Title: Completion
Kink Series: Part 2
Author: KateKintail
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Kinks: urophilia(watersports), wanking
Summary: In which Harry needs a little help of a certain kind
Note: Not the last in the series… I just suck at titles
Completion
It is rare to find myself home without Draco there. He usually kicks out customers and closes up shop exactly at five o’clock, and he apparates home seconds after that. My hours as an Auror are longer and more flexible, but I usually leave for work before he does and get home after he does. Sometimes, when I worked nights, I won’t see him for a day or more.
My schedule has taken a toll on my relationships in the past, but it seems to work fine for the two of us. Somehow the time apart makes our time together more meaningful and intense. And it helps to have when we get at each other’s throats… though that hasn’t happened as much lately as it has in the past.
Today I was supposed to be at work until well after dinner. That morning I’d left a note on the bathroom mirror for Draco, telling him that he should make whatever he liked and eat it without me. But I also heavily suggested that I would be available for dessert. However, that note was before I got to work and found the whole Ministry of Magic absolutely overrun with Bundimun. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had had its hands full with the skittering beasts and the ooze coming not just out of the floorboards but every crack and crevice in the building from wall to ceiling to filing cabinet. Normal Scouring charms seemed to have no effect, and as soon as one Bundimun was eliminated, twelve seemed to appear in its place. Naturally, they cleared the building out so serious work could be done. And as I had no current outside assignment or patrol, I was sent right home.
Sent to our home which, for the time being, feels like my home. For the first time since Draco moved in, I feel completely free to do whatever I like. The problem is, without Draco around, I don’t seem to be as creative with what I’d like to do. Which is not to say I have an urge to grab a bag of crisps and watch muggle daytime television on the couch. It just means that the first and only thing to pop into my mind was to have a nice, long, loud, guilt-free wank. Today is going to be great.
I close all the curtains with a wave of my hand and bask in the lack of direct light for a moment. Everything has a dusky grey tint to it now. Dull and unnatural is a sunny afternoon without the sun. But it’s my afternoon and I want to spend it without clothing. And I’m certainly not interested in strutting around the apartment naked with the widows wide open so anyone could see me. That would defeat the purpose of being alone.
In fact, I should probably just drop my drawers right here and wank off in the living room. But I’d prefer to do it in the bedroom. Not because that’s the place where this sort of thing belongs, but because that’s where I used to do it and haven’t done it since Draco moved in. I’ll still manage a wank every day or so, but hurriedly, quietly and in the shower.
I head into the bedroom, taking off my robes alone the way, and practically leap onto the bed. It’s nice and bouncy, and the only movement in it comes from me. I gather all the pillows into a pile against the headboard and lean right back into them. I sink into the soft fluffy goodness and strip off my shirt, socks, shorts. I grab the hand lotion and tissue box, and I’m all set.
As I look at my body, slowly being revealed, I begin to smile. My body is once again my own. And my bed is my own. I spread my bare legs, stretching out, consciously taking up as much space on the bed as I can. I’m reclaiming my bed. It’s juvenile and greedy, but so’s wanking, in many ways. The pleasure is more important than anything, and I’m determined to savor it while I can. It’s not quite four, an hour from when Draco will be here. But by that time, I’m sure I’ll be satisfied and showered and the perfect picture of a boyfriend to come home to. Maybe I’ll even give dinner a try, to surprise Draco. And if I don’t burn it black, that would certainly be a surprise.
Draco. This was supposed to be an afternoon without him, and all my cock wants to do is hear more about him. But if pleasure is what I’m after, and that’s what does it, I’m game and willing to oblige. Maybe more than willing. Draco Malfoy.
It twitches at the mere thought of him. I reach down and take it in my hand.
It begins to go hard as I picture his face, those charming cheekbones, those lush and light-colored lips, those brilliant blue eyes. I begin to stroke it.
It hardens fully as my inner eyes stray from Draco’s face to the rest of his body, thin but mighty, pale but powerful. I stroke faster.
The skin is smooth, and I can feel the veins and the heat, as I run my fingers up and down. Then I stop and thrum them against the underside. I pull back the foreskin and tease the tip. It’s sensitive and my own touch makes me exhale heavily. Selfishly, I resume fisting. Draco would play with me, breaking off to pinch a nipple or suck my balls, driving me absolutely mental with desire until I could not stand it. He liked working me up into a frenzy until I could no longer hold out. Control, that’s what made Draco hard. But lack of it was what pushed him over the edge.
