分卷阅读5（1 / 2）

“I guess you’ll just have to remind me.”

“I suppose I shall.” The film played to itself in the background, forgotten completely as Malfoy slid into a sitting position before swinging over one leg to straddle Harry’s thighs. Harry’s hands flew to Malfoy’s waist on instinct, pulling him in closer and bringing their jeans covered groins into contact. They both hissed at the sudden pressure. “Let’s see,” Malfoy whispered, leaning over to suck bruising kisses into the skin of Harry’s neck. “Five years and one week ago, you were a ginormous prat and stepped over a spell trigger in an old Death Eater house and fell into the basement.”

Harry wanted to concentrate on the five years ago part of that explanation, but he was having trouble; Malfoy was now moving his hips in maddeningly light circles, sending sparks of white hot pleasure up and down Harry’s spine and back to his dick.

“Then,” Malfoy continued, moving to the other side of Harry’s neck, “Five years ago yesterday, you woke up from your magical coma and kissed me.”

“I imagine that was somewhat of a surprise,” Harry managed to say. His fingers were clenching and unclenching round Malfoy’s waist, and he couldn’t seem to make himself stop. Nor could he stop himself from arching into the feel of Malofy’s lips against his skin.

Malfoy chuckled. “It was, but considering I had been fantasising about you doing just that for years already, I wasn’t too put out by it.”

He ground his hips down onto Harry’s erection, and Harry gasped out, “Malfoy!”

Malfoy stopped moving, raising his head and looking down at Harry, a strange look on his face. “Did you just call me Malfoy?”

Oh shit. Hermione had warned him about that. “Sorry,” Harry mumbled quickly. “I was just…er, remembering.”

Malfoy smiled and leaned back in. “I’ve never forgotten,” he whispered, and then captured Harry’s mouth in a searing kiss.

It was all so, so wrong, and mainly because it felt so damn perfect. Harry didn’t think he’d ever been kissed the way Malfoy was kissing him now; it was so breathtakingly wonderful that Harry’s heart broke a little at the thought that it wasn’t really meant for him. This Malfoy, this Draco, belonged to a different Harry, one that was used to being kissed like he was the other person’s entire world. Draco kissed Harry like he was starved for him; his hand shaking slightly where it was cupped around Harry’s cheek, his tongue tentative but desperate at the same time. Harry felt as though he was drowning in it, and it was only the thought that this wasn’t his that stopped him from giving himself over to it completely.

Then Hermione’s last words came back to him: when you woke up with Draco, when he kissed you, did you like it?

Yes, Harry liked it. He’d thought about it before, if he was honest with himself. When they were out in the field and Harry could see Malfoy’s lips moving soundlessly as he traced curse magic back to its source; when they found themselves alone together in a lift or an office; that time he’d seen Malfoy in the Leaky, lips shiny with firewhisky and grey eyes light and open as he gazed over at Harry. He’d thought about crowding Malfoy up against the wall of the lift and slotting their hips together; thought about pulling Malfoy close so that he would know how his mouth felt moving against his skin; thought about sliding his tongue between those damp lips and seeing how they taste…

Five years ago…

If what Malfoy had said was true, then maybe he was in the future? His own future, one that included anniversaries and beautiful houses and even more beautiful little girls and making out on the sofa in front of a film. If that was the case, then it wasn’t really wrong, was it?

Malfoy pulled back, trailing his fingers over Harry’s cheek. “Still lost in the memory?”

Harry looked up at him and thought fast. If this really was his own future, then he could have this, couldn’t he? It wouldn’t be like he was stealing something from somebody else, because it was his. It wouldn’t be wrong, would it?

“Harry? You okay?” Harry’s body made the decision for him, tackling Malfoy back onto the sofa and landing down on top of him. Malfoy chuckled and pulled at Harry’s shirt, lifting it up over his head and throwing it across the room. Harry pulled at Malfoy’s shirt, snarling when the buttons refused to undo themselves.

“You and your bloody buttons,” he mumbled, smiling slightly because he knew this about Draco, knew he would never stoop to wearing something so simple as a t shirt, even when lounging around the house.

“You like my bloody buttons,” Draco murmured, hugging Harry’s hips with his knees and arching his neck so that Harry could latch his mouth onto a newly exposed collarbone.