Come Out Easy

You're the words that come out easy
And I am speechless at best.

"The Closest Thing" by The Juliana Theory

---

Sometimes I look at him and I can't help but wonder what life would be like without him.

We'll be in Potions, and I'll glance up from my work to find him staring through the scented fog. He can be across the room, or he can be just as far as the opposite side of the cauldron from me; no matter where he is, when our eyes meet, my breath always speeds up and I can feel myself getting flushed. Cho Chang used to have that effect on me, but her grip was never so strong.

She never made me feel like I had just fallen headlong from my broom with everything whirling and speeding past me. She never caused my palms to sweat the moisture stolen from my throat.

In the struggle for survival is where I find who I am. Facing my death is when I feel most alive. He's the only person I know who can make me feel with such intensity.

So when I find the note slipped into my Potions books, my heart jars painfully against my ribs. It says simply, Wait.

The wretched test grade I just received is excuse enough to shoo away Ron and Hermione, to get myself some time to linger in the classroom, packing my books and scrolls and quills away slowly. His hand brushes the small of my back, barely felt through the thick robes. I don't have to look to know the heat of his gaze.

He's gone then, and the rest of the class files out unawares. After a few more moments and a sharp look from Professor Snape, I scuttle out behind everyone.

A hand grasps my arm as soon as I'm out the door, and he's dragging me down a side corridor. I stumble on nearly every step; it's hard to function when his hands are on me, and my untied shoelaces keep tripping me up. Though it is the cause of my awkwardness, his hand keeps me upright, keeps the world from tipping too far just yet. He is my anchor.

Then he's shoving me into a gap in the wall where there used to stand a suit of armor, and everything goes tumbling away except for him and the hard stone behind my back. His lips are on mine immediately, ferociously -- possessively. It's moments like these that the struggle inside begins, and I'm reminded what it really feels like to be alive. He pulls away just as suddenly, and he's smiling.

His lips are thin like the rest of his features, but they add to the whole to make him strikingly beautiful. Every time his lips slide back for a smile, I'm surprised to see that his teeth are strong and blunt, rather than sharp and pointed. They gleam whiter even than his skin. His smile is heart-stopping.

"You love me, Potter," that grinning mouth purrs.

"Wishful thinking again, Malfoy?" His name comes out in a gasp as he presses his body flush against mine and chuckles. It's a low sound in the back of his throat that sends a shock reeling through me.

He kisses me again, this time with one hand behind my head and one wrapped firmly around my waist, tugging me to him. I'm lost in this, and it's all I can do to kiss back. His presence never fails to make me feel like I'm being swept under a current, fighting hard to get my head above the surface again so I can take a breath of air.

There is liquid fire in me, and it boils through my blood and sizzles what's left of my brains, searing along my nerves and down to the very marrow of my bones. Maybe he's right then, but to tell him would be surrender.

He releases my mouth, leaving me gasping, burning. I hardly notice what he's doing with his hands until he's got my robes up to my waist and they're fumbling at the buckle of my belt. He kisses the corner of my mouth, then drops to his knees, still grasping at the fastenings on my pants. They're so large that when he gets them off, they simply puddle around my feet.

He drags my boxers down my thighs, then it's only a matter of another moment before his mouth is around me, fully succeeding in making me far more than half hard in a matter of seconds. His hands form claws at my hips, holding tightly to keep me from thrashing as I sometimes do.

His lips are soft and the inside of his mouth is warm and wet. My hand wraps into his hair and I'm lost in sensation, the tide of it dragging me under. I can hardly breathe for the feel of it; all I can hear is a deafening rush in my ears, pounding and pulsing and drowning out all other sounds. I'm dying, I know it, scorching heat running through my veins and freezing air along my skin. There's nothing to compare to this, nothing that causes so much sensation at once. I'm struggling, but my body is too heavy, and there's a pressure in my chest that keeps getting stronger. I can feel the whirlpool sucking me down.

That's when I come.

Motes of light flash behind my eyelids, and in a last burst of heat, I finally surface. My eyes open wide, and I gasp for air, dark spots dancing in my vision. My legs want to give out, but he's holding me up, putting me back into my clothes, arranging me back to the way I belong.

He stands after a few moments, letting my robes drop around my shaking legs, and he strokes his fingers through my hair, though they fail to do any good to calm it. He pulls off my fogged glasses, and everything around me is blurred, even his face. I can smell him so close, exuding his possessiveness and passion, and I think he took my glasses off so I can't see the expression in his eyes, because there's something else that I can't quite place in his demeanor. He kisses me again; his tongue is salty with the taste of me. There's the tang of copper too, and it's only then that I realize I bit my lip.

I slide my hand down between us, grasping at the front of his robe, but he swats at it, then pulls his mouth off of mine. He kisses away the bead of sweat that has traveled down the side of my face, then he backs away altogether.

"You love me," he says again, more firmly. Then he's gone, and I can only gasp for air and wonder if he's only saying it to convince himself.