Sunday, 06/10/1995
"Slept well, love?" Draco's voice drags me out of my sleep.
His lips are the first thing I feel, on the bare skin of my neck.
"Good morning," I mumble, sleepily, and a small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.
The pain is the second thing I feel, it's as if everything hurts. My abdomen, my legs. Sore, aching.
My eyes will stay closed for now, I assure the voice inside me that is bleating about wanting more sleep and how tired it is, in an effort to soothe it.
More kisses meet my skin and the official third thing I feel today is how my blanket gets pulled off me slightly. Unfortunately, I don't like that. Because the voice and I concur; very tired, more sleep! To give up our blanket, we agree, is out of the question.
"Please no," I groan, eyes still closed, my hands reach for the blanket blindly, "It's so cold."
Yes, not to disregard it, it is indeed rather cold in here, especially when you've only just been under a snug, warming blanket.
"You'll be warm in a minute I promise."
I, much to the frustration of the grumbling tiredness within me, renege on my promise by opening my eyes, which are immediately fastened on his. How couldn't they? He's on top of me, one of his hands braced right next to my head, the other one by now gripping my waist.
On top of me, or to be precise, all over me.
Now, slowly, the ambiguous meaning between his words seeps through to me through my grogginess. The smile returns to my lips, playing around them in genuine contentment, as I let my hand caress through his hair gently.
I wait patiently but vainly for him to say or do something. He merely keeps his role as an observer, taking in my face attentively.
Maybe he expects me to say something, I realize. Or not? What's he thinking at this very moment? I'd really like to know.
"Draco." His name rolls over my lips easily, quiet like a sigh. "You know," I start, "sounds like a good offer, really, totally great offer."
I let my fingertips stroke downwards, through his hair, over the side of his face, following his jawline, "But, I'm still in pain. I doubt I could do anything at all right now besides lying here completely comatose."
"Right, how could I forget about that whole thing with that fucking bastard."
"Stop," I demand pushing him off me before sitting up. Or trying to. Failing miserably in my attempt, I fall back onto the bed.
And he, what does he do? He laughs gloatingly at me. Not funny. Finally, a painfully high count of attempts later, I manage to sit up.
"What?" My arms cross in front of my chest while my reproachful gaze drills into his, "so funny, isn't it?" I'm not going to let that sit with me, so I'm not disinclined at all to stubbornly play the offended.
"Of course it is," he grins, reaching for my hand and intertwining our fingers after pulling me against his chest tightly.
Firmly he wraps his arms around me, holding me as close as possible, "Stay. Just a little longer, please. Don't go yet."
He murmurs it into my hair in his raspy morning voice. I know that he knows what he's doing. He knows that that's enough for me to reconsider all my life choices including if I'd want to get hot and heavy with him right now.
I wouldn't, it would be stupid since I'm still aching immensely. But then again, what am I saying, of course, I want to.
"Do you actually think I'd leave now? Go? I can't even walk," I mumble, partly complaining, partly joking. My head is whirling already. I'm currently certainly in no good condition. No self-control, no control at all.
"At least one good thing that creep did." His grasp around me tightens a little more, causing piercing pain to shoot through my torso. How I wish that would be an exaggeration.
"Would you not crush me?" I moan in discomfort, "It hurts. Please let me live."
"I'm hurting you? Tell me whose fault it is that you're hurting now, surely not mine."
I stay quiet. I'm not going to play along with every damn single one of his games. No, not doing him that favour. Even if that means he won't let go of me. I'm giving him stubbornness, I decide conclusively.
"What asshole did this to you and now doesn't even care at all? You're getting my point, don't act like you're not."
"Rubbish, he does care, very much. But you, you left him no other choice than to leave."
"Wrong answer."
That is all I get to hear.
Stubborn him and stubborn me will not make each other happy if things go on like this. We both know it.
My "Okay, okay, fine" and his "Sorry" blurt out of us pretty much simultaneously.
A second later his arms around me loosen. Gently his hand brushes over my collarbone and he presses a kiss onto my shoulder.
"I would never, never hurt you, you know that, right?" He mumbles, meanwhile his other hand travels down my side, tugging at the hem of my shirt, "Not unless you deserve it."
His audacity. His audacity is firstly, completely unbelievable, secondly, absolutely outrageous and thirdly, to my distress, plainly a weakness of mine. Rather humiliating.
There are goosebumps. All over my body. Know what's also all over my body? His hands. It's too late to try and hide them. It's too late to deny my feelings. I'm more than ready to give in. Who cares about a little soreness? Not me.
"I'll make you feel better love."
With that he once again is on top of me, his hands like earlier propped up left and right next to my head for support. This time he doesn't give himself time to look at me, instead, his lips find mine instantly.
