Why was he in here, in the bathroom, showering, when there was a warm and willing female in the other room?

Actually, strike that.

Why was he hiding out of sight when Ginny Weasley was in the other room, and she had practically thrown him down and had her way with him?

Draco Malfoy could no longer resist the urge to bang his forehead into the tiled wall. He did it a few times, but really, it helped matters not at all. His cock hung heavy and hard, demanding attention, and, to put the finest of points on it, wanking seemed like a better idea than doing something that could potentially injure his face. If nothing else, it was something that could take the edge off, distract him from the urge to do himself physical harm.

He'd maneuvered himself into this position; canceling her reservation and making sure their arrival coincided with a huge medical conference which would leave it nigh on impossible for her to find somewhere else to stay. That stupid phrase "to make one's bed and lie in it" surfaced briefly, but he had always considered it nonsensical; he had learnt how to properly make his bed when the house elves had been let go. Only heathens slept in a bed without hospital corners.

Draco sighed as he fisted his length, the water cascading around him providing enough lubrication. He allowed himself to imagine it was her hand on him, that her breasts pressed warm and slippery against his back. With practiced strokes, he lasted really no time at all, already worked up and wanting before he'd even gotten into the shower.

Panting, he held himself up by sheer dint of will, bracing his hands on either side of his head, still pressed against that slick tile. A few moments later, Draco fumbled blindly for the soap behind him. It squirted out of his hands, clattering loudly in the enclosure of steam and glass and pounding water. A few seconds passed as he tried to motivate himself to move. A few minutes passed as he soaped up and rinsed off. Then he stood there for a long while, water pounding into his skin (the reason why he likes this hotel in the first place is that the water pressure is incredible, and the hot water endless) before he worked up enough nerve to turn the knob and shut the water off.

He spent even more time dawdling in the slowly dissipating steam, drying himself carefully, rubbing the wet from his hair and combing it, moisturizing intently, before he finally wrapped the fluffy hotel robe around himself just so.

Even for him, the amount of time he has spent cloistered in the bathroom felt excessive, but he dreaded, positively dreaded opening that door to the great beyond.

Ginny was alseep, her face lax in slumber. That line she got between her brows was smoothed out and her mouth open just slightly. Draco felt a moment of marvel that he is here, with her, like this. It wasn't that he hadn't seen her sleep before; they'd been partners far too many times for him never to have seen her thus, and her sleep habits are odd enough that he's used to having to wake her groaning as though she had just fallen asleep.

He wondered at this sometimes (more lately, admittedly); the why and how of it. Draco has seen the evidence of her night-time wakefulness so often (dirty plates and cups, half-eaten meals in the fridge, her footprints around a campsite), but he had never once thought to ask the obvious. Why?

It seems stupid now that he never did. Cowardly, somehow.

He pulled the robe off, felt a little more foolish that he had wasted such an excellent opportunity to be with her (as he had those precious few other times), and put on a pair of silk pajama bottoms, fleece being much more comfortable in excessive cold.

Draco's mind went blank as he slid into place behind her. He pulled her close, pressing her back against his front, breathing in the scent at the back of her neck.

Draco knew he was dreaming. He knew that her proximity had led him to this place in the past. He didn't mind so much; it wasn't the worst place his subconscious could have taken him.

He recognized the tunnel with ease. They were somewhere under Chichen Itza, in late 2004. It was the first time they had worked together solo, and he had been apprehensive about having a Weasley as his only back-up. They were friends at that point, certainly, but that in no way meant that he had been comfortable with the fact that she practically held his life in her hands.

They were navigating deeper into the caverns, searching for the treasure they had been sent to find, to preserve; through tunnels of dirt and stone, and across chasms that seemed to stretch all the way down to the center of the earth.

