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Harry Potter was sulking.
He couldn’t even enjoy the mug of mulled cider he held cradled in his hands, and he looked forward to this drink
all gods-damned year
.
Rather than enjoying the company of his found family, he was standing by the door to the kitchen with his stomach tied up in painful knots. If it were up to him, he’d be at the Burrow for the Weasley’s annual Christmas Bash with his boyfriend. He’d be looking like a wet dream in the dark red sweater that Harry had gotten him for his birthday with some sort of fine wool trousers and his big dragon-hide boots. His salt and pepper hair would be brushed back from his face and, knowing him, he would have trimmed up his thick beard.
He’d be there holding Harry’s hand tight, just the way he liked it.
But instead Harry was alone, scuffing his Chuck Taylor’s on the thick wool rug while he gnawed on his bottom lip.
He
didn’t like it when Harry did that, but
fuck him
. He wasn’t there to tell him otherwise.
Knowing Harry’s boyfriend, he was probably alone at his remote cottage, staring into the fire with a deep furrow between his thick brows and a glass of firewhisky propped on his knee.
It didn’t help that between their busy schedules it had somehow been ten days since they’d seen each other, or that the last time they’d been together they’d fought ruthlessly about the state of their hidden relationship. It was a fight they’d kept coming back to in the eleven months they’d been together.
Harry wanted the world to know that he was taken by a man who gave him everything he’d ever wanted. Safety. Protection. Attention.
Love.
But Harry’s boyfriend was relentlessly stubborn. The older man didn’t want the world to know that they were together. He claimed that he didn’t want his past decisions to overshadow Harry’s life and his name. He wanted to protect Harry from what he saw as inevitable blowback from the wizarding world.
Harry didn’t give a fuck.
He was happy – at least he was when they weren’t fighting – and he was sick and tired of pretending that he wasn’t.
“Evening, Harry.”
Harry glanced up, meeting the kind blue eyes of Charlie Weasley. He immediately relaxed and returned the smile. “Hey. Happy Christmas.”
“You too.” Charlie shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and surveyed the room. “Couldn’t convince him to come tonight?”
Harry shook his head.
It was an accident that Charlie knew about them. He and his boyfriend worked together in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and Harry had poorly timed a drop in with lunch.
He’d tried to brush it off as a friendly, platonic affair, but the loud “Daddy, I’ve brought your favorite!” he’d shouted as he walked into their office was a
tich
harder to explain.
“You know that he’s doing it for you, right?” Charlie asked softly.
Harry shrugged. “I just want...” He paused, shaking his head. “He should be here.”
A movement in the corner of his eye caught Harry’s attention. He turned to one of the kitchen windows, eyes narrowing on the snow-covered shed in the backyard. Harry waited, holding his breath, but saw nothing.
Excitement fluttered in his stomach.
He turned back to Charlie, unable to keep the smile from his face. “Charlie,” he said, glancing up at the door frame above them. “Fancy giving me a quick peck?”
Charlie looked up, recognition dawning on his face as he saw the little bundle of mistletoe. Shaking his head, he looked at Harry. “I don’t fancy dying tonight, Harry,” he said in a whisper.
“Come on,” Harry prodded. “He likes you too much to kill you.”
Charlie let out a wry chuckle. “He likes
you
too much
not
to kill me.”
“Please?” Harry jutted out his lower lip. “I promise I’ll keep you safe.”
“Against him? Unlikely.”
“I killed Voldemort, arsehole.”
Charlie paused at that, rubbing a hand over his red stubble. “Fair enough, Harry.” He straightened his posture. “I’ll play your little game, as long as you promise to keep me alive.”
“It’s a deal,” Harry agreed, grabbing a handful of Charlie’s homemade sweater and rising up on his tiptoes.
********
Antonin Dolohov didn’t bother with a warming charm as he stood in the deep snow, tucked into the shadow of the Weasley’s woodshed.
