Quicker than he ever has in his life, Harry strips – shirt, trousers, pants flying across the room – and slicks up his cock. He resists the urge to thrust into his fist or tighten his grip, touch perfunctory, and lines up. He spreads Malfoy’s cheeks, admiring how his hole has loosened from the fingerfucking, and taps the head of his cock wetly against the hole. "I don’t need more lube, just – fucking –" Malfoy starts, impatient.