In Your Arms, Rests My World

In Your Arms, Rests My World. Pt. 4

Nearly three months later, Harry, bizarrely enough, is left wondering what his life was like before he started sleeping with Malfoy.

He couldn't remember a time when the highlight of his day wasn't burying himself balls deep into Malfoy's spectacularly tight arse. He couldn't believe he spent all day wondering what he could do that would make Malfoy moan in that particular way, or make those particular, unbelievably sexy sounds.

He'd never spent all of his lessons staring at Malfoy with anything but hatred, except now, he stared with a kind of craving that built until his insides felt like they'd melted into a pool of boiling want that burnt him from the inside out, the fire only put out once he was able to get Malfoy into his arms again.

He couldn't remember feeling as restless as he did when he had to go a day or two without touching Malfoy, with Ginny or Cho.

And he couldn't remember Ginny's or Cho's mouth ever tasting as sweet as Malfoy's did.

The only redeeming factor to the madness was that Malfoy seemed to want him just as much. He returned all of Harry's discreet, prolonged staring, he kissed Harry with the same sort of fervour that Harry felt buzzing through his own veins and he opened himself up for Harry with a sort of eagerness that Harry only hoped he wasn't imagining.

He seemed to become just as agitated when they had to go without seeing each other, touching each other, for more than a couple of days, and Harry would come in to find him pacing restlessly around their classroom, at which point Malfoy would quite literally fling himself at Harry, pressing small kisses across his face and neck, trembling anxiously in the tight circle of his arms.

Harry didn't know what to think of the ludicrous, nearly surreal turn that their, initially purely physical, arrangement seemed to have taken. They'd gradually developed a cautious, hesitantly cordial accord which had slowly snowballed into something disconcertingly real, that had insidiously crept its way deeper and clawed in tighter until they both seemed to have lost control of how they felt or what they did.

Harry now spent a lot more time thinking about Malfoy than he cared to admit. And he wondered if Malfoy thought about him at all. It felt ridiculous and sentimental and every time he found himself getting sappy, he'd just turn his mind instead to the more physical, less emotional, act of how he'd fuck Malfoy until his cock hurt.

Every moment in the day that he spent thinking of Malfoy, he'd decide he wasn't going to do anything more than just fuck him into oblivion and get on with his day. And then he'd see Malfoy waiting for him and it seemed physically impossible not to kiss him lingeringly, to not taste his skin all over or not hold him close after they fucked.

Harry was also sleeping through most nights now, the vials of Sleeping Draught on his bedside table lying untouched and collecting a steady layer of dust. He couldn't remember the last time his insomnia had led him to wander aimlessly through the sleeping castle, much like on the night he'd first brought off Malfoy, or through the still, dew drenched grounds, his breath clouding before him, or to simply lie awake staring at the canopy of his four-poster, counting the number of seconds between each of Ron's rumbling snores.

His nightmares were now slightly less pronounced, less detailed, the shadowy, red-eyed figures now halfway mingled through with images of delicate fingers laced through his, flushed flesh under his hands, grey eyes fluttering shut, kiss-swollen lips being bitten in ecstasy...

They'd not ventured to meet anywhere but in that tiny Charms classroom with its single desk and Harry couldn't find words to describe just how much he enjoyed watching Malfoy's face as he fucked him. The lust-darkened silver eyes unshuttered, the way they rolled back into his head, the way his mouth fell open in a moan, or the way he grit his teeth and cursed. He loved the way his slender throat strained as he threw his head back, and his delicious, uber sensitive nipples, the nearly invisible line of downy blond hair that ran from his navel down to his fantastic, rosy cock.