𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐄

Chapter 8

Harry woke up in the middle of the night, immediately aware that Draco was awake already. Harry wasn't sure what woke him; it wasn't Draco's thoughts, which were listless and a little sad, but mostly just comfortable and warm and completely non-verbal for a change. Harry's bare chest was pressed up against Draco's back and his arms, both of them, were wrapped around Draco. His right arm was trapped under Draco's neck, acting as a makeshift pillow, and was only slightly asleep. His left arm was draped across Draco's waist, bent at the elbow and tucked against Draco's stomach. His left hand was pressed against Draco's chest, which rose evenly and slowly as if he were pretending to sleep. Draco's hand resting lightly over Harry's.

Don't say anything, Potter.

'What?'

What did I just tell you? Say nothing. You'll spoil the moment.

'Are we having a moment?'

Well. That's done it. There it is. Spoiled. I hope you're proud of yourself. Draco untangled himself from Harry's arms and turned over onto his back, careful to keep one leg pressed against Harry's. Ouch ouch ouch ouch.

'That's one bad bout of the flu you've got.' The skin on Draco's back was incredibly sensitive; probably, Harry reasoned, the result of his low-grade fever.

Your observational skills astound me. Harry retrieved his arm from under Draco's neck and used it to prop up his head.

'Your nose seems less stuffed up, though.' He could just barely make out Draco's face in the moonlight. 'You can sort of breathe through it now, at least.'

It's always better at night. Wait til the morning. That will be a fun show. He coughed and turned his face away.

'I don't actually enjoy seeing you suffer, you know.'

Could have fooled me.

'Come on.'

Yes, well. Your concern is touching. I have no idea what to do with it. Perhaps you should go back to the endless stream of graphic sexual images that keep me so entertained in my confinement. Ooo yes. Just like that. Porn on command. This is better than PlayWizard centrefolds. Harry moved to swat at him, but ended up just laying his hand against Draco's chest again.

Draco looked back at Harry's face. That feels odd, doesn't it.

'What?'

Feeling me feeling you like that. Don't you think?

'You know, not really so odd at all. It feels kind of...I don't know.'

Natural?

'Yeah, actually.'

Weird. That's what's so odd about it, really. Draco lay his hand against Harry's for a moment, and then guided it down across his stomach to his navel, and then back up again.

'Ooooh.'

Yeah.

Harry tried this again, and shivered a little at the ghost touch he could feel echoed against his own skin. Draco let Harry's hand wander on its own and reached up to rub his thumb along Harry's scar. So sexy. Why haven't I tried this before? Harry could feel it too, his own scar under Draco's fingers and Draco's fingers against him, he felt Draco's breathing under his hand, fingers skittering over his stomach, Draco's stomach, brushing the skin under his navel. Oh. Yes. Don't stop. That feels very nice. Does it feel nice for you?

'Yes.'

Harry dragged his palm along Draco's ribs, felt Draco's fingers slip into his hair, and buried his face in Draco's neck.