Bick dick come quick.doc

Big Dick, Come Quick by Calanthe

Part One

“You have absolutely no evidence on which to base your theory,” Blaise half shouted in exasperation at Draco as they strolled out of the porno cinema. “Your ridiculous theory, I should say.”

Blaise huffed in disgust and shoved his hands inelegantly into his pockets as Draco laughed at his friend’s annoyance. This was a regular topic of conversation between the two of them. In fact, Blaise would tell anyone who listened that it was fast becoming Draco’s obsession.

And if Draco was honest with himself, he’d admit it already was his obsession.

“Okay then, let’s take the film we just saw for example, shall we?” Draco reasoned. “How many men shagged how many women, do you think?” He held in a chuckle as he heard Blaise grind his teeth in irritation.

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” Blaise snapped out.

“Humour me for once.”

“I don’t know. Maybe six men with two women?”

Through a delighted laugh, Draco replied, “See? You were paying attention!” He turned to look at his friend’s profile as they wandered along the almost empty street. “But did you happen to notice who shot their loads first? Did you?” Draco was really teasing now.

“I’m sure you’re just dying to tell me,” Blaise ground out through barely parted lips.

Draco reached up and clapped Blaise on the back heartily before replying, “Come on, Blaise! Where’s your fight gone? You’re not making this any fun.” He was rewarded with a minute curve upwards at the corner of Blaise’s mouth. Draco knew he was winning. “It was the big cocks, Blaise. All the big cocks came the quickest. It proves my theory beyond a shadow of a doubt!”

Blaise rubbed a hand across his face before turning to look at his cock-obsessed friend and telling him, “It doesn’t prove shit, you idiot! They all had big cocks, in case you didn’t notice. And these Muggles have something called editing, you know. The film doesn’t happen in real time. It’s like messing with a memory before you view it in a Pensieve.”

“A minor detail,” Draco said, waving his hand in dismissal. “The point is, everyone might yearn for a knob of epic proportions, but when you’ve got one, you can’t hang on to your tadpole yoghurt for more than a minute or two. What’s the point of that?” Blaise made a retching sound at his crudity, but Draco shrugged it off, having warmed up nicely to his favourite topic of conversation. Your only topic of conversation, you sad fuck, his internal voice told him. Draco squashed it deep down inside before continuing, “I hardly think I need say any more. What Merlin gives with one hand, he takes with the other. Big cock? Fine. Good for you. All night shagging sessions? Hah! Fat chance. One minute wonder. Two at the outside if you wanked off first.”

Blaise grabbed Draco’s forearm and pulled him to a halt, turning him so they faced each other. Draco thought Blaise looked more sad than anything else. Placing his hands on Draco’s shoulders, Blaise leaned in close and said quietly, “I love you, Draco. You’re like a brother to me. We know everything there is to know about each other, but still you don’t trust me with this.”

Draco’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“It’s okay,” Blaise said comfortingly, raising a hand to stroke Draco’s cheek softly. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. Seven inches is far bigger than average, you know.” Blaise clamped a hand on Draco’s chin to kill the blustering words about to spill out. “Why don’t you just admit you get off on the thought of taking a huge prick up your arse and be done with it, hm? Me? I like tits. Big, pendulous, soft-and-squashy girl flesh. You, on the other hand, want to bottom for men with donkey dicks. Where’s the problem with just being open about it?”

Draco’s eyes were wide open in utter shock. He wrenched his face out of Blaise’s grasp and backed away slowly. “No!” he managed in a whisper. “That’s not how it is at all! It’s a pet theory, nothing more. I’m not a pervert.”

Blaise sighed deeply and sadly. “I never said you were. Come on. I need a drink.”
 

~{bd}~{bd}~{bd}~{bd}~{bd}~

The bar was half full and buzzing with a pleasant, welcoming atmosphere. They came here fairly often, not least because it was so close to Draco’s second home: The Sunset Private Members Club. Or, as Blaise preferred to call it, ‘The Wank Palace’. It was a regular bone of contention between them. No pun intended on the ‘bone’ part, mind. Draco ordered their usual bottle of bubbly, and they selected a circular booth that had a good view of the rest of the room.