They tried to get across what amounted to a log across a canyon, ever wary of any trap that might have sprung had they used magic. Halfway across his footing, so sure at any other time, faltered, and he felt himself slipping. He was horrified, shocked and most of all scared that he had breathed his last. He scrambled trying to stop the inevitable, trying to make a deal with gravity, trying to reach his wand. A hand grabbed his wrist, just as he realized he was doomed.

Draco Malfoy looked up, into the face of his savior, unable to do much more than choke back a scream. His other hand wrapped around the arm holding his, thoughts of his wand forgotten. Ginny's face was contorted and ugly with the effort she put into holding him above oblivion. Her legs straddled the log, crossed at the ankles to hold herself as firmly in place as she could. She leaned back and slightly sideways, pulling him up slowly, her eyes closed as she grunted in a most unladylike fashion. When he let go of her to grab the log, he honestly thought he was done for. But somehow, between them, he found himself on solid ground once again.

Dream-Draco breathed, and he recalled how he had felt so grateful to be doing so, so very thankful when he felt his lungs expand that he found a laugh bubbling up.

The lumos spell provided hardly enough illumination for him to do so, but he found her eyes without any problem. The redhead nodded, acknowledging him, somehow recognizing the feelings that cascaded through him, the exhaustion that nipped at his heels.

It was too intimate by half, staring at her like that- seeing her soul; and seeing himself through a dream when he knew that the real him had been too uncomfortable to acknowledge what had just happened and what hadn't happened thanks to her quick thinking.

"That was a hell of a catch, Weasley," he finally croaked.

"Yes, well." She took a deep breath, a smile curling the corners of her mouth, "I just didn't want to deal with the paperwork involved when there's a fatality. Don't get any funny idea's, Malfoy."

Her words were softened by the smile spreading across her face, her hand sweeping over the side of his face unexpectedly.

He leaned into her touch without thought.

She stood so abruptly; patting her thighs and rubbing her wrist vigorously, that he wondered what was wrong. If she had injured herself saving him.

As it happens so often in dreams, there's a sudden, disorienting shift in time, and Draco found himself in a fully set-up campsite. A smoke-less fire burned in front of two sleeping bags, and he slurped contentedly from a large cup of soup.

(Oh. No.)

He can't remember how the topic came up, but they argued about dancing, of all things. More specifically, her talent and ability to do so. Ginny looked so affronted, so very offended at the idea that he thought she couldn't dance that when he'd spat, unthinkingly, "You couldn't waltz if your life depended on it," he should have known what was coming next.

She waved her wand decisively in his direction and he was suddenly unable to move. In the dream, the surge of panic he'd felt was immediate. Draco tried, pointlessly, to move even just a fraction of an inch, before he heard her crunch across the sandy floor, saw her step out onto that damned log that was suspended so precariously across the abyss.

Her arms raised as if to clasp someone on the shoulders, he heard her count, "One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three."

He saw her feet move lightly in the steps of the waltz. Back and forth she went, twisting and turning, dipping and flying so lightly across the log that it might as well have been a ballroom floor. With a dramatic twist of her body she looked at him over her shoulder...

...And he was swimming, holding his breath under lukewarm, turquoise water. Ginny's hand snagged his ankle, and he looked back to see her disappear into the colorful reef they were searching. Fish, a thousand varieties of fins and scales, brushed past him as he adjusted his course to follow her. He would always follow her, he knew this distantly, and in the closest corners of his heart.

…She held his hair back from his forehead, giving him leverage to throw up everything in his stomach. Why had he had so much to drink? He groaned as his stomach cramped. Ginny murmured nonsense into his hair, he felt her breath, and he relaxed because nothing truly awful could happen with her taking care of him.

Dream and reality blended as he felt her hand trying to lift his arm, and he woke suddenly, completely. With a grunt he pulled her closer, pushed himself closer to her.

"You're not going anywhere," he said without bothering to open his eyes.

She huffed and twisted, trying to get free, but his arm around her middle was implacable.

"Stay," he said, wrapped in the fragrance of her.

Stay. Don't go. Please don't leave me.

