage of the free day and making the trip to Hogsmeade. Thus, having the room to himself gives Draco the perfect opportunity to try the potion. He absentmindedly sends a locking spell at the door before striding over to his elegant school trunk, rummaging around for the glass vial. It’s right where he left it, and Draco doesn’t hesitate to take it out, uncork it, and tip the contents into his mouth. He knows time is of the essence; he may have a considerable amount of time, but he doesn’t have forever.
Draco stands there a moment, waiting, but nothing happens. He isn’t sure what he expected—maybe something like a lust potion, a need to get himself off? It doesn’t seem to work like that, though. Not yet discouraged, he strips off his uniform before crawling onto his bed. If nothing else, at least he’ll get the chance to have a nice, long, naked wank.
Summoning a bit of lube to help him along, Draco lies on his back and wraps a slick hand around his prick, taking his time as it quickly begins to harden. The action doesn’t feel any different, much to his dismay. So, he settles into his typical rhythm, his palm sliding along his shaft as he delves into the deepest recesses of his mind, conjuring up numerous unlikely scenarios where he’s having his way with Potter—bouncing on the other’s cock, or guiding the hard length between his lips, taking the Saviour apart with his mouth.
It seems like he’s barely started, though, when he feels the familiar heat building in his groin. The pressure of his rapidly approaching orgasm takes him aback momentarily, but he pushes the thought out of his mind. His hand moves over his cock in a blur as the pressure builds, and builds, and builds, until Draco is writhing on his sheets, desperate for a release that surely should’ve already happened. He stays there, unbearably close to what he knows will be an incredible orgasm, for another excruciating moment. Finally, he feels the tight coil snap as he’s sent over the edge, and he nearly cries at the onslaught.
Draco’s mind goes blank as it tears through him, just riding the line between pain and ecstasy. His toes curl and his back arches as his unoccupied hand clutches harshly at the sheets under him, his fingers aching with the white-knuckled grip. Draco’s cock twitches as he comes, and comes, and comes. He shudders with every stripe of pearly white liquid that shoots out of him, sending pulses of searing pleasure through his body that make Draco lightheaded and cause his vision to dim around the edges.
After a moment, his orgasm starts to wane slightly, allowing Draco a bit of clarity on the situation with the oxygen supply being restored to his brain. His first thoughts are along the lines of, “fucking hell, that was the most incredible wank I’ve ever had,” but quickly turn to something resembling concern—muted by the low-level arousal and orgasmic pleasure still humming through him—when he realizes he hasn’t stopped coming.
The expected post-climactic bliss does not happen. He can feel his cock pulsing steadily in his palm, and he pries his eyes open with a not-insignificant amount of difficulty. Draco’s cock rests, still flushed and erect, against his stomach, in a veritable pool of semen. He watches as it twitches rhythmically, the tip fluttering and dribbling even more come, each pulse accompanied by a mild surge of heat and pleasure. He feels like he’s floating, still not having come down from the high of his release. Draco, resolving to enjoy the sensation as it’s presented to him, lies there for another brief moment, his hand working lazily over his shaft as he lets himself get lost in the feeling.
He pays no mind to how long he stays like that, stuck in the hazy wash of his continued orgasm, until some remarkably still functioning part of his brain begins to niggle at him worriedly. It’s been some time and he can still feel the throb of his prick as it spurts out drop after drop of semen, adding to the wet, sticky mess on his stomach and chest. The intense pleasure has mostly faded into the background, but the dregs of his climax still send slight jolts of electricity sizzling through his already fried nerves.
Concern now coming to the forefront with his increasing awareness, Draco has the very unpleasant thought that the problem may be due to the potion—in fact, it definitely is. It doesn’t seem like it’s about to stop any time soon, either. The amount of fluid on his stomach is truly obscene, and Draco wonders how the hell he'd managed to produce that much semen.
His musings quickly turn to how he can attempt to stop it. As tempting as it is to give in to the pleasure, Draco has a feeling he’s been lying there for too long already, and his stomach lurches at the idea of Potter returning and finding him in such a state. To his horror, though, the movement has more to do with arousal than discomfort. Left with few options (other than going to the hospital wing, that is, which Draco firmly dismisses), he decides to try the first possible solution that comes to mind—getting himself off again.
