Inferno | Draco Malfoy

107 | Upper-Class, Lower Buttons

December
1998.

We stumble into the boys' dormitory, all tangled limbs and impatient hands, half-laughing, half-breathless, as we kick off our shoes mid-stride.

Robes tumble from our shoulders, forming a haphazard pile by the door, forgotten as soon as they fall. The click of the door closing is lost beneath the thundering of my heartbeat. My hands are already buried in his hair, dragging him closer, while his mouth claims mine.

There's nothing elegant about the way we kiss. No poise. No polish. Merely the hurried tempo of two individuals who have been engaging in ocular seduction and affection since the breakfast hour. Since the previous evening. Perhaps since the dawn of time itself.

I breathe a laugh into his mouth, dizzy at how ridiculously fast we've come undone. Double Potions only just ended, free period has scarcely commenced. Yet here we are, behaving like complete mad-caps, as if we might spontaneously combust if we don't consume each other right this instant.

"Professor Slughorn seemed determined to keep you talking today," I whisper, my lips ghosting over his. "Half the seventh-years couldn't take their eyes off you, and I doubt they even heard a word you said."

"Feeling possessive?" Draco quips, his breath skimming my face, warm and taunting.

"You wish," I say with a cheeky grin. "Everyone knows that this smart," I plant a kiss on his upper lip, "confident," then his lower lip, "strong," a quick peck on his mouth, "and dangerously handsome man who aced all the questions today... is mine."

He chuckles, and the sound wraps around me like a leisurely ribbon of heat. "Indeed, I'm all yours, Adriana."

A gentle, helpless giggle escapes me, but it vanishes the instant his lips meet mine again. Suddenly, he thrusts me backwards, and his hand slides up to cradle the back of my head with tender precision while simultaneously pinning me against the wall.

Even amidst this passionate moment, his protective hold, shielding me from the harshness of the wall's impact, makes me swoon, deepening my affection for him. And as his kisses become more fervent, it feels as though he's reacquainting every inch of me with utmost respect.

In a fit of impatience, craving the full weight of him pressed against me, my fingers find the cool leather of his belt. I tug firmly near the buckle, feeling the tension as it pulls taut, yanking him closer.

A deep, delectable sound rumbles from his throat, thick with desire, while a soft fire kindles low in my stomach, dampening the fine fabric beneath my attire, especially as his tongue captures mine, stealing away the precious air I have left.

We've shared kisses like this a thousand times prior, yet each encounter feels like the first and the last — burning brighter, fiercer, more urgent.

Matching my rhythm flawlessly, he presses closer, until our bodies are flush. He then lowers my head gently against the cool wall, one hand rising to steady himself there, while the other awkwardly fumbles at the buttons of my school cardigan. I reach out to help, peeling it away and tossing it aside as if it were a mere afterthought.

My hands discover the hem of his jumper, slipping beneath the soft knit and the crisp fabric of his blouse shirt, not particularly interested in removing it, just desperate to feel him as my hands skim upward, mapping the familiar planes of his stomach, tracing the ridges of muscle I've come to know by memory.

We touch like time has stopped. Like the castle doesn't exist beyond these four walls. And when his lips finally part from mine, it isn't clean; it's ruinous.

A thin strand of saliva dangles between us, trembling with each shallow breath, as if reluctant to let go. My lips throb with the bruised shape of his, wet and swollen, my tongue still drenched with his taste. The strand stretches, quivers, then yields, splitting into two glossy threads — one clinging stubbornly to the curve of his lower lip, the other smearing a gleaming trace across the corner of my mouth. I lick it away instinctively, savouring the proof of him still tethered to me, refusing to vanish entirely.