Malfoy’s hot and tight and presses his forehead further into the pillow, helpfully tilting his hips to help the wet slide. It’s almost paradoxical, this silent permission. Harry lets the irritation from the game flow through him, remembering Malfoy slipping his stick between the blades of Harry’s skates, pushing him up against the boards with his other hand to prevent a tripping penalty, his rough pants of laughter at Harry’s mounting frustration.