Shakily, Draco makes a grab for his wand on the bedside table. It takes three attempts, but he finally manages to concentrate enough to vanish the sticky mix of drying and fresh come on his torso. Another two attempts and his hand is slick with lube again. This time, though, Draco ignores his pulsing cock, spreading his legs farther as he reaches around to press a finger against his hole. The ring of muscle flutters in time with his continued mini orgasms, and he begins to work the first digit inside. It goes in easily enough, but the stretch of the second finger catches him by surprise. As the feeling is intensified by the constant waves of pleasure, he can feel his orgasm building rapidly again. It’s spurred on by Draco’s digits thrusting firmly, scissoring himself open like he’s preparing his hole for someone’s cock.
Someone’s cock—Potter’s cock, his brain supplies, and the thought sends Draco hurtling even closer to the edge. He imagines Potter’s lust-darkened eyes boring into him, watching him fuck himself on his fingers, waiting for him to beg for the other’s thick cock. And Gods, Draco would.
Draco is too far gone to hold back his cries when he curls his fingers just right, finding his prostate, and the almost unbearable, sudden force of his climax overcomes him. He thrashes, his hips lifting off the bed as his cock pumps out even more come, drenching his stomach once again in his release. Every nerve in his body feels like it’s been set ablaze, and Draco is powerless to stop it until finally the pleasure-pain crests and ebbs but doesn’t completely retreat, leaving him maddeningly hard and shuddering with continual aftershocks.
He fists the sheets roughly, his hole still clenching around his fingers with every twitch and spurt of his cock. Draco wills it to stop already. It’s all too much; his body is sore and aching with the continued tension, not to mention his somehow both spent and engorged prick. He’s just about to force himself out of bed to make the mortifying trip to the hospital wing when he hears what sounds like someone trying to turn the doorknob repeatedly.
It has to be Potter, Draco realizes. He locked the door earlier, but that clearly doesn’t matter much to the Saviour of the Wizarding World—because the next thing Draco knows, Potter is throwing it open and stepping into the room.
Potter thankfully turns to close it behind him before fully taking in the scene. When he does, however, Draco can’t even begin to describe the level of sheer shock and horror on the other’s face. Draco feels his cheeks flush from a disturbing combination of embarrassment and arousal when Potter’s eyes meet his dumbfoundedly. It’s then that he remembers his fingers are still firmly in his arse, so Draco belatedly pulls them out with a wet squelch.
Potter doesn’t say anything, so Draco, assuming that it’s up to him, manages to pull himself together enough to form words. “Potter, I need your help.” He rasps. He doesn’t even attempt his usual haughtiness, since his mini orgasms have kicked up a notch with the arrival of the other and he’s already having a particularly difficult time not outright moaning.
“W-what?!” Potter stammers, a wild look in his eyes that Draco doesn’t quite have the sense of mind to analyse.
In fact, Draco can’t think at all, what with his body heating uncomfortably under the other’s gaze. He shudders against the tightening feeling in his stomach. Fuck, Draco’s going to come if Potter doesn’t stop looking at him—
Frantically, Draco wraps a hand around the base of his prick and squeezes. To his surprise, it seems to work, even holding back the previously steady dribbles of semen as it keeps him from orgasming due to Potter’s mere presence.
“Listen, Potter.” Draco pants, ignoring the other’s focus on his hand around his cock. “I took a shady potion from a shop in Knockturn, and now I can’t stop coming, and I need your help.”
Potter swallows loudly. “How long have you—fuck, how long have you been like this?”
“Since… around noon, I think?” Draco tries, and he hears Potter suck in a breath.
“Gods, Malfoy, that was hours ago!”
Has it been that long? Draco’s perception of time is pretty fuzzy at the moment, apparently. “Yes, well, all the more reason I could really use some help.” He grits out, feeling his balls ache with the strain of holding back his release.
“Okay, erm… I can take you to Madam Pomfrey, I guess?”
