Lyrics are by Tori Amos, from Lust and Suede.
Night, and a bright darkness peppered with stars. They spin their icy fire overhead, and Harry watches them catch like glitter in Draco�s hair and eyes as he gestures animatedly to a crowd of Slytherin students. Harry watches his hands, remembering solitude, and loneliness, and the soft certainty of touch. He has a sudden image of those hands wrapping him, tracing the edge of his glasses, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. It is winter, and cold, and soon Professor McGonagall will come to shoo them inside, but for now Harry watches Draco, and thinks about ice, and fire, and warm skin.
~
Laughter as curtains are pulled back, and Harry half-wakes from dream, turns and lifts the blankets and welcomes Draco�s warm body with his own. Sleepy kisses, pressed into pale skin, warm from Draco�s lips to his own. Snuggled together in a comfortable tangle of limbs, they are content with each other.
~
Skin on skin, soft and sensuous, lips against his own, and maybe a hand tangled in his hair, and Harry sighs, snuggling closer. A soft, trembling breath stirring his hair, lifting his fringe for a moment off his forehead to reveal the scar, and a gentle touch tracing its zigzag length. Contentment, holding tight, arms wrapped about each other here where they can be together, alone and undisturbed.
~
Harry is always surprised by how soft Draco�s skin is against his; somehow, when they are apart he seems to form a picture of Draco that is all angles and spiky personality. Draco�s touch is an eternal surprise to him; soft and caressing and moving over his skin like a whisper. Harry feels it like a memory beneath the surfaces of his body as he watches Draco measuring ingredients in Potions, remembers those swift, sure hands holding him in the secrecy of night. The curve of Draco�s spine as he bends over the scarred bench is evocative and strangely arresting, and Ron has to nudge Harry twice when it is time to add the butterfly antennae to their cauldron.
~
Rolling and unrolling,
Coiling, emerging, running free
Running through the afterworld
Into your room
~
Draco smiles, revelling in the contact as Harry gasps and bucks beneath him. It is hot and close in this disused storeroom; they are wrapped in each others� sweat, bodies sliding and thrusting slickly against each other, stifled sounds of desire hanging still in the thick air. It was a Quidditch game that sparked this; Draco has sat in the stands watching Harry cut through the air like a knife in search of the Snitch, becoming more and more aroused as his eyes never waver from the slender figure of the Gryffindor Seeker. Now, as Harry is pressed against him, wrapped around him and panting his name, Draco knows that he will defy his father if Harry asks it of him, just as he knows that Harry will never ask.
~
Darkness wraps around them like a blanket, close and comforting tonight. They know that they must be careful, must avoid being seen, but thrown unexpectedly into each other�s company on prefect duty, they are finding it impossible to keep their hands off each other. They walk the corridors, hands locked together and fingers entwined, both trying to find an excuse to lock themselves into a deserted classroom and shed their clothes in a welter of passion. Harry feels Draco�s fingertips delicately caressing his palm, is astounded by the depth of desire this tiny contact can build in him. He wants to press Draco up against the cool stone wall and kiss him until they are both breathless, wants to mark that pale, glimmering skin with his teeth.
~
Harry shivers, pushing his hands into Draco�s hair with a hoarse, wrung-out gasp. The fine blond stuff tangles about his fingers, feels whisper-soft against his skin. Draco�s own fingers rest lightly on Harry�s hips, a gentle pressure of weight that draws a dew of moisture to the surface. Draco�s hair tickles his stomach, falling forward to shield his eyes, and Harry feels strangely bereft even as he comes with a choking gasp, pale hair pulled taut in his fists.
~
Draco�s fingers are numb after the chill outside, and fumble at Harry�s buttons; the plain fabric of his shirt feels coarse against Draco�s fingertips. Harry�s tongue swipes warm along Draco�s cheekbone, moves lower to delicately tease the corner of his mouth. Draco parts his lips willingly, feeling Harry�s mouth settle hot and wet over his own, warm breath invading him as their tongues meet.
~
Their eyes meet, a shared glance across the width of the Hall, and Harry feels warm for a second as Draco�s gaze lingers on him. He imagines the look as touch, as hands passing over his body, fingers caressing his skin, and feels the first stirrings of arousal deep inside. He tries to channel his desire, to communicate it to Draco across the invisible bridge between their eyes, but Draco breaks the glance and looks away and Harry is left feeling touched by chill.
~
Call me evil, call me tide is on your side
Anything that you want
Anybody knows you can conjure anything
By the dark of the moon
~
Is this dreaming? Harry doesn�t know. Draco�s skin against his has a bewitching magic all its own, blurring touch and taste and sensation into a secret world of desire, a world bounded by the red velvet curtains of Harry�s bed. There are no words between them, they speak no language beyond kisses and caresses and moans, lost in a dizzy haze of love and wanting.
~
Bent over a Runespoor�s cage in Care of Magical Creatures, Harry starts at the secret brush of fingers across the back of his neck, shivers in reaction and watches helplessly as Draco walks back to the strictly segregated Slytherins. All day his mind lingers on the memory of the caress, and that night when Draco comes to him he whispers words in Parseltongue against the other boy�s pale flesh.
~
Wrapped around each other in the dying light of the fire, Harry feels Draco sob once, violently, as he comes, biting on Harry�s shoulder as if he is afraid of what words may escape his mouth. As their breathing slows and their heartbeats fall back into a dreamlike synchronisation, Harry can feel every inch of contact between their bodies, every tiniest brush of skin against skin. He wraps his arms tightly about Draco and holds on as hard as he can, wanting to pull Draco inside of him, entwine their souls in echo of their bodies.
~
Quiet. Darkness, and slow breathing. Harry sighs softly, wishing for Draco�s presence, for the careless certainties of touch. Together, their feelings need never be spoken. Apart, though, it is so easy to fall into speculation. To wonder. Harry turns over in the bed that suddenly seems too big, and tries to sleep.
~
Draco�s breath is warm against Harry�s chest. Harry runs one fingertip whisper-light down the length of Draco�s spine, feeling the hard certainty of bone beneath the softness of pale velvety skin. Draco shivers beneath the touch, leaning into it like a cat and rubbing the flat of his palm against Harry�s shoulder. Harry knows without needing to look that Draco is smiling, and perhaps that�s what it�s all about after all. It is possible to say �I love you� without ever speaking the words.