Yours
And here I am again.
Back pressed securely to the nearest wall, he gasps as firm hands wander already discovered territory. The touch always surprises him. It shouldn't exist, and yet, it's the only thing he wants.
The absolute only thing that can keep him from running, his only reason to stay.
He would never admit this. No, there are always other reasons. This he can quit. He can end this whenever he'd like.
Just not now.
For what seems like an eternity, skin finally meets. Hands that are certain quickly finish their task to reveal perfect pearl-like skin. Time is never taken to appreciate just how beautiful the outer layer is. It isn't worshipped as any priceless work of art should. It's abused, damaged, and hidden after the anger and lust have their way.
More.
It's never quite enough. The rough nature, the primal instinct to reach completion as fast as humanly possible- it never suffices.
The skilled hands find their way to lower regions, hunting, seeking something that needs this attention, no matter how it attains it. It's only another body. Not a person bringing him to his highest point, but a body. An object. Something that can be replaced.
A hiss escapes his mouth, speaking a language he knows isn't understood, causing a growl from the mouth he's never owned. The way the words slide so fluently, so perfectly, could bring this other man to his knees. It was hardly fair that the power of his voice was enough for his counter when he sought so much more. Needed so much more.
His eyes screw shut in frustration, something he never allows. He can't be blind to something that he can hardly see to begin with. An uncharacteristic like moan wakes him to reality. His hands had moved on their own accord to the boy against him. And before he can amend his mistake, another strangled and bit back moan escapes. His own head clouds at the sound as he fights to keep his gaze steady. He will not lose himself again. Not when he's so close. Not when it will be over so soon.
And it is.
Teeth latch onto his shoulder as he breathes heavily into the sweat and vanilla scented hair. He wants to cry out, but he never does. He never will.
Still, as much as he disgusts himself after it's over, he never pushes the other boy away. He always lets him regain composure, calm himself.
But, the real world still exists. It never truly disappears. And it's time to let go.
Luckily, he never has to do that part himself. He's always the one pushed away. The other was never fond of sentiment. And as of late, neither was he.
Not even bothering to tidy his appearance, he leaves. If he's the one to be pushed away, he'll always be the first to leave.
"Try not to leave a mark next time, Malfoy," he calls back over his shoulder, not needing to turn to know that the hissed sound of Draco's first name uttered in the ancient tongue of snakes causes him to shudder. He knows that well.
:::
Harry throws his sullied clothing into the hamper near his bed. His face, he notices while catching a glimpse in an uncovered mirror, is worn and empty- void of human emotion. He quickly covers the degrading Muggle glass and stumbles into bed.
What you can't see can't hurt you, he thinks idly, drifting to sleep slowly. That's what he believed once.
:::
Here I am again.
And where is he?
Harry stands alone. He waits alone. Hours pass.
Where is Draco?
:::
They never speak in public. They never speak in private. Words aren't needed for what they are.
Nothing needs no words.
Harry can comply with that. Draco knows this.
He watches while Harry waits.
He's been watching for longer than he cares to remember in his case.
Let him wait, Draco thinks. Have him wait for something that won't come.
The blond lurks and stares as Harry grows impatient and stalks off in the same direction he came. Not bothering to replace his invisibility cloak, the Chosen One steps at a rate that coincides with the disappointed and ignored pull in Draco's chest.
I've done my time.
:::
Harry doesn't ask for an explanation. He asks for nothing. If he's learned anything from his life it's that no one can take away what you don't have. He's never had Draco. There's no possible way to lose.
He's replaceable.
His heart falls in the slightest when Draco brushes past him without even the slightest insult. In fact, the grey-eyed boy mumbles an apology.
But, quicker than he feels necessary, Draco's gone, out of sight.
And what I can't see can't hurt me.
:::
To pass his time, the Slytherin flies. It can never be as satisfying, he knows. But, it's enough.
The snitch is small; it requires focus. He can hardly think of how much he lacks when his target is so small, so difficult.
