Written for the OTP Boot Camp Challenge. Prompt: sin.
[sin]
They shouldn't be doing this.
It was so utterly wrong: the whole situation. Harry didn't know how or why their mouths met, but they did. And it was good. It tasted like heaven (no—he shouldn't call it that), and it felt so wonderful. Harry wanted more.
But it was so very wrong.
Harry called it a guilty pleasure and Draco called it lust. Despite their words, they (or at least Harry) knew it was turning into something more. Perhaps, it was love, or perhaps it was just lust, but Harry knew, for sure, that it was fervent. As much as he would like to stop and say, "No, I can't do this, we can't do this, because this is not right, you have to understand," no such words ever left his lips. The ones that kissed ferret-boy's with such passion. The ones that were tainted and unclean, solely because of his lack of self-control.
The corrosion wasn't all together a bad thing. Because the embraces and the caresses, so full of a sinful goodness, they were nice, and something this magnificent couldn't possibly be totally bad. It was the idea of it all that made him so uneasy whenever he thought about it. Did that make sense? Not really, but, then again, nothing was making sense anymore.
Both were in far too deep to try to back out. Maybe that was why it thrilled him. There was no way out, but so, so many ways in. He wanted to find them all, all of the entrances and mark them as his own. His hand in Draco's hair, their bodies close and the air warm with whatever it was they were feeling, for he still didn't know. It was almost perfect.
Almost, because a love (should he call it that?) like theirs couldn't (and shouldn't) ever last.
Harry still remembered the first time. It was nearing the end of fifth year, and he was completely broken up about Sirius's death. When Draco found him, alone in a vacant classroom, dangerously close to bawling his eyes out, Draco said, "I hate to see you in so much pain caused by someone other than myself". (As if he had been planning the moment for a long time.) And that was when the madness began.
How many days now had they kept this up? He wasn't counting. Gradually, it developed from a one-time thing, to something they both needed. It must've been a long time, because surely something this deep couldn't develop in just over two years? Harry hoped not.
With these new encounters came a sort of ceasefire, if you will. Now, Harry just wanted to be near Draco, to have his touch, even if it was only for a moment or two. What was this called? He didn't know, and, at the time, it frightened him to think about it. Though now, he just held it with a sort of reluctant acceptance. An attitude that said I don't know what this is, but I'm willing to pretend it's something.
Was he pretending, though? Harry asked so many questions he didn't know the answer to.
Maybe it was better not to know, to be uncertain.
As Harry lay, his hand in Draco's he hesitantly stated, "I'm ... really unsure of what this is, but it really doesn't matter, because whatever itis ... it's nice."
Draco seemed to know exactly what he meant. "I have to agree with you, there. Perhaps it isn't completely orthodox, but I ... enjoy it, regardless."
Because it was right in their own mixed-up and utterly wrong little world.