Of course, the conversation wound its way right back to Draco’s pet project in less than fifteen minutes. Blaise, ever the good friend, gave in and let Draco expound to his heart’s content. Blaise’s counter-argument had been the same all along: he insisted that the speed of a man’s orgasm was purely a personal reaction, depending on levels of stimulation and self control. He thought that penile footage, or lack of it, had nothing whatsoever to do with anything, and he told Draco again. For at least the fiftieth time.

The two of them were so engrossed in their heated debate that they failed to notice the barmaid tapping her foot next to their table, waiting to see if they wanted more champagne. They only turned towards her when she cleared her throat loudly.

“Ah, good!” Blaise said, rubbing his hands together briskly. “Perhaps you can help us? My friend and I are conducting some research and we need to find a man with, how shall I say…a larger than average appendage, to test our theory.” The barmaid crossed her arms tightly and her expression gave out the message, Great. Another bunch of nutters. Just what I needed. Blaise ploughed on regardless. “I imagine you come across many interesting and unusual people in your role,” (the woman rolled her eyes) “..and I thought you might be able to assist us in our quest.”

The petite hostess looked at both Blaise and Draco in weary disbelief. It seemed apparent from her body language that she heard many such odd requests in the course of her work. Taking a moment to consider her response, she eventually replied, “Your luck’s in. Over there.” She jerked a thumb sharply over her shoulder without looking back. “He’s got the biggest one I’ve ever had. And he swings both ways.”

Draco was disgusted when the woman aimed her last comment directly at him. Anyone’d think he exuded homosexuality! However, he did crane his neck to see around the woman, trying his hardest to catch a glimpse of his prey for the evening.

But the barmaid continued, “Just exactly what are you classifying as ‘larger than average’, as a matter of interest?” Blaise looked round at Draco, waiting for him to field the question. After all, it was his decision.

Draco was thoughtful for a second before replying, “Well, ‘average’, I understand, is around five and a half inches.” He shuddered theatrically and murmured, “Poor souls,” before continuing, “But for the purposes of this exercise, I’d have to say seven and a half to eight inches or more.” Draco raised his eyebrows and sat back, arms folded, as he looked up at the barmaid in unspoken challenge.

He was slightly unnerved when her mouth twitched and she let out a loud snort of laughter. “Oh yeah,” she choked out. “He’s definitely your man.” That statement just seemed to make her even more amused, because she laughed harder.

Draco heaved an irritated sigh and interrupted the woman with, “And just how big are we talking here?” He’d got an unmistakeable vibe about this. His palms were starting to sweat and the artery in his groin was doing a little tap dance against the taut fabric of his trousers.

Brushing a stray strand of hair back from her elfin face, the barmaid replied, “Well I never actually measured it, but it was definitely bigger than my wand.”

Draco and Blaise looked at each other and the beginnings of a smirk cracked Blaise’s face. Draco knew his own expression was one of barely concealed excitement. He was speechless with anticipation. He watched his friend turn to the hostess and ask smoothly, “May we see your wand, madam?” Blaise shot her his most dazzling smile, Draco noted cynically. The woman blushed rather prettily however, as she reached into her pocket and pulled her wand out, dangling it between thumb and forefinger.

Draco’s mouth went dry and his heart rate tripled as he watched the slender piece of wood swing like a pendulum between the barmaid’s fingers. He felt the burst of instantaneous sweat across his scalp.

She must have seen his excitement because she smiled coyly at Draco and said, “Nine inches, cherry wood, unicorn hair core,” before twirling the wand and depositing it back in her trousers. With a quick sway of her hips, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Blaise with a parting smile that left no doubt in Draco’s mind that his best friend had pulled.