Harry tries. He decides that his watching is strategy. He doesn't notice how well Draco flies, or how accurate his descents are from his broom. He would never notice that.
Harry doesn't feel the lump in his throat when he fears he's been found out. His heart never beats any faster when Draco nearly dances in the air with a grace that only years of practice can attain.
No, he's only watching for strategy. He only wants to see where the blond lacks. That's all he's ever looked for were flaws.
Harry nearly chokes when he sees the triumphant smile on the face fifty yards away and thirty yards up. Draco's made excellent time in capturing the golden ball. Time that Harry struggles to maintain at every game.
He fights the urge to mount his broom and confront the boy for his obvious enchanting of the item in question. There is no feasible way that Draco could match him in Quidditch skill. He couldn't match him in anything.
But he does.
:::
A hand reaches for Harry as he rounds what seems to be an empty corner of the eerily quiet school. He isn't surprised by his captor. When fierce grey eyes pierce through the smirk in his own, he is taken aback slightly. There's something different. Something other than want and need.
A challenge lies behind the storm of grey.
"What are you doing, Malfoy?" To conceal his own confusion and trepidation, he smiles bitterly. "Couldn't get along without the Savior?" he hisses something incomprehensible to the blond, leaning forward to let his tongue fall into the shell of Draco's ear.
Despite the tremor in his body, Draco retaliates quickly. He pushes Harry deftly away and forgets his absurd idea of using Harry's body for his own selfish need.
"Forget it," the Slytherin mutters before the emerald-eyed hero pulls him back. He only has a moment to remember his witty retort before his lips are suddenly unable to move.
He's trapped in a magic he's never felt, a gentleness he's never known. He feels, and that's entirely unlike him. He does the only logical thing.
He runs.
:::
Harry touches his fingers to his lips where they barely brushed with Draco's. They're warm. They tingle with something new. The fire that hasn't filled him for longer than he wants to imagine alights and he's engulfed in the flames of something greater than he thought possible.
It frightens him.
:::
For his entire life he wanted out of the spotlight. To this day, he still does.
No one can see his desire for simplicity. Harry is afraid that now, now that his destiny has been fulfilled, now that he's lived up to all he can, people will be able to see something. Without the shield of his fate, he has nothing to hide behind. People will see everything.
People will see.
:::
Draco's never wanted. He's always simply had. He's never loved. He's never felt or known its meaning.
He's asked himself before, what exactly is love? What was he missing?
It couldn't be the way he yearned to be near a person, even when they were only seconds away.
It couldn't be how his ears perked at the name he longed to hear again and again but would never confess.
It couldn't be the dreams that left him crying into the night, tossing, alone and incomplete until sleep overcame him again and allowed him the sweet secret bliss of another's affection.
That couldn't be love. That couldn't be what he and Harry had.
And if they didn't have that, a simple kiss shouldn't stop what they both needed to function. A body.
Yes, that's all I need.
:::
Neither Harry nor Draco speak while entering the Quidditch pitch, only a week after what they consider 'the incident'.
Both being captains of their houses, they shake hands civilly and make no eye contact.
As the snitch passes and the whistle blows, both boys mount their brooms and soar in opposite directions.
Harry is far off the grounds before he notices the golden orb only inches away from his person. He rushes to end the game only to be met by an equally determined Slytherin.
Their gazes meet in a mutual understanding. But, who is the first to break?
The ever confident Slytherin who could never fathom a world where things weren't exactly his way, or the loyal Gryffindor whose heart finally fell from his sleeve?
The timing is too close to determine who initially breaks and who simply follows. But, both are at the game again.
Another game.
That's all this is to begin with, Draco thinks. A game. And I'll be damned if I finish anything other than first.
He swoops and turns at angles the audience fears will force him to fall.
Even defying gravity has its limits.
The crowd gasps as a whole and nearly faints together as the blond rival appears, landing gracefully on the ground and clutching the golden Snitch.
Harry hasn't time to blink before the game comes to a close. He's lost.
He's met his match.