He scowled at the crooked house, hating the cheerfully bright windows and the echo of holiday music he could hear filtering out into the cold night.
He actually knew the Weasley family quite well, at that point. Between working with their son, Charlie, and the occasional meetings at Ministry events, he’d had the opportunity to apologize to them directly for his role in the war.
He’d done the same with the Granger girl, too, and the other surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix.
In spite of it all, it never felt like enough, and now there he was, alone and miserable, when he knew that he should be inside with the man who’d completely captured his wrecked and ruined heart.
“Blyat,” he cursed, rubbing a hand over his mouth.
There, through the window, he had a perfect view of the messy black hair and the wide, playful smile that never failed to make his chest ache. He still couldn’t believe that he got to call a man like Harry Potter his own.
It was back in late January when they’d first found each other. The last thing Antonin had expected to find when physical need had driven him to his favorite Knockturn Alley kink club was Harry Potter, wandering around the crowded playroom in nothing but white briefs and his green eyes wide behind his round glasses.
It had been his protective instincts more than anything else that had led Antonin to rush to his side. He hadn’t had a plan beyond shielding Harry from the hungry stares and attention of the men who crowded the room.
But then Harry had wrapped his soft fingers around Antonin’s wrist and pressed up close to Antonin’s body. He had led them over to a secluded couch, intent on having a civilized conversation with the younger man. But the moment he sat down, Harry had climbed up onto his lap, skinny legs straddling Antonin’s wide thighs and tucked his face into the patch of chest hair exposed at the base of Antonin’s neck.
“I’m cold, Daddy,” the boy had whispered, and Antonin was done for.
A man ruined.
Tonight Harry looked perfect in his green corduroy trousers and wool sweater the color of milky coffee. His hair was ridiculous as always, too long and sticking up from his head in a constant state of mess. Antonin’s eyes lingered on Harry’s soft mouth, the bare, pink skin of his cheeks.
Another figure appeared in the window with Harry, and Antonin felt his body tighten, hand drifting down to his wand. He relaxed when he recognized Charlie Weasley, his coworker, and one of the few who knew the truth of his relationship with Harry.
Antonin watched them, a little bit of his guilt easing at the thought that Harry wasn’t left alone, that he had someone there to talk to.
If it couldn’t be him, at least it was someone who knew that Harry wasn’t available.
Just as he started to relax, he saw one of Harry’s hands reach out and grab a handful of Charlie Weasley’s sweater.
Boy, what do you think you’re doing?
Antonin had heard many men describe rage as a fire, something that burned through their bodies and tore rationality away. But for Antonin, rage was cold and numbing. Rage was clarity and decisiveness.
He had but to think of his destination and he was there, his magic easily slicing through the thick layers of protective wards that surrounded the Weasley’s home. The broken magic itched the back of his neck, but he had other things to worry about.
Charlie Weasley was a large man by British standards, but Antonin still towered over him. It took him but a second to have a large hand wrapped around the man’s throat and his body shoved back against a wall.
He was vaguely aware that the music had cut out and a heavy silence hung over the room.
Antonin lowered his face to hover right in front of Charlie. “Do we have a problem, Weasley?”
Charlie, to his credit, looked Antonin right in the eye when he replied. “Your boy is a menace, Dolohov.”
Without loosening his grip on the Weasley, Antonin looked back over his shoulder. Harry stood there with his back against the door jam, biting down on his lower lip like the coy little brat that he was.
“Boy,” Antonin rasped out the word, shaking his head.
A smirk pulled at the corner of Harry’s mouth.
With a labored sigh, Antonin released his grip on Charlie’s neck. “You understand, Weasley,” he said, rather than apologizing.
Charlie nodded – he had a boy of his own and knew a thing or two about what Antonin put up with. Although how the man put up with the spoiled and pampered youngest Malfoy he’d never understand.