Draco flopped back bonelessly against the seat, fighting for calm and madly trying to identify the person she had pointed out.

“Breathe, Draco,” came Blaise’s quiet voice in his ear. “You’re going to have a heart attack if you don’t.”

“Shit! Call that wench back!” Draco said, lurching forward in his seat in near panic. “Get her to send a bottle of champagne over to whoever it is. I can’t play guessing games at a time like this!” Draco knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He only stopped wringing his hands when Blaise placed one of his own on top of his and clenched his fingers to prevent any more painful twisting.

“Sit back, calm yourself down, and let me sort this out,” Blaise said levelly, moving to stand. “Stay here,” he added kindly as he went in pursuit of the waitress.

Draco spent the next five minutes shuffling about in his seat, unable to get comfortable at all. A minute or two after a resigned looking Blaise returned to sit next to him, Draco watched the barmaid lift a tray with a bottle of champagne and three glasses on it from the bar and make her way over to a small table tucked back from the main thoroughfare. He perched right on the edge of his seat, desperate to find out where she was going to stop.

Through the shadows and the sparkling lights, it was difficult to make much out. She stood next to a man who had his back to the room. The man, Draco could see, was perched on a stool, leaning on his elbows on a circular table. His feet were hooked around the legs of the stool, pushing his arse out and making the mystery man’s spine curve tantalisingly.

“What the hell does that say on the back of his t-shirt?” Blaise said, barely more than a whisper.

Draco had to clear his throat before the words came out. “I believe it says, ‘Fudge packing, crack smoking, Satan worshipping motherfucker’,” Draco said, his voice devoid of emotion. What the hell am I doing? he asked himself anxiously.

Of course, matters only got worse as he watched the barmaid and the man share a joke about something, (Probably me, he thought acidly,) and the man uncurl himself from his seat, stand and turn around.

“Um, Draco?” said Blaise nervously. “I think you might want to reconsider this.”

“Nonsense!” he replied, sounding far more confident than he felt. “Malfoys always rise to a challenge. And I’ve told you before, this is purely research.”

But then he couldn’t talk anymore, because he was too busy watching Harry Potter walk across the room with the biggest smirk ever smirked by human or wizardkind plastered across his face. The barmaid followed a step or two behind with the tray, looking at the floor but failing to disguise her humour. Draco could see the damned woman’s shoulders shaking with laughter!

Suddenly Harry was at the table, looking down at Draco with those big, innocent eyes. Draco was frozen to the spot, eaten alive by stress and anticipation. He found he couldn’t speak.

“Malfoy. Zabini.” Harry nodded, smirk still in evidence.

“Take a seat, Potter,” Blaise said easily, waving an arm in encouragement.

The three of them were silent as the sniggering waitress poured them all a glass of champagne and left.

“Cheers!” Blaise said, lifting his glass and taking a sip. Neither Harry nor Draco moved a muscle. They sat staring across the table, each waiting for the other to speak.

Draco took in Harry’s appearance and both approved and disapproved of the changes. He had closely cropped hair above his ears and at the back of his neck. It was short enough to see the shape of his skull easily, but long enough that Draco imagined it would feel soft and silky beneath his fingers. But the hair on the top of his head remained longer, and was as unruly as it had been back in their school days. The fringe was long enough to flop down onto Harry’s cheekbones, and Draco was vaguely horrified to see that close up, the vivid green highlights that could have been a lighting trick weren’t. Potter had fucking green hair! Well, okay, green highlights, but it amounted to almost the same thing. And who were Nirvana? What the hell was with the t-shirt?

Harry’s face was more angular than it had been, the cheekbones more prominent than Draco remembered them, but in a striking, elegant way. He had turned out well. Better than well, in fact. Draco sat there, drowning in the swell of Harry’s confidence and the mischievous twinkle in his eye. Shit! Potter was hot, in a rough-and-ready, fuck-me-in-the-cloakroom kind of way. His power was palpable, and Draco was disgusted with himself when he felt the first twitch of a hard-on starting to grow.