I don’t have anything like that. It’s not that I don’t have kinks, because I could fill a book with a list of what turns me on. But I don’t have one thing that I crave, one thing that gets to me more than everything else, one thing that brings me close to a spontaneous orgasm at the thought of it. I don’t. I really don’t.
I lick my lips, concentrating on the moment, on the touch. Flesh against flesh, with a familiar flapping and slapping sound. I feel everything I’m supposed to be feeling, the tingles and rushes, the urges, and the pleasure is there, too. It’s just not enough.
It’s not true. That bit about my cravings. I’m guarded, even with my thoughts. Can’t imagine why, with all I’ve been through and the number of people who’ve been in my head. I just don’t like to admit my fetish, even to myself. It makes me feel strange to discuss it, to think about it. It cheapens it a little, maybe, and I worry that will ruin it. But if I can’t think about it now when I’m having a toss, when can I?
Suddenly, I seem closer. It’s the same speedy stroking. It’s the same thumb circling the head. But it’s getting to me more now. I wet my lips and keep it up.
And I don’t like the idea of needing something. Pleasure shouldn’t be complicated. It should be innocent and easy, relaxing not stressful. Well, maybe not completely innocent. Because, ohhh, the thought of what I want, what I need.
It’s beginning to chafe and burn. More hand lotion, an ungodly liberal amount. I’ll have to get more at the store but it feels so good against my skin. Soothing and slick, and my hands fly faster now, up and down with an arousingly rhythmic pace. It’s wonderful. It’s lovely. My hips buck as I thrust up into my fists as if they were…
Draco. He’s home. Sensation fades back to that dull longing, though the desire to come is still immeasurably overpowering. Disappointment. Confusion. I freeze, listening to his footfalls. “What’re you doing home this early?” As if he can’t tell. He hangs in the doorway, arms crossed smugly over his chest as though he thinks I came home early just to get off. And maybe I had been thinking about it ever since the possibility of an early work day crossed my mind, but it wasn’t as though I’d ditched my responsibilities to do it.
“What’re you doing home early?” I retort. But it’s hard to have an attitude when you’re starkers, hard and lubricated.
“It’s half past five,” Draco replies. “If anything, I’m late.”
I gawk at the time. It’s never taken me so long before. What’s the matter with me? What’s he done to me? Or… what hasn’t he done to me? “Chaos at the Ministry. They sent us all home. And I thought…” I hate talking about it.
“Need a hand?” That grin. I want to come, sinking my teeth into that lower lip and crying out so loud it breaks the silencing charm on our flat. But this is supposed to be my time, my room, my body.
Except that it wants him. It wants that. “I could use a little help,” I reply, and he’s already disrobing, the cheeky, audacious git. He’d probably jump in no matter what I’d said. But look at that cock of his straining behind his green, satin boxers. They’re bright green, I know, but in this light they look a little darker, like the shade of green my eyes are. I can’t take my eyes from his crotch. I want it. “Not that kind of help,” I say. My mouth’s gone dry. I lick my lips again and blurt out, “When’s the last time you used the loo?”
He gets it immediately, I know he does. I can see that flash in his deep eyes. I can see how he knows this is different from all the other shite we do to each other. I can see he wants this more than anything. Yet he feigns confusion. “I don’t know. Maybe before lunch. Why do you ask?”
Fuck him for making me say it. I hate saying it. I hate that he loves when I say it. He’s got to hear it, got to control me. But lunch was hours ago, and it’s Wednesday. Last night we had the roast beef and he probably had leftovers for lunch and he always drinks a lot when he’s eating something good. And he always comes home at five o’clock, puts down his wand and any papers he’s brought home, and heads straight for the toilet. When I’m home, I notice these things, even when I wish I wouldn’t. Because of what it means, because of what I have to admit. “I want you to piss on me.”
There’s movement in his boxer shorts. He’s got his hand down in there, feeling around. “Not sure I can,” he tells me. I’d think he was playing if not for the fact that I can see his erection. “Coming home to find you like this… I’m too hard to piss.”
“Get over here,” I tell him, motioning with a lotion-soft hand. He’s naked when he climbs onto the bed, kneeling between my legs, presenting me with his package. With one hand still on mine, I latch onto him at the base. I’m already lounging against the pillows, so all I have to do is lean forward a little to take him in my mouth. My tongue twirls, then I begin to suck. He breathes in little moans, and his eyes flutter closed. He’s so hard, and I want to tease him with that. I want his eyes to open up under that unbelievably blonde hair and look down at me with rage and passion. But there’s something I want more and it’s not like the feel of his cock in my mouth is for nothing.
