Disclaimer: Harry Potter is property of J.K. Rowling.
Author's Note: SLASH. It's rather short, but I wrote it pretty quickly. Don't attack me if it's crap. ::hides:: Please do me the honor of reviewing it if you'd be so kind.
Two boy-shaped frames pressed against a cold, stone wall, friction burning between the fibers of their clothes. Hands grasping for something warm to hold on to, passing over cotton and wool, exposed flesh and delicate bone. Tumbling down a hall way, as tongues curled and snaked past lips and teeth, sucking and swallowing invisible wine. Giving that top-of-the-world feeling, volcanic bursts of lust erupting inside them and gushing out in firm consistency, mixing with love, love, love, only truest, most real, most impractical, most necessary want, adoration, proximity, elastic band grandeur, bouncing back and forth on each other, but never snapping. Fairy dust on their shoe soles, tracing their footsteps and elevating them, higher and higher, past glass stained with pictures of people from too long ago to care about, scenes and tableaus that could have been beautiful in any other time but this, when their eyes cast scorn on all but each other, doubt on anything that never felt as real as this.
A hand finally cupped a brass door knob and gave it a twist, both stumbling over the threshold and falling on the dormitory floor, giggling as they collapsed. Platinum pins Jet-black, pushing his arms above his head and forcefully weighing down his wrists, successfully completing the cage. Animal instincts push him forward and down on top of the other boy's captive form. Placing kisses along his jaw line and up his neck, chewing softly on earlobes, biting, snapping thread on and spitting out shirt buttons to reveal luminous skin in the dark. Blonde swirls tongue circles on the bare chest, writing paragraphs of wonder and enthusiasm, sheerest contentment therein. The words dry and soak through the Gryffindor's flesh and ribs, speaking sonnets to his heart.
In response, Harry makes quick work of gaining familiar access to the Slytherin's mouth, breaking free of his manacles, pulling him so close, half wishing to have someone set fire to and melt their sides, fusing them together forever. Breathing was lost in his concentration as he memorized every contour of Draco's body with his hands, thinking ahead, so he could feel him even when he wasn't there. His mind was emptied of everything, hollowed out, replaced with a clarity he'd only dreamt about. Squeezing a lip between his teeth, he began kneading it gently, mentally kicking himself for not realizing sooner. It had taken him over six years to understand his feelings for Malfoy, to finally give some thought to that old saying 'There's a fine line between love and hate'. But it didn't really seem to matter now, as Draco kissed and pressed against him. In fact, nothing did.
Draco laid on top of Harry, eyes wide to make certain he wasn't sleeping or just entranced by a fantasy. Taking in the smallest details- the slightest signs of freckles, the way his hair fell, the scar so maliciously crafted on his forehead, the curl of his ebony eyelashes, the green orbs they embossed, the empathy they exude now, while they used to pierce and poke untreatable holes in his pride. Slender hips were positioned under his own, locking the two in place, immaculately fitted as if whoever made them knew that they'd wind up arranged like this on the floorboards of a dormitory some day when they were seventeen. If there was such a thing as completion, he felt it in every part of him. Each vein carried absolution, his blood a fierce red of release and deliverance, his voids filled, chasms once carved in revulsion sealed over. Dizzy from being so sated for the first time.
Ecstasy crowded around them, making the air hot and thin. Pulling themselves up, still bonded at the hip, they crossed the room to Harry's bed and tumbled down on it. A pile of exhausted romance, fatigued but like the wick of a candle in the way that they could be engulfed in flame once again, and they would be. But now, they were more like pipe cleaners coiled together. A heap of held hands, rounded backs and intertwined legs, Harry's head resting on Draco's torso, eyes weary , closing after each was tenderly pressed against the Slytherin's lips, put into the peaceful slumber you can only experience when in the arms of the one who loves you.