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Since publicly starting to date Dean, Harry had grown accustomed to the curious eyes of the other students at Hogwarts. Their gazes would inevitably land on him first, lingering briefly on his familiar face. Then they would drift upward, way upward, to Dean. He stood almost a foot taller than Harry, who was just a hair taller than Hermione. Dean, by contrast, was an imposing figure, his lanky frame stretching to being an inch or two shy of Dumbledore’s towering stature. The top of Harry’s head barely reached Dean’s collarbone, and when they stood side by side, Harry felt like he was standing in the shadow of a gentle giant. It didn’t stop Harry from being adamant he was of average height to an endlessly amused Ron.
Where their difference in stature was a source of spectacle for others, it had from the very beginning been a source of fascination for them both. Harry often found himself mesmerized by how Dean's hands could engulf his own completely, those lengthy fingers wrapping around his wrist like a warm, living cuff. Whether they were manhandling him into place in order to fulfil Dean’s desires, covering half his face to caress him during a kiss, or simply pinning him effortlessly against a wall or bed as Dean pounded into him, Harry loved it. The way Dean's grip made Harry feel small, claimed, and utterly desired.
But it wasn't just the hands that stirred Harry's private musings; the full breadth of their size difference ignited something deeper, more primal in him. Dean's body was a landscape of long lines and slim strength. Broad shoulders that Harry's arms could barely wrap around during their stolen embraces, a torso that stretched endlessly when Dean arched above him, making Harry feel enveloped, overshadowed. In bed, that height translated to an inevitable dominance, Dean's longer limbs caging Harry in, his thighs bracketing Harry's hips with ease. There was nothing for Harry to do but yield, and he yielded every time. Harry would lie there afterward, wrapped in a cocoon of Dean, and trace the contours of Dean's forearms with his fingers or the ripple of his abdomen with a flex of his back. He loved how his own compact, wiry build fit so perfectly against that expanse, like a puzzle piece slotting into a larger whole.
“Harry,” Dean called. His voice rumbled pleasantly into his back. “Are you dozing off?”
They were nestled together in a single oversized armchair before the fire with a thick woollen blanket draped over them. The others had long gone to bed, so Harry had taken the opportunity to perch himself in Dean’s lap. The top of his head barely grazed Dean’s chin. Harry felt a bit like a teddy bear, tucked securely against Dean’s chest. Dean’s long arms encircled him around the waist, one hand resting on Harry’s thigh, the other splayed possessively across his stomach.
Harry yawned a bit, feigning exhaustion so that Dean wouldn’t know where his mind had drifted. He tilted his head back to find Dean’s warm eyes looking down at him. “Just thinking,” he murmured.
“Thinking, huh?” Dean’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “About what, exactly? In my lap, it can’t be homework.” His voice dropped lower, a playful challenge that sent heat pooling in Harry’s stomach.
“Not homework,” Harry muttered.
“Daydreaming, huh?”
“Maybe.” Harry’s lips quirked into a sly grin, his hand drifting downward beneath the blanket and between their bodies. His fingers brushed over Dean’s thigh before finding his prize, the firm bulge beneath the fabric of his pyjamas. The contact sent a jolt through him, as it always did. The sheer size of Dean, everywhere, never failed to spark a mix of awe and desire.
“If I took this blanket off,” Dean said, his voice a low rasp that vibrated against Harry’s ear, “I won’t find any evidence of a different type of dream, right?”
“Nope,” Harry lied. He pressed his palm more firmly against Dean.
Dean’s hand left Harry’s thigh and began to tug at the blanket. Harry stopped him by grabbing his hand, their fingers lacing together effortlessly. Dean’s larger hand engulfed his own. “Don’t be so hasty,” Harry said, chastising, though the warmth spreading in his belly betrayed his excitement. “It’s November. It’s chilly at night.”
Dean managed a soft chuckle, though he sounded as aroused as Harry. “Chilly, huh? I’ll just have to warm you up.” His free hand slid up and down Harry’s side, fingers tracing the curve of his ribs, lingering just long enough to make Harry squirm.
“And will it stop at keeping me warm?” Harry teased.
“Only if you want it to,” Dean murmured.
Harry pressed a soft kiss along the smooth line of Dean’s jaw and let his lips linger on Dean’s jaw. “What if I want more?” His voice was soft, teasing, but carried a needy edge that made the swell under his fingers begin to grow.
“More, huh? You know I have lots I can give you.” Dean’s hand slid lower, fingers slipping under the hem of Harry’s nightshirt, grazing the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.
“You’re so big,” Harry whispered, his voice trembling with anticipation. His free hand running along the long line of Dean’s clothed erection. He could feel his pulse beneath the fabric. “It’s… a lot.”