He opens his eyes when it’s about to happen, so he can watch me. He puts his hands on his thighs and his breathing is so fast there isn’t a pause in-between breaths. I’ve spent an hour on myself, but in a matter of minutes, I’ve got him closer than I could get myself. One hand finds my head, digging into my hair, guiding my head back and forth roughly. Instinctively, I begin swallowing the moment I hear him go silent. It takes a few moments before he’s actually coming, stiff and hot and wet in my mouth. My hand stops stroking for a moment, concentrating on keeping my throat relaxed and swallowing every drop.
But as soon as I’m done, and he’s breathing again albeit flushed in the cheeks, my hand moves against my cock. “Draco…” So close to begging that I could have kicked myself for my tone. It’s my turn now. “Do it.” It still sounds more like a request than a command but I don’t care because he’s getting ready for it.
Just a moment ago, his mouth had hung open, his eyes had rolled back, and his hips had given one final jerk forward to ride out his orgasm like that. He still hovers over me, kneeling on the bed, but he’s shifting his weight from one side to the other and moving his body around just a little, getting situated and giving himself space to feel his other urge. He takes his cock in his hand cradling it gently, much unlike my grip. His expression is peaceful. He’s waiting for it to come out.
I’m waiting, too. And wanking. My eyes gaze fixedly on his cock. All I need to finish up is a few drops. Just a peak at a golden stream. Just the briefest hint of that unmistakable smell. After all the attention I’ve given my cock today, it just won’t be happy, and won’t let me finish, if I don’t get all that.
And then it happens. It starts out small, as a thin, relaxed stream. But from the second it touches me, I’m anything but relaxed. I can feel it in my stomach, that tingle of ecstasy. He’s peeing on me. He’s peeing on me! No matter how turned on other things made me, there was always something about this, this fetish, that took my body over with pleasure and craving. It did something completely unique to me. And now it’s happening.
Draco has exquisite aim. It strikes my crotch, covering my cock, my balls, my hand. The warmth is irresistible, but it’s the combination of that and the smell, the touch, the sound. Once he seems sure of himself, his muscles relax and the flow becomes more natural and completely unrestrained. The sound of his piss striking my skin from above is like nothing else. The flow is steady but gentle, coating my crotch and part of my chest.
I lift my other hand, setting it palm-up on my chest to catch the un-catchable liquid. He drenches it. The pressure of his stream as it hits me makes me tingle and makes my cock ache and throb in my hand. But with now-warm urine against my skin, my hand seems like a blur against my cock, stroking furiously, needfully.
So attuned to what’s happening, I can’t help but notice when it starts to feel lighter. It starts to taper off, and I’ve only just begun to savor it. I stick my tongue out, desperately, and grip my balls with my free hand. I feel the heat rising and the tingles in my body gather into a powerful orgasm. I strain to keep my eyes open.
For a moment, it feels like a duel, with Draco emptying himself onto me and me shooting up towards him. But the mixture is too hot to try to describe. Talking about these things ruins them, in my opinion. But I’m still coming as the last few drops dribble out of him. He shakes himself out into my mouth, the taste striking my tongue and filling my senses such that I have to close my eyes to enjoy it properly.
When I open them, he’s got his wand in hand and Sourgify’s himself. “Want my help again?” he asks, drawing an invisible circle in the air with his wand, though it’s pointed down at me. There was a time Draco Malfoy pointing his wand at me would have found me angry and fighting back. But now I barely bat an eyelash, even with that damned Dark Mark on his forearm. “Or do you want to lie in the mess a bit longer?”
“Better clean me off,” I tell him reluctantly. “I just came home for a quick wank. My boyfriend comes home at five.”
“I’m not expecting mine ‘til after dinner,” he says, smiling. “What d’you say we leave the blinds drawn and go fix ourselves something in the kitchen? Believe it or not, I’m feeling a bit dehydrated.”
“Wouldn’t want that.” Immediately I can picture that brazen look in his eyes as he stands naked in our kitchen, a glass of wine against those gorgeous lips, drinking just for me. “Well, I did have something nice planned for dessert,” I say. “But nice is overrated.” So is clean, I tell myself as he taps my thigh with his wand and utters a Sourgify.
We head to the kitchen. He pulls out a smattering of pots, utensils, and food. I wrap my arms around him from behind as he cooks. I know we’re clean, and it’s probably just my imagination, but I can still smell it all as I bury my nose in his golden hair. The distinct scents of sex and of urine, mingled together as one in my mind. I close my eyes and can’t help but wonder why it was I thought being alone again today would be so great.