Les Goûts et les Couleurs (ne se Discutent pas)
The Tastes and the Colors (are not Discussed)
by Charli J
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There's an awkward break in mordant insults where Harry glares, Draco says, "What, Potter, do you think I look good? You going to kiss me?" and then Harry does. The air rushes from Draco's lungs, and his body tenses at the crude crush of lips, in shock. Harry grapples with the sleeves of Draco's robes, unsure if he should hold on or drop his hands. He, instead, clutches Draco's collar and pulls him closer. The kiss is sloppy and mostly unresponsive. Harry's lips, slightly chapped, press along Draco's soft, moist mouth - of course he keeps them moisturized and supple! - and they're simply standing there breathing until Draco tries to talk, breathe, something, and Harry takes the advantage. Footsteps are heard in a hall nearby, coming closer. Any second they'll be caught and the punishment will be worth it just to embarrass Draco and up the ante. Draco's mumbling things, trying to yank his body away. Harry digs his fingers into his shoulders and something possesses him to shift his hips forward a little, and it's pure genius, it's classic, it's - war. "War," Draco's hissing, squirming because he can't get out of Harry's grip. It's definitely a war and will always be, because one will never out-do the other. Still, Harry's won this battle, and the stakes just soared. Insults and magic are acceptable, expected, but this was hardly planned. Draco set up the pins and Harry knocked them down, and he's almost smiling into the horrible kiss. Draco grunts and bites at Harry's lips, and Harry wonders if, this close, it's possible for Draco to tell what he's thinking. Draco manages to raise his hands and push Harry just as the click; click of boots heightens and then stops. Professor McGonagall catches them fighting on the floor, Harry struggling to get Draco off him and his hands away from his neck. * Hermione cranes her neck. "Harry!" she says. He's getting a little tired of everyone shouting by way of a decent greeting, as if he's constantly being caught doing something -- "Your lip. You're bleeding!" Hermione continues. -- Though, maybe he is. Harry explains, and Hermione listens with a worried look on her face. Her teeth peel back the skin on her bottom lip, methodically - neat slides of enamel over flesh. Harry pauses momentarily to close his mouth tightly until Hermione realizes that she's staring at his bruises and resorts to picking at her robes, instead. "This is crazy," she says, and frowns. "Harry, what were you thinking? This is Malfoy, we're talking about, here." Harry's triumphant smile fades. "I was thinking that Malfoy deserved to have his witty remarks shoved right back down his throat," Harry answers, stoically. Hermione makes a small throaty sound. "Even so," she says, regarding Harry seriously, "you've just given him reason ridicule you until the day one of you dies." "I'm fairly certain he'll do that anyway," Harry counters. "This only makes it worse." "Not much, I'm sure." "That's not the point!" "What is?" "You. You, erugh." Hermione's cheeks redden in visible frustration. "You kissed Malfoy!" * Harry's never considered himself evil; he passed up Slytherin for goodness sake, but blackmail is such a tempting possibility. Draco talks loudly when he isn't driving calculated insults at people. Harry glances at him occasionally throughout breakfast, sometimes catching him laughing openly, or staring someone in the eye, speaking directly. Once, Harry looks up across the room and Draco's already got his eyes on Harry. Draco arches eyebrow, grinning smugly and then turns his head away to scowl at Crabbe nudging his arm. As the houses leave the Great Hall, Draco cuts in front of Harry. "It would do you good, Potter," he says, holding Harry's stare, "to keep your wandering eyes off of me. Wouldn't want anyone to hear about your pansy tendencies, would we?" Harry manages to seem moved by that threat, though they both know Draco isn't going to say anything. Draco would jump at the chance to spread rumors about Harry preferring the Hogwarts boys to the girls, but the evidence involves Draco himself - kissing Harry Potter, no less. "Unless you're willing to share yours," Harry retorts. Draco sneers, slightly baring his teeth. Harry gives him a close-lipped smile, waiting