Title: The Singing Lesson
Author: Ash and Aja
Rating: Hard R - NC-17
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Notes: This Armchair RP is dated 9-15-02. The Armchair chatters provided this scenario.
Setting: The setup for this scene (which is missing the middle, sadly!) is that Draco and Harry get roped into performing a talent show. Harry comes across Draco when he is practicing. Ashura (Ashkitty) is Harry and Draco is Aja.
"Somewhere...beyond the sea, somewhere, waiting for me... my lover stands on golden sands... and watches the ships--as they go sailin'..."
Harry stopped singing--wasn't very good anyway, by his judgment--and leaned against the practice room door to listen.
Inside the room, Draco was enjoying himself, practicing gestures and moving suavely over the stage, imagining a crowd of swooning teenage Slytherin girls at his feet.
Curious, Harry opened the door a crack to peer out at the singer: dear Merlin, it's Draco Malfoy. He meant to close the door in a hurry and pretend he never saw this, but�well, Draco was good. And the music was� was sort of breathing through him; and Harry found he had to watch.
�No more sailin'.... so long, sailin�..� Draco ended with a flourish and a bow, then started over at the chorus, frowning as he concentrated on the words. �It's far beyond the sun--it's near beyond the moon I know without a doubt my heart will lead me there soon.... ....someday we'll meet, I know we'll meet...�
He trailed off suddenly, paused, then lapsed into a plaintive, slower song... and this time he was not performing, but singing to someone unseen. "Someday we'll meet, and he'll dry all my tears... and whisper sweet, loving things in my ear... loving and kissing.... oh, what i've been missing--- lover-man--oh, where can you be?
Harry would never be able to pinpoint the moment when he stopped hiding behind the practice room door, let it open so he could see better, leaned against the doorframe peering at Draco through his unruly hair. �And then�
I don't know why.... but i'm feeling so sad... I long to try something i've never had.... got a moon above me--got no one to love me-- lover man, oh where--"
�Completely on accident, Draco spotted Harry's shadow and jumped. �Potter?� he barked, astonished. �What the fuck are you doing, Potter?�
Harry turned very red, but it was too late to disappear now. "Malfoy."
�Well? What are you doing?� His posture was rigid and defiant.
Harry straightened, glared defiantly at Draco. "Practicing, of course, much like you. Except that I can only hear you, now, can't hear myself anyway."
�Well, I don't remember leaving that door open. Maybe if you didn't go around poking your nose into rooms you don't have any business entering you wouldn't be so bloody deaf, now, would you?�
Draco swallowed and moved to the other side of the stage, gathering his books, grateful for once that he never really got flushed.
Harry tossed his head, annoyed. "I heard you through the door, of course, that's why I opened it." Consider the 'you bloody idiot' implied rather than spoken . Though he did have to admit, reluctantly�"You're good, though. I didn't know it was you when I started listening."
�Oh, well, perhaps you should have found out before you wasted your time and mine. Turn off the lights when you leave.� He started out the other door, turning to give Harry a final glance before muttering and exiting.
"Fine," Harry snapped at Draco's departing back. Betted to have the place to himself anyway. This being hypnotised by Malfoy's voice was unhealthy.
Once he knew he was alone, he started to sing.
'I don't know why you're mean to me...when I call on the telephone...and I don't know what you mean to me...but I want to turn you on, turn you up, figure you out, I want to take you on...'These words...you will be mine...these words...you will be mine...'
Slowly, unknown to Harry, the door through which Draco had just left creaked open a notch.
'Fool might be my middle name...but I'd be foolish not to say...I want to make whatever it takes, ring you up, call you down, sign your name, secret love, make it rhyme, take you in and make you mine... I tripped and fell, but did I fall - what I want you to feel, I want to feel it now...'
Harry lost his place, muttered something under his breath about pages being out of order, and started shuffling through them.
Draco couldn't see Harry and had no real interest in coming back inside, but he was curious about how the pride of Gryffindor handled himself on stage. He was, overall, quite unimpressed. The boy had horrible diction and even worse phrasing... but there was something in his voice that made Draco want to stay where he was with his hand on the door handle, frozen between turning and re-entering and leaving altogether. He smiled in spite of himself and nudged the door open a bit more so he could watch Harry's fumbling.
