This was prompted by a random Twitter conversation in which a friend mentioned the word "screen" and somehow got the plot bunnies hopping around like mad. Strangely, she was referring to a computer screen, definitely not to what I envisioned. LOL!

Like a Sieve

Harry's hands were tangled in Draco's hair and their bodies were pressed together tightly; although not tightly enough for Harry, because he thought nothing would be quite close enough except being inside Draco—and didn't that notion make it even more tantalizing?

They couldn't, though. It was only their first date and even though they had gotten along surprisingly well, and even though the small talk had quickly led to sexual innuendos, and even though said innuendos had led to heated gazes and furtive touches, and even though glances and touches had led to increasingly pornographic gyrating together on the dance floor— Harry lost his train of thought, lost it quite thoroughly because Draco had stopped kissing him only to pant hot breaths against his cheek while his hands squeezed. Hands that gripped Harry's arse cheeks and pushed their groins together with maddening pressure, grinding their erections against one another.

Harry moaned and Draco's hot, hot breath moved downward, tracing a wet path along Harry's jaw to steam his neck for a moment before that amazing mouth attached itself to Harry's pulse point and sucked.

Harry's hands—now wrapped around Draco's exquisitely fine arse—squeezed also. Merlin, he needed to be inside that tight arse as soon as possible.

A protesting squeal sounded from the screen door Harry was currently leaning against, although leaning was perhaps not the most accurate description—being slowly forced through was closer. Without the protection of his shirt he felt quite sure his skin would have begun to ooze through the tiny gaps in the metal mesh by now.

Not that he was complaining, because if being sieved was the price he had to pay for Draco Malfoy to suck on his neck and squeeze his arse cheeks and rub their cocks together in that exquisitely painful fashion, then he could gladly slide through the mesh and worry about reassembling later.

Harry thought the neck-sucking was rather nice and anything that led to touching more of Draco's skin could only be a good thing, so he lowered his head and attached his lips to Draco's exposed jugular, biting lightly as he pretended to be a vampire, gorging himself on the heady sensation of lust rather than the crude ingestion of blood.

Draco's answering groan made Harry's cock twitch, even though it was being systematically mashed between their bodies and could barely move at all.

The door creaked again, more loudly, and a danger other than being forced through the screen occurred to him, albeit dimly, because Draco's neck tasted nearly as delicious as his mouth had, making Harry wonder how the rest of him tasted. The idea of danger came and went, ephemeral, and Harry thought it might be a fine idea to pull Draco's silk shirt out of his trousers and put his hands all over the gorgeous skin of Draco's back… so he did.

That earned another moan and even more wonderful grinding. Draco's flesh was molten hot, so hot that Harry's hands felt cold. How could he not have noticed how hot Draco was, because they could have been shagging for years, shagging instead of fighting and then dancing around each other at the Ministry pretending to be civil.

Draco's hands left Harry's arse, but it was okay, because he tore at Harry's shirt and then put his searing fingers on the bare skin of Harry's back and Harry arched forward to give him more room, even though his arse and shoulders still pushed dangerously hard against the screen.

An odd sound came to Harry's ears, almost a ripping noise, and he frowned against the smooth skin of Draco's neck. Fuck, but he smelled amazing; it was a heady mixture of soap, shampoo, and a subtle cologne, all combined with a musky scent that was all Draco.

"Um, Draco," Harry tried. They really shouldn't be making out so hot and heavy in their current location—on Ron and Hermione's front porch. Harry was staying with them for a couple of days and he had promised to come back after their date. No doubt Hermione had expected to pick up the pieces. Harry had worried about the possibility, himself.

No worries now, though, except that the front door stood wide open, no doubt to admit a cool breeze, and Harry vaguely feared one of the Weasleys would walk out and catch them in their current compromising position, although the inkling did not encourage him to take his hands away from Draco's flesh, nor did it stop him from considering a way to slide his hands into Draco's tight trousers, if only they weren't quite so snug.

The tearing noise came again and Harry felt a moment of disorientation, just before the screen ripped completely out of the frame and sent them both sprawling into the room. Thankfully, Hermione had thick carpets, so it wasn't particularly painful, and the feel of Draco lying atop him more than made up for the brief jolt of pain.

"Oh, better," Draco said in a purring tone and kissed Harry again. Harry most definitely agreed.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made Harry freeze and Draco's head lifted. Harry tipped his neck in order to look, upside down, at the person staring down at them. Hermione tapped her foot, arms crossed.

"I see the date went well," she said conversationally.

"Um… yes," Harry said.

"Is there a reason you destroyed my screen door?" she asked.

"Accident," Harry mumbled. "We got sort of carried away."

Draco dropped his head and snickered into Harry's neck, coaxing a delighted grin from Harry, who supposed they should get up off the floor, but even with the interruption, Harry was not quite ready to relinquish the feel of the blond pressing against parts of him that required pressing.

"I should go," Draco said, although he made no effort to rise.

"Hmmm," Harry replied noncommittally.

"I don't think my living room floor is really the place for this," Hermione added helpfully.

"I suppose not," Draco admitted and Harry smiled at the reluctance in his voice. He briefly flitted through a number of other places they could continue their current activity, but Malfoy Manor was not on that list and the others were too far away—back in London. "Potter. Tomorrow? Another date?"

Harry's fingers trailed lazily over the small of Draco's back and he nodded happily. "Yes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow is good. Is eight a.m. too early?"

Draco's eyes widened until he realized Harry was joking, except that Harry was only partially joking, because he was more than willing to show up on Draco's doorstep at any hour and continue where they had left off. "Yes, definitely too early. But… perhaps noon?"

"Noon. Brilliant. I'll… um… walk you out."

Draco moved away and helped Harry to his feet. They were both careful to keep their obvious arousal from Hermione's knowing gaze. Harry took Draco's hand and made his way through the screenless door frame with an apologetic backward glance.

At the front gate, Harry turned and scooped Draco back into a heated embrace, locking their lips together. Not wanting to risk a broken gate, he kept the snogging to a minimum, and also because Hermione stood in the doorway watching them, which really put a damper on things. Harry made a mental note to take Draco back to London as soon as possible where he had a nice, empty flat with a nice, large bed.

"Tomorrow," Harry said vehemently.

Draco stepped away firmly and removed his hands from Harry. "Tomorrow," he repeated. A smile quirked his lips—visibly red and somewhat swollen even in the dim light from Hermione's porch. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Draco."

The blond Disapparated and Harry returned to the cottage where he helped repair Hermione's screen door and then retired to his room where he wanked twice before calming himself enough to sleep. Tomorrow could not come soon enough.