patiently. Ron and Hermione catch up with Harry, and Draco walks off without confrontation. "What was that about?" Ron's asks, glaring at Draco's back. Harry turns the smile onto his friends. "Nothing," he says, cheerily. "No good will come of this," Hermione mutters at Harry's side as they walk through the halls. Harry only nods in recognition. * He has a headache from Tuesday to Friday, and then McGonagall schedules detention for that evening after a long Quidditch practice. He and Draco are stuck cleaning out rooms that Harry's pretty sure never get used anymore. The dust gets into his nose and irritates his sinuses. Harry sneezes as he's sweeping the dust from a corner. Across the room, Draco says, "Keep your germs to yourself, Potter." "Excuse me, Malfoy. I'll try to suffer silently from now on." Harry wills himself not to give Draco the satisfaction of seeing his face. The air has been tense since the punishment started, and Draco had referred to Harry as Prancing Pansy Potter when Filch's back was turned. "Just because you're over there dying, doesn't mean you have to disease me, as well," Draco snapped. Deciding to ignore Draco, Harry starts humming. Halfway into a tune he realizes that it's a childhood song. His head is throbbing as if his brain is going pound through the skull. Frustrated, and humming the same tune, he says, "At my funeral, I want them to do the Hokey Pokey." "Are you always this morbid?" Draco asks, stopping to lean against the wall and watch Harry, faintly amused. "I always thought you liked boys, but honestly. Are you obsessed with death, too?" "Still dwelling on our little 'interlude'?" Harry answers Draco's question with one of his own. He brushes the hair from his forehead. "Didn't think it would affect you this much." "Oh, please," Draco, drawls. "My left hand would be a better snog." "It wasn't good for me, either," Harry says simply. Draco huffs; clearly unsettled. He stepped closer to Harry and raised his chin. "Not that it matters, but for your information, I'm great kisser." "Call me 'hard to please', but your outstanding impression of rigor mortis wasn't exactly gratifying." Draco closed the distance between them and swept Harry up. The force he used to grab Harry contrasted the gentle crush of their lips. Harry's muscles unfroze after a stunned moment, his mouth pliable against Draco's. Draco tastes like mint, and Harry's breath are clear and crisp with the flavor. He's thinking about dead bodies and the hokey pokey playing softly through the speakers at a funeral. Draco places his hand on Harry's throat, cradling his face between thumb and forefinger, as the other had traces the corner of Harry's mouth. Dead and drab melts away into fields of vibrant orange poppies, and that same damn children's song is filling the sky. Draco shifts, trapping Harry between a cabinet and himself. He licks at Harry's lips, over the bite mark he left from before, and Harry groans. Somehow their bodies aligned, and Harry can feel all of Draco, and it's maddening. Red, orange, white flowers, an infuriating tune, and this - Harry muses -- is probably what insanity is like. That's what it's all about, he thinks as Draco pulls away. He pants and flips all unruly hairs back into place. Harry's flushed, he can feel the heat rushing up from his toes to head, warming him everywhere except his mouth where his teeth chatter, mouth impossibly cold. "Joining in on the prancing?" Harry says, rather feebly. Draco blinks. His mouth breaks into a smug grin, spreading unhurriedly over his face. "You wish, Potter," Draco says, smugly. "But I couldn't have you out there talking with your friends the way you were - letting other people think I don't know to ravage someone properly." Harry rolls his eyes as Draco goes back to finish working on his side of the room. He isn't that Draco considers what Harry thinks about his skill and technique is more important than potential blackmail. * "Again, Harry?" Hermione is annoyed. "You're asking for trouble." Harry shrugged. "He kissed me this time." "Who kissed who?" Ron asked, sitting down where Harry and Hermione had positioned themselves, away from the other Gryffindors. "Malfoy and me," Harry said. "You kissed Malfoy?" Ron asks, face sour with disgust. Harry's mouth twitches, and he touches a hand to his mouth. "He wasn't bad." |
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