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Draco Malfoy didn't share toys as a child. Now, at thirty-two, he didn't share his husband. Ron's laughter belonged to him, his sighs, the way his fingers tangled in bedsheets—all Draco's. The vaults of Gringotts could hemorrhage gold, and he'd still buy Ron another silk-lined coat, another vintage Bentley, another sapphire cufflink set if it made those freckled shoulders hitch in pleased surprise.
"Christ, Draco," Ron had panted last week, arching under him in their California king, sweat gluing his thighs to Draco's hips, "you'd bankrupt us just to watch me open boxes, wouldn't you?" Draco had bitten the meat of his thigh in answer.
Tonight, Ron's nails scraped down Draco's back as he rolled his hips, slow and filthy, the headboard tapping the wall in a rhythm that'd leave marks tomorrow. "Wanna—ah—wanna turn the east wing into a cinema," Ron gasped, teeth sinking into Draco's collarbone. "Big screen. Velvet seats. Your cock in me while we watch *Casablanca*."
Draco snarled into his throat, fingers twisting in ginger hair. "Done." He didn't care about the structural changes, the cost—only that Ron's pupils blew wider at the promise.
The contractors arrived Monday. Viktor Krum, all broad shoulders and smirk, measured doorframes with a tape that lingered too long near Ron's hips. Draco watched from the staircase, tie loose around his neck, as Krum's knuckles brushed the small of Ron's back "adjusting his stance."
"Careful," Draco called down, voice light as a scalpel. "My husband bruises easily."
Ron shot him a look—half exasperation, half molten heat—before Krum murmured something that made him laugh. Draco's grip on the banister creaked the wood.
It escalated in increments designed to be deniable: Krum's palm skimming Ron's ribs when pointing out wiring routes, his thumb "accidentally" catching Ron's belt loop when passing tools. Twice now, Draco had come home to find Ron cornered by blueprints, Krum's forearm braced above his head, their laughter stuttering when Draco cleared his throat.
The worst was the measuring. Krum insisted on custom-tailoring the cinema seats, which meant his hands kept finding reasons to linger—Ron's thighs as he kneeled to check seat height, the dip of his waist when marking lumbar support. Yesterday, Draco had walked in on Krum crouched behind Ron, one hand splayed possessively over his stomach while the other stretched the tape between his hips. "For the armrest clearance," Krum had said without moving, Ron's blush creeping below his collar.
Draco took Ron against the study wall that evening, teeth on his jugular. "Tell me," he growled, fingers working Ron open with brutal precision, "exactly how many inches he's measured today." Ron's moan was answer enough.
Today, the giggling started before Draco even turned the hallway corner.
He found Ron bent over a Louis XIV chair, trousers stretched taut, Krum's tape slung diagonally across his arse like a fucking sash. The Bulgarian's smirk vanished when Draco stepped into the room.
"Out," Draco said pleasantly.
Krum hesitated—just long enough for Draco to see Ron bite his lip—before setting down the tape. The door clicked shut.
Draco didn't speak. He circled the chair, watching Ron's breathing quicken, then hooked two fingers into his waistband and yanked. Silk tore.
Ron found himself crowned into the nearest wall. Draco’s mouth on his.
Slowly.
Draco kissed him like he was savoring something expensive—tongue tracing Ron’s lower lip first, sucking until it flushed redder than his hair, before slipping inside to map his teeth. Ron whimpered, fingers twisting in Draco’s tie, the scent of sandalwood cologne and sweat thick between them. The kiss broke only when Draco pulled back to spit into Ron’s open mouth, thumb swiping over his swollen lips. “Taste that?” Draco murmured, pressing closer. “That’s what you’ll be choking on soon.”
Draco unwraps his husband bit by bit—first the belt, dragged slow enough the leather sighs against denim, then the shirt buttons popped one by one with his teeth. The kiss deepens as fabric peels away, tongues slick and messy where they press together. Ron’s chest heaves under Draco’s hands, the twin silver barbells through his nipples glinting when Draco thumbs them hard. “Look at you,” Draco murmurs against his mouth, biting Ron’s lower lip just to feel him jolt. “All that muscle just to beg for my cock.”
