When You
by Kay

You make me come.

With your hands tracing light patterns on the tender flesh of my inner thighs and your cheeks hollowing as you apply just the right amount of suction, I feel myself losing control.

I have my fingers threaded through your silky hair, and they tighten reflexively as your tongue traces a hot line from base to tip of my cock, stopping to place a gentle kiss right on the tip. It's the type of kiss I've seen Ron bestow on his mother's cheek, but it's so blatantly sexual given this particular situation.

I prop myself up on my elbows to study you as your hands move to trace light cirlcles around my hipbones.

"You look like an angel," I breathe, reaching a tentative hand to palm the curve of your cheek.

Without even looking up or acknowledging my words, you trail your hands down the sides of my hips and around to caress my inner thighs again. You lean down and dip the tip of your tongue into my navel, eliciting a gasp I just can't contain. Only then do you meet my eyes, gazing up over the smooth plane of my chest.

"Why do you say that?"

My eyes take in the scene before me: You're gloriously naked, kneeling between my spread thighs. The moonlight filtering through the window makes your skin glow and appear almost translucent as it halos your silvery blonde hair. It seems a perverse contradiction of purity and innocence if what we're doing now is any indication.

"You're just...so beautiful, shining, ethereal..." I say, and I know my tone is one of near-reverence. I trail off, shaking my head at my inability to convey the image into words.

The corners of your mouth lift into a wry, slightly self-depricating smile. You wet your lips slowly with the tip of that pink tongue, then toss your head back, sending the tie flying and freeing the rest of your hair to fall around your face, casting partial shadows on it.

"If I'm an angel," you say in a husky voice, "I'm most definitely a fallen angel."

Then, as if to confirm the words, you lower your heated gaze again and hungrily lick the tip of my cock.

As your mouth opens around the tip and begins to suck lightly, my head falls back. That mouth of yours is capable of so much. It can deliver insults dripping with acid and so much sarcasm. It has the potential to fell a man with the sting of personal affronts that won't soon be forgotten. It can coax even the most unwilling mouth to open and respond to hot, devouring kisses. It can be honeyed and smooth, convincing and gently cajoling anyone to follow you to the ends of the earth and back again, to obey your every command. It can also deliver an unbelievable amount of the most mind-blowing, knee-weakening pleasure, more than ever seemed possible.

Its current application is most definitely fulfilling that last possibility. You give such amazing head. Right now I'm surprised I'm still capable of coherent thought. Your mouth's hot-silken skin feels delicious as it caresses my hard flesh, and your oh-so-talented tongue is going to mad work. Then you do it, and I can feel my eyes roll back in my head as my hips begin to buck involuntarily.

You told me once that the main reason you love to deep-throat me is because it makes me lose control like nothing else. You love knowing that you've shattered all my self-restraint. With that in mind, I don't feel so bad that my hands are gripping your head tightly as I essentially fuck that gorgeous wet mouth.

Using the last vestige of awareness, I lift my head to look back down at you. Your eyes are closed, eyelashes casting a crescent of shadow against your cheeks and giving you an almost blissful look af contentment. You're worshipping my cock with your mouth, and the image of myself sliding wetly in and out of the sweet cavern is what finally sets me off. I start to tremble, but your mouth continues its relentless stimulations until...

You make me come.

***

When you crawl up over my body with catlike grace to settle on your side next to me, I'm pliant and sated, floating on the plateau of afterglow. I manage to pry my eyelids open and turn my head to meet your gaze.

Your eyes are liquid silver, pools of desire, the living definition of the phrase "bedroom eyes." They're absolutely sparking with sexual energy, and I smile before my eyelids fall closed again.

I feel rather than see the movement of your head closer to mine. Your breath fans my lips gently and makes me anticipate the kiss that's sure to follow. But then your shallow breaths recede, and your lips come to rest against my ear. Your tongue flicks out to tease my earlobe.

"My, my, don't you seem tired? Ready to go to sleep so soon?" you ask, sounding a mixture of smug and teasing. Your hand wanders down my chest to tease a nipple. "Or would you rather taste a little heaven?"

You nip my earlobe, and I can't restrain the moan it demands. "I'll take that as a yes," you murmur, then your mouth is back at mine, right where it should be. Not bothering with the preliminaries of gentle, coaxing kisses, your tongue delves between my lips to stroke alongside mine, and I know what you were talking about. I can taste myself in your mouth, and that coupled with the suggestive thrusting of your tongue is enough to have me turning on my side to face you and respond more deeply to the kiss. You always know exactly what I'll find erotic, and you work it for all it's worth.

I move closer to feel your penis nudging my thigh, and your hands reach around to cup my ass and pull me harder against you. I'm getting aroused again, and you adjust my body so that our cocks are grinding together. Then you break the kiss, arching your neck and gasping for air.

I take the opportunity presented by your vulnerable neck by licking a path from your collarbone to the underside of your chin, then trace my way back down to your pulse point. I kiss it gently, feeling the blood pump through your body in quick, steady beats. I set to work marking you, sucking at the vulnerable patch of skin.

While I'm doing so, you're by no means unoccupied. Your hands are on my ass, by turns stroking and kneading, pulling me closer to your shivering frame. I start sucking harder when you run a slick finger down the crease, and I drape a leg over yours to allow your finger entrance.

