by a very tired Perr

A kiss is not just a kiss,
and not all kisses are the same.

Draco's POV

I'm angry. How dare he tell me that I'm beneath him, that I should stop trying to come out on top. Then again, I'm pretty satisfied that the glow of his eyes gets a little greener when I'm around girls, or around the special male individuals I speak to.

His reasoning with me yesterday over the mirror was to no avail. He was trying to prove to me something, but all the proof he had was flushed cheeks and meagre words. He keeps denying himself of truth, and that pisses me off.

Maybe it's just my reaction to losing this game. I almost want to give up.

Potter is wandering after dinner. He's alone, in no rush, black hair windswept, and cloak billowing in early winter wind. Passers-by look on curiously as I approach him. I hope to go unnoticed (which would appear way cooler if I surprised him), but he spots me at the corner of his eye.

I don't realise it at first but he's looking at the moon, thoughtful, calm and serene. I'm almost sorry for interrupting, but I speak anyway.

"You don't even know what you're thinking Potter, hanging around people you hardly want, people you hardly need."

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

Are you so fucking oblivious to everything, Harry? No matter how loud my heart screams in my ear, I reply, "I want you to wake up and stop lying to yourself, trying to tell me anything in your confused state." I'm so confused myself.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't try to act like a fool, Potter, you bloody well know what I'm saying." He has this clueless look plastered on his face, and yet, he may still know exactly what I mean. "You've got to stop this."

"Jealous, Malfoy?" he retorts unexpectedly.

Jealous? Pfft, yeah, I'm bloody envious of that tramp you hang around every now and then. "Aren't you yourself?"

"Of what? Pansy Parkinson?" he scoffs, "Puh-lease!"

"Or are you, really?" I end off with a serious narrowing of my eyes. He can't meet his with mine. After a pause, I walk away from him, leaving him in a turbulence of his own.

If he were a Rubik Cube, I'd take forever to solve him.

I'm at Gryffindor quidditch practice. I wasn't done with him in that walkway and I don't think I'll ever be done with him as long as I exist. Well, no one's really done with Harry Potter until he's died, or you've died. Unfortunately, the latter seems to be a little more believable.

He's flying around on his little twig, as players one by one leaves for rest. He should be at least a little grateful that I'm waiting for him, which is approximately...

One hour and forty seven minutes later when Weasley finally touches down.

We're finally alone. Him in the sky, me picking at weeds.

Potter lands and sighs. Still haven't noticed me, have you? He heads off to the direction of the showers and I follow. I shove my hands into my pockets.

The mirror reminds me of the foolish boy's words. How stupid can he get? I mean, he hasn't even bothered with an apology. I think twice about keeping it by my side while I take hastened footsteps to the changing rooms.

It smells completely of male testosterone, because well, it's the male changing room that I'm in. Utterly disgusting and disgraceful, how this place is. I'm ashamed that I contribute to this mess. I look around for him.

"What are you doing in here?"

My head snaps to the left. "You know why I'm here."
He takes off his gloves and drops them onto the bench. "Enlighten me."

"You're scared, for starters. You're scared of what everyone will think of you when they find out that you can't help but make googly eyes at me." Those eyes burn deep into my skin, you know that?

"Rubbish, Malfoy. That's all you're good at." He drops to one knee to undo his boots, pulling at the laces with slight force to show his displeasure. "I'm never afraid, and I will mix with people whom I see fit."

Pssh! I fold my arms. "What bold claims you make, Potter. No wonder you were sorted into Gryffindor, unintelligent, unwitty and a little too sure of yourself."

He proceeds with his other boot. "What's your point, Draco?" He defers from topic, because he knows I'm winning the argument.

"I'm not going to take any more of you 'I'm not the least bit attracted to you' shit, so I'll be returning a little something to you," I bite, frowning. That's going to be a very devastating wrinkle to my forehead.

He glares at me, while his lips are pursed in a thin line. It seems that the words just went in one ear and out the other. He grasps my attention when he slips into a cubicle and unbuttons his robe.

It's one of those moments that possess you for mere minutes; in this case, before the door shuts, my hand throws itself forward to stop it from closing.

"You can't shut me out."

One of his fists is clenched tightly, knuckles on the way to white. Just when I think he's going to slug me one right in the face, there is a stall in time where the pressure pops.

Pop.

The hand on the door moves to the side of his neck, up to the back of his head to pull him into our second kiss. Heavy shock rides from the base of my spine to the tips of every part of my body, as his lips meet with mine, wanting, almost desperate. I can feel the heat come off myself in waves, tension slowly oozing out of my pores through so much heat...

Potter's kisses are the hungry sort, he knows his kissing games well. His breaths fall short and heavy, he flushes and looks like he's about to melt into the ground. He's butter under my fingers. Everyone's butter under my fingers.

His hands reach into my cloak, pulling the shirt out from my pants and moving to the front to undo the belt, while I'm doing my own work, exhaling hotly into his ear in a soft, deep moan...

Our lips meet again, and his hands –those hands- urgently pulling at my belt and the buttons, palm pressing onto the discomfort he's caused me...

"Mmnf," I try to speak in the midst of this.

Remember what I said about possessing moments? This is something like it, but I've got all sorts of reason to back up my change of heart. Even the homosexual devil inside screams stop, because this isn't how it's supposed to go. I don't want anybody to fuck anyone just because of pressure, just because my words convince someone for six bloody minutes that they're batty about me. Shit, if I want to fuck him, I want him to be fucking me back, when it finally happens.

Did I just say that?

I pull away from him completely, out of the touch of his hands and the soft of his mouth, far enough for thick air to separate us like the Red Sea. The worst part of this is to feel all the tension that had been released being sucked right back into my body in the form of an embarrassing heat in my pants.

Potter's green eyes deepen and look into mine, magical sparkle dissolving into the confusion he's always been in. Any longer of eye contact and I would have to kiss him again, so I drop my eyes to my shoes.

My hand reaches into my pocket. I didn't come here for nothing. Not that I expected a lot of this lip locking, but I did say that I wanted to return him something.

"Here," I say, and press the mirror into his palm. "No more of this. If you want to speak to me, do it to my face, not through some glass toy of yours. And don't talk to me about you not being the slightest bit interested in me."

A noise of disbelief escapes from his throat. I break out into a smile and shake my head.

I'm the crazy one here.

I plant a kiss to his scar and leave. My footsteps stop the silence from turning us both deaf. Well, my heartbeat does for me, at least.

Oh God, I think in the outside air, not caring about my loosened pants and now-sloppy attire. I pull my cloak tighter around me. Everything in there did not happen.

My eyes are fixed on the castle. If Slytherins know, they'll skin me! They'll tear the flesh from my bones and burn my body if they found out about this. Anything to do with this. Anything to do with my feelings for Potter.

Since when did I have feelings?

Nobody had better find out.

A figure darts from behind one of the pillars, familiar green and white. Blaise Zabini flees from his hiding place.
Shit.