Harry sucks him down again, loosening his throat, his head bobbing in time with Draco’s thrusts. When Draco feels himself get close again, he tightens his fingers in Harry’s hair and pulls him off—just a few inches, just enough to leave a scant amount of space between his cock and Harry’s mouth, just enough so that when he comes, he does so over Harry’s lips, over the swell of his cheek, the cut of his jaw. He’s moaning, they’re both moaning, loud and obscene and in tandem, and Draco is stroking himself too, milking it all out as he spills and spills and spills, amazed as he watches Harry come over his jerking fist, as he watches his own release paint Harry’s face.  Truly, a dream come true.