Chapter 19
How could I have expected skittish Potter, scrambling to tidy his townhouse the moment we landed from the floo. It’s like he didn’t know I lived with Ajax, a mess of a man who made up for it only with his unyielding charm. I wasn’t sure what Potter had was charm, but I hated how easy it would be for him to make up for any shortcomings.
He gave up on arranging his various things when the pile of dirty dishes got ostentatiously tall. With a flick of his wand he vanished what he could. He looked at me then, his eyes pleading me to pretend I saw nothing. I wondered if he looked at other men that way. If he ever let them see him in disarray.
Do you need anything, Potter tried. I hadn’t brought night clothes. I hadn’t brought toiletries. I hadn’t planned to stay here. I must need something. Did he try so hard to please others when they stayed the night?
Was I tired now? Could he show me the room? Or we could listen to music. Maybe I’d like a snack, even after gorging myself on the best feast of my life. I could see a million suggestions for what we could do in Potter’s eyes even as he failed to suggest what I knew he wanted.
In truth, my hands might have shook when I lifted them to Potter’s face. But he didn’t step away. He stayed still and solid as my finger tips tingled with the sensation of intentionally touching another person. Fire coursed down my hands, through my wrists, up my long stretch of arms at the thought that there could be more.
There was a very good chance this was a mistake. Maybe Potter would look back afterwards and say it was a mistake and shower me in sorrys that would feed all the hate I had inside of me. But never in my life had I looked back and thought I should have made better choices. I was a greedy, selfish person, and I wanted him.
I made him be the one to kiss me, because I needed him to want it some fraction as much as I did. I needed to know I hadn’t misread things this time. I needed to feel his lips begging mine to connect. I needed his hands on me, anywhere, before I dared bury mine into his tangled hair and squeeze it like it was mine to claim. By Circe, did I need him to want this, too.
A dam broke between us and all of the restraint holding Potter back snapped. Hands found my ass, squeezed through the DMLE-provided slacks. I squirmed against him and it made him want more. His fingers slid up under the jumper, quickly lighting my skin up with bursts of sensation that had me gasping and arching forward into him. Potter made a quest of exploring my back, learning every dip and crevice and muscle, especially the sensitive parts he could play on in the future. I gasped into his mouth, then down his jaw and over his neck. I licked his salty skin and bit his earlobe when he slid nails across my skin.
He tried to trail his hands forward to my chest but I stopped him. I was panting hard and fast into the curve where his neck met shoulders. My fingers were vice like on his wrists. Not here, I insisted. Potter didn’t have to be told twice to take me to bed.
I pushed down his wand when he went to cast lux. I distracted him with wet mouthed, needy kisses. I pulled his jumper over his head before he could remove mine and slathered his chest with my tongue. I twirled it around his nipples, relishing his gasps above me. I pressed my hand over the front of his pants to feel the size of him, and to reassure myself he needed this too.
He flipped me over onto my stomach, dragging my sweater off in the dark. I let him kiss the back of my neck, but took his adventuring hand in my own, slotting our fingers together as I held my hand firm to the bed. I arched into him from this new angle, making clear where my ass was and how easy it would be to take it.
There was awkwardness to getting naked. Especially in sharing the experience with Potter. Both of us kicked out of our trousers and pants, limbs and clothing tangled with each other when we just wanted to be free. In this, Potter was more experienced than I. He felt the tension pulled through me and soothed it with gentle touches and kisses. He leaned back over me, the promise of his cock close but not insistent. He massaged my hips, my ass, calming me with confident touches fueled by desire. He had me whimpering, begging, thrusting backwards so I could feel his hardness rub over the crack of my asscheeks with the promise of more, more, more.
I’d murder for magic, just to have the ease Potter did of casting a spell that made me wet for his cock. It loosened me just enough that it was easy for Potter to shove the first finger in.
Gods, gods, he was inside of me. A weight like none other, settling against my insides just until he drew it back, only to thrust more insistently so it burned. His touches lingered everywhere, everywhere I let them, but where it reached inside me was a new level of sensation. I mewed for him, lost in my desperate need for this man. He gave and gave and gave until I was gaping wide, wet and ready, and then he pulled back and lined himself up, so he could give more.
I howled when he split me open. It hurt. It was the best thing I’d ever experienced. I didn’t give him the time he wanted to let me settle into the stretch of it. I pulled away from him just so I could thrust back, skewering myself on his prick and making it as clear as I could what I wanted.
What I needed. I needed him. I needed him to take me. I might have begged. Want me, want me, want me. Show me you want me. Have me, take me, please. Please Potter. Please Harry. Mark me. Mark me, please. Please. Harry, gods, Harry.
His nails dug into my hips so hard they broke skin and the tangy scent of blood wasn’t enough. I bit my tongue bloody before I could beg him to tear his nails down my chest, claw over the marks there, leave new scars and make me anew.
He was gasping like I gasped. He leaned forward, one hand on mine, interlacing our fingers just as I had done. He loomed above me, his hips stuttering as he continued to thrust. His other hand slid from my hip, and I forgot to say not to touch my stomach as it slid around my body. He didn’t hesitate as he grazed my scars. Nothing held him back from his path to my cock, his desire to touch me once more where I needed.
I had jacked off so many times to the thought of Potter, but this was better. His hand was coarse and uncoordinated and desperate with the need to please me. His need was fuel. It was ambrosia. The way his fingers twisted over the head of my cock to overstimulate me had me moaning into the bedding. The way his hand moved obscenely fast, faster than he could pound into me at this angle. The way his thrusts stuttered but he held off, because he wanted to feel me cum first.
I gave in to him. I let him pull the orgasm from me. I let my ass grip down on his cock and felt his own cum shoot deep into the depths of my body. It felt like him marking me. Like he claimed me from the inside, like he needed to own me as much as I needed to be owned.
And then he sagged, his whole weight on top of me. The heat of him finally soaking through to my core, driving out the cold isolation I’d not been able to escape.
My body was as heavy as his. My mind blank and exhausted. His fingers still trailed over my skin, claiming it, and I didn’t care what he found there. He could have every piece of me if he wanted.
He stayed curled around me as I slept, all the way until the sun shined into his room and woke us both with morning. I woke stiff and confused, but not like Potter. His tense arms around me felt like rejection even as his erection lay against my ass. I wondered if I could break through his worry if I arched into him like I had the night before, but my confidence had faded as I slept. This sunlight felt real, and reality brought out his regrets.
Don’t tell Ron, Potter said later, after we’d both showered and found fresh clothes for Christmas brunch at the Burrow. I had to borrow a shirt from Potter and it hung baggy from my narrower frame. I could feel Potter’s desire to stare at his possession on me, as if he liked it there. But what he said was this couldn’t happen again.
I did listen to his reason this time. His worries about positions, how the power dynamics made a relationship impossible, how a senior auror was retiring soon and if he got the position he’d once again be formally my employer.
You’d be a shit senior auror, I answered. I think he just thought I was bitter. That, too, I suppose, but instead of lashing out in anger I had welled up all my pain and heartache and told the truth.