The Ties That Bind Us (Drarry)

Chapter 8

It was terrible. Potter had been right. Kissing simply didn't work for them. It would have been better if Potter wasn't frozen like a statue and if Draco could remember how to kiss.

The terribleness of the kiss didn't stop him, however. He couldn't stop. Potter's lips were made to be worshipped. Hard and unmoving though they were, Draco still shivered as he mapped them with his tongue and then trapped Potter's bottom lip, sucking on it lightly. Potter made a sound as though he wanted to say something; his lips moved and closed around Draco's upper lip. That was much better. It was almost a real kiss. Draco opened his mouth a little wider and slowly slid his tongue past Potter's lips.

Potter shuddered, then jerked his head back with a gasp. Draco half-expected him to wipe his mouth with his sleeve, but Potter simply traced his lips with his tongue as though to make sure they were still attached to him. The sight of that made Draco lean forward and Potter automatically leaned backward, but with Draco's arm around his waist he couldn't move far.

"Why are you doing this?" Potter whispered, his eyes frantically searching Draco's face for an answer. "Have you gone insane? Did I hit you too hard? Did someone hex you? Did someone poison — mmph!"

Draco pressed his mouth to Potter's again and buried his free hand into Potter's hair to prevent him from moving away. His hand wouldn't stay still; it insisted on caressing Potter's hair as his tongue moved in and out of Potter's mouth.

Potter tried to speak, and failing that, he grabbed Draco's wrist, pushing his arm away until he managed to twist it behind Draco's back. That hurt — a lot, but it didn't make Draco pull away. Even after Potter turned his head and Draco's lips ended up pressed against Potter's cheek, he couldn't stop kissing him. He attacked Potter's face with heated open-mouth kisses, moving slowly toward his ear and that soft spot near his hairline. He almost reached it when Potter jerked his body and twisted his trapped arm. He pulled sharply and the ever-present sensation of Potter's fingers on Draco's thigh suddenly disappeared, leaving nothing but pain and emptiness in its wake.

Draco gasped and pulled away, shocked to see that the ropes around his thigh had loosened and released Potter's hand. Potter seemed equally surprised and he let go off Draco's arm, his hands flying to the rope around his neck. He pulled and struggled, but they refused to budge. Draco half-heartedly tried to free his right arm, but the ropes didn't miraculously release him.

"The Charm is slowly wearing off," Draco commented, wondering if that was true or if Potter somehow succeeded to beat the Charm when he had panicked. It was distressing to think that Potter had been bothered by the kiss so much he broke the rules of magic.

Potter stopped struggling with the ropes. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, glaring, making Draco blink in surprise. He expected Potter to start ranting about his status as the Chosen One and some unwritten rule that said ex-Death Eaters weren't allowed to touch the Hero's precious lips. Instead, Potter bombarded him with ridiculous questions. "Do you know what day it is? Do you know who's Minister? Do you know your name? Do you have a concussion? Do you have a fever?" He raised his hand as tough to touch Draco's forehead but then he changed his mind and did the oddest thing — he shoved two fingers in front of Draco's eyes and asked, "How many fingers?"

Draco blanched. "Are you insane, Potter? What are you doing?"

Potter's hand dropped onto his lap. He rubbed his injured wrist, wincing slightly. "Am I insane?" he asked furiously. "What are you doing?

It was a valid question, but Draco had no answer. He shrugged.

"Do you get off on torturing me?"

Draco raised his eyebrows and considered the question. "Possibly."

Potter huffed and apparently refused to accept that as a definite explanation. He stared at Draco unflinchingly; his gaze so intense Draco feared it would burn a hole in his skull. He wished he knew what to say. Perhaps he should have claimed he had been poisoned or hexed. Maybe he was. It would explain his behaviour.