Draco in Darkness

As I See You (epilogue)

A night of pure touch, that's what this had become.  Harry's glasses lay on the nightstand, and a length of cloth wound around his green eyes in their place.  He had been the one to suggest this temporary sightlessness - tonight they would be on equal footing, as they had been before the ill-fated Quidditch match.  He would not gaze into Draco's unseeing grey eyes and feel oddly bereft because the blond could not return the gesture.  He would not watch for visual confirmation that his actions were pleasurable.  He would not watch where he put his hands at all.

Tonight they would both rely on their other senses.

Draco had the advantage of course; he was used to it by now.  His nimble fingers made quick work of the knot as he bound the fabric around Harry's eyes and, as soon as it was secure, he bent confidently to suck on a sensitive spot behind Harry's ear.  But Harry turned quickly in his arms and, knocking his hand a bit unexpectedly into Draco's chest, held him back.

"Hang on a bit," he murmured.  "This is normal for you.  The whole point was to have me be the same as you – doing things without my eyes.  If you're doing everything, how is it any different?"

"It's different because you won't be able to see what dastardly things I'm going to do to you, will you?"  Harry discovered he could hear the smirk on Draco's face; he wasn't sure how, but he could hear it all the same.

"Er... I suppose so," he conceded.  "But—"

"Potter, you talk too much, did you know that?  Now – shut up and just ... feel.  If you really want to know what it's like for me when we do this – just lay back and feel."

Harry closed his mouth over another protest and nodded, before remembering that Draco couldn't see it.  Normally, seeing those blank grey eyes automatically reminded him to use voice and not gestures, but robbed of his own vision, he'd forgotten.  "Fine, you win," he replied instead.

"Of course I do.  Don't I always?  Now, shush."  Then, before Harry could make any sort of reply, he felt Draco's hand reach out, find his face, and then warm lips were pressed to his.  He started – he hadn't known the kiss was coming – but then relaxed into the familiar feel of Draco's mouth against his.  This isn't so different, he thought; Harry usually closed his eyes during a kiss – yet he found himself paying more attention to the minute traces of Draco's tongue along his lips, to the feel of Draco's hands undoing his shirt buttons.

"Lie back," the other boy murmured.  Harry hesitated a moment, trying to remember which way he was facing on the bed; then he felt Draco gently pushing him down, and his outstretched hand encountered the pillow.  How on earth did Draco maintain so much of his pre-accident grace, the same confidence in his spatial relationships?  Harry shook his head mentally as he settled himself on top of the duvet.  Draco was right; it *was* different, even for the more passive partner, but Harry quickly found he didn't need his eyes to know exactly where Draco was, and what he was doing.  He felt the mattress dip and shift as Draco knelt next to him, felt the cool fingers make quick work of the buttons on his jeans, and found he knew the exact moment to lift his hips so they – and his boxers – could be pulled off, just by feel. 

Getting Draco's clothing off was more of a challenge; individual shirt buttons weren't so hard, but he missed one in the row and had to go back.  He took his time pushing the shirt off, enjoying the feel of muscles under his hands, muscles he was used to admiring with his eyes.  This was almost better, in a way; the simple gesture of running his hands over Draco's shoulders and down his arms stirred him unexpectedly.  Tracing the curve of Draco's arse as he pulled down his trousers was even better – he'd always been in more of a hurry to divest the other boy of his clothing to pay much attention to the feel of this step, and Harry made a mental note to appreciate this more often, blindfold or no blindfold.