A/N: I'm not too late, am I? Unbeta'd as usual, but I think I got all the spag. If you thought things were steamy before well, phew, it's going to get hot in here (with any luck.) But warning: It does get a bit more intimate here, there's some dirty talk in here, just because I can. Although whether it's any good or not... Any way, enjoy and, as always, please review.

Hooking Love

Chapter 7

It was the third decisive thrust of significant weight onto his right foot, coincidentally evening out the distribution to his left, that finally broke him. Due to the current exercise, Potter's head was in easy range of his arm without even a full extension. Therefore, the slap to the tufts of pitch hair at the back of his head, much akin to how one would playfully tap a mischievous schoolchild when misbehaving, was of no inconvenience. In fact, Draco would even venture to stress that it accented the spring in his natural dancer's step.

"What?!" Potter exclaimed, stressed and flustered and smelling the vague scent of a man beginning the journey from deodorised and relaxed to sweating, overworked and healthily fit. The smell one encounters at ones neighbourhood gym that one knows should never be attractive but is the purest form of masculinity and hard work that one is drawn in to drown in it, a guilty pleasure, if you will.

"That softness you feel under your soles, Potter," Draco said, unnervingly calm and collected, "that would be my foot. Despite your curly hair and big eyes, I didn't take you for a prepubescent girl. They are the only exception to the rule. I must stress, again, the importance of the floor at this point in our meeting."

"Ha-bloody-ha, Malfoy. It's not my fault nobody's ever thought it important that I learn how to waltz before."

"Yes, your lack of the correct education should be attributed to your classless elders; we all have our fallacies." Potter's mouth opened, apparently appalled by something. An awkward silence descended, the faint background music of a sensual but decisive rhythm tinkling softly somehow adding to the building tension, before Draco caught the averted gaze and embarrassed flush and picked up on Potter's unfortunate lack of dictionary skills. "Fallacies, you pleb! Get your mind out of that gutter! Now, on my count!" If there was a squeak of discomfort at the end of his phrasing then they both ignored it for the greater good.

He slipped his palm to it's original place over Potter's before his recoil of disgust, nudging at his skin with his nail, as harshly as humanly possible with the shorten growth he had to work with, at the inevitable missing of the count.

"Honestly, Potter, you obviously couldn't lead a dolphin to water, let alone a partner around the dance floor," Draco huffed, skipping back impatiently, his confidence in his unconquerable plan to convince of their undying love waning a little in his chest, his heart beat rising under the pressure.

"Aren't you the seasoned dancer here? Shouldn't you be compensating or something?" Potter shrugged helplessly in front of him, his tatty jeans - an offence worth jail time in Draco's sought upon opinion - dragging noisily along the tiled floor as he shuffled and wriggled his way towards the window.

"Get back here, young man," Draco ordered sternly, and didn't he sound just like his mother god help him, "you are not being distracted by rush hour traffic or all things. Compensation! I might as well dance a salsa alone. Come here. I shall lead. You will-"

"I'm not being the girl!" Potter interrupted venomously, his arms slamming into the air between them with great force and determination.

"What? Are you afraid, Potter? Honestly, anyone would think I'd asked you to pin the tail on the dragon. I'm not asking you to wear a tutu and skip around with a pair of fairy wings. I'm asking you to accompany me in an adult dance of affection where I shall attempt to whisk you around the dance floor and regale you as the love of my life in front of all your loved ones." Potter appeared hypnotised by his fairytale. "Devotion and all that rot," he added, to correct the lusty, besotted atmosphere that was rising. Dear Lord, he thought Potter had evidenced his passing of that phase with his seductive performance last night. A welcome change of tempo, to be sure.

"Afraid." He replied flatly, thankfully taking up the challenge, too much of an obvious one for Draco's liking but then Potter hadn't ever struck his as the brightest candle in the castle. "I don't think so. Whisk away, Mr. Malfoy." And there it was again, that smirk that looked slightly out of place on Potter's face and the confidence that intrigued Draco into stepping back into his personal space.