“No!” Draco cries. Sure, he might’ve been about to do the same thing, but taking himself to the hospital wing in this state and having Potter do so are two very different beasts. “I mean, I’m sure you have some great idea of how you can save me; you are the Saviour—”
“Don’t, Malfoy. And I’m just as lost as you are!” Potter fixes him with a withering look, and Draco definitely would’ve come at that if he didn’t have such a death grip on the base of his prick.
“There must be—there must be something you can think to do?” Draco hates the needy edge in his voice as the strain of withholding his climax gets more and more unbearable. With it, he’s rapidly losing the will to not suddenly orgasm in front of Potter.
“Well, what have you tried so far?”
Draco groans with the effort of speaking in his current state. “After the first time I came and it just didn’t stop, I got myself off again, but clearly that hasn’t helped anything.”
There’s a brief silence before Potter speaks up. “Maybe, er…” He tries. “Maybe you need someone else to do it?”
Another pause, in which Draco has to force himself to focus on the conversation and not on the throb of his painfully engorged cock in his hand.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Draco asks incredulously once he manages to process the meaning of the other’s words.
“Well, you asked for my help, and…” Potter trails off, not quite meeting Draco’s eyes.
Draco takes a shaky breath. “Okay, Potter. At this point, I’m willing to try whatever you have in mind.” He says after a moment. Potter doesn’t need to know that Draco’s current predicament has no bearing on his pliability when it comes to the other’s intentions with his body.
Cautiously, Potter takes a step toward Draco’s bed, and Draco’s mind goes blank at the realization of what’s about to happen. To his shock, though, Potter settles between Draco’s legs on the bed almost eagerly, taking in his assumingly filthy state.
“Fucking hell, Malfoy, how did you come this much?” He asks, and Draco really doesn’t want to think about the way his voice deepens with the question.
“Potion, remember?” It’s becoming increasingly difficult for Draco to focus on anything other than the weight of Potter’s body in the space between his legs, just out of reach, and his desperate need for release.
“Right. Can I…?”
Draco huffs. “Yes, whatever, just do it.”
He tries to brace himself for it as much as he can, but the moment Potter’s fist closes around his cock, Draco practically feels his soul leave his body. Potter only gives him a few strokes, fingers sliding over the mess of lube and come, before Draco unclenches his prick and gives in to the throes of orgasm yet again. He throws his head back and howls, his hips attempting to rise off the bed as he shoots rope after rope of white liquid onto his stomach, but Potter holds him down firmly with his free hand.
Eventually, Draco manages to pry his eyes open when the pleasure fades back into the familiar, maddeningly mild pulse. Potter is gawping at his prick as it continues to twitch minutely, still achingly hard, sending shivers up Draco’s spine with every dribble of semen leaking out of the slit.
“Fuck, you’re still—” Potter breathes.
“Coming, yes.” Draco chokes out.
He watches as Potter’s eyes darken, far too reminiscent of Draco’s fantasies for it to be anything but his fucked-out mind playing tricks on him. “What does it feel like?” Potter asks, though, and the raspy, lust-thickened tone says that it might not be Draco’s mind after all.
He has to take a moment to find the words. “It’s like… like being in a constant state of arousal and orgasm at the same time. Not like a full-on orgasm, though, more like the feeling right at the end. But it just… doesn’t stop.”
Potter is breathing rather heavily now as he drags his gaze over Draco’s body, and if Draco isn’t mistaken, he’s pretty sure he spots the outline of an erection in the other’s trousers. That alone strips away the last of Draco’s remaining sanity, giving him the wild idea to ask for something he’s wanted for a long time.
“Maybe it would help if you fucked me?” He forces himself to speak clearly.
Potter seems to snap out of a daze. “Oh, yes.” He growls, before regaining his composure. “Er… maybe. But wait—I might have something we can try first.”
Draco almost wants to tell him no, thanks, that he’d much rather just have the other’s thick cock inside him, but he restrains himself. “Fine, then.”