Antonin turned to face the rest of the room, unable to keep the grimace from his face. The common area was filled with everyone who made up the “side of the Light” posse these days: the entirety of the Weasley family, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, a few Hogwarts professors, and, of course, the Minister himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Everyone stared at him with varying degrees of shock on their faces.
At least no one was pointing a wand at him.
Shit
.
“Hello,” he said, his voice cracking. “Happy Holidays.”
When he felt a smaller body come up behind him and wrap thin arms around his waist, he let out a patient exhale, carefully watching the expressions of the crowd in front of them as Harry poked his messy head through the small gap between his arm and torso.
“Wonderful. Everyone met my boyfriend, then?”
Oh, his boy needed him.
This was just like Harry. When it had been too long, when they both got busy and their time together was truncated, Harry never came right out and said that he needed him.
But Antonin knew. He knew Harry, and knew that he was hurtling toward a breakdown. Knew that displays like this were a desperate scream for help.
For attention.
For care.
For his Daddy.
Antonin needed to get them out of there. Harry’s hands trembled against him, and the back of his neck was warm.
“Thank you all for the hospitality,” Antonin managed, making sure to bow his head in the direction of a flabbergasted Arthur and Molly Weasley. “We’ll be going home now.”
With a firm hand on the nape of Harry’s neck, Antonin steered them toward the doorway. While he was accustomed to the discomfort of breaking through magical wards, he didn’t want to put Harry through that.
He thought he heard a whispered “What in the fuck was that?” behind him, but he ignored it.
The moment that the door shut behind them, Harry blinked his wide green eyes up at him. “Daddy,” he whined.
“Hush, boy,” Antonin said, brushing his thumb on the side of Harry’s neck. “Let’s get you home.”
********
Harry went weak in the knees when they landed on the front stoop of Antonin’s cottage. Already, he felt his lower lip tremble, unshed tears burning his eyes.
Without a word, Antonin knelt down in front of Harry, his large hands making quick work of untying his shoelaces. He tapped on one ankle and Harry lifted his foot obediently. A tear traced down his cheek as Antonin gently took off his shoe, and then repeated with his other foot.
Harry heard the click of Antonin’s bad knee as the older man stood, but it didn’t slow him as he grabbed Harry’s hand and led them down the steps into the low-ceilinged sitting room.
A snap from Antonin had a fire bursting to life in the stone hearth, casting orange light on the simply furnished room. Harry’s vision blurred, the
too much
of it all hitting him like a kick to his ribs.
“Daddy,” he whimpered.
“Come,” Antonin said, his voice firm but not without warmth.
Antonin sat back on the couch and Harry followed, climbing up onto his lap and straddling his thick, wool-covered thighs. Immediately his hands started fidgeting with the soft knit of Antonin’s sweater.
“
Olenenok
,” Antonin whispered.
My baby deer
.
Tears spilled from Harry’s eyes in earnest as he looked up. Carefully, Antonin took off Harry’s glasses.
“Tell Daddy what you need.”
Emotion rattled around in his chest, in his head, leaving Harry a mess of unsettled feelings. “Spanking, Daddy,” he said, wriggling on Antonin’s lap.
Antonin watched him, expression grave. “I am trusting you to tell me the truth, Harry,” he said softly, and Harry ducked his head, cheeks blazing at his use of his given name.
They were playing, damnit,
he wanted to shout, but all that he could do was nod his head.
He heard Antonin’s heavy sigh. “Very well. Trouser’s off,
olenenok
.”
Relief settled something inside of Harry as he scrambled to obey. His trousers were off and kicked to the side, leaving him in his red and white striped socks and tight, white briefs.
He clambered clumsily over his Daddy’s thighs, and his mind went blissfully quiet as he buried his face into the couch. All of the things he wanted to shout, to scream, the
words
and frustration and fucking agony that he was desperate to unload – all of it was shoved down and away.
Daddy was going to spank him. Daddy was going to make it all better.
Harry whimpered at the first brush of Daddy’s rough fingertips over the tops of his thighs.
Finally.