Dean’s lips curved into a wicked smile, his hand sliding up to cup Harry’s face. His thumb brushed over Harry’s lower lip. “Good thing you like it.” He tilted Harry’s head back, capturing his lips in a slow, searing kiss. The kiss deepened, Dean’s tongue dominating the space. Harry melted into it.
“Blaise is constantly on my case for treating you like a toy, but…” Dean’s voice trailed off, his eyes searching Harry’s.
Harry stared back. “But?”
“I really like it, baby. Do you like it when I have my way with you?”
Harry couldn’t help but gulp. Dean wanted his dick sucked? Harry was being pushed onto his knees and already opening his mouth. He wanted to fuck? Harry made sure he was ready to go at any hour, cleaned out and lubed up after showering in the morning. Blaise enjoyed the push-and-pull with Harry, the tease and temptation until Harry became the aggressor and sought what they both wanted. With Dean, there was only submission. There was enjoyment to be found there, but it wasn’t an unfair description of the sexual part of their relationship.
Harry was very much his plaything, but he also knew that all he had to do was say something and Dean would stop.
“I don’t mind being your toy,” Harry said, earnest.
Dean sighed. “Bad answer. Blaise – “
“But I wouldn’t mind having more input,” Harry interrupted, emboldened by Dean’s openness. “Like when I had that… moment a few days ago.”
Dean nodded. The apprehension that had appeared on his face melted away. “What do you want, baby?”
Harry had grown to understand what he yearned for more than anything else was closeness. Of all the things he’d done with Dean, none had come close to their frotting as he’d learned it was called, in leaving him feeling emotionally fulfilled. Anal and oral felt good, but there was something about the intimacy of grinding together that had captured Harry’s approval.
“Can you hold me while we grind together?” Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper, a blush creeping up his neck.
Dean made to spin Harry in place, but Harry stopped him with a hand. “You can grind between my cheeks.”
Dean’s eyes darkened with desire, but he immediately paused, clearly taking Harry’s request seriously. Harry felt a surge of affection at the care in his gaze, gleeful as he began to give Dean more orders. “Take off your shirt,” he said, his tone firm but playful. “Actually, take off everything.”
Dean grinned, standing briefly to comply, shedding his clothes with an ease that highlighted his long, lean frame. His muscles, lean from sport, rippled under his deep bronze skin as he stripped down to nothing. His cock was already fully hard and imposing, the foreskin already half-peeled back to reveal his glossy, pink head. When Dean retook his seat, pulling Harry back into his lap, Harry was delighted to feel the heat of Dean’s bare skin through his thin nightshirt, the warmth seeping into his bones.
“Gotcha,” Dean said, his voice husky. “Anything else?”
Harry quickly slipped his pyjama bottoms and underwear below his arse.
“Talk to me,” Harry said, his cheeks flushing as he remembered his initial fascination. “About how big you are compared to me. And… what you like.”
Dean’s grin turned wicked as he shifted Harry in his lap, positioning him so Harry’s back was once more pressed against his chest, his legs spread over Dean’s thighs. His lips brushing Harry’s ear as he tugged Harry’s nightshirt up and off, leaving him bare. “I love how small you are against me. Look at this—” He guided Harry’s hand to his veiny cock, now fully hard, and Harry’s fingers wrapped around it, barely covering half his length. “See how big I look in your hands? It’s perfect, how your little hands make me look like a giant.”
Harry shivered, stroking slowly. The stark contrast between his fingers against Dean’s long length made his own arousal throb. Dean’s hands roamed over Harry’s body, one splaying across his chest, nearly covering it entirely, the other guiding Harry’s hips to press his naked cheeks against Dean’s cock. Dean began to grind slowly, the heat and size of him sliding between Harry’s cheeks, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through them both.
“God, your body,” Dean continued, his voice low and rough. “So lean, so compact. And yet you have some muscle too. I could scoop you up with one arm, toss you around like it’s nothing.” To prove his point, he tightened his grip on Harry’s hips and lifted him slightly before settling him back down, the motion making Harry gasp as Dean’s cock rubbed against him. “It’s wild, how I can just… wrap you up. My hands practically cover your whole waist.” His long fingers traced Harry’s sides, lingering on the curve of his waist, where they nearly met at his navel.
“What else?” Harry murmured, his voice breathy as he met Dean’s hips, the hot slide of Dean’s cock between his cheeks intensifying the heat in his core.
Dean’s grinding grew more deliberate, slow and sensual, each movement deliberate. “And you’re so fucking gorgeous,” Dean said, his voice softening, though the hunger remained. “That wild hair, even with Blaise’s help it’s always a mess, like you’ve just flown through a storm. Those green eyes. They pull me in every time. And that smirk, Harry, when you know you’re getting to me? It’s like a challenge I can’t resist.” He leaned down, kissing Harry’s neck, his lips lingering, teeth grazing lightly. “Drives me wild.”