:::
Draco sits alone in the Quidditch locker rooms. There isn't a crowd attacking him as if he were Harry Potter with the Snitch. His name has lost its power. He refuses to admit that he isn't enough to bring it back. Instead, he revels in what once was.
"Well done, Malfoy," a voice congratulates, waking him from his mindless staring at a spot containing nothing on the wall. "Looks like you've beaten me."
Draco nods, not bothering to come back with anything sarcastic or insulting. "Thanks, Potter."
He notices Harry's slight smile and watches from his peripheral vision as the raven-haired boy settles next to him wordlessly.
They sit in silence. It isn't forced. They only exist.
"Anything you need, Harry?" Draco finally asks, realizing too late his mistake in calling Harry by his first name. They aren't on those terms. They never would be.
The act affects the Gryffindor the same. He slightly fumbles in breath and regains himself before either can take note.
"How does it feel?"
"How does what feel?"
"Winning. Finally getting the best of me. I mean, you should be gloating. You should be rubbing the Snitch in my face."
Draco stares ahead. "Oh," is all he can muster.
"That's it?" The Gryffindor expects a bitter argument, something to quench his thirst for a passionate uproar. "Is something wrong?" Harry turns to pull the Slytherin's attention from wherever it's fallen, back to his face.
Draco loses to himself and glances back at Harry. His look is genuinely worried. His hair is still worn from the game. His uniform untouched, as if he left the game immediately to find the blond and the eyes, so tight with concern, so green and vibrant with emotion…
He can't meet them for long.
"It doesn't concern you. How I feel. What I feel. It doesn't pertain to you. Don't pretend to care. No one else does."
He stands and marches towards the exit. The blond stalls and turns his head to the side- making sure his voice doesn't drown into the crowd outside, unheard by the ears that need to understand most.
"Good game."
And somehow, Harry knows that the Slytherin isn't referring to the Quidditch match.
:::
Draco's always had trouble sleeping. Nightmares plague and dreams vanish into the darkness of his room. He's always been alone. He's known this. And in times like these, when there is nothing to hold his attention but the shadowy off white color of the ceiling, it's easy for him to imagine Harry. It's almost natural to picture him there with him. As if he were meant to be there and not somewhere else. Never somewhere else. Ever again.
Like his dreams, those thoughts slip away, and complete exhaustion overtakes him, dragging him back into his lonely sleep.
The only arms that wrap around him are his own and that knowledge has never frightened him. It was always inevitable that he have no one. Like someone once told him, he would never know love.
That person was entirely accurate.
:::
Harry has always had a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or the right place, depending on whom you were asking at the particular time. But, as far as wandering goes, he has always been the absolute best.
He may tell you that he's simply not tired, or he's up to no good.
In all honestly, he's looking for something. Somewhere that can hold him and keep him. Nothing so far has lived to that expectation.
Expectations.
Harry could understand that burden incredibly well. People expect him to do wondrous things.
Great things.
He never felt he deserved the credit.
When you're living because of ninety percent luck and ten percent will power, it's hard to imagine that all you do is entirely of your own fault. In fact, it's nearly impossible to believe.
Somehow, as has been happening quite often now, he ends his wandering in the dungeons. He's outside of a certain prefect's bedroom and he is content to reside outside.
:::
Like he can feel a presence, Draco juts awake and feels the sweat skimming down his face and onto his bare chest. Another nightmare.
That's all it is.
He raises a hand through his drying hair and feels its messy appearance without worrying to check a mirror. No one can see him here. He has no one to impress in the room.
But, again, he feels something. That's enough to pull him from his covers and to the charmed door.
He mutters some kind of spell to undo the locks and is welcomed by a completely unconscious emerald-eyed Gryffindor, asleep at his feet, wrapped in himself like a kitten.
Funny, Draco muses; I assumed they would look more like lions.
Without waking the sleeping, disheveled boy, Draco collects the dead weight in his arms and brings him inside, not bothering to ask himself why he wasn't simply waking Harry in some brutish way to make a point of him leaving and throwing him along back to the safety and warmth of the Gryffindor tower.