She resisted at first, but she stills eventually, breath evening out and her limbs falling heavily in defeat. Barely awake, he enjoys the bounty of the senses that she gives him; the warmth, the scents, the feel of her that tingles along his extremities. His tongue darts out before he can stop it, and he tastes the flesh he has been smelling. She's salty and fragrant with the smokes and spices they walked through earlier.

…He had felt fear before. He had felt terror. He had felt pain. He had felt death. Screams, he knew they came from his mouth; made of bitter bile and the trembling of his limbs.

She turned white, then blue, and he was lost as to how to help her. She choked and gagged, fighting for breath. A hissing voice, "So very pretty. You will do just fine. You are strong," he fights like she fights, frantically, and though he knows this isn't real, he can't stop struggling.

Darkness, weighty and all-encompassing swept over him, and he swam through the current, reaching, reaching...

It's not real. Think of something else!

"Tom!"

Draco's arms pressed her closer, and he thought, remembered and they fell light as a pair of feathers to the Tahitian beach they had celebrated his 25th birthday on.

Ginny was sweaty and breathing like she had done something ridiculous like run a marathon or saved his life.

She fell to her knees, soft sand cushioning her joints and she looked up at him. Their palms met.

Knock-knock-knock.

He cracked an eye open, horrified when the alarm clock blinked 06:00 at him.

With the greatest effort, he managed to disentangle himself from Weasley. She had pushed him right up to edge of the bed, so it was less of a matter of getting up as it was letting himself fall. Thankfully the bed was close to the floor.

He stumbled to the door, and staggered back after directing the steward to leave the tray on the corner table. It took a few minutes, and Draco found himself pressing random notes of money (far too many) in the stewards palm to get him out faster. The stewards smirk was beatific as the crisp bills Draco had passed over disappeared into a pocket and he bowed his way out of the room.

Ginny wasn't asleep when he finally turned back to face her. Her brown eyes were heavy-lidded, but intent as she patted the small (miniscule, really) amount of empty space behind her.

The scent of tea and coffee followed him into sleep.

...They stood on the hill overlooking the Manor. Her hand was small in his, and he squeezed it once or twice to be sure it was real. Ginny smiled at him, her red hair caught in the sunlight, so bright it hurt, and he...

Was awake. Again.

Ginny's breathing hitched and she rolled over. His hand cupped her jaw without thought and her eyes fluttered. Oh sweet Merlin, he was hard as a spike; his hips helplessly jerking to find friction. He wanted her so badly, he might as well not have gotten off the night before.

Her hand trailed down, finger tips sparking a firelit path down. Draco held his breath. She didn't disappoint- her fingers wrapped around his shaft as her smile became ever more mischievous.

There was light filtering through curtains too flimsy to hold back day. He felt that bone-deep certainty again- that he loves her. This witch who tears him to pieces, who puts him back together, who molds every single part of him that makes him a man. Well, Draco Malfoy would do anything for her.

He pushed her hair back from her face, the better to gaze at her expressions, and was taken aback at what he saw there: Naked want. A groan he didn't recognize filtered up from his deepest core. Want and need and something he was so prepared for, but he could barely name it.

Draco pulled her as close as he could and rolled her on top of him, needing to feel her weight, needing to feel her. She squeaked, and he was enraptured by the sound, by the streams of sunlight that tickled over her skin. She was lovely in shadow, but incandescent in daylight.

Her face, her form, her scent, her feel was burned into his memory.

His hands skimmed up her sides, roving delicately over curves that had haunted him for years. He wasn't afraid to admit that anymore.

Draco kissed her before his mouth ran away with him.

Yup. I'm just going to stop saying that the end is coming up, because I've no idea anymore. Anyway, I managed to get this one up pretty quickly :)

A thousand thanks to Nutmeg44, Katereena and Nova.81 for their reviews. My hat is also off for those of you who have favorited and the rest of you reading. I appreciate you!