A/N: Okay, a couple things. First off, I need to point out, given that this is a fanfiction site after all, that I wrote the sonnet. I won't tell you any more than that, I don't want to spoil the fun, but the sonnet is, in fact, original work. There is no such person as Nicholas Skyes, only me.

Also, no yelling about Harry being a prude. He's just trying to be responsible. And not to worry; like I've said, sexy times come next chapter, also known as tomorrow. There's a teeeeeny chance I won't be able to publish something because it's my dad's 60th birthday and I think we're doing something special, but I'm sure I can squeeze in a minute or two to get it up (hehe, get it up).

Also, because I can't help teasing you guys, chapter twenty is bloody hilarious. Yesterday I found myself sitting around thinking of names of wizard sex books. Clearly this is a sign I've gone completely bonkers. But it's also a bit fluffy, and has its fair share of angst, but mostly just silliness.

And, for those of you waiting on the edge of your seats, Draco's big weekend secret will be revealed in chapter twenty-one. I know I promised nineteen, and then twenty, but like I keep telling you, this story has a mind of its own, and it got away from me yet again. This time, though, I swear, chapter twenty-one. Mark my words.

Chapter Fourteen:

I wouldn't say that if I were you.

Harry ran into Neville in the common room, for which he was eternally grateful. He kept forgetting he had urgent business with him, and if he waited too much longer, his plans would be ruined.

"Hey, Neville," Harry said, sliding into the seat opposite him. "Have I ever told you how brilliant you are?"

Neville narrowed his eyes. "What do you want, Harry?"

"Want? Why would I—"

"Just spit it out. I've got to meet Rory at nine-thirteen exactly to stir our potion."

"You wouldn't happen to be able to get your hands on any gillyweed, would you?" Harry asked. "By, say, tomorrow night?

"You could've given me more warning," Neville huffed. "But yeah, I suppose I can. What do you need it for?"

"Better not to ask," Harry said, standing up. "Thanks, mate. You're a lifesaver."

Neville rolled his eyes. "Sure, Harry. Whatever."

Harry walked over to Heidelberg's portrait and raised his hand to knock when the shepherd yelled, "Wait! Don't do that."

"I have a study session scheduled," Harry said. "They're not going to be shagging, not when they've got essays to write."

Heidelberg rolled his eyes. "I know that. They act like I'm not even here; I know everything that goes on in that room. But did it ever occur to you that there's a better way to get in than slamming your dirty fist against my face?"

"Er, no?" Harry said.

"There's a portrait of a pasture in their room," he explained, as if to a small child. I can just go up there and announce your presence."

"Oh, thanks," Harry said. "That's rather brilliant."

Heidelberg puffed out with the compliment. "I'll be right back, then," he said, and disappeared out the side of the portrait. Harry waited patiently, and a minute later he was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the bed, books and parchment spread around him in a mess that Hermione kept eyeing as if it was going to jump up and attack her.

"I swear, Muggle Studies is the daftest class," Ron muttered angrily.

"Ron!" Hermione gasped. "Imagine if your father heard you say that!"

"Well he's not here, Hermione, now is he?" Ron snapped back.

Harry sighed, figuring he ought to intervene. "What do you need help with?"

"It's this bloody parliament business," Ron said. "Something about Tories?"

Harry spent the next hour lecturing Ron on the intricacies of parliament, which Hermione was eager to point out wouldn't have been necessary if Ron had paid attention to class in the first place. Eventually Harry was allowed to go back to his own essay, and they studied in silence before Ron finally burst out,

"So you're dating Malfoy then, are you?"

Harry flushed, keeping his eyes on his parchment. "Er, yeah, suppose so."

There was a moment of silence; the scratching of quills and the ruffling of pages had stopped, each of the three wondering if there was going to be another fight.

"What on earth do you see in him?"

"He's…he's not what you think," Harry said uncomfortably, thinking of the conversation the night before. "A lot of what he did was forced on him."

"I'm more concerned about the years he spent torturing you than the war," Ron said. "We all did things we didn't want to then."

"Yes, well…" Harry trailed off. He had a strong suspicion Draco's hatred of him stemmed out of a secret infatuation, but Draco hadn't actually said that and even if he had, Harry was fairly certain he shouldn't share that information. "It's complicated," he settled on. "You could always talk to him yourself, you know."

"Oh, yes, that'll end well," Ron replied.

