Chapter VI
This time it was Harry's hands that moved to fist in Draco's silky blonde hair, dragging the Slytherin closer as Harry moaned against his mouth. Draco's hands skimmed up Harry's sides, no longer bruising but barely brushing Harry's skin. The sudden change in Draco's touch—from painful to so soft that his fingertips barely whispered against Harry's skin—had Harry shuddering, almost unable to bear the delicate sensation.
Draco pulled back, his customary smirk settling once again over his lips. He had not been prepared for the overpowering surge of need that drove him to seek out the Gryffindor. In fact, it had frightened him. Never before had he been unable to control his lusts. He did not know what it was about the Boy Who Lived that whittled away at his willpower.
Draco masked his uncertainty well though. His father would have been the only one to see the sliver of unease that darted through his cool grey eyes as they met Harry's. To anyone else Draco's eyes would have conveyed a sense of utter arrogance and complete surety, not to mention a heady amount of desire for the slender boy in front of him.
Feeling self-conscious with out his glasses, especially now that Draco had taken a step back, Harry dropped to his knees and began to feel around for them. He felt like a complete idiot for forgetting his wand, and the fact that his hands still trembled ever-so-slightly from Draco's assault on his mouth caused a flush of shame to colour his cheeks. Bloody hell, where were his glasses?
After watching Harry scrabble on the floor for a moment, Draco gave a long suffering sigh of annoyance and with a murmered "Accio," had Harry's glasses flying up from the floor and into his hand. "Oh get off your knees, Potter," he said scornfully, distain curling his upper lip. "You look like a bloody house elf. Here," as Harry guiltily pulled himself to his feet, Draco thrust the black rimmed glasses into Harry's hand.
Draco couldn't suppress the feeling of relief that rose in him when Harry placed the distinguishing glasses back on his nose. Without the glasses to distract from Harry's eyes, one noticed how distressingly green they were. Not only was the colour enough to make Draco catch his breath, Harry's eyes were thickly framed with spiky black lashes, making them appear huge and vulnerable. With the glasses on however, it was easy to pay no attention to the emerald gaze beneath.
Harry wasn't sure what to do with his hands. Normally he gave them no thought, but they suddenly appeared large and awkward, just hanging at his sides. After a moment of uncomfortable fidgeting, he finally gave up and clasped them behind his back before steeling himself to meet Draco's gaze.
Harry's reluctance to look at Draco made the Slytherin relax slightly. He was again the one in charge, a position that he was more than comfortable with. He had no idea how this one scrawny boy had managed to unsettle him in ways that men twice his age had failed miserably at. He could only be relieved that the momentary role reversal had been, well, momentary.
"Well, Potter," Draco ran his cool grey eyes down Harry's half-naked body in a manner insulting enough to have colour rising again to Harry's cheeks—though this time anger as well as embarrassment caused the flush. "What are you doing out of bed and half-dressed at this hour? Without, I might add, your wand?"
Harry clung to the anger that flared inside him at Draco's—damnit, Malfoy's—deliberately offensive pass over his body. The fury that danced down his spine at the Slytherin was a shield that Harry thought just might be strong enough to withstand the allure of Draco's—Malfoy's—hands.