There were meant to be words here. Words about ink and people and tattoos and Blaise. Talk about their past, and maybe the future, and ignoring that Draco thought he was heading off to die, and Potter was going to be married in two days.
That was what it was meant to be, but Draco had no hope in hell of speaking about any of that. Not in the least. Not when Harry said what he did, about their still being time to teach him, and he wasn't being at all subtle. Not to Draco.
Shifting in his seat, wincing at the pain of tight trousers as he leaned over the table closer to Harry.
"Potter, I have not had human contact in five years. I haven't had a lover, haven't had a friend. You are getting married in two bloody days," he growled, eyes narrowed and aching to literally leap across the table and take Potter then and there. "Don't tease me. I will not fight my death if I come in my bloody trousers because I've wanted you for about ten years, Potter."
no subject
That was what it was meant to be, but Draco had no hope in hell of speaking about any of that. Not in the least. Not when Harry said what he did, about their still being time to teach him, and he wasn't being at all subtle. Not to Draco.
Shifting in his seat, wincing at the pain of tight trousers as he leaned over the table closer to Harry.
"Potter, I have not had human contact in five years. I haven't had a lover, haven't had a friend. You are getting married in two bloody days," he growled, eyes narrowed and aching to literally leap across the table and take Potter then and there. "Don't tease me. I will not fight my death if I come in my bloody trousers because I've wanted you for about ten years, Potter."