Firm. Silken but firm. And warm. So very warm. Possibly perfect. If only they weren't Potter's lips.

Draco blinked as Potter made an odd choking sound, his eyes widening impossibly. His lips moved slightly against Draco's before he turned away sharply. He all but stabbed the parchment with his quill and continued to write, though his words looked suspiciously like gibberish.

I should make a joke, Draco thought despite the sudden dizziness. He should have sneered and ridiculed Potter, claim Potter had done it on purpose, but Draco's lips tingled too much and he couldn't make them move to form words. Potter seemed determined not to comment on the event and Draco decided that was probably the wisest course of action.

A dark flush spread over Potter's cheeks all the way to his neck. It was fascinating to watch. Draco's gaze lingered on the rope that squeezed Potter's throat; it must have choked him because Potter was breathing heavily. He showed no other sign of discomfort, however, but merely continued his furious scribbling apparently no longer requiring Draco's assistance. His hand on Draco's thigh was clenched into a tight fist; so tight it quivered from the effort. When Draco looked down, he could see that the redness of Potter's wrist was spreading and darkening. It looked alarmingly unhealthy. 

"Stop clenching your hand, Potter. You're severing my circulation," Draco said, appalled by the roughness of his own voice. He had meant to yell, but ended up almost whispering.

Potter stopped scribbling, the tip of his quill poised above the parchment as his hand froze in midair. Draco felt oddly guilty, as though he had broken some no-speaking rule. Eventually, Potter did as Draco said and unclenched his hand. Then he squirmed a little in his seat before he resumed writing lines.

Draco closed his eyes and cursed inwardly, aghast at his own stupidity. Why had he told Potter to unclench his hand? Potter's palm was now splayed over Draco's thigh, radiating heat that burned through Draco's trousers, heating up his skin. It didn't help that Potter's entire body seemed to radiate heat as though he had been transformed into a furnace. He even looked like a furnace with his flushed face.

A strange thought occurred to Draco as he eyed Potter's cheeks. Potter was most certainly embarrassed, as was Draco, but he seemed excessively embarrassed. Perhaps he had liked the kiss. It was a thought worthy of exploration.

Draco stared at the back of Potter's head, trying in vain to read his mind. Potter seemed determined to pretend that the incident never occurred, but Draco wished to know if Potter was disgusted or intrigued. The matter required some subtle investigation.

"You have a crush on me, don't you, Potter?"

Potter's hand twitched so hard he smacked the inkbottle. It tipped over; black ink oozing onto the desk before Potter quickly picked it up. He stared at it for a moment, as though to make sure the inkbottle didn't plan to run away, and then he turned toward Draco — carefully this time — and whispered, "What?"

Draco gave him a slow smile; the one that Pansy claimed was irresistible. "You are crushing on me, Potter," he said confidently. "Why else would you kiss me?"

"I didn't kiss you!" Potter gasped, his eyes ridiculously round. "That was an accident. A terrible, terrible accident. You were leaning toward me too much."

Miffed though he was that Potter had said terrible twice, Draco still managed to answer. "Oh, I don't know, Potter. Here you are — gay and crushing on me, and here I am — tied to you with ropes. How convenient is this situation? Why, I'm beginning to think you not only kissed me on purpose, but that this whole thing is a part of your diabolical plan to seduce me."

Potter's jaw dropped. He closed his eyes and took a few breaths before he spoke, his voice steady. "Malfoy, I will now tell you the absolute truth." Draco leaned in closer, eagerly, as Potter continued. "Gay or not, I would never kiss you on purpose. And the only diabolical thing here is you."

Draco retreated backward as though slapped. That shouldn't have hurt. And it didn't, he decided, but he still searched Potter's eyes for any sign of untruthfulness. He found none.

"Good," Draco said, sure he sounded as convincing as Potter. "Because I would never want you to. I just wanted to make sure you know that you have no chance of seducing me."

"If I could, I'd go and cry in the corner right now," Potter said grimly and turned away. He placed the inkbottle on the top right end of the parchment, but it wasn't heavy enough to hold it down. Not willing to wait for Potter to order him again, Draco placed his hand on the desk, preventing the parchment from curling. Potter began writing again.