Harry found his place again; the mood was broken but he tried valiantly to get it back. 'And with love come strange currencies...and here is my appeal... I need a chance a second chance a third chance a fourth chance, a word a signal a nod a little breath, just to fool myself, catch myself, and make it real....�
Draco was indignant. Potter, he thought, must be the most bloody awkward creature he had ever seen, and if he actually thought he could get away with singing words that beautiful--too beautiful--like that... well...
Almost before he knew it he had flung the door back open and crossed irritably to Harry, snatching the pages out of his hands.
�Potter. Are you auditioning for a choir or a carnival freak show?� He crossed his arms and looked at Harry impatiently.�
Harry turned red again and made a grab for his pages of music. "Well, some of us need the bloody practice, all right? I suppose you can do better." The thing was, of course, that by now he was well aware Draco could do better.
Draco rolled his eyes in a supremely condescending manner, and says in a tone of great longsuffering, "Well, of course I can bloody do better, Potter. That's not really the point, though, is it? Why on god's earth are you auditioning for this thing, anyway, if you're not going to put forth more effort than that?" He held the pages out of Harry's reach and backed away, smirking at Harry's consternation.
That at least was a question Harry could answer with a minimum of difficult. "Because," he answered, deadpan, "Hermione's making me."
Draco stopped and tilted his head appraisingly. "Just how exactly is the mudblood managing to make you, Potter? What'd she do, hold you at wandpoint?�
Having gone this far, Harry figured he hadn't got a lot of dignity left anyway. Shuffling his pages back into their proper order, he levelled a glare at Draco. "No, and it's none of your business. Anyway I know I'm not any good, so what are you worried about anyway?"
Draco's smirk grew. �I'm not worried, Potter,� he said bemusedly. �It's no varnish off my wandtip if you want to make a fool of yourself and embarrass your entire house in front of the whole school. It's not as if everyone won't know how you fudged and fumbled your way through the song. How the great Harry Potter could barely sing for squeaking his nervousness." He flashed Harry a grin. "Go right ahead. Practice."
Judging from the sudden increase in the intensity of Harry's glare, he had hit a nerve. A visible struggle between pride and anger played across Harry�s face before, at last, he straightened defiantly and turned pointedly away from Draco before beginning the song again.
Draco cocked his head and watched him with interest, following along with the sheet music he had pointedly not given back to Potter. He was vaguely impressed; Potter was determined at least; but then, he thought ruefully, Potter always got what he wants. He'd probably get the bloody solo spot in the choir just because he was Harry sodding Potter. But as he listened to Harry sing, he felt more wistful than bitter, somehow.
The thing was that Harry's voice wasn't bad. It was just really untrained: he didn't know when to breathe without breaking up the phrases, or how to pronounce things properly. He couldn't hold some notes as long as he ought to. But he deserved credit for trying, at least; and if he hadn�t been so nervous, right then with Draco watching him�though he was obviously pretending not to notice that�he might not have been awful.
Draco watched for a moment, following along, until finally he couldn't take it anymore. "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, Potter," he snapped. He stepped forward, placing the music down on the piano. "You really don't know anything about singing at all, do you?"
"No!" Harry snapped, more than a little irritated that Draco was still baiting him, and especially at something he already knew he wasn�t doing well at. "I bloody well told you that!"
"Well if you'd stop whining about it and pay attention to what you're singing instead of mewling like a bloody calf you might realize it's not all that hard," Draco snapped back. "You Gryffindors are all alike. You'd rather cry and moan about not having the answer to something than actually use your brains and figure it out on your own."
Harry did nothing but stare at Draco for about eight seconds, and it was difficult to tell whether he was looking for something to say, or convincing himself not to say it. Finally he answered, rather calmly, really, "I am in here figuring it out on my own, Malfoy. The only one doing any whining here was you, when you found out I was listening to you�which I'm being much calmer about, even though you are better than me at this, so I don't see that you have much room to talk."
~~~
(Draco then gives Harry a quick singing lesson, or starts to, anyway: he hands the music back, tells Harry to read the lines, explains how he doesn�t breathe in the middle of his speech, so he shouldn�t breathe in the middle of his singing, etc. Then he moves on to the breathing exercise: he puts Harry�s hand on his stomach, breathes slowly, then does the same for Harry, putting his hand on Harry�s back and his shoulder as Harry tries to breathe. They are both affected by the close contact; when Draco pulls away, Harry impulsively grabs his hand to keep him from leaving (what are you afraid of, Malfoy?).
