Étoile des Neiges

Chapter 5

Draco had just finished his morning shave when he heard the soft knock on the bathroom door. Startled, he hurried to wipe his face with the warm towel and opened the door.

"Potter! What are you-"

Potter caught him up in a deep kiss and closed the door-Merlin knows how.

This kiss had everything and yet nothing to do with the ones they had shared in the snow the previous night.

Yesterday, Potter's clever tongue had made Draco's brain melt. He had lost all sense of reality. Everything that mattered then was Potter's lips, his tongue, his breath, his moans, his arse and the swing of his hips against Draco's. Draco may have come in his pants somewhere between two kisses, but for sure he hadn't died from embarrassment like he thought he would. The moment had been totally surreal, and when they went back in and joined their friends in front of the fireplace, it had begun to feel like a blurry dream.

Neither Potter nor Draco had approached the other after that.

Even if he had the strange feeling of having dreamt the whole thing up, that hadn't stopped Draco from cherishing the memory anyhow. He had cherished it quite thoroughly twice, in fact. In his bed before sleep and in the shower this morning.

But this kiss was another business entirely. First, Potter was dry and warm against Draco. Second, Potter's hands were everywhere, from Draco's bare back to his jeans covered arse. And last, Draco was, this time, plenty aware of the situation. And he had the firm intention of making it good Pensieve material. Even if his hair was wet, again.

Draco put a tentative hand on Potter's broad shoulder. Potter's heat was radiating through the thin fabric of his shirt, and Draco could feel the muscle roll under his fingers, as Potter skimmed his back up and down. Draco shivered under the soft touch.

"Hmmm," Potter moaned in his ear, making Draco shiver even more.

Draco's eyes closed on their own when Potter made a line of wet kisses along his jaw. Potter's stubble was a delight on his cheek. Against all odds, Draco's fingers met no resistance as he ran them into Potter's hair. The nest on top of Potter's head was even softer than he remembered and, oh god, did it smell like apples?

It definitely smelled like apples.

Draco inhaled deeply and drew his head back. Potter jumped on the opportunity to bury his face in Draco's neck.

Never had Draco thought a kiss on the neck could give that much pleasure. And yet, there he was, in the middle of a muggle bathroom, panting, moaning under Potter's mouth. But in his defence, it wasn't exactly a chaste kiss. Potter was licking, sucking and biting. Every time the pressure of Potter's full lips changed against the skin of his neck, Draco felt a shiver run down his spine. He felt weak on his feet.

Potter's kisses moved to Draco's collarbone, then his chest and finally settled on his nipples, reducing Draco to a moaning little shite.

When Potter started to bite, irony hit Draco. It looked as though Potter had a thing for molesting Draco's chest in bathrooms.

Draco wondered what those lips could do against other parts of his anatomy, but before he could finish building his mental image, Potter drew back. His eyes were smouldering, the green barely visible behind the dilated pupils.