Parallels
This should have been the blowjob of his life.
After two years of attempted seduction, he had finally gotten Cho Chang on her knees. He had fantasized about this moment a countless number of times before, submerged in the dark the heavy curtains around his bed brought.
But for some reason, Harry could only think of Malfoy.
***
He came with a gasp, his blond hair plastered to his face. He collapsed on the fragile body beneath him. Pansy had been Draco's fuck buddy- she called him her lover, right- for a few months now.
The novelty of a frail body had worn off long before. At times like this, he ached for the weight of heavy arms holding him, instead of Parkinson's stupid hand fluttering over his back. At times like this, he felt disgusted with himself, with the sweat and the panting and the total foulness of the whole act. Draco preferred beauty. It should be beautiful.
With Potter, Draco knew, it would be beautiful.
***
Harry wound his fingers tight into Cho's hair, pulling her head closer. The girl didn't choke even for a moment, and Harry wondered briefly if she had lost her gag reflex with Cedric.
Cedric reminded him of Voldemort. And Voldemort brought Death Eaters to mind, and Death Eaters led to Lucius Malfoy, and of course, then there was Draco.
All thoughts lead to Draco.
A groan burst out of Harry's mouth. One of Cho's hands had wandered up under his white Oxford shirt, and was now gently tracing patterns over his chest. Cho did something very new with her tongue, and Harry felt his knees go weak.
He should be thinking about the here and now, this girl and what she was doing with her mouth and her hands.
But he couldn't stop thinking about a certain Slytherin's smirk.
***
Draco rolled off of Pansy, his back landing heavily on the sheets. He sat up.
"No, Drakey, stay with me," Pansy whined, pulling on his arm. He turned his head and tried out his Very Best Glare™, but the girl was used to it, and just stuck out her lower lip in a pout. Knowing it was futile to fight, Draco fell back onto the pillow. Pansy giggled, cuddled up to him and began stroking his hair. He had nice hair, really, very soft.
Not like Potter. Potter had hair that made him look like he was just attacked by a Billywig. Potter had a permanent bedhead, Potter had hair that had probably never felt the touch of any products, Potter had hair that made Draco furious. Potter had hair Draco wanted to touch.
***
As the first real orgasm of his life hit him, Harry was thinking about green striped ties and shiny Prefect badges and snakes and that sneer.
His eyes rolling back, hips bucking, Harry moaned the only thing that came to his mind.
"Draco…"
The name came out louder than he had expected it to. He felt a sudden rush of cold as a wet mouth withdrew. He sank to the floor, pants still around his ankles, and all he heard was a drawling voice and all he saw was pale skin.
He didn't hear a girl bursting into tears; he didn't see her run out of the room, unfastened robes flapping.
All thoughts were Draco.
***
About an hour had gone by. That was surely a sufficient amount of cuddling to assure another go at some point. Draco lifted Pansy's hand off his head and dropped it ungraciously on her breast.
He slipped out of the bed and began getting dressed. Pulling his sweater over his head, he saw a brief flash of red and yellow. He blinked quickly.
No, of course he wasn't thinking of Potter on his Firebolt. No, of course he wasn't imagining that hideous scar. No, of course he didn't love Potter.
"Harry," he whispered, and then left the room.
No. Of course not.