The ties that bind us part 2

XIV

Potter grimaced and then scratched the back of his head self-consciously, messing up his hair horridly with the nervous gesture. Draco waited, not quite patiently, his blood rushing south and his cock filling at Potter's every movement. Watching Potter toy with the waistband of his trousers was a bit too much and Draco almost snapped and yelled, "Today would be nice, Potter!" but if he were to be honest with himself, he didn't really want Potter to rush. Draco's nerves might not have survived if Potter demanded speed.

Finally, Potter toed off his shoes and lowered his trousers. They slipped down and pooled around his ankles and Draco's gaze was drawn to Potter's legs, locking on his knees, knobby but oddly endearing. So endearing, Draco was possessed with the sudden urge to touch and lick them, which was probably the oddest thing that had ever come to his mind — one shouldn't be attracted to knees, surely — but the need to know if Potter tasted good everywhere was overwhelming.

Potter stepped out of his trousers and then stood still, one of his hands in his hair again and the other tugging on the hem of his shirt. He looked as though he was awaiting Draco's judgment.

Draco wondered if it would be considered acceptable if he grabbed Potter and threw him on the desk, or at least yanked the rope and pulled Potter toward him, not that Draco had anything against staring. Potter still had his socks on, gray and patched, and his unbuttoned shirt swayed slightly around his hips, his cock heavy and pointing at Draco. Grabbing him and pulling him closer was surely the most logical thing to do, but Draco's limbs refused to move.

"You're not naked," Draco pointed out after a while.

"Um, the less clothes to put back on, the better. In case McGonagall shows up," Potter said and took a tiny step forward. "Er . . ." He looked at the teacher's desk as though to ask, "Will we do it there?"

Draco swallowed heavily. "Bend over any surface you wish, Potter," he said, unable to keep a smile of his face. It was hard to believe that a day had come when he was in a position to tell Potter something as crude as bend over, and Potter would listen to him rather than hex him.

"As if." Potter glared.

Draco sighed. Of course, it couldn't have been that simple.

"I'm not taking my eyes off of you," Potter grumbled, but took another tiny step forward.

It could have been a romantic statement, but it actually sounded threatening. Draco rubbed his temples, displeased. Did that mean Potter planned to look at him while they fucked? Because that sounded nerve-wrecking. And honestly, didn't gay men do it with one of them bent over? Would it work otherwise? Annoyed enough to be petulant, Draco pulled on the rope, though he did it gently. Potter made a small sound of surprise and rose up on his toes, but he didn't complain, so Draco pulled again, until Potter had no choice but to move forward or stumble. Or, obviously, grab the rope, wrap it around Draco's neck and strangle him, which fortunately, he hadn't done. Slowly, Potter approached as Draco grabbed the rope with both hands, pulling and gripping it closer and closer to Potter's neck until Potter stood right in front of him. Without a thought, he pressed his lips to Potter's and gave him a lingering kiss. Potter responded, but pulled away quickly. He grabbed Draco's bound wrist and peered into his face.

Draco shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Do you know what to do with that?" Potter asked and tilted his chin toward the vial Draco had deposited on the teacher's desk.

"Of course," Draco scoffed, insulted.

"Really? What?"

"Potter, I know what to do."