When the Gryffindor is finally in his bed, he only watches the even breathing of his guest.
He'd never felt the need to watch someone sleep. But, Harry is almost entertaining. His nose twitches every now and again as if he smells something terrible. His fists clench and open rapidly, like something is slipping from his fingers. His eyes shift every so often and his body follows. And if observed carefully, Draco can catch the faint sound of parseltongue coming from his lips. He shivers and hopes that Harry can desist his nighttime talk soon enough.
It's hours before Draco realizes just how long he's been watching another's sleep. And even when he crawls in beside the boy, he continues to stare, as if Harry would disappear otherwise.
A tan, calloused hand moves on its own to Draco's cheek when his eyes finally fall shut.
In fear of Harry's waking reaction, he keeps his eyes closed tightly. However, he has nothing to be afraid of.
Harry is deathly asleep, mumbling incoherent words and trembling slightly.
"Cold," he whispers, to Draco's utter relief, in a language he understands.
The Slytherin urges the other to turn over while he wraps himself around the warmth of Harry, smiling without teeth as he breathes in the sickeningly sweet scent of Harry's hair and holds on as gently as he can until the tremors in Harry's body finally subside.
A small voice in the back of his head tells him that he should be hurting the Gryffindor in his arms. He shouldn't be embracing the boy, snuggling into him like he was some sort of prized possession. He is only a challenge, and as of now, Draco has the upper hand. And for the life of him, he is unable to take advantage of that. Not now, when his body is actually relaxing. Not now, when his repressed dreams of not waking alone are so close. Not now, when he can feel Harry there, pressing back against him. Draco could pretend that the Boy- Who- Lived wanted to be there. Like he had found his way into the Slytherin's room and made the conscious decision to spend his night there.
Another dream.
:::
Harry awakes with a start. His body jerks upright and he feels for his glasses, which must have fallen off during the course of the night.
His eyes wander the room while he decides where exactly he's found himself. He concludes that he doesn't know and makes a point to leave as soon as he's steadied himself.
A door nearby opens and he's greeted with a nod by none other than Draco Malfoy.
His head spins and he hopes and prays to whatever God decides to listen that he hasn't done anything of consequence.
"Did the water wake you?" Draco asks, drying his hair with a towel and retying the one about his waist. Harry ignores the way the sight of the Slytherin hardly clad makes his breath hitch.
He's even more breathtaking in the light, Harry thinks before he can stop himself. His face reddens and he never looks to the grey eyes that slice into him with silent questions.
"N-no," Harry stammers, fighting the urge to bolt towards the door at his lack of articulation. "I was- well, leaving, I suppose." His voice is too quick for his brain to consider. "What am I doing here?"
"I wanted to ask the same thing. You'd fallen asleep outside my room, Potter. Any reason?"
Harry shakes his head and sits back down on the bed, facing away from Draco. "I just found myself here. I must've been tired. I can't think of any other reason."
Yes, I can.
"You found yourself on practically the lowest floor," Draco thinks over. And only then does the idea sounds undeniably daft. "That seems counterproductive."
"Yeah, I realize that now. Why didn't you just leave me out there?"
"Even I find it cold down here. Merlin knows how long you would have lasted before hyperthermia took you," Draco reasons.
The cold, precise words frustrate Harry. Draco was always so calm and collected. It was hardly fair. "Thank you, but I'll leave. I'm probably keeping you from something." Harry stands.
"Wait," the Slytherin barks before Harry has time to consider the idea.
He walks, a careful slowness in his step, before stopping in front of Harry and tipping his head forward in order to look at the slightly smaller Gryffindor.
"There's nothing you can remember coming all this way for? Nothing at all?"
Harry pretends not to hear the hope that dangles in his words.
He gulps when Draco makes the distance between them even smaller. His eyes are dilating and he is unaware of the intentions at hand. He freezes. There is nowhere to go without an explanation.
"What do you want me to say, Draco?"