“Susie says you’ve been looking for me.”

Draco watched Harry’s lips move, noticing everything about them in an instant.

“Not you, per se,” Blaise interjected in a firm voice. Draco and Harry both ignored him completely.

“Actually,” Draco started, “I’ve been looking for someone with a particular attribute. Susie told us you fit that criterion.” Draco hoped he sounded bored and not eager.

“Ah yes. The lovely Susie. Bit of a storyteller, that one,” Harry replied, a small smile playing across his lips.

“Not too much, I hope,” Draco said, giving a nod to Harry to pick his glass up. They both reached forward at the same time, and clinked the glasses together before taking their sips of champagne.

“What exactly is it you’re after?” Harry asked, the picture of sweetness and innocence.

Draco suppressed a feeling of vulnerability. He was about fit to squirm in discomfort now that it finally came to revealing his theory to someone other than Blaise. Okay, that wasn’t strictly true. Draco knew he was better than most people, and he didn’t care a bit what anyone thought of him. But unaccountably, he cared what Harry thought. It was not a nice feeling.

He looked up into Harry’s face and licked his lips quickly before beginning. “I’ve got a theory. I can’t tell you what it is because that would invalidate the results.”

“Uh huh,” Harry replied, suspiciously.

Draco pulled himself upright in his seat and fixed his prey with an imperious stare. Harry didn’t even register the withering look. He just carried on smiling that annoying little smile and Draco wanted to reach across the table and wrap his hands around his throat and squeeze. That’d wipe the fucking grin off his face. “We’re not friends,”

“No shit,” Harry murmured before Draco continued.

“And I don’t want you ruining my experiment because we don’t like each other.”

“I see,” said Harry, looking suspiciously like he didn’t see at all. “But what’s your experiment got to do with the size of my penis, or can’t you tell me that either?”

Draco beat the twin urges to shuffle in his seat and groan aloud. He was very proud of his self-control. Instead, he leaned forward and placed his hands flat against the table top, leaning towards Harry in an unmistakably confrontational manner. “I need to have sex with you.”

Harry snorted so suddenly and so loudly that he had to wipe the end of his nose to remove a blob of spittle. Draco didn’t want to think about that, thanks. When he was calmer, Harry said, “So because I’m well hung, you want to fuck me?” His face was etched deeply with obvious confusion, overlaid with amusement.

“Merlin help me,” Draco murmured to himself, scrubbing at his face with his hands before saying, “No, you fucking imbecile. I want you to fuck me.” Draco’s lip had curled in disgust as he spoke, his anger and humiliation finally bubbling over into his behaviour.

Harry’s laughter was loud enough to draw attention from many of the neighbouring tables. Draco’s face was hot enough to toast bread, and he was covered from head to foot in a disgusting film of nervous perspiration.

It took several minutes for Harry to calm down. Blaise was doing his level best to shrink into the upholstery and make himself invisible, refusing to respond to Draco’s attempts at catching his eye.

“Look, Potter. It’s not like it’ll be much of a hardship for you, is it?” said Draco nonchalantly, brushing an imaginary piece of lint from his lapel as he spoke.

“You know what, Malfoy? I think this is just a shallow excuse to get me in the sack,” Harry taunted. He slouched back into the deeply upholstered seat, parting his legs widely and running a hand roughly through his fringe. Draco’s eyes trailed down Harry’s torso and came to rest on his denim-clad crotch. He hadn’t realised he was staring (and probably salivating,) until,

“For god’s sake, Malfoy, my face is up here.” Draco was roused from his musings by the voice and Harry’s hand crooking its fingers upwards. His voice was full of amusement and there was a cheeky smile on his face when Draco tore his eyes away and looked up again. Shit! He’d been caught looking and he hated nothing more than letting someone get something over on him. Draco felt his hot blush rekindle.

