Amber Rain // Dancing Rain // Times Like These

Title: Times Like These
Author: Dancing Rain
Author Email: dancingrain7@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: H/D, originally for the Armchair June '03 Furniture Challenge (prompt: card table). Thanks to Zed Adams for the car advice ;).

It's broken now and there's simply no helping it.

They are crashing to the floor and really, this is all Harry's fault, because it was his idea to get the Muggle flat in the first place, but then again, if you really want to blame Harry for this sort of thing, you'd have to blame him for the pizza and that new BMW in the drive and hell, even the vibrating butt plugs from last night, and there were decidedly some advantages to the Muggle way of doing things in that regard.

So they've fallen to the floor and now they're tangled up together, Harry-limbs and Draco-limbs and table-limbs all intertwined, and Draco realizes that apart from that bruise he can feel developing on his left quadricep, he really doesn't give a damn.

Because there are certainly more important things to pay attention to. Like the fact that Harry has already licked a swath not just up but back down his neck, and if Draco doesn't watch it he'll wind up sprawled on his back with Harry's tongue in his navel again, and that's really much too tame for what Draco had in mind.

So his hands find themselves around Harry's wrists and Harry's wrists find themselves pinned above his head in the half-open hinges of the collapsed card table and Draco is very, very glad indeed that they'd already gotten as far as taking their shirts off in this particular game of strip poker. And then once the thought enters his mind he can't resist it, and Draco finds that his tongue has made its own slippery path down Harry's chest to his navel.

It's one of those things every boy should have, a lover as responsive as Harry. There is never enough of the writhing and moaning and the way Harry's jaw looks when he's debating between bitten lips and mumbled groans or that sweet rounded Oh of a gasp that he usually makes when there is tonguing involved. Draco's hair is sweaty and pieces of it are getting into his mouth as he presses his cheek against Harry's belly and listens to the urgent thrum of his heartbeat, taut with arousal like a drum.

Harry is only in shorts by now because he has never been as good at poker as Draco, or to be fair really anybody, and the line of the cotton against Harry's skin is enough to drive Draco mad. Mad enough to lick it, and so he does, and it is only his quick glance back to meet Harry's eyes that keeps the other boy's hands in place under the table legs and not joining Draco's in their frenzy to get the clothing off, off, anywhere but in the fricking way, because what Draco needs is skin, and Harry's skin was practically made for licking.

He can tell by the way Harry's legs are twisting against the parquet floor that Harry needs it too, and it's either that or the floor is too hard and not comfortable enough, but Draco'd be damned if he'd care, because he too is hard and uncomfortable and there is one simple way to change that, and it's a good thing he had been planning to lose this game to Harry, and not bothered with a belt, or boxers underneath his clothes. Naked against naked, and now that's better, now that's the way it should be and suddenly his mouth is back against Harry's throat again, well make that Harry's mouth, because even when he's on the bottom that boy never has been one to take sex lying down.

Not that Draco is exactly complaining, because putting his tongue in Harry's mouth had been one of the things on his mind just then anyway, and the warm-wet-warm-wet-warm of it is addicting enough he has been known to come from just this, at least, he reminds himself, when they were younger. Not that nineteen years is old but then two years of shagging teaches you a lot about another bloke, and at times like this he knows it's only his ability to anticipate just how very good Harry's hand feels on his cock that keeps him skating just enough past the edge of losing control.

And gods, but Harry sure does know how to handle a cock. Not that Draco is going to let him for long, because tonight was supposed to be about Harry, and about celebrating, and Draco will be damned if he lets Harry give this up because sure, it might be wrong to take favors in business but Draco has never seen a problem with bestowing them in bed. So Draco's leg against Harry's crotch makes a grand distraction and Harry's hands wind up back above his head where they belong.

There. Sitting back on his heels and surveying the scene, Draco can't help letting a grin cross his face before it's back to work, wriggling lower, his knees wedging between open thighs, and when he bends to start licking again one small part of him thinks that it's times like these when it's good indeed to be flexible, but most of him is just thinking "salty," and "warm" and "yes."

Draco loves to tease and Harry knows it so he trades long swipes and soft flickers of tongue for the short tight breaths Harry is taking between moans, and every time he breathes like that Draco watches the lines of his collarbone move against his skin and thinks that this is one of the things he isn't sure he could ever live without.

But then he allows his lips to close just once against the soft round head of Harry's cock and he knows this too is one of the things he lives for, the way this skin that feels too soft to be just skin slips slick between the pads of his still too-pink lips and he pauses for a moment, because he knows he looks divine with the tip of a dick in his mouth and even if Harry hasn't told him yet, he knows he loves it too.

Dip down and his tongue flicks out and Draco can't quite make himself pull away enough to breathe before he slips down again, deeper this time, folding his tongue against Harry's shaft and knowing that if he can just hold still for a moment he'll feel Harry's heart beat in his mouth.

Draco is rocking against his own legs now, folded beneath him and trapping his own hard cock against his stomach and the rhythm is sort of taking over now, quickening the beat. Down and up and open and around and Draco loves the wet wet feel of his mouth, the slide of Harry's skin, the skate of his tongue against that one dark vein that makes Harry's whole body twist and shake and has Harry's legs gripping Draco between them like a vice.

Draco is shaking now too and he knows just wait wait just a moment longer there Harry is pushing urgent in his mouth and yes he can feel the quake in Harry's body like a current running from the base of Draco's tongue right through his guts and into his cock, and it's only when Harry has slipped back past his lips that Draco lets his hand leave Harry's hip to pull himself over the edge, and yes, he thinks, when he opens his eyes to a lap full of wet, it's at times like these that Draco Malfoy doesn't mind being dirty.

Harry is stretching and grinning and propping himself on one elbow and Draco can see marks on his wrists from where he gripped the table's hinges. Draco moves up to kiss him and when Harry pulls him in close it's only for a second that Draco worries about getting Harry messy. It is Harry's day, after all, and if Harry wants to snuggle a sticky, wet, limp and sated Draco curled against him on an upturned tabletop, Draco is hardly about to argue. As he's halfway to sleep, one leg flung across Harry's and the other with a broken table leg jammed against his thigh, Draco thinks that it's really too bad about the card table, because clearly, strip poker is a game that needs to be played much, much more often.

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