“Safe word?” Antonin demanded, his voice taking on the deep, authoritative growl that made Harry’s stomach tighten with pleasure.
“Svedka,” Harry said, turning his head so that his voice was clear.
He couldn’t help but smile at Antonin’s low chuckle. “Good boy.” It was one of his favorite memories of their early days together. They’d gone to a Muggle bar, and Harry had been treated to an extensive lecture on the subpar quality of Svedka vodka. It had only seemed fitting that, when it came to their play, he offered it as his safeword.
Antonin’s fingers traced up Harry’s crack. “I think we will start with twenty, yes?”
The first spank landed on his cheek with a dull thud. It wasn’t painful, not yet, just enough to send warmth trailing down the backs of his thighs and curling his toes where they barely brushed the cold stone floor.
Another spank followed, then another, the heat building with each
thwack
of Daddy’s hand.
“Yes, Daddy,” Harry heard himself babbling. “Harder. Please, harder.”
“That was ten,” Daddy said. Harry whimpered when he felt those rough hands peel down his briefs, exposing his bare ass.
Yes
. This was what he wanted. What he’d waited for, what he’d craved in all of the days since he’d last had his Daddy with him.
Smack
. Harry cried out –
fuck, it hurt
, the pain bright and sharp and smarting the surface of his skin. The next one landed on the other cheek, and Daddy’s rhythm was relentless, barely pausing between each one.
Tears flooded Harry’s eyes, but he knew this was what he needed. What he
deserved
.
“Almost there,
olenenok
,” Daddy rasped, voice rough. “You’re taking your spanking beautifully.”
When the spanking stopped Harry shook his head into the cushion, whimpering “No, no, no,” because it
couldn’t
be over. Not when he still felt so much and his head was too full. “Need more, Daddy. More.”
He could feel Antonin grow still above him. “Harry…”
“Daddy, I need it.” Harry knew he was whining, but
fuck
he needed more of the pain.
“Is enough. More than enough,
olenenok
.”
“No no no no no.” Harry tried to bite back the sob, but he was too late. One sob became two, and his whole body shook with the force of his cries. His nose was stuffed and he turned his head to the side, trying to breathe through his mouth.
“Digital.”
Harry froze. “What,” he managed to choke out the question.
“Digital, Harry.” Antonin repeated. “Digital.”
Throughout the entire time that he’d been with Antonin Dolohov, Harry had never heard the man use his safe word. It was something they’d talked about, of course, but Harry had never imagined a moment where his boyfriend would need to use it.
“Da- Antonin,” Harry quickly corrected, scrambling up to his feet. His briefs tangled around his knees, and he stumbled before pulling them back up, wincing at the sting on his ass. He stared at his boyfriend, taking in his downturned mouth, the way his thick, salt and pepper brows were knit together. Harry was terrified to see the obvious anguish in his dark eyes.
“Are you okay?” Harry asked, fidgeting with his fingers. He wanted to touch Antonin, to climb onto his lap and curl into his arms where he felt like he belonged, but he couldn’t be sure if that’s what the man needed at that moment.
Antonin shook his head, rubbing his big hands over his face. He let out a loud breath, and then looked right up at Harry. “We are going to have a talk.”
********
Antonin felt sick. He felt sick and sad and like the worst man in the world.
Something was bothering Harry, bothering him enough that he was trying to bury himself in pain rather than talk about it. Rather than talk to
Antonin
about it.
They were going to get to the bottom of what was upsetting his boy, and then,
only then
, could Antonin go about fixing it. That’s all that he wanted – to fix things for Harry. To take care of all of the things that weighed him down. Harry deserved to have a life free of worry, and Antonin treasured the fact that it was his job to give it to him.
But he was only a man, and he refused to use legilimency to see inside of Harry’s mind.