Doing his best to regain the upper hand, Draco snapped out, “For all I know, this is just some elaborate media spin to make you look invincible. Heaven forbid the ‘Boy-who-lived’ should have a maggot dick. Only someone hung like a horse could possibly be virile enough to save the wizarding world, no doubt.” He sounded petulant and pissed off and he knew it, but Harry’s amused expression didn’t change at all.

Draco watched Harry lean forward and go to pull himself up, with rising panic.

“Well, much as it’s been lovely to catch up with you both, I really can’t be bothered to spend my Saturday evening listening to a litany of your unspoken insecurities. I had quite enough of that at school, thanks very much.” Draco’s mouth dropped open in shock at the blunt rebuff, and his brow furrowed as he watched Harry stand. Draco watched him shove his hands in his jeans pockets, which only maddened his libido further.

“Sit down, Potter. I haven’t finished yet.” Draco watched Harry shoot a questioning glance at Blaise, which seemed to satisfy him, but he didn’t sit.

“Malfoy. Let’s be clear about this, shall we?” Harry began in an impish tone. “I came over here because you wanted something. I didn’t invite myself, you asked me.” Draco could have punched Harry in the mouth at that moment. He looked so fucking smug.

“Now, as far as I’m concerned, I don’t have anything to prove. I couldn’t give a toss what you think, so don’t attempt to manipulate me into doing whatever it is you want me to do.”

Draco sat forward to interject but Harry held up a hand to stop him.

“However, I’ve got nothing better to do right at the moment, so I’m inclined to be generous. You want proof before you come home with me? Fine.” That one word was spoken like a challenge, and Draco did his best to conceal a shiver. Harry gave Draco the biggest shit-eating grin he’d ever seen.

Looking distinctly predatory now, Harry continued, “I’ll give you so much proof, you won’t know what to do with it.” Harry folded his arms and waited for Draco’s mouth to stop opening and closing soundlessly.

Giving himself a mental shake, Draco composed his reply and delivered it with practiced indifference. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking this is personal, Potter. None of it’s about you.”

Harry sniggered and said, “Flattery will get you everywhere, Malfoy.”

Draco huffed loudly and stood up. “Come on then. I want proof before I leave this club. I’m far too busy to entertain time wasters and this is a serious experiment. Where do you want to go?”

Harry, still sniggering, probably at Draco’s transparent bluster replied, “Toilets, I suppose. After you.” He swept an arm out and indicated for Draco to lead the way.

Draco eased past Harry, maintaining a safe distance between their two bodies. He was surprised when Harry reached out and grabbed his forearm, saying, “Don’t forget your coat.”

“I’ll pick it up when I come back,” Draco retorted sarcastically.

Harry grinned, oozing confidence. “You won’t be coming back.”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, wondering if this was really such a good idea.

“Cocky aren’t we, Potter?” Blaise said, his amusement obvious.

Harry shot back, “Surely that’s the point, Zabini?”

Blaise choked on a brief laugh, handing Draco’s overcoat across the table all the same. “We’ll speak tomorrow,” he told Draco protectively, ensuring Harry read the warning glance aimed in his direction.

Clutching his coat like a lifeline, Draco walked briskly to the men’s toilets, doing his best to forget that Harry was no doubt sauntering scruffily behind him. He swung the sprung door open, toying with the idea of letting it go and smacking it into Harry’s face but thought better of it. He did the gentlemanly thing and held it open instead.

Inside the restroom, Draco was pleased that the establishment was high class enough to have cubicles as well as urinals. The toilets were also charmed to be self-cleaning, so there was none of the nauseatingly acrid smell usually associated with men’s facilities in most Muggle bars.

Draco walked to the furthest of the three cubicles and strode purposefully into it. He waited impatiently for Harry to follow him in. He leaned against the cubicle wall, staring straight ahead as Harry locked the door carefully after him. He moved to stand directly opposite Draco, leaning against the wall. There was less than two feet of space between them.