With his confirmation, Potter waves a hand, and the sticky mess covering Draco’s abdomen disappears. Draco barely has a moment to be turned on by the way Potter’s magic washes over him before his legs are being pushed farther apart and a lube-slicked finger brushes against his hole. He nearly chokes at the abrupt contact, and Potter makes a low noise in the back of his throat, seemingly entranced with the view of Draco’s arse. Potter starts to press the digit inside him, his movements agonizingly slow considering how stretched Draco already is from earlier.
It’s barely halfway in, though, and Draco can already feel the pressure in his groin building up to another mind-shattering orgasm. “Gods, Potter, I’m gonna fucking come again.” He whines embarrassingly.
“Not yet.” Potter says huskily before grasping the base of Draco’s cock tightly with his unoccupied hand, effectively holding off Draco’s impending climax.
Then, Potter begins thrusting his finger in and out of Draco’s arse in earnest, soon adding a second. When Potter brushes against his prostate, Draco arches his back and curses, but Potter doesn’t fucking stop. Draco nearly comes out of his skin as Potter ruthlessly strokes that spot inside him, all the while withholding his orgasm and putting his weight on Draco’s hips so that he’s held firmly against the bed.
“F-fuck—Harry, I can’t—” Draco babbles, paying no mind to his choice of words, as he’s fairly certain he’s close to dying from the combination of pure ecstasy and desperation.
“You can.” Harry responds in a tone that somehow soothes Draco and simultaneously ratchets his arousal up to impossible levels.
Draco throws his arms behind him, scrabbling at the headboard and clutching it like a lifeline as he’s sure he feels his cock about to explode, the pressure growing with every thrust, Harry having worked a third finger inside of him. Just when Draco truly thinks he’s going to be torn apart by need, his throat vaguely sore from him practically screaming at the sensations, something snaps inside him. Suddenly, a searing heat courses through his veins; white-hot pleasure mixed with more than a little pain this time. He’s probably close to breaking the headboard in two with the grip he has on it as he rides out his fourth excruciating orgasm. Draco’s eyes roll back, and his head goes a bit fuzzy, but when the haze finally clears slightly, it’s to Harry placing unexpectedly gentle kisses to Draco’s thighs and whispering unintelligible praises against his skin. He’s pulled his fingers out of Draco’s arse, but to Draco’s shock, Harry’s other hand remains firmly coiled around the base of his prick, no more than a few dribbles of liquid having seeped out of the slit.
“Did you just make me come dry?” Draco forces out incredulously, his voice worryingly weak and hoarse.
“Yeah. It doesn’t seem like it worked, though.” Harry looks up at him, green eyes dilated with unhidden lust behind his glasses, and drops his gaze to Draco’s weeping cock for the briefest of moments before returning it to meet Draco’s again. “So now I’m gonna fuck you—if that’s what you still want.”
Just the heat in Harry’s eyes and the heady tone of arousal in his voice nearly has Draco moaning. “Gods, yes.” He affirms.
Harry doesn’t have to be told twice, it seems. Draco hears him mumble something and suddenly Harry’s clothes vanish from his body, leaving him gloriously bare, every inch of tantalizing golden skin on display as he kneels between Draco’s legs, one hand still fisting the base of Draco’s shaft. Draco’s gaze drifts to Harry’s crotch, where his cock hangs, full and heavy with the evidence of his arousal. A flare of heat spikes in him, and once again, Draco thinks that he would probably come just at the sight if not for Harry restricting him.
Draco doesn’t hear Harry mutter anything else, but he sees him bring his other hand down to tug at his prick and Draco picks up on the slick noise of lube on skin. Harry’s eyes never leave Draco, though, and Draco tries with everything he has to fight the shivers of pleasure that just the gaze causes in him. He’s still infuriatingly on edge, desperate to come, but something about the view of Harry drinking in Draco’s debauched and needy form so readily as he strokes himself is able to give him pause. With his free hand, Harry finally moves to line the head of his cock up with Draco’s loosened hole.
“Ready?” Harry asks, ever the considerate boy-hero.
Draco, somehow far enough past desperate to be able to revert to his typical self, bites back with, “Yes, Potter, I’ve been ready for—ah!”