Ever so tender he kisses me, my everything. His leaving my lips would've upset me if he hadn't found other places to plant them, travelling down my torso as if following an invisible trail.
Alone the feeling of his hands riding up my shirt for more access makes me melt into the mattress. Even more so his kisses down my stomach. The time until he tugs down my panties feels both eternal and far, far too short.
"Spread them." He pulls me out of my my-brain-is-about-to-resolve state.
"Hmm?" Given the circumstances, I think it's forgivable that I don't know what is what in the slightest, let alone words.
"Spread your legs for me."
He doesn't wait. Not even gives me a single second to do as he asked. My breath draws in gasping as he pushes them apart himself and continues to attack the inside of my left thigh with kisses, shortly after moving on to my right. I don't know who to blame it on, on the way his breath tickles on my skin or on the dramatically decreasing oxygen levels of the air I breathe.
What I do know is how he feels, his caressing hand and his pretty lips and his warmth and his smell. I know exactly how soft his hair feels with my hands grasped into it tightly, softer than the linen sheets beneath me and the air around me. And I know how my heart heavily beats in my chest, how my breath rasps through my throat and how uncontrollable sounds slip from deep out of my lungs.
"Shall I?" He asks quietly and looks up at me, his eyes drilling into mine.
"Shall you what?" I ask, searching for information inside my head, for impulses other than gnawing impatience and desire.
"You tell me," he demands, smirking a staggering grin that somehow manages to crank up my brain to work again. Gnawing impatience and desire are all that roll over me as I once again forge for information I can make sense of at this very moment as well as all he needs to hear from me.
"Please," I struggle to reply simply, not even bothering trying to not let it sound desperate, and straighten up a little, propping myself onto my elbows.
My new position allows me to watch his every move. Well, I could watch his every move if my eyes wouldn't roll back into my skull the very moment his tongue forcefully ran over my clit for the very first time. Only to repeat it again and again and again, making me nothing more than a literal moaning mess.
I cannot tell how much time passes as my sense of time has left me as well as my rational mind. I merely am aware of what fills my mindless moments, that, at one point, my elbows yield, letting me fall back onto the mattress, making ends to my alleged good sight before I could make good use of it. That my hands are on the verge of cramping as hard as they claw into the sheets underneath me about which I actually really don't care.
I notice something cold on my thigh and ponder for a few seconds what it could be until it occurs to me that it probably must be his ring, which concludes in the next thing to brood about to pop into my head. Does it make any sense that it really works, that I really no longer feel any of my pain right now?
For that, it turns out, I don't have enough brain to figure it out.
His mouth works over me in rhythmic movements, making my moans vibrate through my throat and his through my whole body. Addictively intense.
At this point, that's enough to push me over the edge, to make me lose it. Whatever form of control I still had, it's gone now. My back arches and my hands spasm into the sheets.
"Oh bloody hell," I whine, it escapes my lungs louder than I expected or wanted it to. But I can't bother to be embarrassed or whatever it would've made me feel like normally.
He keeps going and fastens his pace until I squirm under his touch, my hips buck up, my muscles cramp even harder, and I reach my high at last.
After I finish there's nothing but my pulsating body, loud silence and even louder rough breaths in my ears. My heart is pounding as if I'd just faced death, narrowly evaded suffocation or ran a marathon, possibly all of the above. My brain has to be dead, I'm pretty sure.
It feels empty, in a good way though, empty and so extremely light.
"Look at me." His voice sounds through to me, reminding me that I'm not alone. What did he say again? Can't grasp it.
He seems to insist, pushing up my chin lightly with his pointer and his thumb. Is he expecting me to open my eyes? I don't know so I don't. I let him hold me. In silence.
"Y/n?" He asks a short while later.
Out of breath. Just as I.
When I finally do open my eyes they are met by the sparkling silver in his, the pride in his expression and the beautiful exhaustion on his face.
"You're too pretty like this."
"Too pretty?"
"Are you better now?" He asks, acting as if I hadn't said anything.
I nod, lazily, my voice, I, no longer functioning. That surely makes him even prouder. He's conceited enough as it is. But, this definitely adds to it. I'll let it. Gladly.
Wearily, I let my eyes fall shut anew, trying to focus on my respiration, on getting it back to normal sometime soon.
"Hey," his hand keeps hold of my face, "I told you to look at me."
"I'm so tired Draco, I want to go back to sleep," I plead.
"I know. But we're taking a shower first." Merlin, he did not just say that.
I open my eyes again, ready to impose my will and get to watch a smile capture his puffy lips that make my stomach uproar with butterflies.
"Can't walk," I argue, hoping he'll spare me. My knees are much, much, much too soft to be challenged right now.
"Good thing you don't have to walk, I'll carry you."
This boy does not have any mercy, does he?
"I'll take care of you, love."