Disclaimer: Another Harry Potter story! It is the only thing I want to write anymore. This is short and simple, but I hope someone will enjoy it. I do not own any of these characters; I just borrow them and string my words onto their skin.

"I love somebody I'm not sure is capable of real emotion."

--

I'm watching him closely, silently laughing along with him, nervously scanning the room with him, and I'm certainly curling my fingers against the table like he is. Wishing his fingers were entwined with my own, not just hard wood cracking under pressure.

His silver eyes finally set on my own and his lips twitch in the semblance of his beautiful smile. Blonde hair rests on the hard ridge of his brows and I feel the ache deep within my bones. Draco Malfoy is everything I should repel, and everything I crave.

When we meet in the flickering glow of candles all I want is to peel off his skin and look for the truth hiding under his beauty. I want to scrape off muscles and lick his porcelain bones clean. I want to show him who he belongs to, I want to show him that Voldemort will never be able to own him like I can.

Sometimes, I'm sure he believes me.

He never utters a word when I tell him that he is beautiful. He ignores my compliments and nuzzles my neck and just breathes in deeply, as if he needs to memorize my scent. Draco's spine bumps against the hard knobbles of my knuckles as I spread him out beneath me. He outshines me so easily. His stunning features and elegant ways make my glasses and awkward fumbling seem just like that; awkward and disposable. But he wants me; he lies beside me and whispers for more.

He's beautiful. Maybe, by association, I am too.

"Harry?'

His voice causes a shiver to run through me and I answer him as best as I know how to. I kiss his mouth until I'm sure he will break under me. I press into him until I can feel his moans rattle against my teeth. I hiss out questions about love until he nods his head frantically against my temple. The heat of his eyes is the fire in my gut and the moan caught in his throat is the air in my lungs. I live for these moments; these moments are what keep my alive.

I love him, and he accepts it with a simple roll of muscles.

When I wake up, the sheets are cold and my mind is calm. This is the only way for him to be with me, the only way he can allow our frantic need.

I love him, and someday that will be enough to make him stay.

--

Thank you so much for reading! Please review and tell me what you think. I will probably post another story soon.