He spins Ron toward the open door where Krum’s shadow lingers. Draco’s fingers hook into the waistband of Ron’s briefs, yanking them down just enough to expose the swell of his arse, the delicate Prince Albert piercing winking gold, with his initials craved in, against flushed skin. “See how pretty he is?” Draco taunts, palming Ron’s cock where it’s already leaking against his thigh. His other hand drags Ron’s hips back against him, grinding slow so Krum gets a full view of how Ron’s body bows into it.
Draco slips two fingers under the waistband, tracing lower until he finds the smooth silicone tab of the plug nestled between Ron’s cheeks. He circles it once, twice—then stops. Ron whines, hips jerking forward, but Draco clamps a hand over his stomach to hold him still. “Shh,” he breathes, lips skating up Ron’s nape. His fingertip taps the plug’s base mockingly. “Who were you keeping this sweet hole ready for, baby? Him?” He nods toward the door where Krum’s breathing has gone audibly uneven. “Or were you just hoping I’d come home and ruin you first?”
Ron’s answer dissolves into a gasp when Draco twists the plug slowly, dragging it out just enough to make the stretch burn before pushing it back in. The wet sound is obscene, and Draco makes sure Krum hears it too, leaning around Ron to smirk at the shadow in the doorway. “Look at how greedy he is,” Draco murmurs, crooking the plug to rub over Ron’s prostate. Ron’s knees buckle; Draco catches him by the throat, thumb pressing into his pulse. “Couldn’t even wait for me, could you? Had to have something filling you up all day like a desperate little slut.”
He finally pulls the plug free with a filthy pop, holding it up to the light so Krum can see the sheen of lube clinging to it. Draco tongues the tip, watching Ron’s eyes darken, before pressing it back against his lips. “Clean it,” he orders, voice gone rough. Ron opens obediently, suckling the silicone while Draco unbuckles his own belt with his free hand. The groan Krum lets out is unmistakable—Draco rewards it by shoving three fingers into Ron’s spit-slick mouth instead. “That’s it, darling,” he coos, twisting his fingers deeper until Ron gags. “Show him how well you take what’s mine.”
Draco drops to his knees without warning, wrenching Ron’s thighs apart so roughly the chair scrapes back. The first lick is broad, deliberate, tongue flat against Ron’s hole to lap up the lube still glistening there. Ron shouts, fingers scrabbling at Draco’s shoulders, but Draco pins his hips down with bruising force. “Smell that?” he growls against damp skin, inhaling the musk of sweat and salt and the faint cedar from Ron’s shower gel. His tongue flicks inward, teasing the fluttering rim. “Tell me whose scent’s all over you.” Ron’s thighs tremble when Draco bites the curve of his arse, leaving crescent marks. “Answer.”
“Y-yours,” Ron chokes out, back arching as Draco’s tongue spears deeper, wet and relentless. Krum’s choked curse from the doorway makes Draco grin—he drags Ron closer by the hips, spreading him wider so every obscene stroke of his tongue is visible. “Sweet fucking Christ—” Ron’s hands fist in Draco’s hair when he sucks hard at the rim, then plunges back in to tongue-fuck him open. “Draco, please—”
Draco pulls off with a lewd smack, wiping his mouth on Ron’s thigh. “Please what?” He glances up at Krum, whose knuckles are white where they grip the doorframe. “You want him to beg for my cock in front of you? Want to see how pretty he cries when I ruin him?” He spits directly onto Ron’s gaping hole, watching the saliva drip down his perineum. “Go on, baby. Ask properly.”
Ron’s voice cracks. “Fuck me—ah—fuck me where he can see.” Draco rewards him with a searing kiss, tasting himself on Ron’s tongue, before turning to smirk at Krum. “You heard him,” he purrs, palming his own erection through tailored wool. “Stay and watch how a real man claims what’s his.”