The blond's lip pulls up in the corner at the sound of his name and the ridiculous fuzzy feeling that clouds his head and chest. He bends his head, letting some of the stray wet pieces of hair fall to his face.
Finding the courage to glance up, he discovers confused green eyes that are imploring, pleading with him for any sign, any kind of an answer to his question. Draco can't control his face from moving just the slightest bit closer to breathe a small and nearly unfelt kiss to the lips of his rival.
That millisecond lasts an eternity for Harry as he's overcome by some sort of emotion that he has no name for.
"Say it again," Draco insists.
"Say what?" Harry murmurs incoherently, still deciding if he knows what this is and if he's ready.
"Say my name?" It's a question, a request, not a command. Simple and yet he still doesn't understand.
"Draco," Harry whispers and brings himself back to the Slytherin's face, placing a light and subtle kiss to his lips before Draco takes complete control and places his hand behind the other's head, lacing his fingers through the raven locks.
"Please, say more," Draco almost begs into his mouth. It's terrifying for the blond to need this much. The silence that normally encompasses their encounters seems like a personal hell after hearing this uncertain sound.
"Hold me tighter, Draco." The Slytherin nods and pulls his arm around Harry's smaller waist, guiding them against each other in a gentle embrace. Somehow the relaxed motion tears Harry to pieces faster than the rough touches ever had. He's trembling again, but not with cold, and this only preludes to Draco holding him closer, as if that's possible.
Harry finds the smallest amount of courage and lets his tongue glide from his mouth to move over Draco's bottom lip, asking for entrance. The blond moans, and accepts quickly, hoping that he doesn't seem too eager, and decides in an instant that it doesn't matter.
He's been with Harry more times than he can count, but this is entirely new. He doesn't feel as though he needs Harry to be anywhere else in order for him to be satisfied. Holding him, taking his time to worship his mouth and silencing any protests he may have was more than he'd ever thought it could be.
Kissing has always been too intimate a gesture that requires a certain appreciation for the person.
Now though, he can't seem to pull his face away until oxygen becomes a necessity.
Draco forces himself back somewhat shakily. Harry's eyes are still closed and he doesn't say a word while his mind processes.
"I'm sorry," he mutters, wishing he can disappear right now. "I shouldn't have- We aren't like that- I don't know what I was thinking-."
Draco silences him with a finger and wordlessly asks him to sit back down. He does and Draco takes his hand, bringing its back to his lips and kissing it lightly.
"Don't apologize. I could have stopped you if I'd wanted to."
"Is this what you want?" he asks, gesturing the space between them.
Ignoring his question, he moves to his own topic. "I watched you sleep last night. I've never done that before. Watch someone sleep, I mean. Seems dull, right? I thought so, before I saw you sleeping. You're really quite brilliant when you're dreaming, Harry. I didn't think I could do anything other than fight you or get a quick release from you, and there I was, watching you breathe." He laughs to himself and guides his thumb over the back of Harry's hand. "And this morning… I woke up with you in my bed. You were holding me. I didn't leave the room for a long period of time. I didn't want to forget what that felt like.
"I thought about the way you kissed me the other night. Nothing has ever brought so much to me at once. It nearly hurt.
"And you barely touched me! After everything I've done to you. Everything you've done to me…" He pauses and notices Harry's cheeks redden again. "To think that something so ordinary would be more than I was ready for."
"Can we try again?" Harry asks quietly.
"Hmm? Try what?"
He can't ask.
"Harry, what do you want to try?"
Before he can anticipate the attack, Draco finds himself pinned back onto his own bed, beneath a tentative Gryffindor.
He places his hands lightly onto Draco's chest and feels the pace of the other's breathing increase. Harry inhales sharply when he understands exactly what is happening and almost goes into epileptic shock at the realization.
"Something wrong?" Draco wonders to himself, unsure if Harry's able to hear. He takes hold of the hand on his chest and places it directly over his own heart. "Can you feel that?"
Harry closes his eyes and nods silently.
Draco balances himself on his elbows and tilts his head until his and Harry's lips are barely considered touching.