"Harry has a point," Hermione said quietly. "It might not be a bad idea for the four of us to sit down and have a talk."

Harry and Ron both gave her a disgusted look. "You think too much, Hermione," Harry said. "That's your problem."

"And yours is that you don't think enough," Hermione snapped back.

"Just no more secrets, okay?" Ron interrupted. "I mean, don't tell us, y'know, everything," he stammered, blushing. "But, y'know, the big things. Like where you've been the past couple nights."

"In the Room of Requirement," Harry said, turning his eyes back to his paper. "Talking and stuff. Mostly sleeping."

"Sleeping, eh?"

Harry blushed. "Yeah, Ron. Sleeping." He paused, debating how honest to be. "And, er, snogging, a bit."

"He's a good kisser, then, I suppose?"

This whole conversation seemed so surreal, to be talking with Ron about Draco's kissing abilities. He almost thought someone slipped something into his pumpkin juice at lunch. "Yeah, I guess," Harry muttered.

"Better than Ginny?"

Oh, Merlin, Harry thought, wishing with all his might he could disapparate. "I—"

"Ron, don't make him answer that," Hermione said firmly. "Merlin's beard, how would you feel if Harry asked you to compare my kissing to Lavender's?"

"Oh, that's easy," Ron said. "Lavender was all slobbery, it was actually kind of gross, like snogging a dog. You're much better than that."

"I'm better then a gross, slobbery dog," Hermione said coolly. "Thanks, Ron. That's quite a compliment."

This time Harry had no desire to interrupt their argument, to turn the topic back to him and Draco. He bent over his paper, laboriously scratching out the electoral process. Eventually he glanced up at the clock—five-thirty, and he had still given no thought as how to get Draco into Gryffindor colors.

"Hey, 'Mione?" he asked. "How do you transfigure the color of someone's robes?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid you'll have to tell me why you need this information before I give it to you."

"Just ties and stuff," Harry said, sidestepping her demand. "Ties and, like, the bits of color around the collar and cuffs."

"Again, Harry, why?"

Against his better judgment, Harry launched into how he and Draco had been playing Quidditch for stakes, and how he was now bound to wear Gryffindor colors all weekend. By the time he finished talking Ron was howling with laughter, while Hermione was frowning.

"Harry, I'm not sure if that's a good idea."

"Course it is!" Ron said, still laughing. "It's bloody brilliant! Imagine the look on his dad's face if he ever saw his precious Slytherin son dressed as a Gryffindor!"

"From what I've gathered, Draco's been having a hard enough time with the Slytherins as it is," Hermione said. "I hardly think parading him around as a Gryffindor is going to mend any fences."

"Merlin, Hermione, how do you know everything?" Harry said, exasperated. "He's fine. He'd have told me if there was a real problem. Besides, we'll probably spend all weekend in the Room of Requirement." He realized too late how that sounded, and started backtracking furiously.

"Alright," Hermione said unsurely. "If you really want to know, I'll teach you. Ron, come here, would you?"

Ron's laughter stopped. "Why do I have to be the guinea pig?" he asked. "It's Harry's idea, he should ruin his own robes."

"Nobody's robes are going to be ruined," Hermione said patiently. "Harry, come here. You've just got to focus on the color you want, and say Culario moltari!" Ron's shirt immediately turned a bright pink, causing Ron to attempt the spell himself to reverse it, but all that happened was a dark purple splotch appeared, making it look as though he had spilled ink down himself. "Harry, you try. And Ron, stop stabbing at it. I'll fix it later."

Somewhat dubiously, Harry performed the charm, and was pleased to see he had mastered it the first try. "That wasn't so bad," he said, Ron crossing his arms protectively over his now black shirt.

"But you told me you need to do small lines, not big areas. Come on, have a go at my sleeve," she said, offering her arm out. Harry's first attempt resulted in turning the entire sleeve green, but by five of, he had gotten the hang of it. They walked down to the Great Hall together before Harry split off to go downstairs.

"Thanks, for all the help, 'Mione," he said. "I'll see you two later, yeah?"

"You're not coming to dinner?" Hermione asked, clearly readying a lecture.

"Draco and I are eating in the kitchens," he said. "He needs some time to get used to his new colors."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Be nice to him, would you?"

"Blimey, never thought I'd hear you say that," Ron said.

Harry walked away before he could get sucked into the conversation and found Draco waiting nervously for him in front of the door to the kitchens.

