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in the end (it doesn't even matter)

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It’s the first and only autumn of their Eighth Year at Hogwarts, and Draco and Potter are dating.

Right now, they’re kissing on Draco’s bed in the Slytherin dorm, and there’s not a better feeling in the world than having your partner in your sheets, all yours to touch and bite and grope at.

“Behave,” Draco warns Potter, when he presses his cock a bit too insistently against Draco’s thigh. “I don’t want to spend another morning in bed just because you can’t control your dick.”

Potter smiles against his jaw, all white teeth against brown skin. “You liar,” he mutters, and then proceeds to kiss Draco’s neck.

“Seriously,” Draco continues, “we could, like, go the library or sneak into the kitchens or meet with your awful friends.”

Potter laughs for real. “Did you just suggest to meet my friends?” he asks with a surprised tone.

Draco rolls his eyes. “What can I say: I’m already getting tired of you and your giant cock stiffing up whenever I’m with you.”

Potter looks up to his face. “You really are impossible,” he comments, eyes reduced to a fissure. “Can’t even lie to save your own arse.”

Draco pinches him on the arms. “My arse doesn’t need to be saved,” he says, chin up and with a huge grin on his face.

“Mmh,” Potter murmurs against his lips. “Tell me again when I’ll be done fucking it.”