The word terrible resonated in Draco's mind. It troubled him that Potter used such a word when talking about kissing him. Draco had been told he was extremely kissable by many girls, and they had often praised his techniques. The almost-kiss had been an accident, obviously, but it was unfair to refer to it as a terrible accident. A simple brush of lips couldn't have been used as evidence for anything. If Draco had given Potter a proper kiss, Potter would have forgotten what the word terrible meant and he would retract his earlier statement of never kissing Draco on purpose. And then he would go and cry in the corner when Draco told him he would neverkiss him again. 

That was it — Draco had to kiss Potter properly and kick those silly notions of terribleness out of the git's head. Except, of course, he didn't want to kiss Potter. However, he decided he could live through it if he had to and, clearly, he had no choice. He had to make Potter turn around sharply again and kiss him accidentally.

Draco pursed his lips, thinking. His gaze fell on the parchment and he grinned before he edged closer to Potter, making sure his breath tickled Potter's ear when he said, "Your handwriting is terrible."

Potter jumped a little, probably because he wasn't expecting Draco to be so close to his ear, but he calmed down quickly. He didn't turn around or say a word, clearly intent on ignoring Draco's presence.

Potter's unwillingness to swallow the bait had never stopped Draco before, and things weren't about to change. He leaned in even closer, pretending he wanted to inspect Potter's scribbles. His cheekbone touched Potter's and Potter froze and stopped breathing.

"There's no t in dunderhead," Draco commented.

"That's an h." Potter shook his head a little, as though trying to throw him off. He reminded Draco of a puppy again. A flea infested puppy, he amended.

Pleased that he had successfully annoyed Potter, Draco looked at the parchment again. "Well, it looks like a t," he insisted. "Honestly, Potter, has that Muggle school of yours failed to teach you how to write? You're supposed to write different letters differently." Draco turned his head a little and his lips almost touched Potter's cheek.

Potter shuddered and then whined, "Can't you be silent for two seconds, Malfoy?"

"I can," Draco claimed and then waited for two heartbeats before adding, "See?"

He thought he saw the corner of Potter's mouth twitch, but in the next moment Potter shook his head violently again. "Your hair's tickling me," he complained, a whining note still present in his tone. "Do you have to sit so close?"

"My arm hurts terribly if I move too far away," Draco lied and twisted the arm that was wrapped around Potter's waist. His fingers sneaked beneath Potter's shirt but quickly moved away after they touched warm skin. That was too much intimacy for Draco's taste. Potter squirmed, but didn't say anything. He was writing his lines dutifully, shaking his head now and again, as though he had a mental affliction that turned him into a twitching idiot. 

Irritated by Potter's behavior, Draco backed off slightly, but Potter was still jittery. Draco noticed that a lock of jet-black hair had curled around Potter's earlobe, obviously tickling his ear. Potter should have put down the quill and brush the lock away but apparently he found it much easier to shake his head and sigh in annoyance every other second. Perhaps he was afraid that if he touched his ear he'd have to touch Draco in the process. Or maybe he just wanted to annoy Draco to death. Or maybe he was just dumb enough to miss the obvious solution to the problem.

Draco watched him squirm and twitch for long minutes before he just couldn't take it anymore. Ignoring Potter's complaints, he abandoned his parchment-holding duty and reached out to brush the insolent lock of hair away from Potter's tormented ear.

Potter went completely still as Draco tested the texture of Potter's hair between his fingertips, reluctant to part with the strands now that he had them in his grasp. The dark hair was softer than Draco would have thought, but not nearly as soft as the patch of skin just below Potter's ear that Draco's knuckles brushed over accidentally. Compelled to explore that softness further, but having no more hands available since his left had abandoned Potter's tresses and slid down to finger the rope around Potter's neck, Draco leaned in until his nose was buried in Potter's apple-scented hair. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes and enjoying the scent before he gently pressed his lips to Potter's skin. He almost didn't hear Potter gasp from the loud pounding in his ears.

Potter didn't taste like apples. He tasted better. Which was a silly thought because Draco loved apples.

He dragged his lips over Potter's skin, touching it tentatively with his tongue. However, Potter wrenched away, taking his delicious skin with him. It was only after Draco saw Potter goggle at him that he realized he had done something crazy again.

"What are you doing?" Potter asked, the tone of his voice brimming with shock.

"I . . ." Draco's voice broke and he had to clear his throat before he could speak again. "I fell asleep. And my head fell onto your shoulder. It was an accident." Draco's cheeks heated up in shame. That had been the lamest excuse he had ever given anyone. He expected Potter to laugh at him, but Potter didn't seem amused. He seemed angry.

