Stagesoflove: Wave-Thingy One (Exploration of a Relationship Through The Five Senses: sight, hearing, touch, smell and taste)
Draco x Harry (in Harry Potter... dur)
Exactly 500 Words.
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Draco is slow in his movements; he finishes unbuttoning the shirt and, rather than pull it off, lets it sort of slide down his arms. The tie, which he had so meticulously undone only a moment before, fell swiftly from his hand, onto the carpeted floor of the Slytherin dormitory.
Harry, not deferring from the way he usually undressed, loosened the tie enough to pull it over his head, doing the same with his white button-up. The clothes landed in a heap behind the Gryffindor, unceremonious and simple. Understandably nervous, he runs his hands through his hair.
It's curiosity more than anything, really. The way Harry skims his fingertips along Draco's sides doesn't necessarily seem sexual, but it makes him shiver. The quick, demanding way he examines Draco; the way he turns him, exhaling audibly while he manages to run his hands along the smooth, clear, unmarked expanse of skin, so white in the darkly decorated room.
It's the way Draco's so slim, he thinks. It's the feminine waist, the flat, yet unmuscled stomach, even the startlingly thin arms. There are no scars, no marks of any kind, nothing to suggest childhood adventures or schoolyard fights or days out climbing trees. Nothing to suggest unnatural tortures at the hands of his father, which Harry had almost expected after the stories he'd heard. Nothing but soft, rich, fragile white skin that shivered under the Gryffindor's fingers.
For Draco, however, it's something entirely different. It's how Harry is so much taller than he is, so much more muscled and worn; it's the scars along his arms, along the tops of his hips, marks proving evidence of child abuse and a hard life. It’s how his tanned, uneven coloring only adds to his rugged, more boyish appearance. It’s the guttural sound he makes when Draco falls back, unintentionally brushing against him in a way that gives them both a sharp reminder as to why they had even come in the first place.
This startles them. Draco doesn’t need to speak to show Harry how afraid he is. The look in his eyes is enough. Harry doesn’t even have to say ‘I should go’; it’s enough in that he gathers the few articles of clothing he’s shed and begins to redress.
And it’s enough in the smile Harry gives him before he leaves, just soft enough to be reassuring.
Draco looks down, realizing suddenly that Harry’s red and gold tie was lying just where it had been before, and that Draco’s was gone. Admiring the gold threading shining in the dim moonlight, Draco picks it up and slips it on before even really thinking about it.
Looking in the mirror, he can see the awkward contrast between the tie and his spoiled, remarkably virginal body. But it doesn’t matter to him that they don’t seem right- his frailty and the courage the tie was supposed to signify- because he knows they fit. He can tell by the feverish heat still rushing through his body.