"Harry, I really don't think—"

"Shut up, and hold still. I only just learned how to do this," Harry interrupted, pointing his wand first at Draco's tie, which obediently turned Gryffindor colors. Draco flinched. Harry did his collar, then said, "Hold out your arms, it'll all be over in a second." Very stiffly, Draco lifted his arms, and was soon Gryffindor from head to toe. Harry stepped back to admire his handiwork. "Very nice," he said. "Oh, and one more thing…" He pointed his wand lower, and uttered the spell.

Draco turned bright pink. "Did—did you turn my boxers red and gold?"

Harry grinned wickedly. "I may have. Come on, I'm starving." Harry pushed open the door and Draco followed hesitantly. They sat at the table by the fireplace, food quickly appearing in front of them.

"See?" Harry said. "It's not so bad."

Draco glared at him. "I hate you, you bloody Scarheaded prat."

"You forget I have the ultimate trump card in name calling," Harry said lightly.

"Daft idiot half-blooded mongrel who spends all his time with the scum of the school," Draco snapped.

"Watch yourself," Harry said conversationally. "You know I can win this game with a single word."

Draco burst into a string of muggle swears, startling Harry with his familiarity of anything muggle. "Fucking blowhard son of a whore who couldn't magic his way out of a paper bag, even if there were neon signs pointing the way."

"Ferret," Harry said, rather kindly. "You're just a little bouncing ferret, and the whole school knows it."

Draco stared at him, furious, high spots of color on his cheeks. Harry thought he looked delicious. He was clearly searching for a comeback, for something to say that was worse than being called a ferret, but he couldn't seem to come up with anything. Then: "At least I'm not part Voldemort."

Harry's spoon clattered to the plate, and he went deathly pale. "How do you know about that?" he asked quietly, calmly, dangerously.

Draco smirked. "I'll never tell."

Harry's wand was out of his pocket and pointed at Draco before he realized what he was doing. "You take that back," he spat. "Voldemort killed that part of me. He's gone."

Draco shrugged delicately. "Maybe. You might be right, I certainly wouldn't know. I do know that you have your wand pointed at me, someone you supposedly care about, and look ready to kill me."

A stream of green light shot out of his wand, knocking Draco back. Harry stepped around the table nervously; he wasn't sure what exactly the spell had done, only how furious he had been when he cast it. Draco was lying on the floor with green ropes binding his wrists and ankles together behind his back, rendering him helpless. Harry decided that wasn't too bad, though Draco did look rather terrified. Wand still pointed at him, he said, "I am nothing like Voldemort." He waved his wand and the binds were gone. Draco sat on the floor, rubbing his wrists, staring at Harry in awe. "And I'll not have you forget it. If you ever, ever, say anything like that again, you won't get off nearly so easily."

"I—yeah, okay."

Harry's eyes lost their dangerous look, and he tucked his wand back into his pocket. He offered Draco a hand, and Draco took it hesitantly, letting Harry help him to his feet.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, working to meet Harry's penetrating gaze. "I didn't think—"

"No, you didn't," Harry interrupted. He leaned forward and brushed his lips ever so lightly against Draco's cheek. "It's alright. I probably overreacted. Just don't ever bring it up again." Harry pulled him into a hug and felt Draco slowly relax against him. "You have no idea…"

Draco rubbed a hand over his back, and Harry suddenly had to blink back tears. "You're nothing like him," Draco said softly.

"I have nightmares…" Harry started, then cut off. He pulled away brusquely, and sat back at his seat. "Anyway, what were we talking about?"

"I think you were making fun of me for having gold boxers," Draco said, teeth clenching. "Potter, you better know how much I care about you, to bring that up when you'd finally forgotten."

Harry smiled at him, any trace of anger gone. "Yes, that's right. You'll look good in gold, I think. I'll find out soon enough."

"I'd look even better out of them," Draco replied, the last vestiges of his fear melting away. "Oh, and by the way, next time you want to tie me up, just let me know first."

Harry's eyes widened. "I—er, you…?"

Draco smiled lightly, as if they were discussing the weather. "I've done more than you're measly little brain could possibly think of," he drawled. "Topped, bottomed, been bound and gagged, spankings, paddlings…why, the list goes on and on."

Harry was a dark red. "Er—"

"And you, poor little Potty," Draco said, taking Harry's chin in one hand, jerking his face from one side to the other, evaluating. "You haven't done anything."

Harry yanked his head free. "At least I don't sleep with people just because they're there."