Draco felt the first twinge of a tension headache thud in his temple. He winced a little at the sharp pain, and distracted himself by hanging his overcoat on the hook on the back of the door. They looked straight at each other in complete silence for a good half a minute. Draco got the unpleasant feeling that he was no longer the hunter, but the hunted. He suddenly snapped, “Come on then, Potter. Get it out.”

Harry shrugged carelessly and unfolded his arms. Draco couldn’t watch him undoing his fly. He couldn’t tear his face away from Harry’s piercing gaze, only following the minimal arm movements in his peripheral vision.

Draco froze as soon as the movements stopped. He was so close to seeing it. So close to knowing how it felt to be stretched wide open and abused without mercy. He wanted it so much he couldn’t breathe. Draco’s erection was straining painfully against his clothing.

“I haven’t got all night, Malfoy,” Harry teased, raising an eyebrow.

Draco swallowed hard. He looked down.

And felt completely deflated. Harry wasn’t hard, not even a bit. He felt confused. His ego was completely crushed. Harry did not find him remotely attractive, and it was like having a bucket of freezing water thrown over him.

“The barmaid said you swung both ways…” Draco said quietly, uncertainly.

Harry chuckled. “What’s wrong Malfoy? Afraid to do a little work to get what you want?”

The burn of humiliation was almost enough to make Draco bolt for the exit, but his pride held him in place. He looked up into Harry’s wide eyes. “Can’t you do it?” he asked lamely, knowing Harry would never let him get away with that.

Harry reached out and stroked Draco’s cheek. It made him flinch in his nervousness. “I think not. If you want me to fuck you, you need to make me want you first,” he said steadily. There was little humour evident on Harry’s face in that moment. The expression was altogether more…challenging, maybe even bitter.

Draco couldn’t make his hand move. He just couldn’t. He looked down again at the heavy, flaccid flesh dangling outside Harry’s jeans. It looked big even when it was soft, he mused to himself. Draco closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose. He was utterly disgusted at himself that he was hard enough to come in his trousers without a single touch, and Harry wasn’t remotely interested. It hurt. He steeled himself to speak, and when the words came out, they were filled with veiled insecurity. “What would you prefer?” His voice was almost a whisper.

But Harry was all business. “If you want a quick result, then oral works best.” There was no emotion in the statement.

Resigned to the situation, Draco started to bend. In an instant, his trousers disappeared. “Hey!” he said sharply, filled with anger.

“Just making sure your nice suit doesn’t get messed up,” Harry told him reasonably. “You can have them back in a bit.”

Draco twisted his neck to attempt to release some of the tension in his muscles. Circling his shoulders, he dropped to his knees.

His face was now level with Harry’s crotch. His nose was maybe six inches away from the warm, fragrant flesh. He smelled of man. Stupidly obvious, but true. The sudden whiff tore through Draco, shooting straight to his groin and he grew harder, although he would have sworn such a feat would have been impossible.

Draco lost track of time. He had no idea how long he’d been staring at Harry’s cock, letting all his fantasies and his theories run through his mind.

“Are you going to suck it or what?”

Draco looked up into Harry’s face. His expression was unreadable. “Fine,” he managed to say.

He lifted the hem of Harry’s t-shirt and twisted the fabric up, revealing a nice flat stomach and a neat thatch of black hair. Draco had an immediate urge to bury his nose in the bushy hair, so he gave into it. He rubbed his face slowly in the crisp curls and was filled with relief when he felt the first jerk of Harry’s stiffening cock against his cheek. He felt even better when he heard a stifled sigh accompany the small movement. Merlin, but Potter smelled good! Draco was filled with the desire to taste Harry’s skin, and he pushed his tongue out and licked the lengthening shaft with infinite care, memorising the subtle lumps and bumps of the hardening flesh.

Harry combed his fingers through Draco’s skilfully tousled hair and Draco let out his first uninhibited sigh of pleasure at the touch. Harry’s hand was gentle and Draco found himself pushing his head up into the touch. He nuzzled the dip between Harry’s body and the base of his shaft, placing open-mouthed, moist kisses against the delicious skin, working his way down the length, towards the rapidly rising head.