Now it was Antonin who needed comfort, so he opened his arms to the trembling man standing in front of him. “Come here, sweetheart,” he said, and felt a relieved smile tug at his mouth when Harry scrambled up to straddle his thighs. Antonin felt himself relax as Harry tangled his hands in his thick sweater. With a thumb he brushed away the tears on Harry’s cheek. “Now you will tell me what is wrong. None of this “I’m fine,” because I know you, and you are not fine.”
Harry’s lower lip trembled, and his chest rose and fell. Antonin brought his hands to rest on Harry’s thighs, rubbing soothing circles against the fine, dark hairs that grew there.
Antonin would wait. He was a patient man.
“I hate this,” Harry finally whispered around a hiccup. “I hate hiding you from the world. You are the best part of my life, Antonin, and what, I’m supposed to pretend that I’m single? None of my friends know that I’m in the best, most fulfilling relationship that I’ve ever had. The people who are practically my family give me sympathetic smiles because they think I’m spending another Christmas all alone.”
“I am not good,” Antonin said softly, and held a hand up to stop Harry when he opened his mouth, probably to argue. “I
was
not good. I have tried to be better, and have made apologies. But Harry, the world will not be kind if they know that you have chosen me. And can’t let you take on that hurt for me.”
Harry’s eyes darkened, that bright, defiant fire sparking to life that never let Antonin forget who this man was. That his sweet
olenenok
, his Harry, was also Harry Potter: brilliant wizard and magical phenomenon. Harry threaded his fingers into Antonin’s beard and
tugged
hard enough that his skin smarted with the pain. “I don’t give a fuck about the world, Antonin! I don’t care about what any of them think. I’ve given enough, and there isn’t a single person in the world who can take away the happiness that you give me. Well, other than you.” He said the last thing quietly, like he wasn’t sure about voicing it out loud.
“Harry,” Antonin whispered. “You know that I am so proud to be yours, yes?”
“I know,” Harry replied, his eyes softening.
“It hurts you that we hide?”
Harry nodded, eyes once again welling up with tears. “So much, Antonin.”
Antonin didn’t bother correcting him. “You have been trying to tell me this.” It wasn’t a question. “And I have not been good about listening.”
Again, Harry nodded.
Anguish gripped his chest, but Antonin forced out a slow breath. “I hear you now, Harry. We will stop the hiding.” A low chuckle slipped out of him. “At least we will not have to tell the Weasley family,” he commented. “Although I probably owe Molly a gift basket.”
A smile tugged at Harry’s lips. “I’m sorry that I was a brat about it.”
Antonin reached around to palm Harry’s ass, grinning at the little hiss of pain his boy made. “Do not lie to me,
olenenok
. We both know that you are not sorry.” He pulled Harry tighter against him so that their hips were aligned. “Now be a good boy and tell Daddy what you need.”
“You, Daddy,” Harry said, his voice a thready whine as his cock brushed the placket of Antonin’s trousers.
Hard already
, Antonin mused, digging his hands harder into Harry’s firm ass. “I need you.”
Antonin hummed in approval. It was all resolved now – what had been eating at Harry, what Antonin had been missing. They would go out into the world together, as a couple, and he would be there at Harry’s side, ready to protect him from whatever cruelty the world threw at them.
Now that he knew what was wrong, he could fix it.
And the first thing to do to fix it was to remind his boy of who he belonged to.
Antonin reached over for one of the thin throw pillows that were tucked into the corner of his couch, and tossed it onto the sturdy oak coffee table that sat in front of them. “Climb up, boy,” he said, slapping a hand onto Harry’s ass. “Get naked and get up there on your knees so that I can get your pretty little hole ready for me.” He saw Harry bend down to peel off his festive striped socks. “Leave them on.”
He caught the way Harry bit his lip as he moved into position. The firelight perfectly danced on the surface of Harry’s skin, and Antonin took a moment to simply observe him. His ass was tight, the muscle slender like the rest of him, and there was just the faintest swirl of the black hair that surrounded his balls that curled up his crack.
