No One's Secret to Keep

Touch



When Draco woke up, he felt long, warm fingers smoothing up and down his spine. He felt a hard chest cushioning his cheek. He felt warm breath fluttering the hair on his head. And he knew, almost immediately, that this had to be a dream.



He moved his head slightly, so he could look up at the man that was cradling him so gently. Potter was staring up at the dark ceiling, absentmindedly running his fingers this place and that on Draco’s body and the blond watched in amazement.



He was in a bed with his lover.



It was almost as if they were really . . . Draco refused to acknowledge what this instance was like. Instead, he narrowed it down to just a dream and snuggled deeper into the warm body holding him. Potter’s arms tightened around him and he felt a kiss brush his forehead. “I should wake you up, shouldn’t I?”



Draco remained silent and just allowed his lover to thread his fingers into his hair. “I don’t want to wake you up. I want to let you sleep. I want you just to stay pressed up against me, warm and . . . Damn, I can’t think of another word. You’re really warm.”



Potter spoke as if Draco didn’t have ears, but---Draco reasoned---the Gryffindor must really think he was asleep. If he really did know how wide awake the blonde boy really was, he wouldn’t be talking the sweet gibberish he was now.



“You feel so good,” the dark-haired boy murmured against the top of Draco’s pale head. “Your skin is so smooth. Everything about you is smooth. Your voice, your words . . . this skin . . . God, this skin.”



Draco bit his lips hard to stop himself from shivering when Potter’s fingers skated over the skin at the sensitive small of his back. He didn’t want Potter to realize he was awake, thus ending his sleepy, incoherent whispers.



“I need some sleep. It’s almost three; we should get back to our dorms. I need to wake you up and tell you to get back, but if I wake you up, I’ll just touch you.”



Please, dear God, let him wake me up.



“I don’t want to touch you like that.” Harry whispered, his voice even softer than before. Draco risked turning his face slightly to look at his lover’s face and saw that Potter was once again staring at the ceiling, his glasses sitting on top of his head, a look of confusion on his face. “Why do I want to touch you like that?”



Like what? Like what, you prick!



Draco could feel the heart in his chest pounding so hard he thought it wanted to get out. Potter’s hands were now running purposelessly across his body, exploring and unintentionally arousing him. The Chosen One’s warm breath was blowing his hair gently back and forth, which only further aroused him. And that voice. Potter’s sleepy voice, saying all those pointless words, almost incomprehensible, and yet it made him want to rut on the bed.



And suddenly his source of sexual excitement---and eventual sexual fulfillment---was pulling away from him and climbing out of the bed. He automatically sat up straight and glared at the green-eyed boy who stared back at him in surprise. “Where the hell are you going?”



“To bed,” Potter practically yawned. “How long have you been awake?”



Draco could have cursed at how perceptive Potter was even when he looked as if he would fall over from being sleep deprived. “Since you moved so abruptly and had my head hit this hard mattress.”



Emerald eyes narrowed; they both knew good and well that the bed wasn’t hard, but Potter didn’t press it. “Well, since you’re awake, Malfoy, I don’t have to worry about waking you, so I’m going back to my dormitory.”



“No.”



Potter lifted the glasses from the top of his hair and put them on the tip of his nose so he could get a good look at the Slytherin. “No?”



“No, I’m not done with you yet.”



An ebony eyebrow lifted over the black frame of his glasses as the dark-haired boy sauntered back over to the bed. “What are you talking about, Malfoy?”



Draco smirked and rose up on his knees, allowing the sheet to slip from his naked body and pool around his thighs. He edged his way to where the other boy stood and wrapped long, pale arms around his rival’s bare shoulders. “Come and touch me.”



Potter groaned so deep in his throat that it sounded like a growl and he pushed Draco flat onto his back with the force of his kiss. The kiss was tangy; a result of Draco sleeping, but that didn’t defer Potter from trying to stick his entire tongue into the other boy’s mouth. The Slytherin has to focus on not drowning in Potter, alternating breaths with moans as the Boy-who-lived explored every inch of his mouth. He held on to the other boy tightly; his arms and legs wrapped around the Gryffindor with a strength that rivaled an anaconda.



When his mouth was finally released, the blonde found himself panting as Potter’s lips and tongue trailed down to his neck, nipping and licking at the purplish mark he had left nights before. Potter’s long fingers were tangled in the pale hair, tugging gently, softly as the urgency in his touches slowed.



Gasps could be heard as a pink tongue ran slowly across a pale collarbone. The boy’s body arched against the wonderful mouth just as it began to suck softly. Erection rubbed against erection teasingly. Fingers intertwined. Legs became tangled. Names were called.



“Tell me about my skin, Harry.”



“So soft,” the boy moaned against his ear. “So smooth. So fucking . . . warm . . .”



Their bodies rubbed against one another gently, slowly, as if every cell of their skin had to make contact at least once.



“God.”