At first Draco recoils (I�m not afraid of you and your pathetic attempt so grope me, Potter), pushes Harry away, and stands still while Harry defiantly turns his back and starts to sing the words again (telling himself that of course he�s not singing them to Draco, not really); but as he sings Draco can�t help himself, and he moves forward finally and wraps his arm around Harry�s waist. �Keep singing,� he tells him, and buries his nose in Harry�s hair as Harry struggles to breathe, to stay standing even.)
~~~
Harry's hair smelled like peaches and lavender and god help him, the ocean, and his voice was soft and light like surf; it lulled him; he could drown...he was about to drown... Sign your name secret love
Make it rhyme Take you in and make you mine ... Harry fit in his arms...he wondered if Harry would fit in other places... Slowly he drew them tighter around him, pulled him closer... feeling Harry's breath colliding with his ribs as he struggled to breathe--as they both struggled to breathe.
Harry was only warm in the places Draco was touching--pressed against his back, around his waist, the hollow of his neck. He had no breath to spare, it was all music, words someone else had written but now they fit so well, perfectly, the way he fit so perfectly against Draco. And if it was his singing that had brought them to this point, he was afraid to stop for fear of breaking the spell, so he kept singing the things he could never have simply said. I tripped and fell, but did I fall-what I want you to feel, I want to feel it now.
And Draco could not move; only Harry was keeping him upright, only Harry's voice was anchoring him to the ground. He parted his lips, only in order to flick his tongue over them, really, because they were bone-dry and his throat was parched for something more than water... but somehow the moment his lips parted they wouldn't rest until they found their proper place against Harry's beautiful glass-smooth cool skin, warming and caressing the back of his neck... and this was... this was even more perfect than anything could possibly be.
Harry very nearly staggered forward, only his body's silent and insistent demand not to be separated from Draco kept him fully upright. His voice broke in the middle of I need a chance a second chance a third chance, and it came out in a long exhalation that sounded more of moan than melody.
Draco impulsively tightened his grip and pulled him backwards into his embrace, swaying on the spot with him, because his body was tightening and responding to Harry's just as completely. He let his lips linger on the soft warmth of Harry's skin, nuzzling the crevice between shoulder blade and neck. "Scared, Potter?" He tried to disguise it as a bemused chuckle, but his own voice was low and breathy, half-moan, half-laugh.
That heavenly sound, laughmoanbreath, tickled the back of Harry's neck. His head fell forward; his hands, not the least bit sure what to do with themselves, brush hesitantly backward toward Draco's sides. Scared? "Yes," he murmured, because the moment was so perfect and so precarious. "Aren't you?"
Draco let his hands slide down over Harry's waist, down to his thighs, so that Harry's own fumbling hands would have an example to follow as they wandered over Draco's torso. And this--no, this wouldn't do at all; he frowned and shifted closer, maneuvering Harry half around to face him; only now Harry's leg was caught between Draco's thigh and his hand, and... oh. ... Oh.
�Am I scared?� he hissed. �Find out.�
Scared? A bit. Scared that he might wake up at any moment. Scared that this whole thing had been a set-up, even though he knew it hadn't, and that Draco had been as caught up as he had been; scared that one or both of them might still deny it later. And yet all thoughts, all fears, flew out of his brain as Draco turned him awkwardly around, and new parts of their bodies came into contact, as his own tautened and tensed and pleaded silently, more...
But how, How much more? Draco's eyes asked Harry, hoping for, willing him to read thoughts he couldn't even begin to articulate, as they stared at one another. Harry's gaze had the power of stopping time, of stopping motion, stopping everything but the rapid-fire beating of his heart, and the steady throbbing of his veins and his pulse and god help him, his cock, which was nudging the fabric of his trousers and straining to get to Harry's own impossible-to-ignore-and-utterly-too-pleasant erection.
A word, a signal, a nod, a little breath. Although Harry was no longer singing, the echo of the words hung between them when he pressed himself against Draco's body, when his fumbling hands stroked down Draco's chest and slipped around his waist, when his lips hovered a heartbeat away from Draco's pleading, unspoken, Kiss me. Touch me. Please.
Draco didn't even think as he touched his lips to Harry's, just briefly, a murmured, "This is insane, Potter," hovering between them for a scant moment, before he dissolved into Harry's embrace and pulled Harry's mouth into his.
�Completely mad,� Harry agreed, but it came out muffled and garbled because he said it into Draco's mouth, and his tongue was more interested in kissing than talking. He needed Draco, needed to hold onto him, couldn't stand upright on his own.
