The Cabin | D.M 18+

F O R T Y - F I V E

Hi.

Hope you're all grand.

This chapter is pure fluff.

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TW: Fluff and sexual themes. Viewer discretion is advised.

F L A S H B A C K #2

I trace each curvature, every stem and count the dark blue leaves upon the ceiling. Some sprout flowers, but those I want to ignore. Flowers do not interest me. Too predictable and boring.

My lips are still coated with sweat, where I am naked skinned - Draco's arm belts my hips with a possessive tightness, flaunting the smile I hate to show.

Hearts and fuzziness rests upon my crown like a bandore. The bed in this bistro pub/bar thing - whatever is not the comfiest but it surely is better than the wet mud.

"What are you thinking of, love?" Draco's voice mumbles against my shoulder.

You. As always.

Breathing. Smiling. Walking - frowning. Everything. Just you.

After our rendezvous, we took our rest. But undeniably enjoyed the silence of each other's presence first. However my heart beats at the same pace.

It never runs out when I'm near him, as though I live life through adrenaline. Like I ride a broomstick as if it were a skateboard or purposefully peek over the astronomy tower edge just to see how far it is to the ground.

Shuffling to my side, my cheeks resting on both cupped hands and watching his tiresome face smile.

"If we won the war- if Harry killed Voldemort, what would you want to do?" I ask. I don't even know why but it had been the first to come to mind.

Admitting that all I ever think about is Draco would be a step towards the embassy of embarrassment.

The question pulls Draco's eyes out of his sockets as he chuckles a surprised puff of air.

He hums, in thought as his thumbs draw random shapes on my lower back, "Never really gave it much thought."

Draco pauses. Looking around to pull an answer, I notice his lips twitch.

"Something that helps people, perhaps a healer or an alchemist." He shrugs. I laugh instead. His eyes catch mine where he meets my muse, "Quite ironic isn't it?"

"Very."

Imagining Draco as a healer had been my first mistake. The second of him wearing a healer's suit with his slicked back hair. Sometimes in fresh waves. Screaming at incompetent healers and assitants for taking too long in washing their hands or being late to their meeting by twenty seconds.

But then my thoughts wandered off to him as that of an alchemist.

Working in a laboratory, staring at potion bottles and cauldrons so close his nose squished against the glass. Rounded eyes as he let whispers that escaped his mouth confirm his irrationality. A hysterical laugh he would chunder if his concoction of metals and liquids unified with what his calculations would predict. Hair frazzling outward in sharp needles if it hadn't.

The stereotypical mad scientist.

"How about you?" His face nuzzles into the crook of where my neck meets my collarbone and peppers soft, delicate kisses.