"Only you have ever made it beat that quickly," he whispers before reclaiming Harry's mouth.
As soon as the baffled Gryffindor finds himself, Draco leans backwards, pulling Harry with him. He takes his time, memorizing Draco's face with his hands, skimming over every individual scar on his chest, committing each to memory before either boy can come to their senses and end this.
"I'm sorry," Harry nearly whimpers into Draco's lips, finding a particularly deep scar on the otherwise perfect and translucent skin. "I didn't know it would hurt so much."
"It's okay, Harry," Draco pants beneath him, trying to undo the buttons of Harry's muggle pajamas.
Ignoring the acceptance of his apology, Harry trails his mouth to the old wounds, pressing his lips lightly to each, noticing the tremor in Draco's body when he kisses the final scar below his belly button.
"Draco?"
The blond breathes in a staggered breath and Harry notices traces of captured tears in his practically invisible lashes.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asks, cupping Draco's face between his hands, waiting for any sign of doubt.
Draco shakes his head while Harry touches his mouth to his forehead. The gesture is gentler than he thinks he can bear, but he lets the sensation sink in further. He isn't sure how long exactly this will last before they fall back into their savage nature. Before they fall back into the unspoken agreement to better the other with harsh movements and terrible words.
But, maybe that's how it should be.
As if he can read his thoughts, Harry pauses after removing his own top, looking at Draco in some sort of awe and complete insecurity.
"Are you sure you want this?"
Draco opens his eyes, not knowing exactly when he had closed them and looks over Harry in front of him. He's beautiful. Every scar has its own story, its own place in Harry's life. They make him the man he is. Sheer will power keeps Draco from pouncing up from under the boy and ending this far faster than he ever has. But, something about Harry over him, watching him with eyes that still haven't left his own, lets him know that he's safe. These scars may have been caused by this very raven-haired man, but for now, Harry would let nothing harm him. He was utterly at peace in that thought.
He smiles and Harry takes that as a sign to continue. He groans when they lock into another searing kiss. And for once, the petty sounds he's making aren't embarrassing. He wants Draco to know exactly what he's doing to him. He wants Draco to understand the power he has over him simply by his presence. It's a new feeling to show such helplessness to someone he's only ever wanted to win against, but it feels almost overwhelmingly right.
It's only then that Harry realizes something other than Draco's leg is pressing against his thigh. Removing his hands from Draco's chest, he reaches lower, removing the towel Draco is hiding behind, eliciting a gasp from beneath him caused by the sudden chill.
Harry removes his own bottoms, never faltering in gaze from the Slytherin. Even as he brings himself to touch back down, he fights the need to close his eyes in the wonderful sensation.
Draco quivers at the pace, his body screaming to go as quickly as possible, his mind in absolute agreement, and his heart, begging him to stay slow. The heart's voice isn't quite as loud as the others, but it's the strongest by far.
Harry bucks lightly into Draco, the brush as light as air- yet frighteningly fierce.
"Harry, have you ever done this?" Draco suddenly asks, his words slightly marred by the little pulses of pleasure sliding up his spine. Harry and he have only gone so far, they've never seen the other naked, in body or mind. But, Draco has always thought that Harry would be one to save himself for love.
He shakes his head, just as Draco expects.
Something in the blonde elates at the idea of being Harry's first, but another idea creeps into his mind that he's not nearly good enough to have something so special to Harry.
He doesn't know when Harry had found time to read him so well, but when Harry's hand takes hold of both boys together, causing him to cry out quietly, he knows that there is nothing to worry over.
"Don't worry, Draco. I could have stopped this if I wanted to," Harry hisses, calming the blond immediately and actually causing him to buck forward into Harry, as if this were the key to his self-control.
To stifle his own moans, he takes Harry's mouth again while they slide together, coming closer and closer…
"Harry, I want-." He swallows his words, not sure if his voice will follow.
"Anything," Harry answers too quickly.
His hands release both boys and snake their way around Draco's waist and into his hair, reveling in the smoothness of each.
