Letters

October: The Rhumba

A/N So far, I have researched and only used music that was released in 2001 or before. I hold up my hand and admit to failing to keep that up. Apologies for slipping up but I really wanted to use the songs referred to in this chapter.

On a Saturday afternoon in early October, Draco guided Harry into the Manor's ballroom which had been shut up since long before the war. He opened up one of the enormous shuttered windows so that the Autumn sun poured into the room in a dusty strip of light. The room felt slightly stale and unused, especially compared to elsewhere in Manor where Narcissa filled the rooms they used with cut flowers from the gardens, offering freshness and vibrancy to the difficult atmosphere of the old building.

'Kick off your boots, you great oaf!' Draco said. 'I'm going to teach you a new dance, barefoot, but this one's for private. We'd be locked up if we did this at a Ministry Ball.' He smirked evilly and Harry felt his insides melt a little. He knew that whatever was coming it was bound to be extremely sensual.

Draco put his iPod into a new docking station in the corner of the room and pressed 'Play'.

'Eventually, we're going to dance to this,' he said as Michael Bublé began crooning, 'You're a falling star...'

Harry listened to slow rhythm and the meaningful lyrics and he related to the words that were being sung:

And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times
It's you, it's you, you make me sing.
You're every line, you're every word, you're everything.

He thought it was true, Draco was Harry's everything. 'Draco...' he faltered, moved to say something but unsure how to voice his feelings.

'No words. Just change your jeans into something a bit more relaxed and down to just a t-shirt.'

Harry did as he was told, discarding his boots, jacket and jumper to the corner and waving a hand over his jeans.

'This is a slow Latin dance, Harry, and we're going to start with a hip-sway over the standing leg.' Draco stood close to Harry, facing him, and placed his hands on his hips. 'Relax,' he whispered. 'You're going to work a kind of figure of eight with your hips, let my hands guide you.'

Draco carefully guided Harry and the movements and steps gradually became more fluid and complex and arm choreography was gradually included.

'I want you to lead this dance because there will be lifts,' Draco said softly into his ear as he extended an arm over Harry's shoulder and leant in close. His chest pressed against Harry's. 'This is just about you and me. Nothing else...' he whispered.

As the serious of steps gradually started to come together, it felt like they were continually touching each other, soft, glancing, tentative touches combined with stretching, clasping grips that constantly pulled them back together as if they couldn't stand to be parted when they moved too far from one another.

'It's worse than the Tango,' Harry murmured into Draco's neck as he stepped up close behind him, his chest pushed firmly against Draco's back, and he wrapped an arm tightly around Draco's waist. Harry slowly turned him on one leg, the other hooked behind Harry and he ran his free hand lightly down Draco's side using the backs of his fingers, he wasn't sure if it was what he was meant to be doing but it felt right. His fingers were almost trembling with the reverence of the touch.

'Yes,' hissed Draco lowly as Harry lips came into contact with his neck; Draco's aftershave too irresistible at this proximity and in private.

Without realising it, they'd stopped moving beyond the synchronised sway of their hips; Harry's mouth nuzzling against Draco, his lips moving softly, teeth teasingly grazing, tongue lazily flicking, against the line that ran from his ear down to his clavicle as he clasped Draco firmly against his body, one hand over Draco's heart, the other holding his hip, his fingers digging in slightly.