He murmurs, "Malfoy," against the side of Draco's neck, and it's meant to be a protest, but it only makes Draco moan and clutch at him harder, their bodies edging together, halting and fierce, until suddenly it's not enough and he knows it's not enough and Draco seems to catch on at the same time, and they scrabble to yank at fabric and tear down pieces of clothing until there's nothing between them but air and skin and all the lies that have stretched out behind them for years. Harry leans in and presses his mouth desperately against Draco's, all tongue and apology, and he doesn't know if Draco gets it, if Draco understands, but Draco kisses him back like he needs it, needs this, and there in the silence, in the darkness, Harry knows that needing this may be the only thing that can win-- may be the only thing that can halt the world and hold it in Harry's grip for the slaughter.
He comes with his eyes wide shut.