Draco flipped aimlessly through the pages of his Arithmancy textbook, the rustling of paper filling the silence of the room. He knew he should study, but he couldn't muster the concentration. It wasn't a surprise. The last few months had been an exercise in anxiety, frustration, and distraction.
Speaking of distractions, Potter took that opportunity to sigh loudly from the other bed before closing his own book with a resounding thud. A few seconds later, he groaned and bounded out of bed before beginning to pace restlessly about the room. It appeared Draco wasn't the only one who was preoccupied.
That also wasn't a surprise. Especially after last night.
They'd been living together for over two months now, ever since that thrice-damned potions accident during the second week of classes had left them bonded together. To say it had been rough would be an understatement. But after their third huge row—this one during one of their shared Transfiguration classes—they'd both started making more of an effort. Completely of their own free will and their tireless commitment to setting and example for the school—Headmistress McGonagall and her threats to have them thrown from the school had absolutely nothing to with it.
She'd strongly suggested they start getting to know one another better by focussing on what they had in common. Draco thought she was stark raving mad. But when Potter had suggested a game of Catch the Snitch last night, he'd reluctantly agreed. He really didn't want to see the headmistress's face if he told her they hadn't tried any of her recommendations.
The game had started rough, angry. The both of them had been riding a tidal wave of stress and tension, and flying had been the perfect relief. The element of competition had added an edge to their interactions, and they'd flown all out, pushing themselves and each other higher and harder. After awhile, though, they'd burned off that stressful frustration and had begun to actually enjoy themselves.
They'd each won a game apiece and had decided not to bother for a third—best not to test their new-found friendliness by breaking the tie. By the end of their games, they'd been wind-rumpled, pink-cheeked, and grinning. It had been an unexpected moment of camaraderie, but what happened next had been even more unexpected.
Draco still wasn't sure how it happened. One moment they were walking back towards the castle, brooms over their shoulders, and the next they were stumbling up against the Quidditch stands, snogging like mad.
Draco wasn't even sure which one of them had made the first move, or perhaps it had both of them at once. It hadn't even seemed like a conscious decision on either of their parts, and maybe it hadn't been. Maybe they'd been struggling so hard against this unwanted bond that it had finally snapped, urging them to do what it had clearly been made for.
Whatever the reason, they'd both given in, kissing each other with a hunger and desperation that still made Draco's belly flip when he thought about it. By the time they'd both finally come to their senses and broken apart, horrified, they were panting and keyed up and undeniably hard.
It had been a long, uncomfortable walk back to the castle, that was for damn sure.
The discomfort hadn't stopped there. Though things hadn't exactly been rosy between Potter and him before, the tension strumming between them now was hitting a decidedly different note.
Draco flipped another page of his textbook, feeling his neck prickle with the certainty that Potter was looking at him. Again. But just like all the other times, when Draco looked up, Potter's eyes were firmly averted. Entirely against his will, Draco's gaze began to trace over Potter's form, tense and tight as he paced around the room like a caged Nundu. His tanned skin seemed to glow golden in the lamplight, and Draco's palms itched with the urge to reach out and touch.
Potter turned, running his fingers through his chaotic hair and biting his lip distractedly. Still staring, this time Draco didn't miss when Potter's eyes slid over to Draco. Draco's stomach tightened with some unknown emotion. Potter stopped as their eyes locked, his eyes narrowing as he turned to confront Draco.
Draco opened his mouth to make some snappy retort about wearing a hole in the carpet, but instead he said, "Are we going to talk about last night?"
Potter's posture stiffened into a clearly defensive stance. "What of it?"
The itching in Draco's palms reached a fever pitch. He wanted to smooth the wrinkles away from Potter's forehead, wanted to slide his fingers through Potter's hair. Merlin, he was going bloody insane.
"It's just the bond, right?"
"What's just the bond?"
"These—" Draco waved a hand between them, "These feelings. What happened last night. It's making us want things." His pulse pounded as he waited for Potter to respond, praying that he wouldn't pretend it was just Draco that felt the tangled thread pulling them closer and closer together.
There was a long pause before Potter nodded, almost reluctantly. "Yeah, I guess."
