When Draco wakes up in the morning, he turns over to see Potter propped on one elbow and staring at him.
"Morning," he grunts. "Been up long?" He's not going to admit that he's a little disconcerted by the way Potter's looking at him.
"No, just a few minutes," Potter sighs, flopping onto his back. Now it's Draco's turn to stare. His eyes follow the contours of Potter's face, his fingers itch to run over the stubble on Potter's chin. He doesn't know what he's doing—this may be the first time he hasn't had an "urgent engagement" to run to after one of their trysts. Potter glances over at him.
"What are you thinking?"
"Nothing," Draco replies, although what he's thinking is, I want to kiss you. They start to intermittently talk about inconsequential things. Potter's winding their legs together under the blankets, and the press of their bodies together is having a predictable reaction in Draco.
He's startled when Potter asks him again, "What are you thinking?"
This time for some reason Draco wrestles with his thought, and although he tries to say it casually, he's fairly certain that it's anything but.
"That I want to kiss you." There, he's said it. Potter looks a little surprised, which Draco can understand. Nothing like this has happened in their history of getting together.
"Sure," he starts to babble, "I mean, I probably have horrible morning breath, but yeah," he smiles tentatively, "you can kiss me if you want."
Draco sits up, heart pounding far more than necessary for a single kiss, and gently pushes Potter down. He quickly moves to straddle him, pushing his hair out of the way before leaning down to touch his lips to Potter's. The kiss stays surprisingly chaste for a few moments, until Draco darts out his tongue to trace along Potter's lower lip. And with that simple motion, it's like the tension snaps, and they suddenly can't get enough.
Potter groans and reaches up to tangle his hands in Draco's hair, Draco's arms are trembling; probably more from emotion though as he holds himself above Potter. Draco let's himself collapse forward, burying his face into Potter's neck, nipping and sucking whatever skin he can find. Potter lets his head fall back in an obvious invitation to continue, so Draco sets to making a mark on Potter's neck.
He starts nipping his way down, paying special attention to his collarbone. He starts kissing down Potter's side, tongue flicking out to tickle the skin. He can feel under his hands and mouth the way Potter's abdomen tightens in pleasure and anticipation. But Draco's not quite done teasing. He settles himself between Potter's spread legs, smooths his hands down Potter's thighs. He looks down at the erection lying straining on Potter's belly and leans down to breathe on it gently, just so he can see it twitch. And then he completely ignores the shaft, instead planting a kiss on Potter's inner thigh. And then the other, caressing the skin with his tongue. He wonders how long it'll be before he has Potter begging, licking another stripe on Potter's thigh.
"Fuck, Draco!" he hears Potter curse above him. Smirking a little, he finally wraps a hand around the base of Potter's cock. Potter groans, and continues hoarsely, "Fuck! Can you—can you just," he breaks off in a moan as Draco kisses the tip of his cock. "Just—come here and kiss me again?" Potter finally says in a breathless rush.
Draco's head jerks up in surprise, not so much at the demand-but-not-a-demand, although he really was expecting a different plea. No, what surprises Draco is the tiny echo of insecurity lurking somewhere in Potter's words. It's this, more than anything else, that makes him swiftly move up to cup Potter's cheek in one hand while the other runs through Potter's hair, tilting his face up slightly to meet his.
It's a chaste kiss, just lips on lips. Draco's somewhat tempted to keep it this way, feels a ridiculous urge to press kisses against Potter's jaw, forehead, eyelids. But when Potter's lips start pressing more insistently against his, he responds immediately, the kiss immediately turning open and wet.
They keep kissing as Potter gently switches their positions. Draco thinks that he's never enjoyed kissing quite this much. It's as though the rest of his body doesn't matter anymore, just the press of Potter's lips against his. His arousal is a hazy nebulous thing that seems content to stay like this forever. It's a strange feeling that he doesn't know what to make of, and honestly doesn't really care to think about that much.
Awareness starts coming back to him as Potter nudges up his hips and swirls an oil-coated finger around his entrance. He clings to Potter more desperately as he's swiftly prepared, tosses his head back as Potter sinks into him. Potter holds himself still, forehead resting against Draco's, their lips now only brushing as they take gasping breaths.
Draco drapes one leg around Potter's hips and whispers, "Move."
Potter kisses him and starts to slowly withdraw, almost all the way, before burying himself in Draco again. He keeps up this slow rhythm, and Draco wonders a bit deliriously if this feels as new and frightening to Potter as well.
This doesn't feel like fucking.
Draco tries to stop his next thought, because he's only ever sneered at this phrase, but it feels very much like they're making love.
But he's not thinking straight, has to be wrong, because he really feels like he's falling apart. He pulls Potter harshly at him to bite at his lips, make this something familiar. He nearly groans in relief as Potter's hips start snapping faster, does groan when a hot flash of pleasure surges through him. Potter's mumbling nonsensical words and starting to thrust erratically, one hand fumbling to grasp at Draco and that's all it takes and Draco's coming, tightening, taking Potter down with him as he falls and falls.
When he finally comes back to himself, when he feels more solid, he tries not to think. He can feel his come cooling on his stomach, Potter's sweaty shoulder sticking to his arm from where he's collapsed beside him. It's all so messy, but it's not even a fraction as messy as his emotions. This is what he's been trying to avoid for the past year, ever since he and Potter started this thing—but his old explanation [it's just an addiction, he can quit it when he wants, he just doesn't feel like doing it right now] no longer works.
He likes waking up with Potter. His heart does funny flips when Potter smiles or laughs.
But.
For the past year, by some unspoken rule they've met no more often than once a month. That it was a convenient thing, that sex is better when your partner has been with you before, knows what makes you gasp and moan.
Draco is scared more than he likes to admit that he'd rather keep what they have now than risk losing Potter altogether. Which means that it's time for him to leave and start counting down the days until he can be in Potter's bed again.
He props himself up to look over Potter at the nightstand and clock. His movement rouses Potter from his post-coital coma and he looks up at Draco, a question in his eyes.
"I should be going." He wants to make it a question, just barely manages not to.
"Sure," Potter says, the first lines of a frown creasing his formally relaxed forehead.
"Yeah." Draco mutters. He climbs over Potter and starts gathering up his clothes, dressing awkwardly as Potter watches him with inscrutable eyes. When he's dressed he stands looking down at Potter's prone body, unsure of what to do. Normally he'd be sailing out of the room with a flippant 'See you around!' But now instead he hesitates, before leaning down to give Potter a kiss goodbye. A first for them.
As he pulls back, the customary words rising bitterly to his lips, Potter suddenly moves and grabs his arm.
"Are you doing anything Tuesday night?" he blurts.
Potter's eyes are bright with an emotion that Draco's never seen in him before, but that he's suspicious is reflected in own eyes. He looks at him and replies cautiously, "I don't have any plans."
Potter's quiet for a moment, and while Draco can tell that he's trying to appear casual, he can see the hope lurking at the edges of his expression. He doesn't know when he learned to read Potter's expressions so easily. It should be disconcerting, but it's not. In fact, it's kind of wonderful.
"Well," Potter says, "Well, then I'd like to take you to dinner. "
Draco's heart swells and he feels stupidly happy as they make plans for when and where. Potter may be his addiction, but he thinks that he's not the only one that's fallen.