Draco gripped Harry's hair fiercely, holding him in place, attacking his mouth with his own, intoxicated by the feeling of Harry's tongue pistoning and gliding its way inside of him, by Harry's fingers gripping his shirt front and grasping his waist as if he were his only support, and suddenly Draco realised he must be, because when his own knees suddenly buckled under the crashing wave of this kiss, Harry came with him, and they slid ungently to the floor, kissing like mad.
The world came crashing down, and Harry and Draco went with it. Somehow they lost their balance, and the walls crumbled and he got tangled in his robes and Draco's mouth, and found himself sprawled on his back on the floor, half beneath Draco, the air jolted out of his lungs.
Draco caught his breath in a gasp and clambered on top of Harry frantically, anxious only for more of Harry's vast, cool mouth, vaguely aware that he could no longer feel Harry's hands against his body because they were lost somewhere in the endless fabric of his robes. This was sufficient motivation for him to tear Harry's robes open in the middle, aimlessly seeking more of him, more contact, more everything.
It was all more than Harry had ever felt before, and he was drowning in it. There was something in the way Draco scrambled on top of him, the desperation in his grip when he ripped open Harry's robes, that set his blood on fire as nothing, no challenge, ever had before. He arched up into Draco, moaned insensible syllables into his mouth, gripped at him, searched for a way into his robes.
Draco moaned. And then he did it again, and then he was feverishly grinding down against Harry, hungry for him, desperate for him. He nipped Harry's lips, determined to cull forth more of those deliciously deep, hard moans from Harry's throat. Harry's lips fell open and he moaned, breathy, against Draco's mouth. He thrust up against Draco, desperate--his erection was painful; so was the pressure of Draco's groin pushing down against his own, but he craved it, needed it. His mouth tore from Draco's, blazed trails across his neck and his throat, his tongue played around Draco's ear as he tugged with increasing irritation at Draco's recalcitrant robes.
Draco yanked Harry out of his robes and pressed closer, addicted to the way Harry's hands roamed over him, squirming as he tried to bring the lower parts of their bodies as close together as possible through the frustrating cloth of their trousers. Harry's touches, his light, dizzying kisses, were better than champagne, and they made his skin tingle like fizz. "Just like you, Potter," he muttered, hardly knowing what he was saying as his hands fumbled with Harry's belt buckle. "You're such a fucking tease." And I need it all, he thought, before thoughts went out the window, and his fingers made contact with bare flesh under the waistband of Harry's pants, and he cared for nothing but mapping Harry's skin with his mouth, teeth, tongue, fingers, every part of him he could spare.
Harry tried, oh he tried, to understand what it was Draco mumbled into his skin, to take note of the path of those frantic touches, to learn from them, reciprocate. He freed one of Draco's shoulders from his robes before he lost control, then Draco's fingers slipped beneath his clothes and "OOHHHHH!!!" escaped in a strangled cry and his fingers dug into Draco's skin hard enough to leave a row of small purpling bruises where he touched.
Draco hissed and sank his teeth reflexively into Harry's skin, leaving a shameless bite mark on Harry's shoulderblade, and not caring because it was a good, fabulous pain, the sensation of Harry's fingernails clenching his, and it was a good, salty bitterness, the taste of Harry's skin in his mouth, and he was biting, kissing, hungrily, not even caring what he was doing or what was being done to him so long as it was being done to him by Harry, so long as it was Harry, Harry, Harry, who was letting him mark him this way. He sighed and shuddered and moaned and tugged Harry's pants down to his knees before pulling away just long enough to remove his own. Harry looked flushed and thoroughly horny, like someone who'd just been given the snog of their life. Draco was going to do much more than snog him very very shortly.
Harry let out a cry as Draco's teeth sunk into his shoulder, his head fell back, his body arced up into Draco. He tore frantically at Draco's robes, heard cloth rip, felt triumphant, claimed all he could reach of Draco's bare skin. He wanted, wanted, things he had never put a name to but if pressed he could have. Now he gave them no names, he was beyond words anyway, devouring all of Draco he could and offering himself up in return.
What are we doing? flashed through Draco's mind like a warning, a beacon light in the fog of desire surrounding him as he kissed, clung to, pressed against Harry. He began to lick and suckle Harry's neck, moaning around the throbbing pulse point that had so mesmerised him earlier, held completely in thrall to the way Harry's body responded to everything he did with shivers and imperceptible tremors and faint, tiny whines and whimpers. He had Harry Potter, finally, right where he wanted him, completely in his power; he could do anything--bruise him, hurt him, take him, kill him--but all he wanted to do was hold him closer, hear his sighs and his moans and know that he caused them--only him...