Draco sighed, disappointed. "No, you wouldn't. You're much too noble for that. It's a shame, really; you'll never understand the delight of fucking just for the sake of pleasure."

"At least I'll show you what it's like to be really cared about," Harry shot back. "To be in a relationship without being used to gain money, status, whatever. I might be naïve, but I'd take that any day over your conquests."

Draco had the decency to look hurt. Or maybe he actually was, Harry couldn't tell. "I've had real relationships before," Draco said, chagrined. "Or, one, I suppose. Summer love and all that. Father was over the moon that I was dating a Greengrass, but it fell apart once I realized she was a total twat."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, Draco, not a real relationship. You have to actually care about the person."

"So I suppose what you and Ginny had was real?" Draco said, spitting out her name.

"Yeah, it was," Harry countered defensively.

"And so is what you and I have."

Harry flushed. "Yeah."

"Then I'll be in charge of the shagging, and you'll show me how to be a proper boyfriend," Draco said. He frowned. "That doesn't involve shagging, does it?"

Harry smiled. "Eventually."

Draco shook his head, amazed at himself. "What on earth have I gotten myself into?"

Harry, being in charge of the Room of Requirement, made a few adjustments to Draco's room. The plush couch was back, Gryffindor red, and the bed hangings were in Gryffindor colors as well. In place of the antique rug was a shag carpet, and Harry immediately took off his shoes and socks, burrowing his toes deep into the pile. The dresser and bookcase were still there, though Harry had added another few shelves filled with his Quidditch books, books Hermione had given him for holidays, some old books from the Black house, and even a few muggle books he had grown fond of over the summers. The Malfoy crest was gone, replaced with a Chudley Cannons banner. Harry might not support the team himself, but he had grown used to having the glaring orange on his walls. He also saw, to his surprise, the picture he had of his mum and dad adorning the mantle, next to the clock, and another picture of him, Ron and Hermione smiling and waving happily. Those had been on his dresser in his room; how had the Room known about that? Had it copied them, or were these the originals?

"How very homey," Draco drawled, collapsing on the couch in front of the fireplace. "Not a trace of taste anywhere."

"Hey, I left your books," Harry said, sitting next to him, wondering if it was alright for him to cuddle without the premise of a nightmare.

Draco looked over at the bookcase, raised his wand, and silently summoned an ancient tomb. It looked well read, and Draco flipped open to a page that looked ready to fall out. He drew Harry to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, Harry resting his head on Draco's chest. Draco started to read, Harry falling into the same trance as when Draco had sang.

He stood before me, an unknown vision

Thrumming through mine veins, a barcarole to soothe

What before had been tragic collision,

A heart as scabrous as mine now shined smooth.

Emerald eyes held mine hostage 'til time

Split in two, the world did fly away

Lips caught mine in ever most sublime

Naught but words sent from heavens could convey

He stoked the fire caught within, brought me

To my very knees, penance for the presence

I brought him under the stars of Capry,

Light sparking through his hair in the crescents.

For a lifetime I'd search for him, that boy

Who left this poor man a shattering joy.

"It's by a muggle poet; I had to hide the book from Father," Draco said. "Nicholas Skyes. I've had this book since I can remember. That's my favorite, but—" Harry interrupted him with a kiss, tangling his hands in Draco's hair.

"That was amazing," Harry breathed. "I had no idea…"

Draco laughed. "That I'd be interested in muggle poetry? What can I say, it's a weakness of mine. I'm particularly fond of Chaucer, the dirty bastard, but Skyes will always be my favorite.

"You are amazing," Harry said, and Draco smiled, practically glowing in the firelight.

"I know," he said. "You're not too bad yourself, even if you don't read me poetry by a roaring fire. That's what people in 'real relationships' do, right?" Draco asked, using air-quotes. "I suppose you'll be making me go for a long walk on the beach next."

Harry grinned. "I'd rather play Quidditch."

Draco laughed, the sound resonating through his chest, Harry nearly tingling from the sensation. "Good answer." Draco flew the book back to the shelf, and pursed his lips. "Y'know, if we want to have Slughorn's potion done in time, we really ought to start it tonight."

Harry groaned. "You read me poetry, make me all weak in the knees, and then expect me to do potions? What's wrong with you?"

Draco laughed again. "The bottom drawer of the dresser has ingredients. Fetch me eye of newt, bat wings and the vial of dragon blood, would you?"

