Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, much to my annoyance. JKR does. I own nothing but the writing.
Warning: This is M/M SLASH so if you have objections to that, don't read this.
"The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven"
John Milton, "Paradise Lost"
"lovers alone wear sunlight."
--- Harry ---
The sun is hot on our faces and the crushed grass under us smells of green freshness and rich promises. A small, warm gust of wind breathes through the big cedar tree. It's one of those days in late April that trick you into believing it's summer until dusk falls and you are shivering in the soft blue light, feeling stupid for having been fooled again. We are not lying close enough for our bodies to touch, but I feel Draco's presence like a soft vibration, a humming note. I have never been this happy.
I turn my head to look at him. His eyes are closed and he lies with his hands clasped behind his head, the heat from the sun giving his pale skin a faint pink flush. There is a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. I love him so terribly it hurts to look at him. Oh, Draco. You are…
I hadn't meant to say it out loud. He opens his eyes, squinting against the sun. I touch his face.
"Do you know how beautiful you are?"
The pink flush deepens. He is still not used to me saying things like this to him. I must kiss him. I raise myself on my elbow and my mouth finds his. There is the immediate hot reaction of my body, the liquid feeling, the irresistible urge to touch skin. His hand cups the back of my neck. I open one of his shirt buttons, and another, enough to slide my hand in and trace my fingertips over the silky skin of his stomach.
"Mmmh," he protests half-heartedly against my mouth. "Not here."
"You want me to. You know you do."
"Mmm," he mumbles again, in agreement this time. "Yes. But not here."
He is an exciting lover. He can be amazingly tender and gentle, pulling me into the curve of his body, enchanting me with soft caresses, never saying the small words of love but kissing them into my skin, writing them on my body with his fingers. At other times he is dominating and slightly threatening, a streak of darkness in his eyes signalling danger and making me shiver with a desire that mingles with fear. My own willingness to play the games he initiates surprises me. Our skin shows bites and bruises for days afterwards, and we exchange hasty looks in public, pleased and excited at having branded each other with these secret ownership marks, hidden under our clothing. But mostly our love-making is deeply tender, gravely playful, intent on giving pleasure. Sometimes I lead, sometimes he does. I love his creamy skin, I love the arc of his white throat when he throws his head back. I adore his soft moans when I touch the places that make him give himself up to me helplessly, floating down the dark stream of desire. I love the sweet and salty taste of his arousal; I have learned when and where the touch of my tongue will send him over the edge. He is equally skilled at reading my body. He knows exactly when to whisper "come" and I'll come.
He pushes me away gently and buttons his shirt.
"Remember when you sat on the balustrade over there with your shirt off, parading yourself to me in the moonlight?"
"I remember. You were lurking under the cedar tree, pretending to be invisible. I wish you had come up to me and…"
"Shhhh. Don't say it. I wish I had, too. I wish we had stopped playing games earlier. We could have had a great time if we hadn't been so uptight about being in love. It was really stupid of us, not making use of the time."
"Yes... But we were just kids. And we couldn't know what was going to happen – the war..."
"Well, we did know that there was going to be a war sooner or later. We should have had the sense to… oh, well, I guess we were just kids. Draco, do you realize it's only eighteen months ago?"
It's an absurd thought.
"It feels like a lifetime. I feel like a different person."
With my free hand, the one that's not playing with his earlobe, I pick one of the brightly yellow dandelions and push it up under his nose, rubbing his nose with it. He sits up with a yelp, pushing me away.
"What the hell are you doing?"
I lie in the grass laughing helplessly. I knew he would hate that. So childish, so undignified. He looks adorable with his nose all yellow from the pollen. He rubs it and glares at me.
"You haven't grown up, obviously. We should go inside."
"I don't want to grow up. I don't want to go inside. I want to stay out here in the sunshine and bounce around like a puppy. Stupid but happy. For the rest of my life."
He looks down at me with a funny expression on his face, tenderness mixed with amusement and indulgence.
"I don't know why I put up with you, Potter," he says. "Now that Voldemort is gone, I suppose nothing is really that special about you any longer."
"Or about you, Malfoy," I say. "The Death Eaters are a pretty pathetic bunch these days. No leader to suck up to. Just dragging their miserable black robes around in the shade trying to pretend the sun isn't shining."
He laughs out loud, surprised, and I think how much I love hearing him laugh. I sit up, brushing grass from my clothes, and meet his smiling grey eyes. He is beautiful in love. I lean forward to kiss him again.
Lovers alone wear sunlight.