Draco’s tongue drags a hot stripe from Ron’s balls to his stretched rim, lingering just to lap up the spit pooling there. He hums appreciatively, the vibrations making Ron’s thighs quiver, before swallowing his cock whole—sucking hard enough to hollow his cheeks, drool slicking the barbell piercing as it bumps against his teeth. Ron’s groan shakes the walls. “That’s it,” Draco murmurs around the thick length, pulling off just to spit onto the flushed head. “Big strong auror reduced to a whimpering mess.” He tongues the slit, gathering precome, then leans back to show Krum how Ron’s cock twitches in the air. “Bet you’d love to taste him, wouldn’t you? Fuck your thick tongue into this greedy hole?”
Krum’s jaw clenches, but Draco doesn’t give him time to answer—he ducks back down to suck Ron’s balls into his mouth, rolling them roughly while his fingers spread Ron’s cheeks wider. “Tell him,” Draco growls against damp skin, biting just hard enough to sting. “Tell him how you came three times last week with my fist in you and still begged for more.” Ron’s hips jerk when Draco’s tongue plunges back inside him, wet and filthy. “Christ—yes, yes, fuck, Draco—I—I needed it—”
Draco stands abruptly, flipping Ron onto all fours with a sharp slap to his thigh. His cock glistens against Ron’s hole, pressing in just enough to tease. “Look at him, Krum,” Draco taunts, dragging the thick head through Ron’s slick folds. “Tell me—does he look like he wants to be in charge?” Ron’s answering sob is muffled against his own arm, his back arching when Draco spits directly onto where they’re joined. “No,” Draco answers for him, sinking in with one brutal thrust, “he just wants to be owned.”
Krum’s chair creaks as he shifts, knuckles white, but Draco doesn’t spare him another glance—too busy watching Ron’s tattooed back ripple under him, the silver ‘Malfoy’ script above his tailbone gleaming with sweat. Draco fists a hand in ginger hair, wrenching Ron’s head back to expose his throat. “Scream,” he orders, snapping his hips harder. “Let him hear exactly who you belong to.”
The scent hits Draco first—salt and musk and the faint tang of Ron’s bergamot soap gone sour with exertion. He drags his nose along Ron’s damp armpit, inhaling deep before licking a stripe through wiry red curls. Ron shudders, thighs trembling, as Draco tongues the hollow with obscene relish. “Fuck,” Draco groans against slick skin, biting just to taste the sweat welling up. “Like a fucking feast.”
Krum’s chair scrapes again. Draco smirks, palming Ron’s chest to pinch both pierced nipples at once. “Look at him, darling.” He thrusts shallow, just enough to make Ron whimper. “Poor bastard’s about to come in his trousers just watching you take me.” The Bulgarian’s choked-off gasp is delicious. Draco licks into Ron’s mouth, sharing the bitter-salty taste of his own skin, before murmuring, “Bet he’s imagining how you’d gag on his cock. But you’d spit it up, wouldn’t you? My greedy boy only swallows for me.”
Ron’s nod is frantic, his hole clenching around Draco like a vice. Draco rewards him with a hand around his throat, thumb pressing his windpipe just enough to dizzy. “Prove it.” He nods toward Krum’s tented slacks. “Tell him.”
“C-can’t—” Ron’s voice splinters as Draco angles deeper, hitting his prostate with every snap of his hips. “Only—ah—only Draco’s c-cock—”
Draco growls approval, biting Ron’s shoulder hard enough to bruise. “Louder.” He drags Ron upright, chest to chest, so Krum gets a full view of how Ron’s cock leaks untouched between them. “Tell him what happens when you’re bad.”
Ron’s breath hitches—half terror, half want—as Draco’s fingers dig into his hip. “G-get—f-fucked raw ’til I c-can’t walk—” The words dissolve into a wail when Draco slams home, nailing his prostate with surgical precision. “Christ! Draco, please—!”
“Please what?” Draco purrs, slowing to an agonizing grind. He licks up the sweat trickling down Ron’s temple. “Want him to see you come untouched like the bitch you are? Or—” He sinks his teeth into Ron’s earlobe, “—should I make you beg him to leave first?”