Some men liked their boys clean shaven and bare, but Antonin loved the reminder that his boy was every bit of a man.
Harry shifted, arching his back and widening his knees. Red splotches bloomed on both of his cheeks, and Antonin felt his own cock throb at the sight.
Scooting forward to the edge of the couch, Antonin reached out and let his thumb trail lazily from Harry’s taint up and over his hole. He made sure to keep his touch soft, and didn’t linger in one place for too long. Already Harry’s hips were canting back towards him, like the boy might trick him into giving him what he wanted.
“Patience, boy,” Antonin commanded, letting his voice drop into the lower register that it always found when they played. He let his thumb press on the puckered skin of Harry’s entrance, relishing the goosebumps that spread over Harry’s skin.
“Daddy, please,” Harry whined, arching into his touch.
Antonin
tsked
his disapproval. “We are going to talk about rules, yes?”
He heard Harry’s breath hitch. “Don’t wanna,” his boy muttered.
“This is too bad,
olenenok
, because boys who kiss men who aren’t their Daddy need to be reminded.”
Harry was quiet.
Quietly, Antonin muttered a wandless lubrication spell. His fingers dripped with the slippery lube, and he wasted no time circling Harry’s rim with more pressure. If he was going to fuck his boy the way they both needed, he had to make sure that he was ready.
“What are our rules about playing with other men,
olenenok
?” Antonin asked the question as he pressed a thick finger into Harry’s hole.
“Never,” Harry gasped, even as his body relaxed around Antonin’s finger. “Not unless Daddy’s there to watch and we agree on the rules.”
Antonin hummed his approval, curling his finger until Harry cried out. He worked his boy’s prostate with firm brushes of his finger before withdrawing and adding another. “Was Daddy there with you tonight?”
Harry was making sweet little noises that made Antonin’s cock strain against the confines of his trousers. “You
were
there, Daddy,” his boy said.
Smack
. Antonin spanked him hard with his free hand, holding nothing back. Harry cried out, but Antonin could feel the way his ass clenched around the two fingers that were thrusting in and out of him.
“Don’t be a brat, boy,” he growled. “Try again.”
Harry’s breaths were labored. “You weren’t there. We didn’t talk about it.”
“But still you chose to kiss Charlie Weasley.”
For a moment the only sounds in the room were Harry’s panting breaths and the wet sound of Antonin continuing to rock his fingers in and out of Harry’s ass. Antonin shifted his weight, his own needs rearing up and demanding attention.
“I wanted to make you jealous, Daddy.” Harry whispered the words, and Antonin could see the pink flush of shame on the back of his boy’s neck.
Antonin let out a low huff. “Well it worked,
olenenok
.” He paused and then slid a third finger in, moving slowly as Harry’s body adjusted. “I wanted to kill him for touching you.”
Harry made a sound like a muffled groan, before muttering, “Why is that so fucking hot, Daddy? Why do I like to know that you’d do that for me?”
That made Antonin smile. “Because you are perfect for me. Because you need me almost as much as I need you.” Harry was almost ready for him, but there was one other thing that he wanted to say. “Maybe next time we can play this game together, yes? Maybe it is a game that Charlie and his boy might like to play with us.”
Harry let out a high-pitched whine that had Antonin pressing his palm hard to his own erection.
Oh, his boy liked that idea
. He’d bring it up with Charlie after the holiday. From what he knew of the man’s proclivities, he would very likely be interested.
“But that is a matter for another time,” Antonin said, leaning forward and planting a string of kisses down the raised knobs of Harry’s spine. “Right now it is just you and me, and Daddy needs to remind his boy who he belongs to.”
He withdrew his fingers, ignoring Harry’s protests. Pushing up to standing, Antonin made quick work of taking off his own clothes. He didn’t mind keeping his clothing on, but Harry had made it
very
clear that he appreciated Antonin’s naked body, and, well, he was a bit helpless when it came to making his boy happy.
