Polite Conversation
by Silvia
They'd grown sloppy after two weeks of it, drunk and stupid with it, and who had any attention to lose at seventeen, anyhow? Not him.
Little mewling sounds as Harry mouthed the sweat slick front of Draco's throat, and the moment was as sloppy as moments come, pressed up against crumbling moss and brick in plain sight.
Her footsteps clicked as she rounded the corner, and her breath caught, and she whispered, "Harry," strung tight between her lips.
Harry's fingers were curled into the fronts of their robes, binding the rolls of fabric tight together, and his hips were circling slow and easy -- too easy to just stop. Took a moment to back up, ease down, pull Harry's soft, hot mouth off his and gulp wetly.
Damp gloss on Harry's lips, and Draco smeared it with a thumb. Said, lightly, "I'll meet you inside," and waited for the nod.
It was so quiet for a moment. Not even birds.
"I understand," Hermione said, warm spots in her cheeks, when they were alone in the courtyard. "He makes you want to be a better man."
It was the funniest thing Draco had ever heard.
"He doesn't need a better man," Draco said, and made room for a laugh.
"He needs me," Draco said, and shrugged.