Tempus Fugit DRARRY

Chapter 7: Bedknobs and Broomsticks

Sexual intercourse is a grossly overrated pastime; the position is undignified, the pleasure momentary and the consequences utterly damnable. - Lord Chesterfield

At around two, Ron showed Harry and Draco into one of the guest rooms, both feeling comfortably lethargic, and left them to their own devices. Nearly everyone was staying over, and Harry had watched with fascination as Ron had magicked some extra dimensions onto his house to make sure everyone fitted, before he and Lavender had vanished into the Master bedroom.

The room he and Draco had been granted was large, with a double bed in the middle furnished completely in navy blue. Harry peeled off his black shirt and cast it haphazardly on the ground before slumping on the bed and groaning with relief.

"I never thought tonight would be over," he said.

"I know," Draco replied from somewhere near his feet, "but it wasn't too bad."

"It could have been worse," Harry agreed and closed his eyes against the slightly blurry view of the ceiling. He could sense Draco moving around the room, wordlessly undressing as the silence between them grew louder and more pronounced.

"Potter?" Draco asked suddenly, shattering the peace with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

"Malfoy," Harry murmured back to him.

"About earlier." Draco's words and tone left Harry in little doubt of what he wanted to discuss and Harry's breath quickened sharply as he considered the possibility of a very awkward moment being imminent.

He opened one lazy eye to see Draco standing over him, his pale skin bathed in a patch of moonlight that was streaming through the window. He looked faintly uncertain, and his sudden vulnerability only added to the strength of his considerable appeal.

Harry sat up slowly, dangling his legs over the end of the bed, and fitting Draco easily between his knees. He didn't want to talk any more, he was sick of talking. The one thing he wanted more than anything in the world was to touch Draco, to run his hands over the framework of moonlight that made up his porcelain face, to touch his lips with his fingers and his mouth. Draco was silent as Harry glided his hands up his forearms, thinking that it was so easy to expose Draco's beautiful, beautiful skin, so easy to lay him naked to the world. Harry's fingers tightened without warning and he pulled Draco suddenly closer, falling backwards onto the bed so that the blond was positioned on top of him.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked, nudging Draco's chin with his nose.

"Hmm?" Draco said, rendered incoherent by the Harry's abrupt proximity.

"Shut up," Harry said, and thrust himself upwards, invading Draco's mouth with a brutal urgency and skilfully positioning himself so that they were perfectly aligned. Mouth to mouth, chest to chest, groin to groin. Harry's hands found their way to the edge of Draco's sweater and pulled it over his head, revealing the delicious expanse of pale chest that just cried out to be licked, touched, claimed.

The meeting of their skin was celebrated by a fire of nerves that were set alight by the contact, and Harry flipped Draco deftly onto his back, softening his protestations with his tongue.

"You talk too much," Harry gasped, as his mouth left Draco's and danced lightly down his throat. His voice was deeper now with desire, and more rough, and the sound of it set Draco's pulse thudding wildly.

"And you don't talk enough." Draco's hands moved to grasp Harry's jean-clad hips, grinding into him firmly, so that their erections met with an aching warmth. "You were always too silent, Harry." He arched as Harry's tongue flitted expertly through all the sensitive hollows of Draco's neck. "That's why I love getting under your skin." His fingers moved to the waistband of Harry's jeans and he thrust his hand inside and grasped Harry's cock, bringing the Gryffindor a breath away from orgasm.