Of course. Of course, Draco could never resist the opportunity to try and make Potter's cheeks flush. And the easiest way to accomplish this? Draco's most natural medium? His tongue, obviously.

He would be his own doom really.

"I need you to imagine..." he murmured as he closed the remaining distance between them, laying his hand gently, suggestively, against Potter's upper bicep, where he could feel the muscle already quivering, excited. "...that we have been lovers for many, many months."

He let his voice drop to a breathy whisper, husky and alight with the passion that made him so successful at his job. His fingers were a caress as they swept along the sleeve seam of Potter's black t-shirt, never quite touching skin, but close, so close. Teasing. "That you have made love to me every night this week."

He skimmed one hand gently down Potter's side, breezing over the light rises of his ribs through the thin cotton and stopped at the delicate taper of his waist where hips smoothed down to powerful thighs that could hold and pull and lock; that would look perfect in a tailor fitted suit that hugged the curve of his pert buttocks like a second skin.

"Remember how I grasp your need firmly with my come stained hand as we slide to the side," he murmured, first only stroking his ring finger against Potter's lowest rib, the bone a slight swell under muscle and sinew that made up an athletic grace Draco had never really paid attention to before. Then he applied a little more pressure and arced forward through his backbone into Potter's body and practically dragged him in a large, sweeping step to his right.

"And think of the way I suck you down," his breath tickled, hot against Potter's lobe as he leaned in intimately, "all the way down; deep, as you force me back." Potter stumbled forward and Draco nimbly hopped back on the balls of his feet, his fingers dancing as much as his feet as they stroked their way down Potter's arm and settling on his wrist. He could feel the raised hairs on his arm, alert as if struck by electricity. He could feel the dull thumping of Potter's quickening pulse that raced faster and faster the more Draco pressed the pad of his thumb against the vein.

"What about when I lay waiting for you, open and ready? Think about that when we glide back the other way." His lips nuzzled against the scratching stubble of Potter's cheek and he could feel the softness of his in return, glancing off his ear and making him shudder straight down his spine and he wondered who out of the two of them really felt like they had been abandoned to fend for themselves in the midst of a raging storm.

"And when-"

"When I rut into the juncture of your thighs," Potter growled suddenly, their eyes meeting and Draco was reminded of a tiger he'd once seen at the zoo, half starved and blazing. Feral. His palm was encased and he was thrust backward, his steps uneven and stuttering as Potter surged in front of him. They didn't circle. They didn't even follow a set pattern. They dominated, first one , then the other; a battle for control, their fingers squeezing and creaking in each others' grip. Potter's other hand was fisted tightly into the white of his shirt, soaked from the adrenalin and exhilaration of the game by now.

And their lips. They were so close. Agonisingly so.

When the music stopped. It was abrupt. Unexpected. And both of them halted jarringly, too close. Potter's cool puffs of breath slid half into Draco's mouth with their proximity. He didn't look abashed one bit. The ruddy red that stained his cheekbones had nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with fervour and arousal. Draco should have been thinking about how his dancing master would have been appalled at his weak frame and abominable teaching methods. Instead, he was thinking about that scent. That overwhelming smell of Potter and want.

He should have been thinking that he had never been so excited on any other assignment, never been so involved or invested and about how Pansy was going to be such a smug-arse cow when she found out about their foreplay - because really, with all his real world intelligence, how could he call it anything else without downright lying to himself? - but instead he was wondering if Potter's mouth would taste of salt as much as the heat that permeated off of his flushed and gleaming skin.

It scarcely happened. No more than the first contact of strangers. Even less than a peck. Less than a school yard peck in a game of kiss chase with the threat of cooties. Barely there.

But it did. And there wasn't a sudden revelation or explosion of lust. The lust was already alive in his veins. There was only the thought that, yes, he could do that again but, no, he shouldn't tell Pansy Parkinson because she would be impossible to live with subsequently.

So, apparently doing a big bang takes a lot of time and effort. Who knew, eh? It's not like these where I write for an hour, edit and post. It's actually difficult!

Anyway, hope you enjoyed.

If so please review, it really spurs me to read them.

Even just a 'nice' or ':)'

Bella.