In Which Handholding is Permissible, But Only During Sex.

Archiving: just ask.
Rating: PG.
Pairing: Harry/Draco.
Date Written: Sept 5, 2005
Disclaimer: Not mine.

Notes: written for the final challenge of The Eros Affair, which you really really *really* should read every bit of because it's glorious. This was co-written with [info]reenka, who was cruising on even less sleep than me at the time. :D



"Your hand...."


Draco looked warily at their entwining fingers and then gave Harry the dirtiest post-coital look he could muster. "You're doing this on PURPOSE!"

Harry looked insufferably smug. "And if I am...?"

Utterly pissed off at himself for the warmth swooping in his stomach, Draco attempted to pull his hand away. Harry responded by settling his weight against Draco's slick stomach, and gripping his hand even harder.

"That hurts, you bastard," Draco complained.

Harry's smirk broke into a full-fledged grin, and he leaned forward and licked--licked, as if Draco were a lolly!--the side of Draco's neck. "Hasn't anyone ever told you you should go with the flow?"

"No," said Draco, fidgeting beneath him, "and I don't need your empty platitudes at a time like this!"

Harry raised up. "Like what?"


Harry's look went from amused to calculating to downright terrifying, all in one swift head tilt. "And if I am?" he asked.

Draco went rigid, swallowed, and then said, "Oh, stop toying around and let go of my bloody hand."
"No," said Harry, still holding it tight. "What if I am?"

"We're shagmates, Potter, not--not like that."

Harry snorted. "So? I'm the bloody best shag you're likely to get, so why not?"

"If you're insinuating that there's no one else I could--"

"Not could," said Harry, smiling. "Would."

Draco sputtered and attempted to kick Harry out of the bed, which was difficult given his position.

"Admit it," said Harry. "You can't get enough of me."

"I'm not admitting to a thing without a solicitor present," Draco said
huffily, and then they both laughed and Harry squeezed his hand,
flopping back on the bed.

"It wouldn't be so bad, you know."

"What," Draco snapped.

"Oh, I don't know...." He brought Draco's hand to his chest, playing with his fingers absentmindedly and daring Draco to say something.

"You think you can get away with absolute murder, don't you, Potter."

"I don't need to think," Harry grinned, leaning over Draco again and shivering when both their breaths speeded up. "Do you?" He was a
hair's breadth from kissing him now, but not quite. It almost seemed as if he was content to stay that mere millimeter away from Draco's lips, and it was up to Draco now. His choice.

"I don't--" His breath hitched, and he bit down on his bottom lip. "Potter...."

Harry didn't move, didn't flinch, and Draco was hyperaware of him, of his closeness, his infuriating stillness. "I know what you want, Draco," he said. And then: "I'm not moving til you promise."

"Promise?" Draco yelped. "Promise what?"

Any minute now, Potter was going to stop smiling at him that way. "You know what," he said comfortably.

"But I--" Harry, impossibly, narrowed the gap from two millimeters to one, or from one to one billionth, and Draco was going to go crazy if he didn't have Potter's tongue in his mouth in about five more seconds. "You can't torture me into agreeing to marry you," he said desperately. "It won't work, you're just posturing, you don't really want to--" he stopped short at the look on Harry's face.

"You do, don't you," said Draco in utter surprise. "You've thought about it and all that."

Harry looked down at their intertwined hands, which Draco had regrettably forgotten to disentangle. "I told you. I don't have to think about it. I'm sure."

"Oh," said Draco, feeling all his breath leave him at once.

"And so are you," said Harry. "Now hurry up and promise because I really bloody want another shag."

Draco thought the tension must be getting to him, because looking at
Potter looking at him was making him a bit dizzy. He tried to take a
deep breath and failed, and generally blamed Potter. "It's-- always about what you want," he forced out, determined to-- well, be determined.

Harry grinned. "You're such a try-hard, Draco."

"Just bloody kiss me before I go mad, you utter wanker!" Draco yelled--in a vaguely croaking manner.

"I want you to say it," Harry said softly.

"You started it--" he panted. "You--"

"--finish it," Harry whispered.

Draco's neck hurt like a son of a bitch from all the effort of not tilting his head. "I--" he swallowed. God, he wanted to lick him so
much it actually physically hurt. "You fucking complete utter bastard."

"I love you," Harry said, looking straight at him, and some part of Draco thought he was going to die of embarrassment or arousal or sheer frustration or possibly something else.

Potter was going to be the death of him.

"Yes," Draco breathed, falling forward.

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