GHOSTS
IV
Desperate

***

"I hate you, you know," hands playing desperately with white-blond hair, not bothering to muffle his moans.
"I know." Smirked, left a trail of kisses and soft nips down his lover's chest. "I'm not overly fond of you, either." Nimble fingers unbuttoned a pair of faded blue jeans, played with the zipper, danced over thin cotton underwear.
"God that feels good ... Why do you do this, then?"
Fingers playing now with the elastic waistband, almost tentatively snaking inside and right back out, lips and tounge seeking lips and tounge, fusing together for one desperate second before minds caught up with bodies and remembered just -who- they were kissing. And then thought, sod it all, and kept right on going.
"Well," between moans and other murmured noises and another mouth keeping his silent, "it's certainly not for your money, Weasley."

***