"I-I," he stammers, "I want to feel you, inside me," he mumbles the last of the sentence softly, hoping his request isn't pathetic to the other boy's ears.
"I don't-."
"You won't hurt me, Harry. It isn't my first time."
This actually scares the less experienced boy. He doesn't want to disappoint. But, something in the normally icy eyes that stare into his own tell him that he couldn't do anything wrong if he tried.
"Just tell me what to do," he decides.
Draco tries to turn himself and is stopped quickly by Harry's strong arms pinning him again.
"Can I see you?"
Again, the intimacy shocks Draco to soundless nods.
Being careful not to move too quickly, the blond takes hold of Harry and guides him to his entrance.
"Just breathe with me," he instructs before pushing himself, allowing Harry the slightest bit of coverage and urging him to move the rest of the way on his own.
Harry obliges and follows Draco's breathing, filling him completely. Draco winces in a slight pain, but reassures Harry with a gentle kiss that he's fine and simply needs a moment.
When the pain subsides to numbness, Harry moves at a steady pace, hesitating when he sparks something in Draco that causes the boy to bite hard enough to draw blood from his lip.
"Am I hurting you?"
Gasping breathlessly, Draco forces their lips together almost painfully. "If you stop, I'll hurt you," he warns, and Harry laughs, regaining his pace before. It's slow and steady. Harry knows for certain that he's capable of bringing Draco to a screaming pulp beneath him, but he wants this to last. He may never feel this again.
Soon enough though, it's too much for the Gryffindor. He takes hold of Draco and pulls in time with himself. He leans forward just before he knows he'll end and whispers into Draco's ear.
"Together, Draco," he hisses. Draco follows with a half moaned, half whispered, 'Harry,' and they finish together, gripping each other in an almost bruising hold while their bodies cease their convulsions.
Unable to hold himself any longer, Harry lets his full weight encompass Draco, expecting the moment to last only seconds before he's pushed away again and forced to leave.
Instead, light fingers trail lazily up and down his spine, causing him to shiver while kisses press into his hair. He takes in the scent at Draco's shoulder and breathes in the smell of old vanilla and sweat, wondering if he's ever smelled something more wonderful.
They say that smells are the strongest of memories. And when this was over, he'd be damned if he let this moment fall away.
He closes his eyes as a blanket falls around him. His lips press to the slightly damp skin beneath him and he falls peacefully into unconsciousness.
:::
Harry wakes again in a room that isn't his. He stretches, curling his fists and relaxing them again.
He's alone. And after everything, he's still surprised.
Obviously it was a mistake.
He searches the room for his discarded pants and pulls them on quickly, noticing something crinkle within the pajama pockets.
Harry reaches in and pulls out a small parchment with elegant script.
Didn't have the heart to wake you, I'll be on the pitch when you're ready. If nothing's changed, I'll understand.
I'll be waiting,
-Draco.
Harry's feet couldn't have taken him fast enough to the outside.
True to his word, Draco sits in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch, wand at one side and broom at the other.
"Are you always out here so late?" Harry calls, noting the darkness of night around him. He's slept all day.
Draco stands to face the other Seeker. "Not usually. I was a bit busy today."
Harry feels his face flush as he comes to a stop a few inches from Draco.
"How are you?"
"Anxious really."
This wasn't the answer Harry expected. He tilts his head to the side in confusion.
"Anxious from what?" he asks.
"You see, I came all this way to tell a certain enemy of mine that things were just not working out the way they have been as of late. That maybe we've been at it the wrong way."
Harry's face falls, his heart practically stops.
"Do you think he feels like this? Like everything he never thought he could have is finally available to him? And all he has to do is say the word and it's his?"
Harry smiles genuinely as he realizes Draco isn't regretting hours ago.
"I think I have a pretty good idea of how he feels," Harry says before closing the distance completely between the two. "So what word do I have to say to make everything I thought I could never have mine?"
Draco kisses the tip of Harry's nose and leaves a lingering kiss to his bruised lips.
"It's already yours."