Harry moaned softly, tilting his head to give Dean better access, his heart swelling at the praise. But Dean’s tone shifted, growing more intense. “But it’s more than that, baby. You make me feel… adored. The way you look at me, Harry, like I’m the only thing that matters. It’s addictive, and I wasn’t lying in the library when I said you make me feel like a king. Sometimes, I want to just pin you down, make you mine, make you feel every inch of me until you can’t think of anything else.”
“I’d let you,” Harry breathed, his voice trembling with want.
“But would you want it?” Dean asked, his hands pausing, his eyes searching Harry’s face for any hesitation.
Harry paused from his own motions and answered by wrapping his hand around Dean’s erection. To make it even clearer, he rose to his feet and pushed his pyjamas down his arse.
“How do you want it, baby?” Dean asked, his voice gentle but insistent, wanting Harry’s consent to guide their path.
“Nice and slow,” Harry whispered, his cheeks flushing deeper as he met Dean’s gaze.
Dean’s smile was soft, almost lazy, as he nodded. “Slow it is, then,” he murmured, guiding Harry to straddle him more fully, positioning him so the head of his cock pressed against Harry’s entrance. The head popped in, and Harry sank down in one long, continual squat. A soft moan escaped his lips as Dean’s length filled him completely. Once hilted, Dean held him tight to his chest with both hands, his long arms wrapping around Harry’s slim frame like a cocoon, their bodies pressed flush together.
“Stroke yourself, Harry,” Dean said, his voice a low, soothing rumble, almost sleepy in its cadence, as if he were determined to keep the relaxed atmosphere they’d built. “Just breathe with me.”
It was the gentlest Dean had ever been with him. Harry would go so far as to say loving. There wasn’t really any thrusting, only slow, circular motions of his hips. It was a continuation of their grinding, but now with his long cock buried deep inside, each subtle shift in angle sending waves of warmth through Harry’s core. Harry’s hand moved to his own cock, stroking in time with Dean’s lazy rhythm. Dean’s hands stayed on Harry’s front, one splaying across his chest, the other at his belly, nearly covering his front entirely. Harry used his hands on Dean’s thighs as an improvised counter-steer, helping to guide the slow, rolling motion.
“Feels like you’re part of me like this,” Dean murmured, his voice languid. “All tucked in close, like you belong right here.” His fingers traced lazy patterns across Harry’s chest. “It’s… comforting, you know? Having you right against me, feeling every little shiver you make.”
Harry’s breath hitched, his strokes faltering as Dean’s cock shifted inside him, hitting just the right spot with every gentle roll. “Your warmth, it’s like a fire I can hold,” Dean continued, his tone soft and unhurried, keeping the relaxed intimacy of the moment. “You’re this bright, fierce thing, and I get to wrap you up, keep you safe. Makes me want to stay like this, just you and me, moving together.” His smile came into view as he leaned forward, a slow, contented curve of his lips, and he pressed a kiss to the back of Harry’s head.
Harry’s moans grew softer, more desperate, as Dean’s words washed over him, the slow pace building a steady, burning pleasure. Dean’s hand moved to cover Harry’s on his cock, guiding his strokes with a gentle touch, his larger fingers swallowing up Harry’s grip. “Love how you fit with me,” Dean said, his voice a quiet murmur, almost lost in the crackle of the distant fire. “Like you’re made to be right here, in my lap, letting me take my time with you. You fit me so well, like lock and key.”
The slow grind continued, Dean’s hips rolling in a steady, unhurried rhythm, each movement drawing soft gasps from Harry. “You’re so open like this,” Dean murmured, his lips brushing Harry’s ear, his voice a soothing whisper. “Letting me in, letting me hold you. It’s perfect.”
When Harry finally came, it was with a quiet, shuddering moan, spilling over his own hand and Dean’s, his frame shaking in Dean’s arms. Dean followed a few minutes later at Harry’s insistence, his release a low, contented groan, his cock pulsing deep inside as he held Harry close, their bodies pressed together in a tangle of Dean.
They stayed like that, Harry’s smaller form tucked against Dean’s larger one, Dean’s arms wrapped around him once more. They would have to clean up and get ready for bed, but neither of them wanted to move. Dean lifted the blanket from its position on the floor and draped it back over them.
“Just like this,” Harry murmured, his voice sleepy and satisfied, the relaxed atmosphere lingering like a warm blanket.
“Just like this,” Dean repeated. “I’ll carry you back to bed when you start drifting off, baby boy.”