His cock was already hard, uncut and jutting heavily out from his body. It was a silly thing, really, but something in him thrummed every time he imagined Harry’s slender body stretching wide around his thick cock. His length was quite average, but his width? He knew that what he had was difficult to take, and it never ceased to fill him with a dark, overwhelming pleasure that he had a perfect boy who could take him.
He sat back down on the couch, his furred stomach and chest already pricking with sweat. “On my lap, baby,” he commanded, and Harry rushed to oblige.
They’d done this a million times: Antonin held his cock still and upright as Harry hovered above him, his own sweet little cock dark pink and bobbing against his flat stomach.
“Fill me, Daddy,” Harry whispered, his cheeks flushed and lips parted.
Slowly, Antonin used his free hand to press Harry down. He couldn’t hold back the low groan that vibrated in his chest at the intoxicatingly tight heat of Harry squeezing around him. Inch by inch Harry took him in, and Antonin watched the way his boy’s face went slack and his dark lashes fluttered against his pale skin.
Finally Antonin was fully seated in him, and he took a moment to gather himself. He reached up to cradle Harry’s beautiful face in his hands, pressing soft kisses first to each cheek, then to the bridge of his nose, then to his chin.
“Beautiful, perfect boy,” Antonin said, reverence imbuing every word. “Mine, just as I am yours.” He canted his hips back, feeling the delicious drag of Harry’s tight inner walls against his cock. When he’d almost fully pulled out he thrust back in, grinning at Harry’s sharp cry.
He found a good rhythm quickly, one that had him hitting Harry’s sweet spot with every thrust into his boy’s willing body. He never released his grip on Harry’s face, needing to watch each expression that flickered over his face. He watched his pupils flare and the sweat gathering at his temples, his skin stained pink and his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
He’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.
Normally Antonin could keep up a slow, patient rhythm for hours, fucking his boy until he went mad with desire, but found that tonight he raced toward release, the weight of the evening burning away his stamina.
His breathing was heavy as he reached down, encircling his boy’s cock in his large, calloused hand. His shaft was hard and hot in his tight grip, precum beading at the tip. Antonin swiped a thumb across the wetness, lifting it up and pressing it into Harry’s open mouth.
“Suck,
olenenok.
” Harry’s mouth tightened around him, an intoxicating parallel to the way his ass gripped his cock. Antonin cursed under his breath as Harry’s tongue licked and swirled around this thumb. “So good for Daddy,” he rumbled.
He knew that he couldn’t get Harry off yet, even though all he wanted was to work his boy’s little cock until he made a mess of the dark hair that covered Antonin’s stomach and chest. No, he knew just what his boy needed after a night like the one they’d had.
Antonin’s thrusts grew erratic, pleasure curling at the base of his spine as his balls tightened beneath him. Harry rode him with his head tossed back, exposing his delicate neck that Antonin loved to sink his teeth into, marking the pale skin purple and blue.
Marking Harry as
his
.
“Ready for me,
olenenok
?”
A choked gasp above him as he thrust into his boy’s prostate. “Give it to me, Daddy.”
Antonin came with a groan, his cock pulsing, throbbing as he emptied himself into his boy’s tight hole. His mind went blissfully blank for a few precious seconds, leaving him with nothing but the glow of Harry’s sweaty chest and the sharp peppermint of his soap. Finally his climax ran its course, even as Harry wriggled above him, his neglected cock jutting out between them.
Without warning, Antonin lifted Harry’s body from his lap, and, using his large body to his advantage, flipped his boy around and shoved him face down onto the table in front of him. He adjusted Harry’s position briefly, making sure the boy’s hips were lifted by the throw pillow. Lifting himself up on his elbows, Harry glanced back over his shoulder at Antonin, eyes glazed and desperate.
But Antonin’s attention was pulled to the puffy pink flesh of Harry’s hole, and the white trail of cum that dripped down his taint. Carefully he traced his softened rim, his two fingers slick with his own release, before pushing inside.