“Harry, touch me.”



“Like this?”



“Mmm . . . yes. Again.”



“Again? Here?”



“Oh . . . yesssss . . . Harry . . . Harry . . .”



Draco pulled the dark-haired boy’s head down to his so he could take those soft lips that loved to torture him so. The kiss was almost chaste; it felt like satin sliding across silk. Finally, a mouth opened and the tip of a tongue peeked out to play with the tip of a top lip a moment before sucking it in. The blonde gasped as the ebony-haired boy lifted pale legs to his shoulders.



“Harry,” he groaned as his lover pressed against his entrance. The Gryffindor leaned forward to kiss him causing his knees to practically push against his shoulders, but he barely felt it. Instead, he moaned as his tongue played with his partner’s; tangling and tasting all at once. “Harry.”



“So warm . . . Hot,” the boy moaned, pressing against the tight cave he wanted so badly to thrust into. He leaned forward again for another kiss, holding Draco’s legs in place with his arms, and causing his glasses to slip down his nose and tap Draco against the forehead. The blonde laughed and lifted a hand to pull the glasses away. His light laughter soon died when pure emerald pierced into pure silver.



“Harry,” he gritted out, arching his back so that the head of his lover’s erection began to penetrate. He heard the other boy’s gasp, saw the pleasure in his eyes, felt the hand tighten in his hair, tasted the sweet breath breezing across his lips. Never before had they gone this slowly. Never before had they experienced each other in this position. Never before had they looked into one another’s eyes during this moment . . .



Something flashed in those emerald eyes and for a moment, everything stopped. Draco’s body was poised and ready for loving, just waiting for the hot erection to push past that first tight ring of muscle, but his lover’s body refused to move. Silver looked desperately to emerald, but the green eyes looked away.



“Harry?”



“No.”



“Harry, don’t,” the blonde insisted, tightening his hold on the other boy.



“No . . . I can’t,” Potter gasped, wrenching himself away. “Not like this.”



Draco’s arms still remained around his rival’s shaking shoulders in an effort to pull him back, but Potter shrugged them off with ease and swung himself off of the bed. The blonde flung himself into the other boy’s arms, desperate kisses and touches following that moment, but not being answered. Potter pushed him away once again.



“Touch me.”



“I can’t!” the green-eyed teen snapped out, snatching his pants from the floor. “You heard me say I couldn’t touch you that way!”



“What way?” the other shouted, flipping his head to shake the hair from his eyes. “What fucking way?”



“T-that way. I can’t touch you that way. We can’t be like that,” was his reply. Potter ran a shaking hand through his hair and lifted the rest of his clothing into his arms. Draco stood, unabashed at his naked state and walked to the man who stared at him with a pleading expression.



“Why?” he asked simply, pushing the clothing out of Potter’s arms and replacing them with his body. “You want me. You want to touch me. Just. Like. That. Admit it.”



“No,” Potter breathed, his chest rising and falling rapidly against Draco’s as their faces moved closer. “No. No. No. No. No . . .”



Lips met, neither knew for how long until Draco was being pushed away again, this time with enough force to make him fall back onto the bed. “Harry?”



“Stop it! We can’t . . . I can’t . . . Fuck!” Potter reached down and pulled his shirt back on, not even bothering to button it back up again, and pushed his sockless feet into his trainers. “Fuck! Draco . . . Malfoy, we can’t do this.”



“Why?” Draco asked through clenched teeth, trying desperately not to let the tears balancing precariously on the tip of his eyelids to fall. “Why, Potter? Why can’t we? Why can’t you fucking touch me the way I know you want to?”



“Because you’re not Ginny!”



Draco flinched violently at the mention of her name. His mouth went bone dry. A single tear fell.



“I can’t touch you the way I touch her,” Potter told him, tears falling from his own eyes. He rushed to the other boy and cupped his pale face in both hands. “Don’t you understand? We can’t . . . I don’t want to cheat on Ginny . . . I love her, Draco.”



Dull silver eyes closed, unable to look at emerald, but he didn’t pull away, just relished the feeling of soft thumbs brushing the wetness from his cheeks.



“You need to understand . . . and . . . and you’re getting married.” The blond pulled away then, anger pushing past the pain. “We can’t . . . be like this. You know that . . . I just . . . I wish . . .”



Draco never did find out what Potter wished for; the boy pulled away from him abruptly, pulled his pile of robes up from the floor and rushed out the door of the room without another word. Draco sat on the bed, ashamed in his nakedness, in the middle of that now unnecessary ivory room, the light of its sparkling chandelier emphasizing the silver tears on his cheeks as he reached across the bed to pick up the glasses his lover had left behind.



You’re not Ginny!



The satisfying sound of broken glass echoed through the room as the thin black frames crashed against the wall.



“Don’t you think I fucking know that?”



*



A/N: Sorry guys for sucking so much and not updating. Hope you liked the chapter! -blaquejaxx