Thankfully spurred on by Draco’s words, Harry abruptly presses himself into Draco. “What happened to ‘fuck, Harry’?” He teases, but Draco no longer has the sense of mind to form a coherent response. His brief moment of lucidity is gone, and he fears it may never return.
He’s too busy processing the fact that Harry Potter’s prick is inside him, not to mention dealing with the onslaught of oversensitivity that it prompts. Draco forces his eyes away from Harry’s and turns to the side, catching a glimpse of the faded Dark Mark on his left arm where it’s twisted in the sheets beside him. He would laugh at the absurdity of the situation—if he could actually even breathe. As it is, Draco feels decidedly lightheaded with the intrusion of Harry’s sizable prick splitting him open.
Harry hasn’t moved, just simply buried himself to the hilt and stilled, hovering above Draco with one hand between them on Draco’s cock, still keeping him from coming. Draco genuinely can’t bring himself to do anything but moan brokenly as a request for Harry to move, and he’s thankfully understood. Harry pulls out halfway before snapping his hips and pressing back into Draco with one abrupt motion. He does it again and again, Draco’s body going tauter with every thrust.
“Draco.” Harry groans above him, but it sounds far away to Draco’s ears.
His unrelenting arousal having somewhat stagnated and Draco’s body reaching a sort of acceptance of the sensation, Draco begins to feel more at ease. It’s as if he’s submerged in the sea, Harry’s thrusts the push and pull of the current, the noises he makes muffled from somewhere above the surface. But then, Harry changes the angle ever so slightly, which causes his next thrust to press right against Draco’s prostate—and Draco’s momentary peace is shattered.
Draco screams. Despite the borderline pain, Draco’s body shudders in pleasure, heat coiling in his stomach and burning through his limbs. Every sensation sends excruciating shockwaves through his body, doubling the pressure of his need for release. It scrambles his brain until Draco knows nothing but the feeling of Harry’s cock inside him, his own cock throbbing in the other’s hand. Stars swim in his vision which is rapidly darkening around the edges.
Draco claws at Harry’s back and shoulders—anywhere he can reach, really—and somehow manages to find his voice. “Harry, I need to come—please, please let me come—” He chokes, desperate tears beginning to spill over his cheeks.
“I will, just a bit longer.” Harry responds remarkably gently considering the pace at which he’s currently slamming himself into Draco.
Everything is too much for Draco. Wetness clings to his eyelashes and sweat plasters his hair to his forehead. He’s digging into the skin of Harry’s back so roughly he’s likely drawing blood—but Harry doesn’t seem to mind, his brow furrowed in concentration as he takes his pleasure from Draco’s body. Draco is too incoherent to do much more than whimper with every hit to his prostate, now almost numb to the overwhelming feeling and his unbearable need for release.
Soon, Harry’s thrusts grow more erratic, and he begins panting heavily on top of Draco. “So close.” He warns.
Not a moment later, Harry buries himself deep inside Draco and stills with a broken groan before Draco feels the first twitch and spurt of Harry’s cock in his hole. Almost as an afterthought, the pressure of Harry’s fist closed around Draco’s cock lifts, and suddenly Draco is thrown into the blinding intensity of his own orgasm.
For a second, it feels like what Draco imagined burning alive would’ve felt like, back then in the Room of Requirement with the Fiendfyre hot against his skin, when he was certain that was how he was going to die. When the initial pain fades, however, it’s completely different. It’s like every orgasm Harry withheld from Draco multiplied by double, overwhelming every one of his senses and paralyzing him in ecstasy. He vaguely acknowledges Harry’s hand still moving along his prick, milking him as he twitches and comes and holding him down with the other hand as Draco unconsciously writhes against the sheets. Draco can’t force his eyes open or his head to move from its position thrown back on the pillow to confirm, but he feels each rope of hot ejaculate as it hits his stomach and chest and pools in his navel. His entire torso is warm and sticky with it, coated even as more and more spurts from his cock with every continued wave of his climax.