"An accident?" he repeated. "Oh, you're funny, Malfoy. Truly." Glaring, he added, "Stop trying to be clever. I told you I didn't kiss you on purpose. That was an accident. What are you trying to prove? What do you want from me?"

Draco stared at Potter's angry face and said nothing. Potter had made some crazy conclusions about Draco's motives and Draco did not plan to dissuade him; they sounded more dignified than the truth. The truth being that Draco had no idea what he wanted from Potter and why he had the sudden urge to bite him and kiss him and lick him.

"You want me to confess that I'm gay?" Potter asked and Draco frowned, considered, and then nodded. But Potter had obviously intended it as a rhetorical question, because he continued speaking without confirming anything. "You do realize that even if I tell you right now that I'm gay, no one would ever believe you? You couldn’t even use it to mock me in public because the moment you do I'll hex you and we'll end up fighting again. And then we'll be expelled. Don't you get it? You can't afford to provoke me, again. I don't think McGonagall was bluffing. She meant what she said; she thinks we shouldn't be here in the first place. We have no choice but to stay away from each other."

Draco frowned; he hadn't thought about McGonagall's threat much, but now that he did, he realized Potter was right. It hadn’t occurred to him that McGonagall's warning meant he wouldn't be allowed to push Potter's buttons, anymore. If Potter lost his temper — and that was the whole point of Draco's baiting — and he hit or hexed Draco again, it was over. Draco couldn't even count on convincing McGonagall that it was all Potter's fault, because she said she didn't care. It was a distressing thought — annoying Potter was Draco's favorite pastime.

"You know," Draco mused, looking on the bright side of things, "you're right. Which means there's nothing stopping you from telling me the truth. I can't share the knowledge with anyone, as you've so cleverly noted."

Potter looked heavenward. "Why would I confess something like that to you? And why would you care, if you can't use that knowledge against me?"

Yes, I can, Draco thought, but managed not to say it out loud. Honestly, Potter was ridiculously naïve. Knowledge could always be used against a person.

"I'm merely curious," Draco claimed. "I think it would be funny if you were gay. Think about all those girls that are crazy about you — they would be inconsolable." Potter opened his mouth, undoubtedly to deny the existence of worshipping girls, but Draco quickly added, "Oh, please, Potter, I've seen the amount of fan mail you get. Not to mention you won the Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award this year. And to tell you the truth, it's hard to navigate the hallways after you pass through them. The amount of drool produced by your fangirls is positively alarming." Draco grimaced as he remembered the dreamy looks some girls adopted the moment Potter appeared.

Potter gaped at him. "I won the Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award?"

"Like you didn't know," Draco scoffed.

Potter looked pained. "I didn't," he claimed, blinking rapidly. "They've sent me some letters, but I always throw those away. And I don't know anyone who reads Witch Weekly."

"Pansy reads it," Draco said quickly. "She showed me the article." That wasn't completely true. Draco had seen Potter's picture and snatched the magazine from her hands. But Potter didn't have to know that.

"That's stupid." Potter shook his head in disbelief.

Draco nodded, agreeing. It was stupid. He couldn’t understand why Potter won such a contest when the git rarely smiled. And when he did, his smile didn't reach his eyes. It was nothing but pretence; Potter's fans were highly unobservant.

Draco's lips quirked. "Are you worried your admirers won't admire you anymore once they find out you're gay?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Potter snapped. "It's no one's business but my own, that's all. It's certainly not yours."

Draco cocked his head, fascinated. "You are gay, aren't you?" 

Potter stared at him reproachfully for a full minute. He opened his mouth and then closed it, looking troubled. 

"Come on, Potter. Don't be shy." Draco smiled. "You're not only gay, but also attracted to a certain devilishly handsome Slytherin, who, coincidently, sits right beside you." 