He was barely aware that his hand was sliding between Draco�s thighs until he had already done so, and he felt Draco�s hard erection in his hand and knew he was probably in over his head�and didn�t care at all.
�Potter,� gasped Draco, his voice a harsh grating sound as his breath lodged in his throat. Oh god, oh god, he could come right there, just from that one touch, that one so fucking good touch, and he was pulling Harry�s head up, kissing him, not caring how hard�just needing to kiss him, wrapping one hand behind Harry�s head for support, letting the other trail over his abdomen and wrap around Harry�s cock. �God, Potter,� he murmured again, shifting and thrusting and trying desperately to kiss him and moan and mutter and taste and lick and suck and everything at once.
Harry was sure his heart stopped at that moment, at Draco�s voice in his ear, hot breath on his skin, he was caught up in Draco�s hands and tangled up in his limbs and he�d never felt anything like this before, anything he was so desperate to drown in. He wanted to lose himself in Draco, but he wanted to claim him too, mark him as Harry�s, the way he felt he was being marked in bruises and teeth marks and fervent moans.
The feeling of Harry�s hands in his hair was too much�it was too desperate and seeking and fantastic all at once. Draco pulled away for just a moment to look at him, to look at Harry in all his mussed-hair, torn-robed, swollen-lipped glory. Their eyes locked and held and Draco knew that his heart was heaving against his ribs and that his own lips were parted in a glazed-over expression of desire he couldn�t hide; but more than that, he knew that Harry needed whatever this was as much as he did; knew that this was far more than just a one-time quick lust-ridden shag; knew that after today, that after this very moment, in fact, neither of them would never be the same.
But would they want it to be the same? Would there be any satisfaction in seeing the marks left on one another�s bodies, tomorrow in Potions or over supper in the Great Hall, and knowing I made this, and feeling nothing? Not remembering the chaotic ecstasy of this moment, with arms and legs and mouths and robes tangled together on the choir room floor, heated kisses and desperate moans and the echo of hold myself, catch myself, and make it real?
Draco stilled against Harry, and drew him closer, and suddenly he didn�t know whether he was looking at Harry or into him or through him. He didn�t know whether he needed him or whether he only needed Harry to need him�but suddenly, what he needed most in the world was to claim Harry with a kiss that said you are mine, and always will be, live or die, love or hate. He found Harry�s mouth and kissed him, slowly, savouring the taste, murmuring softly into the cavernous warmth, as he began to stroke Harry�s cock just as slowly, letting his fingers explore the ridges and veins of his flesh. He wanted to possess this boy in every way he could think of.
Long and languid, Harry kissed him, sensing a shift in the texture of Draco�s touch, in the movements of his tongue. He thrust into his hand, slow and rhythmic, the urgency of his need pulsing barely-controlled in his blood. He stroked the length of Draco�s cock, the jut of his hip, the soft expanse of his thigh. His lips strayed from Draco�s mouth and across his temple and into his hair, and he whispered the one word in his arsenal, one he hoped Draco would not question or force him to clarify. "Please...."
Draco couldn�t help or stop the tremor of�emotion? Craving? Fear?�that ran through him at that one word. Frantically he pulled Harry�s mouth back to him, wanting to keep the kiss and the sound of that faint plea close to him, close as he could, because that way he wouldn�t have to think about what he meant or what he might really be asking for. He removed his hand from Harry�s wet, slickened erection long enough to brush Harry�s sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead. �How?� he gasped into Harry�s mouth, and then he took his mouth over before Harry had a chance to answer.
It was impossible to speak, with Draco kissing him like that, like he was trying to swallow Harry�s soul out of his mouth, and it saved him having to say anything when he didn�t know the answer anyway. He vaguely knew what he wanted�more�but the logistics were lost on him; he only wanted to melt into Draco until not even the petty barrier of flesh could separate them.
