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“Harry, don’t you want to watch the sunrise? Remember, that’s what we agreed to.”
Harry is very tired of Draco telling him what to do. It’s not a new thing, really, that Draco instructs him on how to exist. But it’s grating on his nerves now that they’ve been out since seven in the evening.
They’d gone to a bevy of New Year’s Eve events. First, they’d gone to dinner at Ron and Hermione’s. Then, they’d had to pay a visit to Narcissa and Lucius, both Harry and Draco sitting quietly and speaking only when spoken to; it was always quicker that way. Harry had thought they were going to go home after that. He’d desperately wanted to go home, to sit on their sofa and have Draco lie fully on top of him so he didn’t have to think about anyone or anything. But, no. Of course not. After that, Draco had bullied him into going to a gay muggle club, where Draco had chatted to— well, yelled , more like— the bartender for several hours while Harry slumped on a couch, falling asleep occasionally and waking up every time the beat dropped. Draco had insisted on falafel after that, drunk and chattering and dropping bits of tomato and feta cheese all over Harry’s trousers.
“The sunrise ,” Draco said again.
Harry leans against his shoulder, still drifting off, his bum wet from the semi-frozen grass beneath them. “I didn’t agree to a sunrise.”
“You did, actually. Just before visiting Mother and Father. I said, ‘Harry, love, let’s watch the first sunrise of the New Year,’ and you made a noise that sounded like a yes. To me.”
“Don’t remember that.” Harry yawns. “Couldn’t we have done this at home? There’s a window in the sitting room with a perfectly good view. And we could be warm. On a couch. With my lips on your neck.”
“You can put your lips on me right here, right now.”
“Can’t. Too cold.”
Draco lazily casts a warming charm over Harry, and Harry moans . Draco’s magic makes him feel so good, like Draco’s clever fingers are brushing delicately over his skin.
“Can now.”
Harry does exactly that, angling Draco’s body so that their arms are wrapped around each other. He darts out his tongue, tasting the salty-sweetness of Draco’s skin, taking in the mingled scent of Draco’s cedar-citrus cologne and something deeper and muskier— Draco’s essential Draco-ness. The core of him. He sucks a mark on Draco’s skin, just above his pulse point.
Yes, he thinks, let everyone know he’s mine, this year and always.
“I’ve got a spell that will really warm you up,” Draco murmurs. “Pansy taught it to me.”
“Will it make me feel like I’m sitting on a couch with you wrapped around me?”
“No,” Draco says, the hint of a smirk in his tone. “But it will feel like something is wrapped quite tight around you.”
Harry’s stomach leaps. “Do it.”
Draco leans in close, whispering the spell in Harry’s ear just as he swished his wand. “ Emico flumen .”
Draco keeps on whispering in his ear, telling him how handsome he is, how all the boys at the club had wanted him, how Draco had to swat them away. Heat pools in his low belly, the same tight pressure he feels when he’s inside Draco, mixed up with the heady feeling he has when he’s sucking Draco’s cock. He can taste Draco’s phantom come on his lips, salty and alkaline.
“Draco,” he breathes, awestruck as he pulls back to look at him. His husband. Pale hair flowing over his shoulders, grey eyes dancing with mischief.
“The sunrise, darling.”
Just as Harry looks to the horizon, he becomes aware of his cock straining against his jeans, a shiver rolling down his spine as a bead of come dribbles out. It feels like he’s sinking inside Draco’s arse— but more . Hotter and tighter, enveloping him.
Orange rays of light hit the park where they’re sitting, a warm glow all around him. Harry falls back on the grass, Draco catching him just before he lands, his lips meeting Harry’s, kissing him greedily. His hips are bucking up, his back arching as he’s surrounded by warmth, his cock pulsing as the spell fucks him. As Draco fucks him with his magic.
“I love you, darling. You’re so beautiful when you’re about to come,” Draco murmurs against his lips. “Wasn’t this a good idea, pet?”
“W-what?” Harry’s shuddering now, a heated thrum in his thighs, in the cradle of his hips. It’s fierce and hot and unstoppable, and he’s all wrapped in Draco’s arms, safe and solid. Yeah, maybe he’d rather be on a couch for New Year’s Eve, but he’d miss out on being magic-fucked in a park by his husband’s insane sex spell, the cold January sun peeking through the trees and casting shadows over the frosted grass.
“It was a good idea, wasn’t it, watching the sunrise?” Draco nuzzles against him.
Harry cries out, barely registering Draco’s words, his cock gripped tight and wet by the spell, fucking him relentlessly. It’s pounding through him, like his whole body is being reamed out, like he’s seconds away from coming inside someone and being fucked open at the same time, all wrapped up in the white light of Draco’s magic.
It’s like this, loving Draco. Like being hit with tidal forces, pushed and pulled this way and that, drawn under into a deep, vast sea, drowning in longing and love and frenetic irritation— and so much pleasure he can barely believe it’s real. His orgasm rips through him as he comes, his cock aching and spurting, heat rippling through him as he lets go.
“You always have the best ideas,” Harry says, his body spent, little zaps rolling through him.
“I do. I’m so good at being right.”
“You’ve never been wrong.”
“Not once. Not when it comes to you.”
“Happy New Year,” Harry mumbles, wrung out, eyelids fluttering closed.
“Happy New Year.”