The Ties That Bind Us DRARRY

Six

Firm. Silken but firm. And warm. So very warm. Possibly perfect. If only they weren't Potter's lips.

Draco blinked as Potter made an odd choking sound, his eyes widening impossibly. His lips moved slightly against Draco's before he turned away sharply. He all but stabbed the parchment with his quill and continued to write, though his words looked suspiciously like gibberish.

I should make a joke, Draco thought despite the sudden dizziness. He should have sneered and ridiculed Potter, claim Potter had done it on purpose, but Draco's lips tingled too much and he couldn't make them move to form words. Potter seemed determined not to comment on the event and Draco decided that was probably the wisest course of action.

A dark flush spread over Potter's cheeks all the way to his neck. It was fascinating to watch. Draco's gaze lingered on the rope that squeezed Potter's throat; it must have choked him because Potter was breathing heavily. He showed no other sign of discomfort, however, but merely continued his furious scribbling apparently no longer requiring Draco's assistance. His hand on Draco's thigh was clenched into a tight fist; so tight it quivered from the effort. When Draco looked down, he could see that the redness of Potter's wrist was spreading and darkening. It looked alarmingly unhealthy.

"Stop clenching your hand, Potter. You're severing my circulation," Draco said, appalled by the roughness of his own voice. He had meant to yell, but ended up almost whispering.

Potter stopped scribbling, the tip of his quill poised above the parchment as his hand froze in midair. Draco felt oddly guilty, as though he had broken some no-speaking rule. Eventually, Potter did as Draco said and unclenched his hand. Then he squirmed a little in his seat before he resumed writing lines.

Draco closed his eyes and cursed inwardly, aghast at his own stupidity. Why had he told Potter to unclench his hand? Potter's palm was now splayed over Draco's thigh, radiating heat that burned through Draco's trousers, heating up his skin. It didn't help that Potter's entire body seemed to radiate heat as though he had been transformed into a furnace. He even looked like a furnace with his flushed face.

A strange thought occurred to Draco as he eyed Potter's cheeks. Potter was most certainly embarrassed, as was Draco, but he seemed excessively embarrassed. Perhaps he had liked the kiss. It was a thought worthy of exploration.

Draco stared at the back of Potter's head, trying in vain to read his mind. Potter seemed determined to pretend that the incident never occurred, but Draco wished to know if Potter was disgusted or intrigued. The matter required some subtle investigation.

"You have a crush on me, don't you, Potter?"

Potter's hand twitched so hard he smacked the inkbottle. It tipped over; black ink oozing onto the desk before Potter quickly picked it up. He stared at it for a moment, as though to make sure the inkbottle didn't plan to run away, and then he turned toward Draco - carefully this time - and whispered, "What?"

Draco gave him a slow smile; the one that Pansy claimed was irresistible. "You are crushing on me, Potter," he said confidently. "Why else would you kiss me?"

"I didn't kiss you!" Potter gasped, his eyes ridiculously round. "That was an accident. A terrible, terrible accident. You were leaning toward me too much."

Miffed though he was that Potter had said terrible twice, Draco still managed to answer. "Oh, I don't know, Potter. Here you are - gay and crushing on me, and here I am - tied to you with ropes. How convenient is this situation? Why, I'm beginning to think you not only kissed me on purpose, but that this whole thing is a part of your diabolical plan to seduce me."

Potter's jaw dropped. He closed his eyes and took a few breaths before he spoke, his voice steady. "Malfoy, I will now tell you the absolute truth." Draco leaned in closer, eagerly, as Potter continued. "Gay or not, I would never kiss you on purpose. And the only diabolical thing here is you."