entanglements | d.m.

39.visitofreality

December '98 | H I M

It's a knock on the door that wakes Draco up, but the voice following that rips his eyes open.

"Good morning, sleepyheads," Julia grins at him knowingly. Or them? Where am I? "I just came to tell you we're going now. Breakfast is waiting downstairs, if you feel like it."

I'm on someone—Devyn—how???

Have I been drooling?

With that dream...

Was it a dream?

Julia picks the bra that got stuck on the dresser, somehow.

No dream.

"Mum," Devyn strangles out, the vibrations of her talking tickling his head.

"I have something just like this."

"Oh my god." He feels Devyn's hands leave his head, to hide cover her face because the next thing sounds muffled, "I don't want to know that!"

Draco smiles.

"But I do prefer something red," she says that with a wink at Draco while hanging the bra back on the knob.

He takes the mental note.

"Please." Devyn is squirming beneath him. "Get out."

Pleased with herself, Julia leaves the attic with a big smile on her face. So she knows that they are fucking, and she's happy about it? Why she is rooting for them, Draco has no clue. He should be kicked out of this house.

Finally turning his head to look at Devyn, he grins at the flush in her cheeks. "I thought you said she doesn't like coming up here."

"Yes, but she is a meddlesome witch. She itched to come in here. It's like she has a radar." Her hand falls back onto his head, fingers twisting the ends of his hair. She doesn't seem to be aware of doing it and he won't point it out. His soul is reveling in the simple touch. "I thought you locked up."

"Might have switched it with a temporary spell."

She sighs, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling. "Perfect."

"So they're gone?"

"Yeah."

"The whole day?"

"Well into the evening. Christmas can go a bit crazy." She lifts her head again, meeting his eyes. "Don't get any notions. I have things to do. Charms to learn."

He expected her closing off. Sex does not repair anything, he would know. But that doesn't mean the inevitable can be delayed a bit.

Communicating as much with his eyes, he lifts the shirt she has on—his shirt—exposing her beautiful breasts. Good god, he has a love for them. They truly take up significant brain and heart space.

He gives them the love they deserve, the kind of attention that always weakens her resolve. He groans at the fullness in his palm, or the feel of her nipple in his mouth, or both.

"Draco," Devyn whispers on an exhale, tangling her fingers in his hair.

The things he would do to hear his name exactly like this roll off her tongue are terrible.

When his teeth come in play, lightly biting her, her spine curves off the bed, pushing her chest further into him. He doesn't know for how long he lies there, loving on every inch of her chest, but he feels he's still not done when she tugs on his hair. It's not a sign of delight but a signal.