Draco needed to use his hand to guide Harry’s erection into his mouth. With his eyes firmly closed, Draco coiled his tongue round and around the firm, curved end, sucking gently at the petal-soft skin until Harry groaned encouragingly.

Draco forgot where he was. All he could think about was the hand stroking his head and the sound of quiet sighs above him, but most of all, the bitter, salty, completely addictive taste filling his mouth. Harry was wet now and Draco lapped up every drop, rolling the flavour over his tongue as he stretched his mouth wider to accommodate another inch of flesh. His fingers curled around Harry’s silky shaft and he used the pad of his thumb to rub lazy patterns on the underside, trailing the wetness of his own saliva along the length and following the indentation of a faint ridge up and down, repeating the action without conscious intent.

All the time, Draco’s eyes remained closed. Not with the effort to eradicate Harry from the experience, but to sharpen his other senses. Oral sex was always a sensual feast, but Draco couldn’t recall a time when he’d felt so lost in his actions. He felt warm and wonderful and relaxed. He pursed his lips tightly together and slid them over the rounded end of Harry’s cock, sucking hard enough to hollow his cheeks as his mouth met the crease outlining the retracted foreskin. He grazed his teeth over the satin flesh and elicited a loud, excited yelp from above him.

Draco was shocked back to awareness by the sound. His eyes snapped open and he looked up into Harry’s flushed face. A damp palm pressed into his cheek affectionately and Draco felt his mouth attempt an understanding smile around its tasty obstruction, but fail miserably in its effort.

Only then did he realise he had a crick in his neck. Pulling back until his mouth lost contact, Draco remembered why he was there and shifted his gaze down to Harry’s exquisitely hard penis.


Oh. My. God.


Draco’s pulse drummed across his entire body at the sight before his eyes. Harry was huge. At least nine and a half, if not ten inches, and fat and wide and just…fucking…perfect.

“Merciful Merlin,” Draco breathed reverently. He was completely transfixed and filled with an almost painful longing to lie pinned down and helpless, breached and begging Potter for more, harder. Draco wanted to come. He needed it with a certainty that would not be denied.

“You okay, Malfoy?” came Harry’s quiet voice.

Draco swallowed with difficulty, knowing he should speak but only managing a nod instead.

“I won’t hold you to anything,” Harry said flatly, causing Draco to frown and look up.

“What?” he questioned, completely confused.

Harry’s colour rose slightly and he looked away quickly. He cleared his throat and continued, “Well, you know…now you’ve seen it and everything, I won’t be angry if you change your mind.”

Draco looked hard and he felt sure he recognised a skilfully concealed expression anticipating impending rejection. Draco couldn’t believe it. He stood up, clenching his hands into fists to deny himself the urge to grab Harry’s cock and hold onto it for dear life. “What on earth do you mean?” he frowned.

Harry’s chin dropped almost to his chest, the sudden waver in his self-confidence apparent. When he spoke, Draco heard the fake humour threaded through the words. “Most people take one look and run as fast as they can in the other direction.”

Truthfully, Draco just could not process Potter’s assertion. Why the hell would anyone back away from something so magnificent? It didn’t make sense.

“I think people get scared I might hurt them,” Harry clarified, voice completely back under control and guarded.

A tiny part of Draco wanted to comfort Harry but it just wasn’t in his nature. Draco was about as far from being a soft-hearted sentimentalist as it was possible to get. “You don’t scare me, Potter,” he managed to say rather abruptly, over-compensating with the briskness in his efforts to avoid sounding caring.

Harry huffed disbelievingly. Draco felt mildly irritated at the poorly concealed self-pity. I mean, look at them both! How could Potter imagine Draco meant to turn him down when he was standing trouserless, with a soaking wet erection jabbing out of the front of his boxer shorts? He’s blind...