Harry was everywhere for Draco; he had kissed girls before, had gone all the way with girls, but never boys, though he had known he wanted to for quite some time; but he had never ever felt before like he would die if he kept kissing and he would die if he stopped. He let his hands roam over Harry, curving over his body, his erection grinding into Harry�s. He could feel Harry�s precome sliding against his own cock, wetting it, making it harder than ever, so hard he was going to burst if he didn�t have something more�anything�He grabbed Harry�s hand as it wrapped around his shaft and splayed his own fingers over it, so that they were joined together, moving together, around his erection, bumping clumsily against Harry�s own cock, which was throbbing and jerking unsteadily as Harry rocked his hips upward. He moaned, incoherent, and kissed Harry, and kissed Harry even more, and all he knew was kissing and the feeling of his fingers clenched around Harry, clenched around him.
And Harry breathed in Draco, and kissed him and melted into him, he gasped into Draco�s mouth when their hands joined. There was something so intoxicating in the way Draco�s hand held his against his skin, the way he moaned so deliciously into Harry�s mouth when he thrust against him and the way his tongue twisted with Harry�s. He whined deep in his throat, his hand tightened around Draco�s cock and his body spasmed, and he came with a noise that was almost a scream, tense and trembling beneath Draco on the cold choir room floor.
"Oh god," Draco gasped, his eyes squinting shut, hard, face scrunching in pleasure as Harry's hand tightened its clench around his shaft. "Oh god...." He grunted and then felt Harry tremor and spasm, and it was all over and he felt his cock twitch and erupt, come spurting over their joined hands and onto Harry's stomach, and they were moaning and half-sobbing together as they jerked and trembled and writhed in a messy heap on the floor.
Harry clung to Draco, and surely the way his face twisted up and his mouth fell open must have been the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen. He didn�t know anymore whose robes were whose, where the end of his body merged into Draco�s, or--perhaps most important of all--what to say now that the moment was fading and he didn�t want to let it go.
Harry�s body was warm and jittery beneath Draco�s, trembling like a frightened helpless creature. It gave him a feeling of immense power, power so intense that it nearly blacked him out as he felt them move together under his orgasm; it was a long moment before he realized that their hands were still joined, though now they were sliding around against Harry�s chest, trapped between two fluid-slicked torsos. His eyes fluttered open. Harry was looking at him with wide, unforgettably vivid eyes that seemed to trap emotion in them and radiate it like a sunrise cutting through a blanket of night. For half an instant he was sure that this beautiful boy was about to kiss him again.
He jerked his hand away and sat up unsteadily.
No. Don�t pull away don�t be over don�t say something that�s going to ruin all of this don�t don�t don�t--! Suddenly bereft of Draco�s hand, he watched him pull away, saw the shift of his expression and felt his heart twist inside him. He swallowed the feeling that he was clinging by a thread, that it was all about to collapse, and reached to brush his fingertips across Draco�s lips. Don�t do anything we will both regret.
Draco stared at Harry, frozen in place for the second time that night, his body flatly disobeying the call of his mind shrieking at him to get up and walk away and never return to this moment in thought or memory or deed. His heart� well. His heart was hardly a suitable authority to listen to in such times anyway. Harry�s fingertips burned his lips, because the rest of him was cold, suddenly so, so cold, and he wanted the warmth of that caress�he wanted it so much. And he also wanted to take Harry and turn him into his living mirror, something as brittle and frigid as he was, so that maybe if he shattered the mirror would shatter along with him.
He just stared.
And because Draco did not pull away, Harry ventured more. Draco was staring at him, and he didn�t know what the proper response was for the situation, it had never occurred to him before to analyse the possible repercussions of Sex With Malfoy, and now all he knew was that he had uncovered some delicious pure softness in Draco�s eyes, and he treasured it, and he wanted to keep hold of it. He wanted this look, this expression on Draco�s face to be for him alone, wanted to know that the fluttering of his heart was not something he felt alone. Tentatively he bent forward, his torn robes pooling around his waist, and pressed his lips against Draco�s. Breathe.
The stiffness that had taken over Draco�s body seemed to leave him at the first hesitant sweep of Harry�s mouth against his. It left him, left him light and barely rooted to the ground, along with his heart, which must have floated out between his lips and deposited itself inside of Harry. He was weightless, he departed as air, he became nothing and everything inside of this kiss. Harry shouldn�t be kissing him, he thought, and then he ceased to think, and he wound his arms around Harry, and let his mouth falter open under Harry�s, sighing his acquiescence on a warm breath that he could feel mingling with Harry�s own.
The thought of that last connection�breath to breath�suddenly made him want to weep, and he caressed Harry�s lips, hoping Harry could cry for him, all the tears he was not shedding, and breathe all the breaths he could not bear to take.
The End