Ron’s hips stutter, his cock drooling against Draco’s abdomen. “N-no—want—want him to see—”
Draco’s laugh is dark as he glances over Ron’s shoulder—Krum’s hand is shamelessly palming himself through his trousers, his breath ragged. “Look at him,” Draco murmurs, twisting Ron’s nipple piercing until he gasps. “Would his cock feel as thick as mine, darling? Bet he’s imagining splitting you open.” He thumbs Ron’s leaking slit, smearing precome down his shaft. “Tell me—you want his fat Bulgarian prick stretching this greedy hole too?”
Ron’s moan is answer enough. Draco pulls out with a filthy sound, watching Krum’s pupils dilate at the sight of Ron’s gaping rim. “Ask properly,” Draco demands, landing a sharp smack to Ron’s arse—the crack echoes off the walls, the skin flushing scarlet under his palm.
“Fuck—yes! Want—want you both—” Ron chokes as Draco suddenly yanks him backward by the hair, arching his throat for Krum to see the bite marks blooming there.
“Hear that?” Draco taunts, spitting onto Ron’s twitching hole. “My husband wants you to wreck him.” He slaps Ron’s other cheek, grinning at the way his thighs jerk. “But look at this—so fucking red already.”
Krum growls—Draco smirks as Ron’s hole flutters empty between them, dripping with anticipation. “Patience,” he murmurs, dragging Ron’s hips back onto his own aching cock inch by torturous inch. “Let’s see if he can come just from watching first.”
Ron’s whimper dissolves into a ragged moan as Draco bottoms out, the wet slap of skin echoing obscenely. Draco grips Ron’s pierced nipples, twisting hard.
“Draco—” Ron gasps, arching desperately, but Draco clamps a hand over his mouth and slows to a maddening grind. “Shh, darling. You wanted him to watch?” He punctuates each word with a shallow thrust that has Ron’s thighs shaking. “Then let him see how pretty you fall apart on my cock first.”
Krum’s groan is raw as Draco suddenly pulls out entirely, flipping Ron onto his back with Ron’s knees hooked over Draco’s shoulders. The tattoo above Ron’s ass—Draco’s initials in ornate script—gleams with sweat as Draco spits directly onto his gaping hole. “Look at him,” Draco snarls, thrusting back in with enough force to make the chair legs skid. “Tell him what you need.”
Ron’s voice cracks. “Want—want him to see you wreck me—”
Draco’s answering thrust is brutal, his fingers digging bruises into Ron’s hips. “Louder.”
“Want him to see you make me come untouched like a whore!” Ron’s shout shakes the chandelier as Draco’s thumb finds his perineum, pressing hard. Krum’s breath hitches—Draco watches triumphantly as the Bulgarian’s hand fists in his own hair, torn between restraint and ruin.
Draco leans down, licking into Ron’s mouth as he fucks up into him with sharp, shallow snaps. “Good boy,” he murmurs against swollen lips. “Now show him what happens when you beg for more than you can take.”
Ron’s scream when Draco bites his collarbone is muffled only by Krum’s ragged curse—Draco grins against sweat-slick skin, drunk on the symphony of their unraveling.
“See that?” Draco snarls, dragging Ron’s limp body higher against his chest to give Krum a perfect view of how his cock pistons into Ron’s wrecked hole, the Prince Albert piercing glinting obscenely with each withdraw. Ron’s thighs quiver where Draco’s fingers dig in, the Malfoy tattoo above his ass glazed with spit and sweat. “See how his cunt grips me like he’s scared I’ll stop?” Draco punctuates it with a twist of his hips that makes Ron sob.
Krum’s chair splinters as he lurches forward, but Draco catches Ron’s knee just in time—forcing his leg wider, exposing the swollen rim stretched around his cock. “Ah-ah. Eyes only.” He rewards Ron’s devastated whine by thumbing his nipple piercing hard enough to make him arch. “Unless…” Draco slows to a torturous grind, watching Krum’s Adam’s apple bob. “You’d rather taste what you can’t have?”