Draco can feel himself drifting as the intensity begins to wane bit by bit. He goes numb, his mind slowly succumbing to the relief as his body starts to relax and his thrashing subsides. Draco floats like that for the briefest of moments, in the sheer comfort of the calmness, before finally slipping out of consciousness.
***
“Draco? Draco!”
He doesn’t know how long he’s been out, but Draco wakes to find Harry at his side on the bed, propped on his elbow and peering at Draco concernedly. Thankfully, Harry seems to have already vanished the evidence of their activities. Draco lets his eyes flutter shut again, humming tiredly.
Harry doesn’t relent, though. “Draco, are you awake?”
“Yes, Potter.” Draco reluctantly replies, his voice hoarse and throat sore. He feels like he’s been hit by the bloody Hogwarts Express at least three times over.
“Oh, thank fuck.” Harry sighs ever so eloquently. “I was worried the potion might’ve done more harm than it seemed.”
“I’d say it did enough harm, considering I can’t feel most of my body and what I can feel is in excruciating pain.” Draco huffs.
Harry looks at him, alarmed. “Shit, do I need to get Madam Pomfrey?”
“No, Potter. Just let me sleep for about a week and I should be fine. But I wouldn’t say no to a pain-relieving potion if you can manage to snag one.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” There’s a brief pause before Harry continues. “Draco, just why did you go and buy some strange potion from Knockturn Alley in the first place?”
“It said it ‘gives the drinker immense pleasure,’ so I was curious.” Draco answers partially.
“I can’t imagine you were so curious as to ignore the obvious risks of taking shady potions—”
Draco opens his eyes enough to give Harry a withering look. “Okay, Potter, do you really want to hear all about how I had been inconsolably horny since the start of term, and that I hoped the potion would give some sort of boost to my unsatisfying wank sessions?” At this, Harry goes remarkably scarlet for someone who was just balls-deep in Draco’s arse.
“I guess I can’t fault you for that, then, since I’ve kinda had the same problem.” Harry admits.
“What?” Draco asks, dumbfounded. “You’re telling me you’ve been pent-up when you could have practically any witch or wizard you want bent over for you if you just bothered to try?”
Harry fixes Draco with a lopsided grin that both unnerves him and causes something in his stomach to flutter. “Well, I was hung up on one wizard in particular—but I guess you’re right, since I didn’t actually even try and managed to have him begging for me.”
“What?” Draco repeats, his sex-addled mind still too foggy to fully comprehend what the other is trying to say.
“I’m saying I’ve wanted you since, like, the third week after we became roommates, Draco.”
Suddenly, a lot of things make more sense. “So—was sitting around here half-naked all the time a deliberate attempt to seduce me?”
“It wasn’t a good one, admittedly, but yes, it was an attempt.” Harry says. “I’m glad you noticed.”
“Noticed? You’re basically the sole reason I was frustrated enough to take the bloody potion in the first place!” Draco growls.
Harry’s eyes light up infuriatingly as he laughs. “Really? I guess if one of us had just said something, we could’ve been shagging since the beginning of the term, then.” At this, Draco simply groans in disbelief. It turns into a startled squeak, however, when Harry places a quick kiss on his lips.
“What was that for?” Draco whispers into the suddenly much smaller space between them.
“For now, let’s just say that I’m willing to help out whenever you feel the urge to take some strange ‘pleasure’ potion again.” Harry replies, running a hand over Draco’s chest.
Draco tries to fight to keep the smile out of his voice. “That sounds like a better option to me. But I’m afraid I won’t feel the need to come again for at least a year after this.”
“Shame.” Harry says, grinning, but his eyes darken with a hint of challenge. Draco swallows loudly.
“Yes, well—now, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to get started on my week of sleep that I mentioned earlier.” As he is rather exhausted, Draco doesn’t have the energy to protest even if he wanted to when Harry simply pulls the sheets over both of their bodies and presses closer to Draco.
“Of course.” Harry mutters when he settles in, his arm thrown around Draco lazily. Like that, Draco has no time to contemplate the wonder and absurdity of the past few hours before sleep overtakes him.
The next morning, Draco and his prick are remarkably more than agreeable when Harry mouths at the sensitive skin of his neck and suggests they have another go.