Interlude

"How are you getting home?" she laughed
Mermaids drowned but I clung to the raft
It's just the water in the bath
An interlude for the busy staff
-"Interlude," the Church, Blurred Crusade

Draco ran, heedless of stairs and stares, racing for the safe haven of his room. Door shut, he sagged against the coarse wood, pressing his palm to the ache between his legs. His hand had other ideas, fingers stroking roughly through his pants to replayed images of Harry -- arched, naked, gasping Draco's name. He moaned, tore his pants open, licked a wet stripe over his palm. Shoved his hand inside and gave a few agonizing strokes, head falling back of its own accord.

The texture of the door bit into his shoulders with a teasing, cruel pain, and the iron band was cool relief against his scalp. He felt hot, itchy, like Harry was inside him and his hand worked faster and faster, trying to get him out. Draco worked himself frantically, savoring the memory of Harry's body, his wet, open lips, his every forbidden, magic-driven action. Fingers harsh around his shaft, a little spit and precome not nearly enough but exactly what he needed now, that scrape of pain to sweeten the pleasure.

His pants slid low on slender hips, exposing his actions to an empty room while fingers crept up under the untucked shirt to find and twist a nipple. Vicious and painful, the only way he knew to like it, and his hips began to move in involuntary rhythm. He was gasping, panting, wordless cries of frustration and need and it was moments like this he didn't understand why he was bothering to deny himself. Fate had offered him his most secret desire, trapped in a golden cage of illegal magic.

A knock vibrated through the door at his back just as bright pleasure washed over him, and he bit his lips to keep Harry's name trapped behind them. He finished, panting, cleaned up with a simple spell and reassembled clothing barely disheveled despite the bare few minutes' frantic passion. He turned and opened the door, expecting to see Harry, flushed, apologetic and dressed like Draco's own personal fantasy. In this, he was sorely disappointed, but had manners enough to be graceful nonetheless to his unexpected visitors.