Krum’s restraint snaps—he lunges, dragging his tongue up the seam of Ron’s balls in one filthy stripe. Draco’s grip tightens in Ron’s hair, forcing his head back to watch the Bulgarian’s broad shoulders shudder as he laps at Ron’s perineum. “F-fuck—” Ron’s hips jerk wildly, his cock dripping untouched onto his stomach. Draco’s fingers clamp around the base, squeezing ruthlessly. “No, no, let him learn how you drip for me first.”
Draco spreads Ron’s cheeks with both thumbs, exposing the glistening furl to Krum’s starving gaze. “Lick,” Draco orders, pressing Ron’s hips down toward Krum’s mouth. “But don’t fuck him.” His smile is venomous as Krum’s tongue spears in, lapping at Ron’s twitching rim. “Good. Now—” Draco spits onto his own fingers, shoving them past Krum’s tongue to scissor Ron open wider, “—tell him whose hole he’s tasting.”
Ron’s gasp when Draco’s fingers curl just right is swallowed by Krum’s moan—Draco watches, enthralled, as the Bulgarian’s jaw works desperately around his thrusting fingers. “Answer,” Draco growls, twisting deeper.
“Y-yours!” Ron wails, back bowing when Draco’s free hand fists in Krum’s hair to hold him in place. “Only—ah—only ever yours—”
Draco’s grin is feral as he withdraws his fingers slowly, watching Krum chase them with a desperate whimper. “Prove it.” He flips Ron onto his stomach with a sharp smack, spreading him wide for Krum’s hungry gaze. “Show him how you suck me back in like a good little cocksleeve.”
Ron shudders, hips canting back instinctively—Draco rewards him with the blunt head of his cock nudging against his fluttering rim, teasing just enough to make Ron’s thighs shake. Krum’s groan is ragged when Draco pauses, swiping his thumb through the mess of spit and precome dripping down Ron’s taint. “Look at him,” Draco murmurs, smearing the wetness over Ron’s stretched hole. “Pathetic, isn’t he? Begging for it like he’s not already ruined.”
He sinks in with one brutal thrust, the slap of skin echoing off the walls as Ron’s scream dissolves into choked sobs. Krum’s fingers dig into the armrests, his cock visibly twitching when Draco drags Ron upright by the hair, forcing him to watch their reflection in the gilded mirror. “See?” Draco pants against Ron’s ear, pistoning into him with relentless precision. “See how pretty you look split open on me?”
Ron’s moan is punched out of him when Draco suddenly grabs Krum’s wrist, pressing the Bulgarian’s broad palm over Ron’s quivering abdomen. “Feel that?” Draco snarls, fucking up hard enough to make Krum’s fingers jump with the impact. “That’s my cock bulging inside him.” He licks a stripe up Ron’s throat, tasting salt and desperation. “Now tell him—” Draco bites Ron’s earlobe, thrusting deeper, “—tell him he’ll never get to feel this.”
Ron’s hips jerk wildly, his own cock leaking untouched against Krum’s forearm. “D-Draco’s—fuck—only Draco’s—” The words shatter when Draco nails his prostate, his orgasm ripping through him with a broken shout—come streaking across Krum’s clenched fist as Draco fucks him through it, murmuring filthy praise into his sweat-damp hair.
Krum’s restraint snaps. He surges forward, crushing his mouth to Ron’s in a kiss that’s more teeth than tongue—until Draco yanks him back by the collar, pressing their foreheads together with a growl. “Mine,” Draco breathes against Krum’s lips, still pounding into Ron’s twitching hole. “Say it.”
Krum’s surrender is a shuddering exhale. “Yours.”
Draco lets the word sit—heavy and undeniable—before twisting Ron’s nipple piercing sharply, making him keen between them. “Again.”
The Bulgarian’s jaw flexes, his gaze locked on Ron’s flushed chest. “He belongs to you.”