Harry wanted to protest, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. Besides, maybe if he got the materials, Draco would do the actual brewing, and he wouldn't have to think about it. When he returned, Draco had magicked a cauldron floating in midair, a small shelf next to it, and Harry put the bottles down on that.

"This shouldn't be hard," Draco said, carefully measuring out each ingredient. "It just needs to simmer for ages."

"What is it again?" Harry asked, leaning back. He'd been too busy with his—and Ron's—Muggle Studies essays to have even considered potions.

"A restorative," Draco replied, stirring carefully. "Rather like the one I gave to you after you so gracefully flew into my broom, but more powerful. Also a great cure for hangovers, though I suppose Slughorn would rather we not know that. Here, take over stirring. Clockwise, Harry, don't be daft. Healing potions are always clockwise."

"Uh huh," Harry said, sliding into Draco's seat as he got his bag and rejoined Harry on the couch. Draco conjured a table and began spreading his books out. "What're you doing?"

"Herbology essay," Draco replied. "On why the putribilibus cucurbitae is worth growing." He glanced at Harry. "Don't stop stirring, not until I say so."

"So you get to do actual homework, while I sit here and stir?"

Draco smirked. "I'm wearing your bloody Gryffindor colors; you'll do anything I say, and you'll like it. And before you throw a fit, remember that's our potion, and if you screw it up, we'll both get bad marks."

Harry stewed angrily as he watched Draco do his Herbology essay. Not that Herbology was particularly fascinating, especially not the putribilibus cucurbitae, but at least he was doing something. Harry took his wand out of his pocket and absentmindedly began changing the colors of random objects; the dresser went from its natural wooden color to a vivid green, then a deep blue, followed by a light periwinkle. The bookshelf became a dazzling red, and the carpet faded rose.

"Harry, pay attention to the potion," Draco said mildly as his table started flashing between black and white, finally ending up a checkerboard.

"I am," Harry replied, momentarily turning Draco's parchment bright pink before quickly changing it back at the look he got. "Clockwise. I got it."

Eventually, Draco closed his Herbology book and inspected the potion. "I imagine that's enough for tonight," he said, sending the cauldron into the corner. "It'll have to be checked on tomorrow morning, of course," he added with a pointed look at Harry.

"I don't understand you at all," Harry said. "Giving me the busywork of the potion, when you could've just enchanted it to stir itself. Clockwise isn't exactly rocket science."

Draco raised a delicate eyebrow. "You could have, too," he said. "Besides, it had to get done, and I wanted a head start on my Herbology essay."

"Oh, so you have better things to do with your time, while I've got nothing better to do that stir a potion for an hour."

"Harry, don't be ridiculous. It wasn't a second over forty-five minutes. I was keeping an eye on the clock."

Harry threw up his hands in exasperation. "You. Are. Hopeless," he said, carefully enunciating each word.

Draco smiled wickedly. "I am, am I?" he asked softly, sliding over to Harry, pressing their bodies together. "I hardly think you know me well enough to make such a broad statement," he said, trailing a finger down Harry's chest. "There's plenty I'm quite skilled at."

Harry grabbed his hand. "You'll not seduce me out of being mad at you."

"Are you sure about that?" Draco asked, removing his jumper and undershirt in one smooth motion. "Not even if I sit in front of you, wearing only a Gryffindor tie and boxers?" he asked, gracefully slipping out of his shoes, socks and slacks. "Because I rather thought that's why you agreed to the deal," he said, mussing his hair with one hand and loosening his tie slightly with the other. "What do you think, Harry? Are you sufficiently distracted?"

Harry couldn't answer. His eyes were raking over Draco's body, taking everything in, lingering on the tie. There was something utterly irresistible about Draco in nothing but a tie, especially with his hair hanging in face like that.

"Harry," Draco drawled, shifting so he was facing Harry, sitting on his legs, leaning back on his arms. He tossed his head back, exposing the marks Harry had made the night before. "You didn't answer my question. Don't you like me like this?"

Harry licked his lips, trying to find his voice.

"Harry," Draco whispered, locking eyes. "Have I been bad?"

Harry let out a low growl and launched himself at Draco, pushing him back so he was lying on top of him. His lips crashed against Draco's, his hands flying over his chest, pausing only to pinch a nipple or dip quickly into his bellybutton. Draco was gasping and moaning beneath him, and it was all Harry could do to not rut against him. Instead he focused on Draco's mouth, on how soft his lips were and how delicious he tasted; Harry was fairly convinced he could get drunk off the taste. Draco's hands flew to his hair, then slid down his back, pulling up at Harry's shirt and jumper.

