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“Harry, darling,” Draco drawls, his hands flying up to grip Harry’s hips. “Have you forgotten that I haven’t put a silencing charm on the door?”
“As if I could,” Harry grits out. His forehead is shiny with sweat and his bottom lip is swollen cherry-pink from how hard he’s been biting it. His hair, normally tamed with a generous amount of gel borrowed from Draco, is now unruly and tousled like it had been during their school years. It’s endearing.
“Oh, so you remembered.” Draco grins at him infuriatingly. Like Harry isn’t half-sunken down on his cock, his slacks carelessly discarded in the corner of Draco’s office with his shirt half-unbuttoned and hanging off of his frame, bunched up at the bottom by Draco’s hands on his hips. “You just didn’t bother to stay quiet, is that it?”
“Git.”
Draco barks out a laugh. He’s delighted with how he’s worked Harry up with his words. “No one told you to come into my office and try to ride my dick without any prep, darling.”
Harry is flushed, his cheeks ruddy and warm. He grows even pinker at Draco’s shamelessness, his coarse words, and leans forward to bury his face into the side of Draco’s neck. He mouths at his skin desperately, almost hungrily, and Draco lets a hand slide up his shirt, the other still resting on Harry’s hip.
They’re both silent for a few minutes, punctuated only by Draco’s hums and Harry’s gasps—needy and oh-so-perfect, Draco thinks.
“I missed you.” The words slip out like a secret from Harry’s mouth, tentative and shy. He peppers a few more kisses onto Draco’s neck, moving up to his jaw, then whimpers when he finally bottoms out.
“I know,” Draco croons. He grips Harry’s chin and turns his face towards his own, slotting his lips against Harry’s as a silent reward.
Harry gasps into the kiss, and Draco leans forward, barely letting him catch his breath, only stopping when he feels Harry’s hands fisting his shoulders desperately. He pulls back, and Harry stutters, “Did— did you miss me too?”
“Did I miss you?” Draco echoes, and Harry ducks his head shyly. Draco smiles. “Did I miss you, Auror Potter?”
“Don’t,” Harry whines. He’s rocking his hips, the backs of his thighs brushing against Draco’s wrinkled pants as he clenches around Draco’s cock.
“Don’t?”
“Don’t— I want—”
“Speak, darling.” Draco snakes a hand through Harry’s hair, threading through the shorter ones at the back of his head before fisting his hand, pulling his head back until Harry’s neck is nothing but a tan expanse of skin, a blank canvas waiting to be painted on. “Let me hear you.”
“I want—” Harry breaks off with a gasp again, and Draco squeezes his hip.
“Say it.”
“My name,” Harry whispers, cheeks painted pink with a flush that spreads to his chest. “I want you to say my name.”
“Harry,” Draco says, and Harry whimpers. He smiles. “Harry,” he repeats, voice growing soft and tender. All around him is Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry.
“Again,” Harry breathes, eyes shut tight.
Draco leans up and kisses the scar on Harry’s forehead, kisses his nose, kisses his lips. “Harry.”
Warmth fills his chest like a thousand golden suns spilling from the skies when Harry whispers back, “Draco.”