Draco smiles, slow and satisfied, like a predator circling wounded prey. “Good.” He punctuates it with a deep, rolling thrust that has Ron arching off the chair, his oversensitive hole clenching around Draco’s cock. “Now—” Draco drags Krum’s wrist down, forcing his fingers to brush Ron’s spent cock where it lies sticky against his stomach, “—clean him up. With your mouth.”
Krum hesitates—just long enough for Draco’s patience to fray. He grabs a fistful of Ron’s hair, wrenching his head back to expose the mess of bite marks along his throat. “Or would you rather I make him lick your come off my fingers instead?” Draco’s thumb swipes through the pooling sweat at Ron’s collarbone, bringing it to Krum’s lips. “Taste that? That’s what defeat smells like.”
Ron whimpers when Krum finally bends, his tongue broad and rough as it laps up the cooling stripes of come. Draco watches, enthralled, as Krum’s nose brushes Ron’s navel, his inhale audible—like he’s trying to memorize the scent of musk and salt and Draco’s cologne clinging to Ron’s skin.
“Pathetic,” Draco murmurs, petting Krum’s hair like a favored dog. He drags Ron’s limp body higher against his chest, exposing the wrecked furl of his hole where Draco’s cock still nudges inside. “Look at him,” he orders, forcing Krum’s chin up. “This is what you’ll remember—his cunt dripping my spend, his thighs shaking too hard to stand.” Draco’s fingers dig into Ron’s hip, showing off the fresh bruises forming there. “And this—” He spits directly onto Krum’s parted lips, “—is all you’ll ever taste of him.”
Krum’s growl vibrates through Ron’s stomach—Draco rewards it by suddenly pulling out, letting Ron’s abused hole gape obscenely as he shoves Krum’s face forward. “One lick,” Draco allows, tightening his grip in Ron’s hair when Krum’s tongue darts out instinctively. “Make it count.”
The sound Ron makes as Krum’s tongue spears inside is half-sob, half-laugh—Draco drinks it in, his free hand sliding possessively over Ron’s shuddering abdomen. “Remember this,” Draco murmurs against Ron’s temple as Krum licks deeper, his broad shoulders trembling with restraint. “Remember how good it feels to be wanted.” He bites Ron’s earlobe, drawing blood. “And remember who gets to decide when you’re allowed to beg for it.”
Krum’s groan is muffled against Ron’s thigh when Draco abruptly yanks him away, flipping Ron onto his knees with a sharp slap. “Enough.” Draco’s cock glistens where he strokes it lazily, smearing Ron’s spend over the head. “Time for you leave now, Krum.
Ron whines, reaching back instinctively to spread himself wider—Draco catches his wrist, biting the tender flesh until Ron gasps. “Look at him,” Draco taunts, nodding toward Krum’s swollen cock straining against his trousers. “You really think he deserves to see you come apart again?”
Krum’s chair creaks dangerously as he leans forward, but Draco’s wand is already pressed to Ron’s gaping hole, the tip glowing faintly. “Accio plug.” The silicone toy slaps wetly into his palm, still warm from Ron’s body. Draco arches a brow at Krum’s tortured expression as he pushes it back in with two fingers, crooking them just enough to make Ron’s hips jerk.
“Draco—” Ron chokes, his cock twitching pathetically against his stomach, already half-hard again.
“Shh.” Draco leans down to lick the sweat from Ron’s spine, his free hand pinching Krum’s chin to force eye contact. “Tell him goodbye.”
Krum’s nostrils flare as Draco’s fingers withdraw with a lewd pop, the plug settling snugly back inside Ron with a quiet click.
“Go on,” Draco murmurs against the shell of Ron’s ear, his thumb tracing the stretched rim where Krum’s tongue had been moments before. “Tell him what you’ll be thinking about while I fuck you full of come.”
Ron’s voice is wrecked. “Y-you watching. But never getting what is Draco's."
Draco’s grin is all teeth as he lands a final, stinging smack to Ron’s thigh. “Perfect.” The door slams shut behind Krum with a crack of magic, leaving them drenched in silence and the heady musk of sweat-spiked bergamot.