Potter looked heavenward again. "You're so . . ." He sighed. Draco didn't find out what he was, because Potter abandoned his line of thought and said, "Fine, Malfoy, have it your way. I'll tell you the truth." Potter paused and took a deep breath, looking Draco straight in the eye. "I have no idea," he said, his expression turning miserable. "Ginny said I am, but I . . . I just don't know." Potter gave him a long, troubled look. "It's all so very confusing. It was easier when I had other things to worry about." He huffed and then added wryly, "Where's the Dark Lord when you need him? It was simple to know what I wanted, then. And I knew what people expected of me. I wish I were crushing on you. Then I'd know for certain that I'm not gay, but touched in the head." Potter sneered at him and then looked at the desk blankly. "Go on," he said resignedly after a long moment. "You have almost two hours to make fun of me. Better start now to cover all angles."

Draco, however, could not speak. He had it all planned out. If Potter confessed he was gay, Draco would yell, "I knew it!" and tease him mercilessly. If Potter had denied it, Draco would yell, "Liar!" and tease him mercilessly. He had no answer ready for Potter's confusion. It should have been funny, but Draco couldn’t laugh at it. There was something about it that troubled him. For a second, as he listen to Potter's pathetic whining, he felt oddly sympathetic. He knew what it was like — not knowing how to reconcile what you wanted to do and what was expected of you. Not knowing whether you wanted something because you were supposed to want it, or if you wanted something else out of some illogical need to be rebellious. It just wasn't funny.

Draco's silence must have aggravated Potter because he huffed in annoyance and turned as though he planned to write lines again, but the parchment had curled into a scroll and the inkbottle was nowhere in sight. It must have rolled away when Potter had twitched violently earlier. 

After Draco had randomly kissed his neck. 

Draco redirected his thoughts quickly; his cock was hardening again. It probably happened due to all that accidental kissing and the intimate touches they were forced to endure. Draco was a healthy young man, after all; reactions like that were perfectly natural. Mercifully, Potter had clenched his hand again, so he couldn't feel Draco's arousal. This time, Draco did not plan to tell him to unclench it.

Potter was staring at the parchment morosely.

"I won't tell anyone you're . . . having a crisis," Draco said, surprising himself by meaning his words.

Potter snorted. "You already told half the school, Malfoy."

"True. But no one believed me," Draco pointed out.

"It doesn't matter. Maybe I should just tell everyone I'm gay. Then, at least, those worshipping girls would leave me alone." Potter snorted again.

"No! No, you shouldn't!" Draco exclaimed before he could stop himself.

Potter blinked at him. "Why?"

"Because . . ." Draco frowned, trying to assemble his thoughts. This was now their secret — just theirs — as soon as he figured out how to get rid of Weaslette — and he didn't want to share the knowledge with everyone. "Because you'd be targeted by every gay man in the country. They'd all rush to molest you."

Potter lips twitched. "Because all gay men are molesters?"

"I didn't say that! It's just . . ." Draco struggled to articulate his concerns. "It seems dangerous somehow. Weren't you just whining about how everything is complicated? Do you like to suffer?" Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course you do. Forget I asked." Honestly, Potter had a dangerous martyr complex. Did he not realize that various men would think they have a chance to seduce him? They'd be sure to proposition him and that was a very unsettling thought. Why couldn’t Potter see that?

"I'm touched by your concern," Potter said solemnly, then added, "But, who knows? Maybe I'd want them to molest me. It might help me figure out what I want."

Draco's mind went blank and then a vision unfolded in front of his eyes. He saw Potter lying on a desk — a desk not unlike the one in front of them — as a man leaned over him, caressing his body —his naked body — and kissing his neck, and Potter didn't twitch and squirm away, but moaned in delight and demanded more.

"I'm joking, Malfoy," Potter said, sounding exasperated.

Draco saw Potter wave his hand in front of his eyes, but he couldn’t shake off the vision of Potter, lying on the desk and enjoying the hypothetical molestation.

"Malfoy, are you alive?" Potter asked and then, horrifically, possibly intending to grip Draco's leg and shake him, he unclenched his hand on Draco's thigh.

Draco snapped out of his daze at once and reacted immediately, but there was nothing he could do. Potter's fingers froze on the hard line of Draco's cock — fully erect now — and his lips parted in absolute shock, his gaze falling down onto Draco's crotch.

A pleasant sensation rushed through Draco at the intimate touch, but he had no time to enjoy it. Potter's mouth was moving, trying to form words, and Draco could think of nothing else but preventing Potter from speaking. He didn’t have an answer ready; he had no logical explanation for his arousal. Potter couldn’t be allowed to ask. Draco had to shut him up. 

In the next moment, he did so — by kissing Potter squarely on the mouth.