Author's Note: More on the PWP side than anything else, Reader's choice on how old they are. Enjoy!

Harry stood in a shower cubicle in the Gryffindor locker room. He was braced with his legs spread, one hand stroking his cock while the other was pressed against his entrance. He moaned as he slid another finger inside himself, up to two, not bothering to keep quiet since he knew he was alone; the celebration had already started, and they understood his need for privacy before he was surrounded.

He moaned again, his fingers questing deeper for that spot that would make him feel greater pleasure.

"You've got the wrong angle," a voice drawled from behind him.

He had time to stiffen before his hand was swept aside, long, dextrous fingers taking their place. He cried out as those two – talented – fingers immediately found his prostate. "Yes," he moaned.

Draco leant forward, nipping on the side of Harry's neck. "Like that Harry?" he purred.

"Yes," he moaned.

"Want me to touch somewhere else?"

"Please," he whimpered.

The blonde chuckled wickedly, his free hand gliding around Harry's side, and sliding down to his pelvis. Harry hastily released his shaft so Draco could wrap his hand around his pulsing length.

He began to stroke, instantly sending Harry's pleasure rocketing higher. "Do you want another finger?" Harry nodded mutely. The blonde could no more prevent his smirk, than he could refuse the brunet the feel of another finger within him. He began to caress the lion's sensitive bundle of nerves with the pads of three fingers, smirk widening when the brunet started pressing back against him, fucking himself on Draco's fingers.

"Let go," he ordered, twisting his wrist expertly.

Harry came, spilling his seed over the blonde's hand, slumping back against him.

Draco stopped stroking, bringing his hand up to his mouth to lick his hand clean.

"Why do you always do that?" Harry panted.

"What?"

"Keep your fingers inside me?"

"We wouldn't want you to lose the stretch, would we?" he drawled, grinning at the brunet's shiver. "Whenever you want to cross that line, and have my cock inside you, I want to ensure you're prepped enough to do it."

"Then why do it every time?"

"Never know when the urge will hit you," he teased. He kissed the lion's cheek gently. "And we both know you enjoy the feel of it," he whispered temptingly. Harry shivered again, his entrance tightening around Draco's fingers. "That, and I enjoy it too," he added breathily.

"I don't understand that," Harry murmured softly.

"I can show you?" the blonde offered.

Harry tilted. "How?" he asked curiously.

"Not the way you're thinking," he replied with a grin, and placed his fingers over Harry's lips. "Suck," he commanded.

Harry sucked the blonde's digits into his mouth, tongue swirling over them, coating them in saliva…although he wasn't quite sure why.

"Relax," he breathed. "I'm not going to have you do anything you haven't already," he promised, and Harry's tension dissipated, his attention focussing upon sucking Draco's talented fingers.

The blonde left him to his activity for a moment. "Now, would you agree that this provides you with no direct stimulation?" Harry nodded mutely, still sucking. "But you find it enjoyable?" Harry nodded again, realisation dawning in his expression. "You understand now?" Another nod. "Then let go."

Harry released them with a pout. Draco chuckled and pulled the brunet into a hot kiss, filled with tangling tongues.

He pulled up only after he had made the Gryffindor Golden Boy moan. "I don't mind my team losing, if it results in this," he stated with a smirk.

"Not this, or any other time," Harry remarked.

Draco smirked and removed his fingers, smirk widening at Harry's pout. "Until next time," he purred.

"Can't wait," Harry stated brightly, cleaning himself up with a flick of his wand. As an afterthought, he did the same for Draco, grinning at the blonde's shiver. "Come console me, or help me celebrate," he invited.

Draco traced his finger over Harry's bottom lip possessively. "Always," he promised, and stalked from the cubicle, leaving the lion to dress and make his way to the other celebration.