Harry hated this place. Hated the bleak greyness of it, hated the smell of it, hated the taste of it. Hated the way footsteps echoed in a corridor that shouldn't have been silent but always was. But then, he didn't know a single soul who didn't despise Azkaban. There were very few reasons anyone would visit, and fewer still that were something any sane person looked forward to.
Which was why it was so remarkable that a pleasant shiver of anticipation slid up Harry's spine.
The cell door had barely been opened before he had Malfoy up against the wall, crashing their lips, their teeth, their noses, together and kissing his breath away. A distant clock ticked away their moments together, and he would make each one count.
"Shut up," he said when Malfoy tried to talk, biting his lip and clutching him even more fiercely. "Don't ruin this."
It hadn't started this way. The first visit there had been shouting and accusations; the second someone had been left with a split lip. It was only the third when things started to change, when punches became clutches, when sneers became snogs. When the need for something more visceral replaced the need for petty vengeance.
Malfoy didn't speak as he shoved back against Harry, grasped the straggling hairs at the back of Harry's neck and flipped them. Harry's back landed bruisingly hard against the wall, a shock going down his spine, making his toes tingle. He gasped and was barely able to draw in breath before Malfoy was at his lips again, kissing hard and fumbling with Harry's robes, finally tearing them in his haste to get inside.
Harry grabbed Malfoy's wrists and yanked, rolling them both to the right and pressing his cock hard against Malfoy's hip. He twisted the skin of Malfoy's wrists then let go to pull his ridiculously light robes open as well.
"Just who is fucking who?" he breathed against Malfoy's arched neck.
"You know how you like it," growled Malfoy and rolled them back again. Harry didn't put up much resistance, or any at all, even when he felt the grind of the stone wall against his tailbone. It was a small price to pay for the grind of Malfoy's cock against his, for the press of Malfoy's chest, arms, thighs, lips.
"Shut up," said Harry again, his breath catching as he tried to speak. He waited till the constant push, constant pressure, brought him right to the edge, then shoved Malfoy away again. "Make it good," he said.
As if Malfoy could help himself, since good meant hard, fast, and thorough. Harry dropped his robes and bent over the stained but solid table, and hardly made a sound as Malfoy finger fucked him with nothing but spit and enthusiasm. Hardly made a sound but soft grunts and breathy gasps until Malfoy grabbed his waist and pushed his cock in, one long, smooth stroke.
"Fuck," he said, dropping his forehead against the table with a faint thump. His toes tingled again and the shock went up his spine in reverse, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Malfoy lay a hand flat on his back, the bumps of Harry's spine pressing into his palm, and drove into him with a guttural grunt.
Harry felt a hot flush spread over his body as Malfoy thrust, hard and steady, slipping only once on the stone floor and pressing his fingers into Harry's hip to regain his balance. Harry would swear his orgasm started there, where Malfoy's nails just barely bit into his skin, then hit his groin with enough force to shoot up inside his skull, blinding him.
He gasped and thrust back and tried to get a hand on his cock, even as Malfoy pressed in harder and faster, again and again, before finally crying out and collapsing against Harry's back. Harry took a moment to catch his breath before pushing him off, before standing up and making himself as presentable as he ever was.
A kind of heavy bell sounded, dull and ominous, and a voice floated up the corridor. "That's time, sir. I don't want to have to come and get you."
Malfoy pulled out his wand and cleaned himself up, closing his robes and looking as immaculate as he had when he arrived. Then, as if he was doing him a great favour, he cleaned Harry up as well and repaired the tear in his robes.
"Next week then, Potter, or perhaps the week after. Do take care."
Malfoy let himself out of the cell, and the diminishing footsteps as he made his way out of the prison were one of the most bleak sounds of Azkaban.