"Get these off," he panted. When Harry took more than a split second to oblige, Draco grabbed his wand and waved it distractedly at Harry. His jumper and pants vanished, but his socks and undershirt remained. "Goddammit," Draco breathed. "I can't bloody do this when you've gotten me all—all like this."

Harry smiled roguishly and removed his shirt and socks on his own. Draco dropped his wand as Harry's lips found his already sensitive neck. There were tiny shoots of pain at the bruised skin being sucked and bitten, but Draco didn't have the presence of mind to complain, nor did he particularly mind. Especially not when Harry started playing with the waistband of his boxers, teasing him, threatening to slide his hand inside and then pulling out.

"Harry," Draco whined. "Don't—"

"You want me to stop, then?" Harry asked, sounding only a little breathless.

"I'll curse you if you do," Draco replied, reaching up and pulling him back down to his lips.

Harry still didn't feel as if he knew what he was doing, but Draco certainly didn't seem to mind. He was panting and moaning, squirming beneath his body, aching for his touch, and Harry was more than happy to oblige. He forced himself to move slowly, to find every sensitive spot, to make sure they each got the attention they deserved. The hollow just beneath his throat, the curve of his hipbone, a spot between two of his ribs. Each got its own careful ministration.

Harry skipped over Draco's boxers, feeling only a little awkward, mostly just focused on providing Draco with as much pleasure as he could. He found the spots behind Draco's knees to be incredibly sensitive, as well as the insides of his thighs, and just next to his anklebone. By the time Harry moved back up for a kiss Draco was practically keening, his body shaking, mind shot through with pleasure. Harry grabbed his tie and pulled him up, Draco anchoring himself on Harry's shoulders as Harry ravished his mouth. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, Harry pulled away, working hard to control his breathing, and lay down on Draco, resting his head on his chest, gently stroking the over-sensitized skin.

"Harry," Draco breathed. "You…I don't believe you," he stammered.

"Don't believe what?" Harry asked, regaining his composure, feeling almost calm.

"There is no way you haven't been with a boy before," Draco managed. "You just…"

Harry smiled against his skin, taking great pleasure in making Draco talk in this state. "I just what?"

Draco made a protesting noise. Instead of answering verbally, he shifted his hips slightly, and Harry felt a sudden hardness against his hip. Harry froze, which Draco seemed too hazy to realize.

"Draco," Harry said warningly, but Draco seemed to take it as encouragement, and lightly thrust against him. "Draco, don't. Later."

His words finally penetrated, and Draco let out a frustrated groan. "You'll have to get off me, then," he sighed. "I've got to take a shower."

"You…" Harry trailed off. The thought of Draco wanking to him in the shower, the shower that was a single wall away, was almost excruciating.

"I've got to take care of this somehow," Draco stated, starting to get his voice under control. "How is up to you."

Harry let out a shuddering sigh. "Alright. Take a shower."

Draco made a small, involuntary whimper of disappointment. "You have to get up, then."

Harry sat up, immediately missing the full-body contact. Draco stretched, showing off his long, lean body, and stood gracefully, though Harry could see he was still shaking. He could see other things, too, covered by only a thin layer of silk. Draco saw his staring, and smirked.

"Last chance, Harry," he said throatily.

Harry shook his head, nearly all of his brain screaming at him to drag Draco back onto the couch and finish what he had started. But there was a small bit that was still thinking rationally, and, however much he wanted Draco, he knew he ought to wait.

"Alright, then." Draco sauntered into the bathroom, swishing his hips, and closed the door behind himself. Half a moment later, the door opened again, and Draco stuck his head out. "Why've we got to wait, again?" he asked, eyes dark with lust.

Harry found it terribly difficult to come up with an answer. "I've not done this before," he said. "I want to take it slow."

"Why?" Draco moved around a bit, then said, "I'm completely naked, except for your tie. Are you sure there's nothing you'd like to do about that?"

Harry closed his eyes. "There are an awful lot of things I'd like to do about it," he said, voice only barely cracking. "But not tonight. You'll just have to wait."

Draco, grumbling with annoyance, closed the door, rather harder than he needed to. A moment later Harry heard the shower turn on, and he gripped the cushions, thinking he'd need the shower himself once Draco was done.