"Then perhaps we should stop fighting it and give it what it wants," Draco suggested with a strange sort of anticipation. "Maybe then we can actually focus on our studying instead of feeling like we're about to explode." Draco watched Potter as he fidgeted from one foot to the next, his gaze averted. Draco felt a flash of cold fear. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it really was just him. He couldn't stop himself from breathing out, "You feel it too, don't you?" He had to. Potter had to.
Potter nodded slowly, licking his lips unconsciously as he finally met Draco's gaze.
Relief, and then hot, burning want slid down Draco's spine. He stood, his book dropping to the floor with a heavy thud. He took a step towards Potter.
"Now?" Potter squeaked, taking a step backwards, then another, and another as Draco advanced.
Draco shrugged with all the nonchalance he didn't feel. "Why not? It's not like I can focus on Arithmancy with you pacing away over here. Maybe the bond's upset with us fighting so much."
"Maybe," Potter whispered as his back hit the wall. Draco pressed forward until he was chest to chest with Potter, their faces just a hairsbreadth apart. Potter licked his lips. "So, do we just…"
Draco leaned forward, tilting his head and pressing his mouth firmly to Potter's. Potter stood there, his lips limp and unmoving against Draco's. It was utterly uninspiring, and Draco was about to pull back—assuming he'd guessed wrong—when Potter's hands came up to thread through Draco's hair and his mouth came to life.
This was more like it, Draco thought as he fell into the kiss, heart racing as the kiss gained intensity. It was all consuming, taking Draco over and reducing him to touch and taste, to the rising need welling up inside him.
He pressed closer, needing more, needing to feel the full length of Potter's body against his. They both groaned as Draco pushed Potter flat against the wall, molding their bodies together from chest to groin. Draco could feel Potter's erection through the fabric of their pyjamas, hard and thick as it nudged against Draco's. He rolled his hips, slowly at first, but then faster, rougher, spurred on by the hungry sounds escaping Potter's throat in between hungrier kisses.
Fuck, Potter felt big. Draco's mouth watered as he thought about it: thought about Potter's thick cock, wondered what would taste like, how it would feel stretching his jaw. He entire body trembled, and he kissed Potter more fervently. It was just the bond. It was influencing him, influencing them both, making them want things they wouldn't normally. But oh, how Draco wanted it. Draco wanted to drop to his knees right there and swallow Potter's fat cock right down to the root.
He didn't. He just kept moving, giving himself over to the slick slide of their lips and the spiraling pleasure of their gyrating hips. Potter's hands moved down to Draco's arse, grabbing it firmly and pulling Draco even closer, urging him on.
Draco gasped into Potter's mouth as the pleasure mounted, tension building up in his muscles until it finally released in a glorious rush. He moaned into Potter's mouth as he came, filling his pants with sticky fluid. Potter wasn't far behind, grinding that thick cock against Draco's thigh a few more times before his hips stilled and his body went lax.
Draco took a step back, feeling awkward and exposed now that they had finished. Potter smiled at him a little wryly, cleaning himself off with a charm before offering to do the same to Draco. Draco shivered as Potter's magic washed over him, clean and bright.
"It feels better, right?" Potter asked. "The bond. More settled?"
Draco wasn't sure. He still felt drawn to Potter, still had a bizarre urge to curl up next to him in bed, to run his fingertips along the edge of his jaw where a faint brush of stubble was beginning to shadow his skin. Still, the need didn't feel as overwhelming and undeniable as before, when it felt like he'd go crazy if he had to go another moment without touching Potter.
"Yes, I suppose so."
"So we should...we should do this more often then, do you think?" Potter asked as he climbed into bed, his eyes averted.
Draco thought about the feel of Potter's lips, the way they'd rutted together like animals against the wall until they were soaked with pleasure. He shivered as he climbed into his own bed, and he knew it had nothing to do with the chill of the room.
"Tomorrow night?" Draco suggested, hoping the ridiculous tendril of hope snaking through him wasn't obvious in his voice.
"Okay," Potter said. If Draco strained his ears, he thought he just might be able to detect that same thread of hope mirrored in Potter's low murmur. "Tomorrow."