Harry cried out, his slender hips thrusting against the cushion under him. A lazy smile pulled at Antonin’s mouth as he curled his fingers and brushed Harry’s prostate. “That’s it,
olenenok
,” he said, making no effort to keep the darkness from his voice. “Daddy loves to watch you like this, fucking your pillow because you can’t help yourself, hm?”
If he were a younger man, Harry’s little whimpers would have had his cock hard and ready to go again. But as it was, he was more than content to give his boy what he needed. “Are you going to make a mess with that little cock of yours, boy?”
“Daddy,” Harry whined, even as his ass flexed with every thrust into the cushion. Antonin knew him, knew that his boy got off on this: that even as his cheeks flushed red with shame his body would be overwhelmed with arousal.
It was just one of the reasons why they were perfect together.
“What do good boys do when they need to come,
olenenok?
”
“Ask Daddy,” Harry gasped.
Antonin waited, feeling how close Harry was in the way that his hole fluttered around his fingers.
A high-pitched whine started in the back of Harry’s throat, and Antonin watched him, knowing that his boy was willingly playing with fiendfyre.
“Can I –” Harry’s words were choked and desperate. “Come, Daddy can I?”
Antonin smiled, a deep satisfaction that he still couldn’t believe was real settling in his chest. “Come for me, sweet
olenenok
.”
Harry’s body tensed and he came with a silent cry, hips stuttering and ass flexing as he rode out his orgasm. Antonin whispered encouragement in his native tongue, bringing his other hand up to trail softly up and down Harry’s spine. Only once Harry stilled, body slack and slumped on the table, did Antonin withdraw his fingers from him.
“Come, boy,” Antonin said softly. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
********
“Don’t drop your cocoa.”
Antonin’s deep voice brushed against the top of Harry’s damp hair. Sure, he was exhausted and could barely keep his eyes open, but if there was one thing he wasn’t going to fuck up, it was a steaming cup of Daddy’s cocoa.
Especially not when he’d gotten the peppermint marshmallows that Harry loved.
The bath water was growing tepid, but Harry couldn’t imagine moving from his current position, leaning back on Antonin’s furry chest with his ass nestled between his Daddy’s thick thighs. It was cozy in the best possible way – the warm water soothing the sting of his spanking and mouth full of the rich sweetness of the chocolate that Antonin always made for him.
Soft lips framed by coarse facial hair kissed the side of his neck. “How are you feeling, love?”
Harry sighed, sinking further into his lover’s body. “Better.”
“Ready for sleep?”
“No.”
“Harry.”
“Yes, Daddy?”
The water rippled and Antonin’s big hands wrapped around Harry’s middle, holding him tightly to him. “You know that I love you, yes?”
Harry smiled, his heart fluttering happily in his chest. “Yes.”
“Good. Now get your ass out of the bath and into bed. This water is cold and my hands are like prunes.”
Suddenly Antonin was digging his fingers into Harry’s ribs, tickling him ruthlessly until Harry clambered out of the bath, shrieking and laughing as he tried to escape the onslaught. He barely managed to put the cocoa down on the bathroom counter before Antonin was wrapping a thick towel around him and scooping him up into his arms.
Five minutes later, Harry lay curled up on Antonin’s large, firm mattress, with the fluffy duvet draped over his still-naked body. The cotton sheets were soft against his skin. His nose picked up the faintest hint of menthol from the homemade balm that Antonin had carefully rubbed onto his sore ass.
He took a deep breath.
This was his life. The solid body of the man who loved him was pressed against his back, his own steady, even exhales cool against Harry’s neck. Harry’s bare feet were awkwardly maneuvered to tuck under Antonin’s calves in an effort to steal his body heat.
He was safe, protected, and felt happier than he’d ever felt in his life.
And now, he didn’t need to hide it anymore.
“Happy Christmas,
olenenok
,” Antonin whispered.
Harry let out a contented sigh. “Happy Christmas, Daddy.”