"We can be friends, if you like," he says instead, nonchalant and careless. "What I'd like," Potter says seriously, "is to kiss you." Draco feels his jaw drop, feels the way his hair tumbles into his eyes when he whips around to stare at Potter. "What?" he breathes. "I think I'd like to kiss you," Potter repeats sombrely, no hint of mirth evident. "You think?" Draco says steadily, proud of himself for holding himself together. Potter's eyebrows slide up briefly but then Draco can't think or act or speak or breathe because Potter is leaning in and cupping his cheek gently. "I know," Potter says simply, and kisses Draco.

Potter is panting moist puffs of air into his face and grinding what is now a full-on erection against Draco's own, glaring at Draco with the same mixture of confusion-exasperation-helpless-raging want that Draco feels for the git, day after day, coursing through his bloodstream, making him feel at once like he's flying and drowning.

"Now, lust potions develop feelings of desire in the taker without the affection that a love potion gives, so Malfoy, you will find that you continue to see Potter as the insufferable twit that he is." Slash. Not HBP/DH compliant. Rated Mature.