I grunt a bit at the intrusion, but force my body to relax as you slide the finger in and out, probing and preparing me. A second finger is worked in, and I moan when it brushes across my prostate. Pulling your head down roughly, I meet your lips for a wild kiss, demanding and sexual and aggressive. By the time you're using three fingers, I know I'm ready. I roll onto my back, and you roll with me, coming to rest between my thighs.

You pull your fingers out in the process, and I feel so empty. But then you drape my legs over your shoulders and position you cock against my entrance. I take a deep, shuddering breath when you kiss the inside of my leg and start to slide in, rocking your hips ever-so-slightly to bury yourself to the hilt.

You make me complete.

Once you're sheathed inside my body as deep as you can go, I feel as though I could stay like this forever. But then your eyes meet mine--a dark, swirling grey like the angry sky before a storm, like treacherous pools that I would gladly drown in, like every trite cliche I've ever heard--and the moment our eyes clash is nothing short of electric.

My ass clenches on your cock, and with your eyes drifting shut, you begin to move, pulling out of my body before pushing back in. As your thrusts become more forceful, I start moving to meet them, biting my lip to keep from crying out each time you hit my prostate.

I feel hot, so hot from the pleasure that's radiating out of the center of my body. I grind my cock against your belly, and you take notice, reaching between our bodies to grasp it. Somehow, even when I'm so far gone with the pleasure, you're still able to concentrate and function somewhat normally. While you focus on continuing your rhythm and bringing me off against your hand, I channel the remnants of my effort to make you come. I just want to see you lose control with me.

Each time you spear into me, I left my hips to meet you, and when you pull out, I rock back, tightening around you. Your thrusts start to get erratic, so I scratch my nails up your back, and you arch in response, still struggling to stay in control. I cup your ass, feeling the muscles flex in tandem with your strokes, then jerk your hips forward hard, forcing you in deep, and I feel you give.

You fill me with the wet warmth of your seed, moaning loudly. You moan my name, and for once it's not "Potter." It's "Harry," sounding hoarse and harsh and like it was torn from your throat, but it's the sweetest sound I've ever heard.

And that's what makes me come again. I gasp your name and come, spurting and covering both our stomachs as you collapse onto my body, breathing hard.

***

When we're both capable of coherent thought again, I grunt to protest your weight, but I'm still oddly disappointed when you roll off me. It helps a little that you keep a leg draped over me and entwine the fingers of one hand with mine. We lay there for a few minutes, silent except for harsh breathing that eventually evens to normal. Then you raise yourself up on one elbow, eyes scanning my face.

"What?" I ask.

"You have a bit of blood on your lip," you say, and my tongue immediately darts out to test it. You're right; apparently I was biting my lower lip a bit too hard earlier.

Your pupils dialate as my tongue sweeps across my bottom lip, then you're leaning down, displacing my tongue with your own, lapping gently at the metallic blood and broken skin. When you pull my bottom lip into your mouth and suck at it, giving a little hum of pleasure, I do something stupid. So stupid.

"God, I love you," I gasp, then I'm wishing I could take it back the moment you freeze and jerk away from me. You're standing in less than a second, grabbing your clothes and avoiding even glancing at me. Man, did I ever fuck things up. I groan, closing my eyes and shaking my head at my own stupidity.

When my eyes open, you're getting dressed, ready to head for the door without a word.

"Draco," I start. But what can I say to explain away what I just confessed, what I feel? "I'm sorry, I..."

But I trail off with that one quelling look you shoot me. "Don't say anything," you warn in a low voice, buttoning the last fastening on your robes and turning to go.

I can't just let you walk away like that, though. "Wait, Draco!" You turn back to look at me, and I shrug helplessly, at a loss for words.

"What, Potter?" You spit out my last name, laced with bitter venom. And it stings, but not as much as the coldness in your eyes. I suddenly feel very vulnerable and very naked, exposed to you both physically and emotionally. I drop my head, but I can still feel your heavy gaze, disgusted and dismissive.

"I...I didn't mean for it to come out like that," I answer quietly, forcing myself to look back up at you. "I mean, it's true; I'm in love with you, but I shouldn't have said it yet, and..." Frustrated with my inability to communicate with you, I sigh and push my hair off my face impatiently. Another mistake, for your eyes immediately fly to my forehead and focus on my scar. That damn scar.

Your eyes narrow, and I can almost see any shreds of patience fly out the window. "Wrong, you shouldn't have said it ever! Why the fuck did you have to say it at all?" you demand, practically growling. "How can you even feel that way? I don't love you. Hell, I don't even like you," and I wince when you laugh, harsh and angry.

I don't know how I keep from drawing back when you approach me, silent and dangerous. You lean down until we're practically nose-to-nose. "It's just sex. Remember that." Then you grab the back of my neck and force my lips to yours, plundering my mouth and biting my already injured lip. You pull back and stalk to the door without a backward glance.

Then, just before you close the door, I hear you say, "And I don't ever want you to say that again."

The door clicks shut, and I just stare at it for a moment, tasting the fresh blood on my tongue. You bring me to ecstacy, and with a few words, you make me completely miserable.

Refusing to stay and pity myself for your rejection, I begin to dress, feeling empty and very, very lonely.

So much for the afterglow.

END.